Barry Dickins, that great Royboy in the outer, once described Victoria Park thus: “A turd of a place not fit for us”.
Dickins never does mince words.
I went to Victoria Park, once, with a bloke named Paddy. He was a Pies man. I was kissing this city goodbye – leaving it all behind – and needed to immerse myself in a ritual before it was lost. We stood in the outer, drank beers, smoked cigarettes, offered epithets across the boundary. I chose not to wear my colours, for reasons of safety. I enjoyed the aspect and the company, and the anthropology of it all. It was as raw as a brick. I joined a crowd of weekend poets, ringleaders, choir masters, sneakthieves, raconteurs, drunkards, actors, cowards, coppers, petty crims, soapbox orators, would-be op-ed writers – all on the terraces and making the most of our Saturday afternoon.
Paddy’s now this city’s CEO of Rock. He’s head of Music Victoria. He’s still Collingwood. Haven’t seen each other for years. I ran around Victoria Park the other week, spewed-up in a pocket, thought even if you put a gold jacket on it, it’s still a turd.
▰▰▰▰▰▰▰
Oh Joffa, I know not what I speak of but I know you have the Wood on us.
We met last year at the Peanut Farm Reserve – downwind of Luna Park, on the other side of town – under mulberry black clouds, midweek, on grand final day of a community football cup played between teams of homeless men. In the midday game, the Collingwood Knights beat the Sacred Heart Saints by seven points, and you anointed the Knights players with your gold-sequinned jacket, and it was a moment of glorious Melbourne vaudeville.
Left: Winners are grinners: victorious Collingwood Knights players at the Reclink Grand Final, Peanut Farm Reserve, in St Kilda last year.
Centre: Battle of wounded knee: Peter Burns, playing-coach of the Youth Project Roar, in the change rooms at last year’s Reclink Cup.
Right: Collingwood Knights player Chris Marshall, 24, tries on Joffa’s jacket for size: it fits!
A community worker during the week, you were happy to share the spoils of victory. More than Eddie, more even than Caro – I think of you as true football royalty, among the people and for the people. It is the great democratic of our game.
Joffa, on that day beside the Moorish domes and among all those men with all sorts of problems bigger than ours, I was meaning to ask you a question. Can anyone truly remember when we last beat the Magpies?
Was Charlie Pannam still playing for us? Or did Charlie play for the Carringbush? His son Alby, he played for us, didn’t he? Or did he play for you also? Or was he playing for that local brewery mob and their footy team, that’s always stood between us in Abbotsford? Richmond had the malt, but Collingwood had the beer.
What about Raines, Cloke, BT – who do they belong to?
Oh Joffa, the hour is late, the mind weary, the heart has slumped; I am confused. I know you’ve a gold-glitter jacket you like wearing at the footy. Just not this Friday night, Joffa, not this Friday night.
When did we last beat Collingwood?
Was it back before Peter Daicos ran rings around us? He confused us, didn’t he, that Macedonian Marvel. He was a grass-whisperer. He knew every blade on those deep boundary pockets at Vic Park. They conspired against us. It was a horticultural conspiracy, having a ball bounce that way and this! I remember the day he gave Terry Keys the slip. Did Terry play for us, or for you, dear Joffa?
It does not matter. We cannot beat you.
I look at the record books and it isn’t fair reading. In the last six outings you’ve had our number. Losing margins have been handsome, the crowds big, the humiliation complete. Ninety-three points in 2009; then 82 a year later; then 71 after that. We’re closing the gap, Joffa, we should be there by nightfall.
I’ve crunched the numbers and our losses against you these past six years have averaged 58 points (less than 10 goals, Joffa!), in front of average crowds of 66,365.5 people (who was that half-person, Joffa, was he one of yours?). It’s like Roman days, Joffa. A public flogging.
The hour is late Joffa, and I am seeing the world in black and white.
Last year I made you a banner, Joffa. I rode my bicycle to Spotlight, Joffa, and purchased black fabric and a needle and thread, and I made it by hand, lovingly, on the night before the game and in the morning, and I think it took about six hours, Joffa, this labour of a seamstress, and all the time I was making it I thought of Trent Cotchin and wondered how he was preparing for the game – what he was thinking about – and I wanted to hold this banner aloft down the Punt Road end of the MCG late in the last quarter to celebrate and with our Trout send you a message that at last we have WON!
