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A man and his Dogs
Martin Flanagan
December 17, 2011
MANY people lament to me the loss of old-fashioned values from footy. That's why I've turned over my column this week to Tony "Libba" Liberatore. No one expected Libba to win the 1990 Brownlow Medal except his little Italian mother who didn't know much about footy but knew everything about her son. His critics said he was too short and too slow. North Melbourne got rid of him, the Dogs gave him a home.
The Dogs were an unfashionable, battling club. Libba felt at home. He was fantastically strong for his size and brilliant in close — like a Graeco-Roman wrestler, all over his opponents, getting beneath them and getting the ball and, if not getting the ball, holding the ball in as he did to end Essendon's 20-game winning streak in 2000. If anyone ever played footy like a bulldog, it was Libba.
Libba stayed in the game under coach Terry Wallace by becoming a more negative player. By the end of his career, he was one of those players who are fiercely loved by their own supporters and passionately disliked by others. Recently, he wrote me a letter about returning to the club with his old boxing coach, Danny Blake:
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"Danny is my mentor in some ways. He was an amateur boxer, is 62 and in great nick, apart from the scars and wrinkles. Evidence of character building, I say. He trained us in my time at the club and still trains a few Carlton players. When Terry Wallace took over in 1997 he asked Danny to ramp up his program. We got flogged that pre-season — 5.30am starts six days a week, then we would finish with some boxing in the late afternoons. Mental toughness, they said — other clubs who heard about us used to say stupidity! But we were the most feared side in the competition back then.
Last week, Danny and I went back to the Kennel. As an ex-player, you still get this funny feeling. It's not like when you were playing — it's more a bit of anxiety, I guess. Funny, I always remember a specific time at Footscray — it was a mid-season break in the mid '90s and I went to the club. I was on my own. This morning was bloody freezing — 3 degrees, I think! Most of the boys had gone on a mid-season break. I did a session on the ground and then back into the gym. It dawned on me that I was an owner of my club — Footscray.
Terry Wheeler, who was my best coach, would often talk about owning the club, but I didn't get it until this particular day. 'Wheels' used to sit us on the ground in the clubrooms after training and want to know who we were as individuals. He knew the names of every player's mum and dad. That's awesome, I think. It was just as important to him as the footy. The boys used to play for him in the early '90s and we played a lot of finals. Going back to my point about ownership, from that moment on, the bond I had with my surroundings and facilities would last forever. Sounds weird having a bond with four walls and an oval. but that's how it felt. I was invincible. It was like I was Footscray.
While I was waiting for Danny, an old chap I recognised walked through the doors. It was Doc, an old copper. He told me that he was related to the new coach Brendan McCartney. Doc has aged a bit and had an indentation on his forehead which I never noticed before. You never know characters by first or last names at footy clubs. Wheels used to say that if the opposition knew your nickname then you're a good player. "Buddha" Hocking and I used to have some good stoushes on the footy ground but we would always shake hands after a game. I loved Buddha — he was my hero when I played. He also said he was expecting big things from my young bloke. Funny how blokes call him "the young bloke". "Tom's his name," I say.
Danny arrived and we wandered down to the elite learning centre — he was gobsmacked. "Klippo", the team manager, showed us around. The older players knew Danny — Murph, Gia, Crossy and Boydy. They shook his hand like he was a long-lost relation. The Dogs have got a strong leadership group. I love Boydy, our captain. His legs, with their bulging veins, are like a racehorse's. We watched a tough session, football and running. Some things don't change, like Monday and Friday would always be the hardest training sessions. You were usually too exhausted to do anything on Saturday or Sunday.
Dahlhaus looked slick. Markovic, who had a great year, looked bigger and stronger and the X factor, Zephaniah Skinner, had a spring in his step. This young indigenous boy has loads of ability. They did eight 400s with a 10-second break, then half a dozen 300s to follow. It sounds weird but, gee, I miss that part of training.
