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Bob Murphy
Playing on Steve Johnson is an event for the ages, and one that can age a tagger.
'GRANDPA, tell us again about the day you played on Stevie J …''
When people complain that there's no characters left in the game, I sometimes wonder if, for some, to be a character you have to play the fool. My answer to anyone holding up this argument is simple: Stevie J.
Here is a character who is no fool. If he were a cocktail he'd be three parts genius and one part rascal.
A couple of Tuesdays ago out at the kennel we were having a light kick-to-kick up the Barkly Street end when coach McCartney walked past. ''Who've you got for me this week?'' I asked. There was barely a pause. ''Stevie J.''
I knew in an instant this was going to be no ordinary week. Stevie J doesn't do ordinary.
The strange thing is that over the past 10 years or so I don't recall us ever having been direct opponents. This assignment has usually gone to Dale Morris.
One of the things I love about playing on a half-back flank is that against some of the most talented players in the game (Johnson, Cyril Rioli, Alan Didak, Mark LeCras, etc), you get to see the game through their eyes - where they run and how far they will run to take hold of a game is as fascinating as it is hard to nullify.
A factor that makes Geelong such a popular champion team is that they just play - they have their style that they've been perfecting for a long, long time, and they back themselves in to beat you. If the Cats were a racehorse they would be Might And Power - they will do what they've always done and lay it down from the start to see how far you're prepared to go to beat them.
I spoke to our back line in the lead-up to last Friday night's game and left them with a simple message: ''Come prepared to run.'' It's easy to be distracted by the fringes of Geelong's forward half: the emergence of Hawkins, Stevie's tricks, their unselfish passing in front of goal, just to name a few. All of this is underpinned by a willingness to cover an enormous amount of ground.
The start of the game was manic. As a backman it's easy enough to tell how we're defending up the ground: if it's going well, when the ball comes forward there's only one side of the ground for your opponents to work in; but if the pressure is a little off, then your opposition forwards have the full width of the oval in which to work you over.
Stevie J might love a beer, maybe even a punt on the races, but what he really loves is open space in the forward half so he can use his bag of tricks to lose you and find the ball. Early on Friday night, Stevie had acres to work in, which is a worry against someone who only needs a car space.
At one point, as I did what I could to stay close, he stopped, gathered, spun and handballed over his head. All that was missing was his cape. Although he was exerting an influence, I took some solace in the fact that he wasn't kicking any goals himself and that more than a few of his touches were coming backward of centre.
When a free kick was paid against a Geelong player for holding the ball, and Stevie took it upon himself to chat with the umpire over the concept of prior opportunity, I took up the argument with him. Before you knew it we were in deep discussion about the incident, and even looked up at the replay to help us sort it out. We decided to leave further discussion until after the game. I'm not sure what the umpire made of our somewhat polite exchange.
Stevie was my responsibility when he came forward, but when he put himself in the centre square - as he often does - I would hand him over. By halfway through the third quarter he was the most influential player on the ground, but still hadn't hurt us on the scoreboard. It was at this point that he turned to me and said, ''I've almost halfway run this flu out!''
It was a cheeky thing to say, a touch arrogant, and just a bit brilliant. The obvious seed he'd planted was, ''I wonder how he'd be going if he was feeling well?''
You have to remember that while all this is going on, a great game of footy was going back and forth, Dogs threatening and Cats pulling away.
In the last quarter Paul Chapman had a set shot from right on the arc, and to my horror I saw Stevie bob up out of nowhere in the forward pocket, hiding next to the point post. God only knows how he got there, but it was so sneaky that even Chapman didn't see him.
A minute later the chat started up again. ''Did you see me sneak on there through the interchange?'' he asked. ''Clearly not,'' was all I could say. And then he smiled for the first time of the night, and out the side of his mouth said: ''It was quite rascal-ish, wasn't it?'' How can you not love that?
Not long after this, the Dogs came roaring home, and threatened to steal the game. True to form Geelong wasn't done with, and kicked clear once more.
With the game still in the balance but slipping out of our grasp, the ball flew out of a centre bounce with Stevie on the lead. It took everything I had to make a spoil, but the job wasn't finished. He gathered the loose ball, spun, cut and danced his way out of trouble before firing off the obligatory no-look handball, my arms and legs flailing after him.
Then he sidled up to me one last time and said, ''I usually save that stuff for finals …''
I don't think he was saying all this to be arrogant or to rub it in. He just wanted to give me the whole show, the full Stevie J extravaganza.
He was best on ground but I felt like I could still hold my head up.
And at least I'll have a pretty good story for my grandkids.
