by Shannon Byrne
THE CANTEEN IS stocked, the kettle is on, and the barbecue is cooking. Players are warming up and the umpires are dressed. Netballers and locals have gathered around the white fence to show support. Everything is ready for the big clash between the Osborne Cats and Lockhart Demons in the Hume Football League.
While the rules are the same, country football is a world apart from the big city clubs that fight it out in front of a weekly audience of millions. Here, the locals come to support not only their team, but the town’s baker, butcher, postman, and their mates. Fold-out chairs replace giant grandstands as the best seat in the house. The oval could do with a good water.
The two teams that feature in this Round 17 clash have had very different seasons, but the history between the neighbouring towns means there’s a lot of emotion in each encounter.
In the 1999 grand final, Lockhart was the favourite to take the flag, having gone through the season undefeated, but when it came to the big game on centre stage at the Walbundrie Sports Ground, no one could have predicted one of the league’s closest grand finals. The Osborne Cats defeated the minor premiers by one point to claim the silverware. Wild scenes of celebration followed the final siren.
On a wet and windy day like today, the only thoughts the locals have is for their beloved team to be in front at the final siren.
One point separates the sides at quarter time, but the Cats dominate the second and third terms to lead by twenty-six at the final break. The Lockhart Demons have no answers for what the Cats throw at them and, by the final siren, Osborne have recorded a comfortable forty-point win. It goes down in the record books as another victory to the Cats over the Demons.
While the score is an important measure of a team’s success, it’s the pride and passion shown by each side that matters. It is not just the grand final where emotions spill over. It is apparent each week, in every game, in all grades. Each player plays with fervour and enthusiasm, even in the toughest weather conditions — and winters in the southern parts of New South Wales are especially bitter. It is country footy at its best.
It is easy to understand why Australians have a love and passion for the native game of Aussie Rules. You need only look at the number of leagues and players to realise it’s played in every corner of our big land. More than 140 Australian Rules football leagues — national, state and country — are played around the country. Each league has on average eight clubs, and all of these clubs have a number of teams entered into different grades. Considering it is played between two teams with eighteen players on the field, the number of registered players is staggering. That’s not including the rapidly rising number of female leagues and competitors.
If you were to jump into a car at the Sydney Cricket Ground and drive 557 kilometres, or about six and a half hours, inland in rural New South Wales (a 356-kilometre drive from the Melbourne Cricket Ground), you would come across the small town of Walbundrie.
This town, with a population of 190, hosts the Hume Football League grand final each year, and has become the venue where dreams are realised and blood, sweat and tears are spilt in both celebration and heartbreak.
The Hume Football League encompasses teams from around the Riverina and Hume area, and includes the satellite and rural service towns, rural villages and a rural district. There are fourteen clubs competing in total, and it would not have survived since 1933 without the devotion and commitment of a number of very dedicated people, many of them unsung heroes.
I was fortunate enough to spend 2007 to 2010 in the Riverina. I saw people going through tough times as they coped with the worst drought in the recorded history of Australia. It was difficult seeing the effect on farmers and locals, and it was only the distraction of their beloved football that saw the heartache temporarily lifted.
Never had a game of footy become so important in bringing a community together, even if it was just for the day. Games and training were a diversion for the players. It was a place where they could be surrounded by teammates and friends alike.
There was one man who stood out among the magnificent people that helped run the various competitions across the Riverina: Merv Wegener. As president of the Hume League, he saw sport as not just exercise, but also the fabric and glue of the districts.
On Sunday, 10 August 2008, I got to see first hand the respect Merv had earned, and the magnitude of Merv’s influence on players, their families and officials. It was a miserable, wet, grey and cold day at the Walbundrie Sports Ground for the special celebrations of the League’s 75th anniversary, yet more than six hundred Aussie Rules fans braved the unkind weather to show their support for the league.
It was a chance for the league to celebrate its milestone, and there were awards handed out recognising the outstanding contributions people had made to footy. A lot of planning was put into the special day, especially by Merv himself, as the league was welcoming AFL coaching royalty to the ground: premiership winner and Australian Football 150 Years ambassador Kevin Sheedy, who was there as guest speaker.
