That last quarter was a shocker and the third (except for about 30 seconds) wasn’t much better but even so, we were in front and that meant I could rant and rave happily rather than that horrible emptiness a loss creates as every goal the opposition kicks digs another hole in the Bluebagger heart. Lately the heart’s been a football graveyard - but it is funny how quickly we can recover.
I left that ground with a swagger – it wasn’t hard after those final two miraculous goals from Fevola – I hadn’t used since the 2000 season. I was howling again, not the head down, forlorn cry of another loss, but the head back, eyes bright, shout of victory. I must admit I crowed all the way home! And why not, with Judd the silver lining working his way into a rich vein of form (see how I did that), with the Fev enjoying the form that may finally see him reach the heights we’ve all caught glimpses of, shadows, as if a bird flew past above.
And then there has been the work of Carrots, of Murph and hey, of The Defence. There, I said it. Carlton now has a defence – something we were once famous for, is slowly coming back to us. It’s like we somehow whacked our collective club’s head and forgot our past but now the memories are returning. Jammo shimmers with memories of Dean, T-Bird and Christou, Waite is the new SOS – oh yes I know, they have a long, long way to go but at least now they have begun, at least we can see the defence starting to solidify before our very eyes.
So even though we won ugly, even though we did not go on with it, I left happy, remembering all those times in the 70’s and 80’s when we might play fifteen minutes of football and then join in with the opposition for a game of ring-a-ring-a-rosie. The new Carlton was starting to reflect the old and my old heart beat new again. It’s a good thing too, I think my brother might be struggling with putting up with this mad ranting Nutter -he finds it easier to deal with me when we win I am sure.
And that brings us to this week - the Crows, at home! Firstly, bad luck to Banno who has been fantastic this year, hope he gets better quickly because I, like every Bluebagger, want you back in the side son (and I can hear my brother pat saying ‘I told you about Banno.’ And he did, and he did).
So The Crows. Last year we played them at TD and played well in parts before the same old same old unravelled our thread. This time though, oh this time we’ll pluck their feathers and make a headdress, don it with glee and dance and sing in victory! (and maybe there’ll only be one newbie in that joyous circle instead of half the bloody team.)
So how to earn the win. First we must support Fev. He must have some forwards standing beside him kicking multiples to ease the pressure. We must dominate the middle where our real strength lies (oh and how Hadley is quickly becoming a favourite of mine). Judd and Murph and Gibbs, if fit, Stevo and Haddles and Simmo and the rest (too many names now and that’s the real blessing in all this, we rotate more than a Hill’s Hoist in a blustery northerly.
Add to the middle, the defence - even without Banno, these guys will get the job done. T-Bird and Jammo and Waitey and co will be too strong, too fast and too settled for the crowing forwards who’ll stand, shivering, staring forward like crows on a fence, hoping for a morsel that rarely comes their way.
Finally can I just mention the two big men. Kruise is a Rolls Royce with the heart of a Lion. When he picked himself up off the turf and roosted home that goal I knew we’d win. Some men seek to lead and sprout words to that effect, then there are the rare few who simply do what must be done and so lead everyone out of the wilderness and into the land of victory. In Judd we have one, and the Kruise is another one – if I could meet his parents I’d simply smile, nod and say, ‘well done to you both, well done.’
And so to the other big man - when we picked him up I admit my heart sunk. He came from the hated club, came to spread their dull black and white thoughts into this navy blue club. I was wrong, his heart, his body, the whole way he plays, is full of colour. The lad Cloke loves the thrill of battle and the more he goes about his tasks, the more I am coming to love the big bloke. To him I say, and admit my slackness in this, ‘welcome aboard son, and thanks for the pleasure!’
And so this week we’ll be crowing all the way home, the train packed with Bluebagger voices singing the grandest song in this mad, glad football town. Yes, we’re back, we’re loud and we’ll be crowing until we’re hoarse, until the trains take us back to our homes, until my son finally comes back home to me and even then I hope, he’ll soon be beside me, crowing on that train ride home after another great victory.
Fev for 5
Murph for 3
And BOG to Clokey!
Blues by 19 points!
Go Blues!
