The intersection of AFL and culture
“There’s a pig on the ground. There’s a pig at full forward!” – Sandy Roberts, Channel 7 commentator.
The play had stopped and Roberts cried: “He’s on a lead, he’s on a lead!” Laughter filled the commentary box as a small pig that resembled the likes of the famous Babe, rather than the modern-day Peppa variety, ran riot on the paddock of the Sydney Cricket Ground. Continue reading “EXPLAINING HOW THERE IS ONLY, REALLY, ONE TONY LOCKETT”
We’ve started a series on AFL’s forgotten players, legends, characters, overachievers and underachievers. To catch up, you can read Part I. Here’s Part II. If there are players you want us to write about, email us at: thefiftyfooty@gmail.com. Continue reading “WHAT ABOUT THOSE FORGOTTEN AFL PLAYERS, PART II”
As we begin this bracing undertaking to tell wistful stories about the world of Australian Rules Football and its culture, we at the Fifty decided we’d love to start by breaking it right down to the specific things we treasure about the game.
It very quickly dawned on us that there were a lot of them and that it was likely there were others out there who felt the same. This is not an all-encompassing list, nor are we telling you this is what you should like, because anyone who is a football fan knows that would be impossible. This list resembles things that we, at The Fifty, admire, remember and can’t let go of when it comes to football.
Continue reading “50 THINGS WE LOVE ABOUT FOOTBALL”
Malcolm Blight stood tall on the podium flanked by his players. He raised the Premiership Cup as the head coach of the Adelaide Crows. The torpedo-punt specialist-among other things– held aloft football’s reason for living. All of it – the frothing media, the ear-to-ear smiles of Adelaide Crows staff, the hugs, the camaraderie – made me sick to my stomach. Continue reading “BECOMING A ROO”
When I was in my early teens, our family used to buy The Age and Herald Sun on the weekend. Two newspapers meant a balanced opinion, sure, but to me, it meant two different sets of sports pages. It was heaven, really. I feasted on two football sections searching for answers to Essendon’s losses, glossing over their triumphs and statistics and reliving games of football through words. I would be sprawled across our living room floor and read – sometimes re-read – both newspapers front to back or until Dad or Mum wanted them back. This was a ritual that happened every weekend during football season.
The Fifty 