Playing on Steve Johnson is an event for the ages, and one that can age a tagger.
'GRANDPA, tell us again about the day you played on Stevie J …''
When people complain that there's no characters left in the game, I sometimes wonder if, for some, to be a character you have to play the fool. My answer to anyone holding up this argument is simple: Stevie J.
Here is a character who is no fool. If he were a cocktail he'd be three parts genius and one part rascal.
A couple of Tuesdays ago out at the kennel we were having a light kick-to-kick up the Barkly Street end when coach McCartney walked past. ''Who've you got for me this week?'' I asked. There was barely a pause. ''Stevie J.''
I knew in an instant this was going to be no ordinary week. Stevie J doesn't do ordinary.
The strange thing is that over the past 10 years or so I don't recall us ever having been direct opponents. This assignment has usually gone to Dale Morris.
One of the things I love about playing on a half-back flank is that against some of the most talented players in the game (Johnson, Cyril Rioli, Alan Didak, Mark LeCras, etc), you get to see the game through their eyes - where they run and how far they will run to take hold of a game is as fascinating as it is hard to nullify.
A factor that makes Geelong such a popular champion team is that they just play - they have their style that they've been perfecting for a long, long time, and they back themselves in to beat you. If the Cats were a racehorse they would be Might And Power - they will do what they've always done and lay it down from the start to see how far you're prepared to go to beat them.
I spoke to our back line in the lead-up to last Friday night's game and left them with a simple message: ''Come prepared to run.'' It's easy to be distracted by the fringes of Geelong's forward half: the emergence of Hawkins, Stevie's tricks, their unselfish passing in front of goal, just to name a few. All of this is underpinned by a willingness to cover an enormous amount of ground.
The start of the game was manic. As a backman it's easy enough to tell how we're defending up the ground: if it's going well, when the ball comes forward there's only one side of the ground for your opponents to work in; but if the pressure is a little off, then your opposition forwards have the full width of the oval in which to work you over.
Stevie J might love a beer, maybe even a punt on the races, but what he really loves is open space in the forward half so he can use his bag of tricks to lose you and find the ball. Early on Friday night, Stevie had acres to work in, which is a worry against someone who only needs a car space.
At one point, as I did what I could to stay close, he stopped, gathered, spun and handballed over his head. All that was missing was his cape. Although he was exerting an influence, I took some solace in the fact that he wasn't kicking any goals himself and that more than a few of his touches were coming backward of centre.
When a free kick was paid against a Geelong player for holding the ball, and Stevie took it upon himself to chat with the umpire over the concept of prior opportunity, I took up the argument with him. Before you knew it we were in deep discussion about the incident, and even looked up at the replay to help us sort it out. We decided to leave further discussion until after the game. I'm not sure what the umpire made of our somewhat polite exchange.
Stevie was my responsibility when he came forward, but when he put himself in the centre square - as he often does - I would hand him over. By halfway through the third quarter he was the most influential player on the ground, but still hadn't hurt us on the scoreboard. It was at this point that he turned to me and said, ''I've almost halfway run this flu out!''
It was a cheeky thing to say, a touch arrogant, and just a bit brilliant. The obvious seed he'd planted was, ''I wonder how he'd be going if he was feeling well?''
You have to remember that while all this is going on, a great game of footy was going back and forth, Dogs threatening and Cats pulling away.
In the last quarter Paul Chapman had a set shot from right on the arc, and to my horror I saw Stevie bob up out of nowhere in the forward pocket, hiding next to the point post. God only knows how he got there, but it was so sneaky that even Chapman didn't see him.
A minute later the chat started up again. ''Did you see me sneak on there through the interchange?'' he asked. ''Clearly not,'' was all I could say. And then he smiled for the first time of the night, and out the side of his mouth said: ''It was quite rascal-ish, wasn't it?'' How can you not love that?
Not long after this, the Dogs came roaring home, and threatened to steal the game. True to form Geelong wasn't done with, and kicked clear once more.
With the game still in the balance but slipping out of our grasp, the ball flew out of a centre bounce with Stevie on the lead. It took everything I had to make a spoil, but the job wasn't finished. He gathered the loose ball, spun, cut and danced his way out of trouble before firing off the obligatory no-look handball, my arms and legs flailing after him.
Then he sidled up to me one last time and said, ''I usually save that stuff for finals …''
I don't think he was saying all this to be arrogant or to rub it in. He just wanted to give me the whole show, the full Stevie J extravaganza.
He was best on ground but I felt like I could still hold my head up.
And at least I'll have a pretty good story for my grandkids.
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