Performers sang, big drums with fires inside were scattered around to warm the supporters, and the barbecue and coffee lines remained long throughout the day. There was a real buzz around the ground.
But it wasn’t all about the footy. There was a big surprise for Merv as well. He was made a life member of AFL NSW/ACT at the league’s celebrations.
For a man who has met and worked with a lot of people over the years through his involvement with the game, he was very shocked and humbled by the honour being bestowed on him, but I could see his biggest enjoyment was being presented with the award by Kevin Sheedy.
‘It was a great thrill and I really wasn’t expecting it. That’s amazing, thank you. Unbelievable,’ Merv said, after accepting the award in front of a warm reception.
Sheedy summed up the acknowledgement of Merv and spoke about the importance of sport in the region and having ‘loyalty, spirit and passion’ no matter what level you play at.
The day was a roaring success. I left the ground with a belly full of chicken and cucumber sandwiches, tea and coffee. After chatting with the locals and administrators I also came away with a greater appreciation for the man behind the award.
We go through life being members of different community groups and often have every intention to join a group or board. Merv acted on those intentions. In 1956, at the age of sixteen, he became a player representative for the Walla Walla Football Club. He had only been associated with the club for three years as a player.
As the years progressed, so did his various roles on the committee. By the time he was awarded life membership by the AFL NSW/ACT, he had dedicated thirty-five years to the Hume League. His roles include twenty-two years as vice-president, twenty-four years as chairman of selectors and his current position of president, which he has held since 2000.
Merv’s curriculum vitae is impressive, but to really appreciate the magnitude of his contributions we should be aware of the duties he performs. He is a mediator between clubs, and also between players and clubs. When he is called on to settle disputes, he tries to get a gentlemen’s agreement instead of going to a hearing. He attends tribunal meetings, while managing to somehow also find time to be a league representative on the North East Umpires Board. He also attends a different football match each weekend so he can see every club play. This gives him a greater understanding of their workings on game day and allows him to answer questions from members and spectators.
In his time, Merv has seen plenty of young men take the leap into the big time from humble sports grounds like Osborne and Holbrook. In 2002, when Merv was re-elected for his third term as president, two players from the league were drafted to the Sydney Swans: Adam Schneider (Osborne) and Henry Playfair (Holbrook). This was a special occasion for the area. It was repeated in 2010, when Sam Schulz (Culcairn) and Mark Whiley (Finley) were picked up by the AFL’s newest club, Greater Western Sydney Giants.
While a lot of the focus for Merv th
ese days is on the committee, he has been just as successful on the field. By the time he retired from playing the game he had notched up a record 302 games for the Walla Walla Football Club, twelve games with North Albury and twenty for the Osborne Football Club.
Not only had he set records for games played but he won many awards in his career, including the Hume League’s prestigious best and fairest ‘Azzi Medal’, a feat he achieved on not one but two occasions (1961 and 1964).
It’s not often you meet true heroes from both the playing and administrative side of sport. Merv is certainly an inspiration. I often wonder where he gets the stamina to be so actively involved over the years. Aside from football, he still plays and coaches both social and competitive tennis and croquet, and can regularly be found feeding cattle, droving stock or in a shearing shed.
When Merv introduced Kevin Sheedy to the stage on that grey day back in 2008, he said ‘[Kevin] is a man with a real positive attitude who always finds the good in people.’
The same words can be said about the man behind the Hume Football League.
The subbies forward pack
by Paul Dagarin
TEN–SIX DOWN. SERIOUSLY, the backs have been a nightmare all day. There’s two minutes left. Five-metre scrum, our put-in. Anton’s at number eight. As the front rows form, he surveys his options. There’s a sizeable blind, but Gumwood’s chubby halfback is covering. Anton’s got to get that big fella onto the open. Got to get him open and go the blind.
Anton yells out, Red, red! You don’t have to be Dan Brown to break that code — it means we’re going right. Ah-ha, but we’re not! If Anton can convince his own team he’s going right, then he can surely get Chubby Half to go that way.
