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This season is the season to bottle for a time
to let the scents of those games waft through the mind
and we sit in our separate spaces, drinking perhaps,
bare feet up, the distant sound of the ocean
mumbling the Carlton theme song - drifting as I do
in and out of moments this season has filled me with.
Saad running in diagonals, kicking across the body
mad bastard like a dog circling the lost ball.
Curnow soaring, swinging on that majestic right boot
the thump of destiny right there;
Doc just being, after everything, just being.
Voss at the edge of the ground, you can see his atoms
tingling, wanting to break the circle of white
enter again the arena, he taught our boys to fight!
Owies and the way he clenches the jumper
Newman growing into the player I certainly never foresaw
Hollands, bravery in a ragdoll, I think he will be a ripper.
Harry clunking, kicking round corners,
Pitto thumping,
TDK soaring and scrambling, aloft and on the ground.
Weiters and his intercepts
Cincotta the latecomer who showed he belonged,
Kemp growing into a player, see you next year!
Fog's clean hands and desire to tackle
Motlop's goal sense, tingling like spiderman's,
Cotters the greyhound,
Gov who became a backman with the heart of a forward
Acres, owner of those fingers (and head) - the hand of God
the foot also of God, this guy is just there at the end, each end.
Martin, Marchbank, Cunners, the invisible men made whole
who wholly gave of themselves, contest after contest.
Walshy, fair dinkum a bigger heart and he'd need 2 chests
Cerra, the stealth bomber
and Crippa the giant
who learnt that great leadership is about trusting your teammates.
There were others, cameos, blues brothers, soldiers...all playing their part
in this year...also a farewell to Ed, what a brother,
what a soldier for us in the lean times.
This extraordinary year when the heart came alive
and the pain was the pain of hope not of despair,
when the years past suddenly seemed like a grass planted
and now ready to be mowed, to walk upon it bare foot
to sit back, a beer in hand, mates in the flesh
and my mates here - all the mad, twisted bunch of us
who bicker and bully and laugh and support
like any good family,
and this club
this mighty club that has hibernated for a long long winter
but now
it has emerged and the roar it gave...oh the hunt is on
the hunt is well and truly on!
Thank you my bluebagger brethren
the players
the coaches
the voice that we became
and here of course,
the family that taps in separate spaces
joined eternally by our bluebagger hearts.
What a @#$%&! glorious year eh!
Now who the @#$%&! are we drafting
who are we trading in
and who are we trading out?
After all time stands still for no one
not even those with navy blue hearts!
_________________
This type of slight is alien in the more cultured part of the world - Walsh. Its up there with mad dogs, Englishmen and the midday sun!
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