“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 →
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 →
When you hear the names John Coleman, Ron Barassi, Roy Cazaly and Tony Lockett, you automatically think of the legends of AFL. Some of the best the game has ever known. But, what about everyone else, the many others that ran onto the glorious M.C.G and were great and important in their own right? Then there are the players who were good enough to reach the lofty heights of becoming an AFL player, but for some reason couldn’t put their best foot forward resulting in lackluster careers.Continue reading →
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.