Chubby Half screams out: Watch eight–nine left! He’s playing with the bait, but hasn’t taken it yet. He stands his ground on the blind and gives the back of his neck a rub. Anton needs to add value to the ruse, so just as well he has a flair for drama. He’s auditioning tomorrow morning for the part of Biff in the local theatre group’s upcoming stint of Death of a Salesman.
Anton turns to his halfback, Milan, who also happens to be his brother-in-law. He tells him to stand off on the right. Mils meets his eye and doesn’t so much raise his eyebrows as open his eyes a touch wider than usual. You see, at the back of a scrum, in some parts of the world — and certainly around these parts — an eyebrow-raise is considered telegraphing your move. You may as well wheel a whiteboard out there. But Mils is canny. And he’s a nuggety little rascal too. A nuggety, sniping, canny pocket rocket.
The locks bind. The lock on the left, Johnston, is a real beanpole. He’s painted the AC/DC logo on his headgear with Wite-Out. Last season, his dad drowned. But Johnston still played that Saturday. We dedicated the game to his dad and the opposition joined us in a minute’s silence. They came up behind us and put their hands on our shoulders. Johnston took every line-out and even drove over from a ruck. We all drank in the sheds that night. Had about a hundred pizzas delivered. The Kiwi boys pulled out a guitar. Of course. Amazing how good we sound when we don’t care how good we sound.
Our Argentinean loosehead, Luis, calls the hit and the front rows engage. Mils puts the ball in and in a flash he’s back-pedalled to the right. Gumwood’s halfback plods across to mark him. Yes — he’s fallen for it! But the front rows have gone straight down. Lu’s sitting on the ground, scraping mud out of his studs. Last week he got married. His wife, Kelsie, is a flight attendant and a complete spunk. They met two years ago on Mad Monday. Kelsie speaks Spanish. Apparently all flight attendants need to be able to speak another language — even if they’re only flying from Darwin to Gove. It’s just part of the job.
Hold them up, front row. It’s Anton. Keep them up, boys. No mention of the rightie move. He doesn’t want to overplay his hand. He doesn’t want to push the bluff.
The front row forms again and there’s some words with Gumwood. Some bleep’s calling someone a bleep. No one bleeping cares.
Actually, that mouthy bleep is Dion, our featherweight hooker. He’s a feisty devil. Broke his hand earlier in the season and turned up to play with his cast wrapped up in the cut-off leg of an old wetsuit. The ref told him he must be joking. But Mal Meninga was always playing with a broken arm! Yeah, said the ref, but he didn’t have to bind in the front row, did he? Dion couldn’t believe it. He stood there for ages with disbelief pulling his jaw down and this black-and-orange neoprene around his hand flapping in the breeze. Still had the zipper on it. He had to be led off the field. His arm’s okay now, though. His throws are spot-on and he’s just superb in the tight-loose. Scoops up the ball and sets off on some great little runs. He makes tackles too — right out on the wings. Obviously you lose a bit in the scrums, but that’s okay. Well, it’s not really okay, but you can’t have everything.
The tighthead is Faielu. He’s new to the club. We needed some go-forward and he’s got it, boy. But he’s sold his Sydney scaffolding business for a fortune and is on his way to Tonga to start an eco-tourism venture. Construction has already begun on these great Thai-style bungalows on stilts that his wife designed. But the site was invaded by mangrove crabs and some hairy American backpackers have been camping nearby, smoking pot and generally being annoying. Faielu’s anxious to get back over there and sort it out.
Big scrum. Huge scrum! Now, piggies! It’s the blindside and skipper, Deano. He knows exactly what Anton and Mils are up to. He’s worked with Mils on and off for years, and three years ago they started their own architecture and building firm. It’s going really well.
The hit goes on and it’s a beauty. Eight together, like an enormous fist. No discomfort. No pain. Just timing. Gumwood shunts straight back a foot and Anton knows there are no excuses. In the back of his throat, joy mixes with the fear of failure.