I never used to get it when players said they hated training. It was bloody hard, though. You would never show your pain. Danny used to always say, 'Show no facial expression when you're hurting, have a deadpan face!' I never forgot that saying. My way of using the hurt was to yap it up and spur on the boys.
Klippo told me that Eddie Walsh was crook. Eddie is the property steward at the club. He's been there for 70 odd years — incredible! "He is in the Western General. Make sure you visit him," yelled Klippo. I said I would. There is a great photo of Eddie in the property room with his mates. Jack McGovern (deceased), Jacko, and Billy Woods. There is a great caption underneath that photo. It reads, "None of Us Is As Good As All of Us". This was their footy team.
Danny and I walked back to the foyer for a cuppa and we reminisced about the old days. We spoke about the change and the culture, the players and staff. We both left the fantastic new facilities, which now include a cafe called the Pound. Love the name! As I jumped into my car my heart beat a little faster, there was something about training that reminded me of '97. Was it the look in the eyes of the players I met, or was I hoping like hell we could win a flag in 2012?
I'm sure the scribes will write us off. I used to love playing when our backs were to the wall or we had been written off. This year, I will sit with Mum and the kids every week and watch the Dogs from afar in the outer at Etihad Stadium. I'll sit in silence, but inside I'll be churning and praying like hell we win. That elusive flag still beckons, the passion and character in the boys is evident. Believe it or not, luck plays a huge part in finals and we didn't have that between the 2008 and 2010.
Live your dreams boys and BELIEVE IN YOURSELVES. Let the game consume you and you'll find strength of mind, body and soul. That's how it worked for me. Enjoy the ride, it's the greatest game in the world. Yes, the club will always be there but not one flag since 1954 seems so unjust. But this is AFL football — it takes no prisoners. It is BRUTAL, as one of my old coaches use to say. So give it all you've got boys! Go Dogs!
Read more: http://www.theage.com.au/afl/afl-new...#ixzz1ghjGnGOP
Martin Flanagan
December 17, 2011
MANY people lament to me the loss of old-fashioned values from footy. That's why I've turned over my column this week to Tony "Libba" Liberatore. No one expected Libba to win the 1990 Brownlow Medal except his little Italian mother who didn't know much about footy but knew everything about her son. His critics said he was too short and too slow. North Melbourne got rid of him, the Dogs gave him a home.
The Dogs were an unfashionable, battling club. Libba felt at home. He was fantastically strong for his size and brilliant in close — like a Graeco-Roman wrestler, all over his opponents, getting beneath them and getting the ball and, if not getting the ball, holding the ball in as he did to end Essendon's 20-game winning streak in 2000. If anyone ever played footy like a bulldog, it was Libba.
Libba stayed in the game under coach Terry Wallace by becoming a more negative player. By the end of his career, he was one of those players who are fiercely loved by their own supporters and passionately disliked by others. Recently, he wrote me a letter about returning to the club with his old boxing coach, Danny Blake:
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"Danny is my mentor in some ways. He was an amateur boxer, is 62 and in great nick, apart from the scars and wrinkles. Evidence of character building, I say. He trained us in my time at the club and still trains a few Carlton players. When Terry Wallace took over in 1997 he asked Danny to ramp up his program. We got flogged that pre-season — 5.30am starts six days a week, then we would finish with some boxing in the late afternoons. Mental toughness, they said — other clubs who heard about us used to say stupidity! But we were the most feared side in the competition back then.
Last week, Danny and I went back to the Kennel. As an ex-player, you still get this funny feeling. It's not like when you were playing — it's more a bit of anxiety, I guess. Funny, I always remember a specific time at Footscray — it was a mid-season break in the mid '90s and I went to the club. I was on my own. This morning was bloody freezing — 3 degrees, I think! Most of the boys had gone on a mid-season break. I did a session on the ground and then back into the gym. It dawned on me that I was an owner of my club — Footscray.
