|
Not sure if this will be posted on the website so here it is til it is or isn't.
So Long and thanks for all that, Fish!
Brad Fisher played 99 games for Carlton and kicked 127 goals. That’s all it’ll say is some archive gathering dust in some far off future. He did. And he did much, much more.
In the dark years when all that could go wrong did, when losses piled up like cheap beads piled into an American Indian’s hand, when most laughed at us, some waved wooden spoons at us and all and sundry felt we were getting our right whack, Brad Fisher played in the navy blue.
A tough gig for any kid. Playing forward in a team smashed on a weekly basis. It never seemed tough for Fish though. It seemed like he was loving it out there.
He chased, he kicked and he marked. Oh how he marked! I can still remember the mark he took in that night game in the square against Richmond.
Still he was a lightly framed player and through those games, throughout the years, he sustained a lot of injuries. Shoulder, thumb, knee, and yet he never let the injuries defeat him, never let them break his spirit. Brad seemed to just love playing football and every time he could, he did, without fear, with a bravery many forget to notice. He was not a tough footballer, not a pack crasher. He was a lightly built bloke that never took a backward step and always went for the mark regardless of who might come crashing into him.
Champions show us what is possible, but blokes like Fish tell us anything is possible. They tell us that no matter what the dream, reach for it, pluck it, and cherish it for as long as it may last. Brad did, each and every time he ran out onto the ground in that navy blue jumper, his number fourteen shining bright in the wintery sun.
He was my son’s idol during those dark years. When Jack got his first Carlton jumper and I asked what number he wanted – ‘Dad, fourteen, who else?’ So to my son he holds a special place, just as I remember my number four for Brian Buckley (on a jumper mum knitted for me in the 60’s) so Jack will always remember Fish.
Jack chose Fish simply because Fish gave him enjoyment. Each of those marks brought a roar to my son’s lips. Each goal was duly marked down in the footy record and then replayed time and time again in the street as Jack, as Fish, leapt high, clung to a ripper, spun and kicked another goal for a great Carlton victory.
Many things have changed since I wore that old hand-knitted jumper and cried out Buckley as I took a specie, or wore it sitting in front of the old black and white tellie eating tomato soup and watching the replay.
But a kid’s first chose of a number, the first hero, is always a special moment.
On the family days my son would always seek Fish out, shyly walk up to him and ask for his autograph. Fish gave it, smiling and even, once, ruffling my son’s head.
So Fish, thanks for the memories. Thanks for the way you played the game, the courage, the skill, the enjoyment you had and then gave to each of us that watched you play. For some players, they walk into a club when it’s shining bright, when it seems like Camelot and all around them must yield. They enter a list of champions, of grand warrior knights who have defeated all the dragons (think Collingwood), whose weapons shine bright, whose skills are sublime and who camaraderie is legendary.
That was not to be for you, Bradley Fisher. For you, Camelot had fallen, the sword was lost and Lancelot was forced to play in a leg brace. The glory for you, then, was in the shining light, the beacon you became, to all the supporters struggling through the dark years. Each mark, a treasure, each goal a blessing, a spot of rain for a drought deadened army of bluebaggers.
We have slowly climbed out of that wreck we made of this club. We have slowly rebuilt the list and nowadays the light seems to be slowly returning. With that rebirth comes the need to make the necessary tough decisions. I am sure saying goodbye to you was one of them Fish. But I want you to remember you played 99 games of AFL football and I know thousands of kids who’d give everything just to play 1. I was one of those kids, a long, long time ago. What I wouldn’t give to sit here now and say to my son and daughter, or to my friends ‘yes I played, I played 99 games of AFL for Carlton.’ As Frank sort of sang in that classic, ‘they can’t take that away from you.’
So Brad, my son and I just wanted to say so long and thanks for that Fish.
_________________
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!
|
Login
Register
FAQ