Michelle the physio is going berserk on the sidelines. She’s waving a big pseudo-NRL flag made from an old double sheet like it weighs nothing. Like it’s an enormous tissue. She’s incredibly buff. There’s a mob of kids squirting water bottles so it looks like skyrockets going off. The lower graders running the sausage sizzle are going nuts and clicking their tongs and ignoring the onions that have fallen into the burners. The general feeling that something is happening has mingled with burned onions and is filling the air.
Fiona’s running the touch; she has to remain neutral but it’s pretty hard. Her boyfriend, Adrian, is playing at outside-centre and her old boyfriend, Johnston, is at lock. God, a couple of years ago she would never have believed it possible. It’s amazing how life turns out.
The under-tens are all sitting up on the roof of the shed where the club locks up the tackle bags and scrum machine and does some training in wet weather. One day one of those kids is going to fall through that tin roof, thinks Mils’s wife, Mary-Anne, who is with her dog on the far touch. She’s got one of those plastic ball-throwers with an old tennis ball in its socket; the dog is just fixated on that ball even though Mary-Anne is lost in the game and has barely chucked it since Gumwood scored that bloody intercept. She rubs her eyes. That smoke is really irritating.
Mils feeds the scrum, falls back on the open and starts screaming for it. Deano pats Luis on his ribs. Get up, mate. Up, mate. He’s whispering. Lu’s been getting a hard time at loosehead all game, but he feels something here. Johnston had been packing too low, slipping right down onto the back of Lu’s thighs and it was jackknifing things. But Johnston’s right now. Right on his bum and in line with his spine. Lu is an oak dining-room table. The push is on. The whole friggin’ scrum is singing. Estupendo! Lu can feel the opposition tighthead almost lift off the ground. He moves him back, but not too far because he doesn’t want it to go through the ninety. He’s in control now — we all are.
Mils runs across to the blindside screaming for the ball. Anton picks up from the back and goes. Deano breaks and goes with him. There’s a slight southerly and it’ll get pretty cold about ten minutes after the final whistle. You can feel the heaviness of the air
already. But you’re enveloped in your work now. It could be hailing and it wouldn’t really bother you. There’s a graze down most of your left thigh that you got cleaning out a ruck on the rock-hard cricket-pitch. You know it’s going to sting tonight. But that’s tonight. Right now, the phoenix palms that line the park are reaching up and leaning this way and that, like they are contesting a lineout. All Gumwood’s kids are playing on the scrum machine. The wind’s pushing spent strips of electrical tape in cartwheels down the sidelines. We could be onto something here. We’re gone. We’re away. We’re free.
Champion by chance: Patrick Johnson
by Tim Gavel
IT IS DIFFICULT to imagine a life more determined by serendipity than Patrick Johnson’s.
To this day, he remains the only Australian runner to better ten seconds for 100 metres, and yet the achievement remains obscured in the sub-culture of athletics. He is not on billboards promoting a sponsor’s brand; his name isn’t as widely known as athletes who have achieved far less; and most would be hard pressed to recognise him if they passed him in the street.
Not that he is deterred by this apparent snub. Patrick’s lack of concern about broader acknowledgement of his achievement is probably, in part, due to his laidback personality.
But if it hadn’t been for two chance encounters, Australia would be still searching for a sprinter to top that elusive ten-second mark.
Johnson was destined to be fast. He was born on a speed boat en route to Cairns Base Hospital on 26 September 1972. He should have been a swimmer; he was raised on an eleven-metre mackerel fishing trawler, which his father, Patrick Senior, worked off the coast of Queensland. Patrick attended ten different schools up and down the Queensland coast, often swimming or rowing to shore each day to attend school.
His dad emigrated from County Carlow in Ireland in 1952. His mother, Pearl, was an Aboriginal woman from the Kaanju tribe near Lockhart River, Cape York. She died in a car crash when Patrick was only 18 months old. Patrick Senior decided to raise Patrick on the trawler and placed his other son, Ryan, in the care of his wife’s family. Ryan later died of a stroke. His brother’s death devastated Patrick.
ABC Grandstand's Unsung Sporting Heroes Page 3