Tweet
Martin Flanagan
No one dreamed bigger footy dreams than 1990 Brownlow Medal winner Tony Liberatore. At 163 centimetres, everyone told him he was too small, but when it came to the passionate belief that drives players, Libba was a colossus.
His son, Tom, now plays with his old club, the Dogs.
Periodically, Libba sends me stories he's written about footy. He sent me a great one in 2011 about going back as an old player to the Dogs' home ground and realising how much the place still meant to him.
His latest story is about a Doggies supporter Libba met two weeks ago while watching the Dogs at Metricon Stadium. Libba writes like Jack Kerouac, a song of belief largely unimpeded by punctuation which jumps, at moments of high excitement, from the past tense into the present. As this story ran to nearly 2000 words, I can only offer edited highlights.
Boarding my flight to Coolangatta, I noticed a scrawny looking, toothless old man with a chef's hat carrying an old vinyl bag, which looked in mint condition. A thought crosses my mind, is he that Bulldog supporter who always watched us when I was playing????
On the bus from the airport, they found themselves sitting together.
He looked like a man on a mission. I asked him if he's going to the footy. He replied ''Too right. He squinted, observed my face and said, 'Who do you barrack for?' ''
The conversation developed.
''I asked him how many games he's been to. He replied, '887 in a row - this will be my 888th game!'
'What?!' I yelled. He said that it included two games in London in 1998 and 2012, but they didn't count because they weren't real footy.
I looked at him in disbelief. In the same sentence, he proudly told me he has attended 1543 church services and even been to the headquarters (the Vatican)''.
The man went on: 'They don't believe me.' 'What do you mean?' I replied. 'The Bulldog cheer squad reckon I missed a game.' He showed me a bus ticket from Perth airport to Subiaco for a game in 1991. 'I believe you,' I replied. A smile came across his face like a new-born baby recognising her mother.
''I asked him if I could write a story about him. 'My oath,' he retorted. It was like he was demanding me to tell the world about him. Gary Hincks - he spelt out his surname to me like he was a policeman. Gary lives in Portland in the western district of Victoria. He told me it only takes six hours by public transport to our home games. 'I don't like driving.'
We hopped on a connecting bus. Gary is quick of his feet, somehow I think this 69-year-old man may have been a ballroom dancer. 'Go doggies,' he yelled. 'Woof, woof, woof'. There were some Doggies supporters on the bus but mostly they were Gold Coast fans. One of them gave Gary a Mick Malthouse stare. This led Gary to talking about Collingwood. He doesn't like them. 'There's too many of them.'
Libba and Gary settled to watch the game together.
Gary says, '39 minutes from the bounce of the ball!' - his excitement is contagious … Close to the bounce of the ball, Gary starts clapping. 'C'mon my Bulldogs,' he yells.
The Doggies start well, we're playing all over Gold Coast and Daniel Giansiracusa marks the ball 30 metres out. Gary calls him St John of Syracuse. He tells me he was a bishop from the 6th century who was later proclaimed a saint. We get to half-time with the Doggies holding a slight lead. Gary has a snack - marmalade sandwich, biscuits and cheese. 'Want some?' he snorts. 'No. All good, mate'. He tells me he is worried about our third quarters.
As the third term unfolds, Gary begins to groan. 'Oh no, c'mon boys,' he protests. We both begin to feel the pain running through our players' hearts. But unlike many supporters, Gary doesn't scream at any of his players. He tells me he 'loves 'em'.
The Suns kick the next 5 goals. The boys win plenty of the ball in the last quarter, but by now the game is beyond reach.
The siren sounds to end the match, our boys trudge off the ground in disbelief. Our small supporter group all slump into our plastic seats - we look like spoilt children not allowed ice-cream on a balmy Melbourne night. But Gary tells me that we will win a flag in 3 years. 'We are evolving,' he says.
Libba and his mates head back to Brisbane to catch a flight to Melbourne. Gary stays overnight. He tells Libba he will be attending church the next morning. Writes Libba: Like a Robert Murphy side step, I am mesmerised by Gary.
A week later, when he rings me to discuss the story, Libba is still mind-surfing on the subject of Gary Hincks, saying he is as important to the club as Teddy Whitten, that he should be the face of the Dogs and V-line.
All he can talk about is this stranger whose passion is a companion to his own.
Libba and Gary are meeting up on Saturday night in Darwin before the Dogs' game with Port Adelaide.