Left: WE LOVE JOFFA: because he loves football.
Centre: Football royalty: Joffa among the palms of St Kilda, offering-up his famous jacket to the Collingwood Knights players.
Right Six hours of needlework and never unveiled at the MCG: was it worth it?
What? We didn’t win? Of course not. Tony Shaw wore the jacket, didn’t he, sitting in a commentary box with Eddie, and all of them broadcasting in black and white.
The banner has never been unfurled at the football, Joffa. It’s never seen what it’s like to be at the MCG when we play you.
We never beat you Joffa, do we?
Last year I contacted the Collingwood History Tour, Joffa, and left a message on their voice mail. I wanted to go on their walking tour; to learn of your lowlands and measure them against ours. I like the Rose story. Renee Kink holds a special place in my heart. I love The Club. I’ll never forget when I heard of Darren Millane’s death. I was happy you were rid of the Colliwobbles. I like that your club has a Latin motto, even though I’ve no idea what it means. So I rang the History Tour, but do you think I ever heard back from them?
They screened me, Joffa. Because I am a Tiger. Because I wear yellow with my black. Because of 1980, and all those goals kicked by KB. Because of the history, Joffa, and how it hasn’t always been sweet between us.
KB’s son sent me a little speech the other night, Joffa. Rhett has compiled a book, and a fine book it is too, Joffa. The speech is from Jack Archer, a past Richmond president, and it was spoken to our boys before the 1920 Grand Final. Jock McHale coached you that day and the great Gordon Coventry played in the prison bars, but we had Checker Hughes in the middle and Danny Minogue up front, and we won that day, Joffa, WE WON, by jingoes!
This feud is brought to you by the ladies Peter McKenna t-shirt in Tuddenham Green. Also available for blokes and in other colours and sizes.
“The eyes of Richmond and the whole of the football world are upon you today,” said Archer. “So go out and win.”
And that’s what they did.
And that is how it must be this Friday night, my dear Tigers. No gold glitter jacket is required. In the soft autumn rain, on these glum Melbourne days, it is our turn for a baptism; our turn for holy football; our turn to part the waters and walk through the artificial light to that sacred land. We are the untouchables this Friday. Our thirst cannot be quenched. Make some noise Tigers! Think back to that last time we beat them – when was that? – and let’s do that whole caper all over again. Let’s sing our song in the rain, let’s sing it to the night sky.
This chapter in our Book of Feuds is now closed.
I went to the GFs in ’77 (both), 79 & ’81. I missed ’80 ‘coz the local Woolies supermarket manager said I had to work. I cursed him, then blessed him. I wouldn’t have been able to cope. I always thought the tit-for-tat player poaching in ’80s was pointless. And I can still remember the “Mother’s Day massacre” when Jeff Hogg kicked 10 – unbelievable. My mate Red, a Tiges man from way back still reminds me. We’ll be there Friday night, me, Chook & Red. All mates since before high school. A good rivalry needs wins on both sides, but not this Friday night as Clokey roars back to form. Go Pies! #sidebyside
I was so excited after the 1980 Grand Final that I painted a big Richmond banner with the only yellow and black paint I could find, which was Humbrol enamel for painting model planes. Took a few days to dry and I was high on fumes and exhiliration. Seems a long, long time ago now.
I have been shattered all weekend and a terrible sense of deja vu has settled over me but I still want the club to stay the course and to back our coach and players. I live in Geelong and I can well remember the mess around the cats after the 2006 season and then leading up to their game against the Tiges at Docklands in round 6 2007 they were 2 wins and 3 loses and their was a pall over Geelong and there had been newspaper reports critical of the Cats recruiting and Stephen Wells as a recruiter. There was a palpable feeling around Geelong that if they lost to the Tiges then that would be it for the coach Bomber Thompson and there would be a clean out of players and a rebuilding phase to go through!!!
Well of course they beat us by more than 25 goals and only lost one more game for the year (I think they owe us for being the catalyst to their greatest period ever).
What we need to remember is that the media is extremely fickle and short sighted and even us supporters get down hearted and frustrated and want to see action taken – but we need to trust in Dimma and Benny and try to hold our disappointment, our heart break, our sadness at bay (or at least try to get over it by the end of the weekend) and look forward to the time somewhere in the future (although probably not this year now) that we have success.