 |
| Footy Almanac, Malarkey Publications, Fitzroy North, 2013: p 140 |
The Spectre of Captain
Kirk
This match had a great
trailer. Saturday night. Two decent teams. The battle of the apprentices, Lyon
versus Longmire. And, not least, the return of Captain Kirk to the SCG. I
bristled on Friday when I read some minor headline: Kirk plots Sydney’s
downfall. I guess with five kids and healthy ambition, a job in the west
was worth more than blood.
The O’Reilly was full and
buzzing. The regulars were in below. And a band of unknown blokes in the
row behind. While Row U counted White’s ten goals for the IIs, the return of
Mummy, the inclusion of the Irishman, the late withdrawal of Mattner and the
curse of the timing on Fyfe’s return, the blokes behind cushioned the start of
the game with a set of their own predictions: Nick Malceski for most
touches, Swans by less than 39.
From the start, it was hard
to find the thread; nothing much was shaping. Some lovely goals for Fyfe and
Ballantyne, a dubious looking workload for Teddy. Hannebery and Everitt popping
up. The O’Reilly boys struggled with binoculars – who’s their number 9?
De Boer. This was to be a numbers game. And most of them around the ball. I
could hear the familiar whispers – ugly, dour. We defended it
back then but we’ve become accustomed to something more than Cortinas now. Max
noticed that Goodes runs like their new Labradoodle when he’s stolen a ball in
the park. Twenty minutes gone in the first, Jude snapped a beauty. I could just
see Kirky bounding down to the city end on duck-footed tiptoes to give him a
pat and a slap. Give it Nick, they yelled from behind.
Seven minutes into the
second, we hit the lead through the Canadian. And then scoreless minutes, lots
of them. I looked down at my empty notebook. The Dockers’ control of the centre
was beginning to look like insider trading. The ring leader from the row
behind was raving like he was in the front bar, about anything but football.
And then up popped Hannebery with two. And three. Nick, Nick, Nick they
slurred from behind when he was nowhere near the ball. It’s hard to watch a
game when you have a shape in mind. They had the story told and dollars on it,
all they needed was the content to catch up to its ending. Hard to see what’s
really happening when you’re looking for something. I closed the notebook.
The Premiership quarter was
the Turnover quarter for the red and white. Is there a collective noun for
turnovers? I want to say rattle, a rattle of turnovers, something of rapid
succession that sounds like death. Max noticed that McGlynn runs like their new
Labradoodle when he’s been given a chicken leg. The commentary from behind was
cheering for Malceski when he took off from half back. We were cheering for
Jack when he kicked the score to 50. Bet Kirky liked that one.
His story was the one about the mentally ferocious
captain, the Buddhist yogi who tackled the midfield by night. His culture was
blood; put in, put in, put in. The roll of the dice that he was always throwing
himself.
Some of the saturated folk
behind were splitting before the end. See you at the wedding. What odds
for that show: three years and she gets the house? Jetta surprised from
a Freo kick-in and goaled from 45. McGlynn stretched the lead to 27. Fyfe and
more Fyfe and then Mayne. As he closed the lead to 12, a perfect half moon
smiled just below the top lip of the O’Reilly stand and I wondered if it wasn’t
ironic. Another and another. Beginner’s mind. Johnson’s kick was punched from
behind and scores were level. Johnson’s kick was marked from behind and scores
were … level.
No comments:
Post a Comment