No one dreamed bigger footy dreams than 1990 Brownlow Medal winner Tony Liberatore. At 163 centimetres, everyone told him he was too small, but when it came to the passionate belief that drives players, Libba was a colossus.
His son, Tom, now plays with his old club, the Dogs.
Periodically, Libba sends me stories he's written about footy. He sent me a great one in 2011 about going back as an old player to the Dogs' home ground and realising how much the place still meant to him.
His latest story is about a Doggies supporter Libba met two weeks ago while watching the Dogs at Metricon Stadium. Libba writes like Jack Kerouac, a song of belief largely unimpeded by punctuation which jumps, at moments of high excitement, from the past tense into the present. As this story ran to nearly 2000 words, I can only offer edited highlights.
Boarding my flight to Coolangatta, I noticed a scrawny looking, toothless old man with a chef's hat carrying an old vinyl bag, which looked in mint condition. A thought crosses my mind, is he that Bulldog supporter who always watched us when I was playing????
On the bus from the airport, they found themselves sitting together.
He looked like a man on a mission. I asked him if he's going to the footy. He replied ''Too right. He squinted, observed my face and said, 'Who do you barrack for?' ''
The conversation developed.
''I asked him how many games he's been to. He replied, '887 in a row - this will be my 888th game!'
'What?!' I yelled. He said that it included two games in London in 1998 and 2012, but they didn't count because they weren't real footy.
I looked at him in disbelief. In the same sentence, he proudly told me he has attended 1543 church services and even been to the headquarters (the Vatican)''.
The man went on: 'They don't believe me.' 'What do you mean?' I replied. 'The Bulldog cheer squad reckon I missed a game.' He showed me a bus ticket from Perth airport to Subiaco for a game in 1991. 'I believe you,' I replied. A smile came across his face like a new-born baby recognising her mother.
''I asked him if I could write a story about him. 'My oath,' he retorted. It was like he was demanding me to tell the world about him. Gary Hincks - he spelt out his surname to me like he was a policeman. Gary lives in Portland in the western district of Victoria. He told me it only takes six hours by public transport to our home games. 'I don't like driving.'
We hopped on a connecting bus. Gary is quick of his feet, somehow I think this 69-year-old man may have been a ballroom dancer. 'Go doggies,' he yelled. 'Woof, woof, woof'. There were some Doggies supporters on the bus but mostly they were Gold Coast fans. One of them gave Gary a Mick Malthouse stare. This led Gary to talking about Collingwood. He doesn't like them. 'There's too many of them.'
Libba and Gary settled to watch the game together.
Gary says, '39 minutes from the bounce of the ball!' - his excitement is contagious … Close to the bounce of the ball, Gary starts clapping. 'C'mon my Bulldogs,' he yells.
The Doggies start well, we're playing all over Gold Coast and Daniel Giansiracusa marks the ball 30 metres out. Gary calls him St John of Syracuse. He tells me he was a bishop from the 6th century who was later proclaimed a saint. We get to half-time with the Doggies holding a slight lead. Gary has a snack - marmalade sandwich, biscuits and cheese. 'Want some?' he snorts. 'No. All good, mate'. He tells me he is worried about our third quarters.
As the third term unfolds, Gary begins to groan. 'Oh no, c'mon boys,' he protests. We both begin to feel the pain running through our players' hearts. But unlike many supporters, Gary doesn't scream at any of his players. He tells me he 'loves 'em'.
The Suns kick the next 5 goals. The boys win plenty of the ball in the last quarter, but by now the game is beyond reach.
The siren sounds to end the match, our boys trudge off the ground in disbelief. Our small supporter group all slump into our plastic seats - we look like spoilt children not allowed ice-cream on a balmy Melbourne night. But Gary tells me that we will win a flag in 3 years. 'We are evolving,' he says.
Libba and his mates head back to Brisbane to catch a flight to Melbourne. Gary stays overnight. He tells Libba he will be attending church the next morning. Writes Libba: Like a Robert Murphy side step, I am mesmerised by Gary.
A week later, when he rings me to discuss the story, Libba is still mind-surfing on the subject of Gary Hincks, saying he is as important to the club as Teddy Whitten, that he should be the face of the Dogs and V-line.
All he can talk about is this stranger whose passion is a companion to his own.
Libba and Gary are meeting up on Saturday night in Darwin before the Dogs' game with Port Adelaide.
Comment