Terry Wheeler, who was my best coach, would often talk about owning the club, but I didn't get it until this particular day. 'Wheels' used to sit us on the ground in the clubrooms after training and want to know who we were as individuals. He knew the names of every player's mum and dad. That's awesome, I think. It was just as important to him as the footy. The boys used to play for him in the early '90s and we played a lot of finals. Going back to my point about ownership, from that moment on, the bond I had with my surroundings and facilities would last forever. Sounds weird having a bond with four walls and an oval. but that's how it felt. I was invincible. It was like I was Footscray.
While I was waiting for Danny, an old chap I recognised walked through the doors. It was Doc, an old copper. He told me that he was related to the new coach Brendan McCartney. Doc has aged a bit and had an indentation on his forehead which I never noticed before. You never know characters by first or last names at footy clubs. Wheels used to say that if the opposition knew your nickname then you're a good player. "Buddha" Hocking and I used to have some good stoushes on the footy ground but we would always shake hands after a game. I loved Buddha — he was my hero when I played. He also said he was expecting big things from my young bloke. Funny how blokes call him "the young bloke". "Tom's his name," I say.
Danny arrived and we wandered down to the elite learning centre — he was gobsmacked. "Klippo", the team manager, showed us around. The older players knew Danny — Murph, Gia, Crossy and Boydy. They shook his hand like he was a long-lost relation. The Dogs have got a strong leadership group. I love Boydy, our captain. His legs, with their bulging veins, are like a racehorse's. We watched a tough session, football and running. Some things don't change, like Monday and Friday would always be the hardest training sessions. You were usually too exhausted to do anything on Saturday or Sunday.
Dahlhaus looked slick. Markovic, who had a great year, looked bigger and stronger and the X factor, Zephaniah Skinner, had a spring in his step. This young indigenous boy has loads of ability. They did eight 400s with a 10-second break, then half a dozen 300s to follow. It sounds weird but, gee, I miss that part of training.
I never used to get it when players said they hated training. It was bloody hard, though. You would never show your pain. Danny used to always say, 'Show no facial expression when you're hurting, have a deadpan face!' I never forgot that saying. My way of using the hurt was to yap it up and spur on the boys.
Klippo told me that Eddie Walsh was crook. Eddie is the property steward at the club. He's been there for 70 odd years — incredible! "He is in the Western General. Make sure you visit him," yelled Klippo. I said I would. There is a great photo of Eddie in the property room with his mates. Jack McGovern (deceased), Jacko, and Billy Woods. There is a great caption underneath that photo. It reads, "None of Us Is As Good As All of Us". This was their footy team.
Danny and I walked back to the foyer for a cuppa and we reminisced about the old days. We spoke about the change and the culture, the players and staff. We both left the fantastic new facilities, which now include a cafe called the Pound. Love the name! As I jumped into my car my heart beat a little faster, there was something about training that reminded me of '97. Was it the look in the eyes of the players I met, or was I hoping like hell we could win a flag in 2012?
I'm sure the scribes will write us off. I used to love playing when our backs were to the wall or we had been written off. This year, I will sit with Mum and the kids every week and watch the Dogs from afar in the outer at Etihad Stadium. I'll sit in silence, but inside I'll be churning and praying like hell we win. That elusive flag still beckons, the passion and character in the boys is evident. Believe it or not, luck plays a huge part in finals and we didn't have that between the 2008 and 2010.
Live your dreams boys and BELIEVE IN YOURSELVES. Let the game consume you and you'll find strength of mind, body and soul. That's how it worked for me. Enjoy the ride, it's the greatest game in the world. Yes, the club will always be there but not one flag since 1954 seems so unjust. But this is AFL football — it takes no prisoners. It is BRUTAL, as one of my old coaches use to say. So give it all you've got boys! Go Dogs!
Read more: http://www.theage.com.au/afl/afl-new...#ixzz1ghjGnGOP
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