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Bob Murphy June 21, 2012
‘‘And all around me a voice was sounding, this land was made for you and me.’’ WOODY GUTHRIE
I’D GET a lot more done around the house if it wasn’t for YouTube. I sit down at the computer with the best intentions to return emails and what have you, but before I know it I’m off on my magic carpet. I almost always finish up watching the same Keith Richards interview from 1972.
For reasons unknown to me, I sat down at the computer this week and took off on another cyber adventure, eventually coming to rest at a Woody Guthrie song. When it finished I closed the laptop and sat in silence for a few minutes thinking about lots of things — football, morality, the lines we see and sometimes cross within the game — but mostly I thought about my friend. It’s been one of those weeks.
What I love about writing a weekly column is it forces me to think of all the things that I love about the game. It’s always my reference point if I feel I have nothing to say.
Sometimes these are big themes like tradition or history, or recently, grief. Other times they can be tiny, almost invisible, like the smell of a football in your hands. Love for the game is a bottomless well if you’re prepared to look hard enough.
This week is different. With all the goings-on out west, it would be insincere not to touch on the events that developed after last Sunday’s twilight game and the altercation between Will Minson and Danyle Pearce.
We love lines in football — we run them, break them, and our all-time favourite is to draw them in the sand. But this week’s hot topic is what happens when we cross them.
I can’t go into detail about what was said specifically, for a couple of reasons — the first being that I was over 100 metres away when it occurred and the other that even the players who were around the incident can’t recall what was said with 100-per-cent clarity.
In the end it matters little; Danyle Pearce was offended, deeply hurt in fact.
The sanction handed down to Will is a one-match suspension, a penalty he accepted. The commentary around town has been fascinating, to say the least. There’s been a lot of talk about ‘‘crossing the line’’.
Putting aside the weekend’s altercation for one moment, it is pretty clear to me that the ‘‘line’’ is different for all of us. It also rammed home to me with absolute clarity that to flirt with that line is a very slippery slope and one that should be avoided.
This week it was Will and his character that came into question, but you can bet every player past and present has asked some searching questions of themselves, centred on this ‘‘line’’ and where it lies for them.
‘‘And some are grumblin’, some are wonderin’, if this land is still for you and me.’’
A wise man once told me that when it comes to writing, write about what you know. I’ve done my best to stick to that, and I know Will.
There’s a thing in football I like to call ‘‘the good bloke spectrum’’. The football industry as I know it is an endless series of conversations that go a bit like this:
‘‘What’s he like? Good bloke?’’
‘‘Yeah, he’s a good bloke.’’
I once asked a coach of mine about a player he played with.
‘‘What’s he like?’’
There was a pause. ‘‘... He’s ... OK ...’’
It was a damning summation in the context of the ‘‘spectrum’’.
This good bloke spectrum is big — big enough to cover some who work with the homeless, and others who have gone on to be petty thieves. Will is what I would call a good man, one of the best I know in fact.
In a world where lots of us talk about giving back to people worse off than ourselves, or helping in the reconciliation of indigenous Australia, Will rolls up his sleeves and does it. He means it.
Will has made two glaring mistakes on the football field, against the same club, that have had nothing to do with kicks or handballs. Reporters asked him on Tuesday if his reputation had been hurt. It was the only time he looked unsettled.
As we all discovered this week, sometimes the ground we walk on shakes. But only for a little while.
‘‘And all around me a voice was sounding, this land was made for you and me.’’ WOODY GUTHRIE
I’D GET a lot more done around the house if it wasn’t for YouTube. I sit down at the computer with the best intentions to return emails and what have you, but before I know it I’m off on my magic carpet. I almost always finish up watching the same Keith Richards interview from 1972.
For reasons unknown to me, I sat down at the computer this week and took off on another cyber adventure, eventually coming to rest at a Woody Guthrie song. When it finished I closed the laptop and sat in silence for a few minutes thinking about lots of things — football, morality, the lines we see and sometimes cross within the game — but mostly I thought about my friend. It’s been one of those weeks.
What I love about writing a weekly column is it forces me to think of all the things that I love about the game. It’s always my reference point if I feel I have nothing to say.
Sometimes these are big themes like tradition or history, or recently, grief. Other times they can be tiny, almost invisible, like the smell of a football in your hands. Love for the game is a bottomless well if you’re prepared to look hard enough.
This week is different. With all the goings-on out west, it would be insincere not to touch on the events that developed after last Sunday’s twilight game and the altercation between Will Minson and Danyle Pearce.
We love lines in football — we run them, break them, and our all-time favourite is to draw them in the sand. But this week’s hot topic is what happens when we cross them.
I can’t go into detail about what was said specifically, for a couple of reasons — the first being that I was over 100 metres away when it occurred and the other that even the players who were around the incident can’t recall what was said with 100-per-cent clarity.
In the end it matters little; Danyle Pearce was offended, deeply hurt in fact.
The sanction handed down to Will is a one-match suspension, a penalty he accepted. The commentary around town has been fascinating, to say the least. There’s been a lot of talk about ‘‘crossing the line’’.
Putting aside the weekend’s altercation for one moment, it is pretty clear to me that the ‘‘line’’ is different for all of us. It also rammed home to me with absolute clarity that to flirt with that line is a very slippery slope and one that should be avoided.
This week it was Will and his character that came into question, but you can bet every player past and present has asked some searching questions of themselves, centred on this ‘‘line’’ and where it lies for them.
‘‘And some are grumblin’, some are wonderin’, if this land is still for you and me.’’
A wise man once told me that when it comes to writing, write about what you know. I’ve done my best to stick to that, and I know Will.
There’s a thing in football I like to call ‘‘the good bloke spectrum’’. The football industry as I know it is an endless series of conversations that go a bit like this:
‘‘What’s he like? Good bloke?’’
‘‘Yeah, he’s a good bloke.’’
I once asked a coach of mine about a player he played with.
‘‘What’s he like?’’
There was a pause. ‘‘... He’s ... OK ...’’
It was a damning summation in the context of the ‘‘spectrum’’.
This good bloke spectrum is big — big enough to cover some who work with the homeless, and others who have gone on to be petty thieves. Will is what I would call a good man, one of the best I know in fact.
In a world where lots of us talk about giving back to people worse off than ourselves, or helping in the reconciliation of indigenous Australia, Will rolls up his sleeves and does it. He means it.
Will has made two glaring mistakes on the football field, against the same club, that have had nothing to do with kicks or handballs. Reporters asked him on Tuesday if his reputation had been hurt. It was the only time he looked unsettled.
As we all discovered this week, sometimes the ground we walk on shakes. But only for a little while.
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