A Most Un-Collingwood Story

by williamschack

A note from the author:

I started this silly blog in 2011 – when blogs were still kind of a thing – after I struggled to write about the 2010 premiership 8 months after the fact.  I hoped that by documenting each game I might have a better document of that magical time if Collingwood ever did win another.  It was never meant to be an analytical blog or even one with good writing, but just one that documented the emotional roller coaster of following Collingwood.  

Life eventually got in the way. As did the fact that Collingwood struggles to win premierships. It has been largely dormant for the last 10 years, aside from the odd post here and there to recognise a glorious finals victory or a traumatic Grand Final loss. It reached a massive audience of about 50 regular readers. 

In 2023 I tried to keep an offline journal that documented each game.  I lasted the first three games before life and planning for my wedding got in the way. 

On Saturday 30 September 2023, Collingwood won a close Grand Final for the first time in 120 years.  Now feels like the perfect time to shut down this blog, but not before one final post to commemorate the most amazing of days. Words will never capture the utter euphoria that we felt on that day. It was perfect. But I will at least have this record of it. 

Thanks for reading. Go Pies.

THE MOMENT

The ghosts of Collingwood’s past had come back to haunt us. Jarrod Berry spun away from Nick Daicos and kicked it towards the Wayne Harmes pocket. Charlie Cameron and Brayden Maynard wrestled, Maynard slipped over. Charlie tapped the ball toward goal, evaded Isaac Quaynor, took possession, steadied, snapped it through the goals and into the Ponsford Stand.  Brisbane led by 2 points with 5 minutes and 31 seconds left.
I sat there in silence with my head in my hands feeling helpless. My heart was broken and I did not know if I would be able to piece it back together this time.  

Mason Cox, Nick Daicos, Scott Pendlebury and Jordan De Goey stood in the middle of the MCG. History said that this story would end with Collingwood fans in tears.  Cox tapped it down to Daicos, who evaded a Neale tackle and handpassed to Pendlebury. Time often stands still for him, but time – more time than after the Sheed goal, but not much more – was running out for Collingwood.  He snapped it inside 50 to Miohcek. Gardiner spoiled and punched it back to centre half forward.  Daicos caught the ball in mid-air. He intended to punch it forward, but heard Jordan De Goey say ‘to your right’.  He handpassed as directed, slightly behind the moving De Goey.  Daicos’ feet touched the ground as De Goey spun to grab the ball just outside 50.  He took a few steps and launched the most important kick of his life.  The ball flew through the goals and the crowd erupted in utter disbelief. Brisbane’s lead was erased in 21 seconds. ‘Collingwood’s stars just went and wrenched the cup back’. This was not in the script. It was the stuff of legend.

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BEFORE THE GAME

I walked to the ground from my apartment in Clifton Hill, the northernmost suburb of the former City of Collingwood. Over the Eastern Freeway footbridge, into Abbotsford, and through Victoria Park, where some of the remnants of Collingwood’s storied past still stand.  Down Johnston St, past the building where John Wren’s Tote once stood.  

I turned left onto Smith St, giving knowing nods to fellow Pies supporters as I headed south. I had started the morning by reading Greg Baum’s article on Collingwood’s tortured history in Grand Finals. A history that that is an almost unbearable weight on Collingwood fans. I stopped at the Smith St Newsagency to buy a bottle of water. The newsagent asked me if I also wanted to buy a lucky ticket in the Saturday Lotto. 
‘No’, I said, because if I had any luck today it would be well and truly used up by the time of the draw. 

I continued down Smith St and dropped $5 into the open hat of the man sitting outside of Coles, just as I had the last four times I had taken this route before a Collingwood game (all of which Collingwood won). Past the Grace Darling I went, where the meeting to establish the Collingwood Football Club was reportedly held.  Over Victoria Pde and into East Melbourne, where the houses suddenly become grand and the citizens of the former City of Collingwood were not welcome. A place they would only venture when Collingwood was playing at the MCG, often in September. 

As I walked down Clarendon St the MCG came into my view, I was overcome with nerves. They had first kicked in on the Saturday morning after the Preliminary Final.  On top of the usual worries, I also stressed about the potential Daicos suspension, then the McStay injury, then the opposition who had beaten us six times in a row, then the incessant complaining about Grand Final tickets despite it going according to plan.  I had never enjoyed a Collingwood Grand Final week less than this one, but by Thursday I had reached a point where my mind was not constantly racing and my stomach was not churning. But as the Colosseum stood before me, everything I had done my best to suppress came back and bubbled over the surface. The enormity of what lay ahead could not be ignored. 

Upon reflection, those nerves have lived through me all of my life. Before 2002 (2003, really), I did not think a Collingwood Premiership was possible. Then 2010 happened but I still wanted more. I wanted one more for Malthouse and then one more for Buckley. Tom Hawkins & Dom Sheed had other ideas. I felt guilty for not being satisfied with one Premiership when I knew so many people have experienced less. 
My obsession for one more Premiership became somewhat unhealthy, so when Nathan Buckley stood down in mid 2021, six months after the Do Better report was released, and nine months after the Collingwood fire sale trade period, I said to myself I just wanted one more before I died. No caveats. I did not care who was coach or what the circumstances were.

After the semi finals were played, it became apparent to Collingwood fans that three clubs who had caused us pain (Giants, and either Brisbane or Carlton) were in our way. If we did win the Premiership then the demons caused by at least two those opponents would be exorcised. An opportunity that might never arise again stood before us. In our Pies group chat I declared: if Collingwood wins this Premiership, I will die in peace.   

I acknowledge that it is stupid to let a football game dictate how content one feels upon their death bed. Irrespective of its stupidity, and with all the usual caveats – and the extra caveat that I also happened to have all of my real real life dreams come true in 2023 by marrying the love of my life – that is how I felt.
And all of a sudden I was at the MCG, lining up to enter and watch Collingwood play its 45th Grand Final. 15 wins, 2 draws, 27 losses. It felt like my entire Collingwood supporting life had been leading up to this moment. 

Our seats were in m56, the bottom of the Olympic, which turned out to be in the sun for the whole game except for the last 20 minutes.  Sitting with me was my sister, who was living in London in 2010 and missed out on the Grand Final.  She returned home in the Grand Final week of 2011, only for Geelong to break our hearts in Mick Malthouse’s last game. She sat next to me in 2018 and witnessed the Dom Sheed goal. Collingwood lost almost all of the games we attended with each other as children, but we have been lucky enough to attend the 2003 Qualifying Final victory and the 2018 Preliminary Final together. Next to her was her husband, a recent convert who took over our father’s Legends membership seat following the 2018 Grand Final when Dad decided that his heart could not take it anymore. I did ask Dad if he wanted me to buy him a ticket, but the offer was declined. I would have liked for him to see this game live, but as I said, no caveats.  And in any event he left the 2018 Grand Final mid-way through the third quarter (when we were in front!) so he likely would miss the moments even if he attended the game.   Before Kiss almost melted in the heat, we went over to the Ponsford Stand to see our Pies friends. We were smiling at each other and talking, but our nerves were so strong we were all so distracted. We agreed to meet out the front of the Ponsford if Collingwood won. We headed back to our seats hoping we’d see them in a few hours. 

THE GAME

Collingwood started well, just as it had in the first two finals.  Nick Daicos followed in his father’s footsteps from 1990 and kicked the first, closely followed by Bobby Hill’s first of the day. The team was renowned for its late comebacks in 2022, but in 2023 its good starts were its trademark.  Brisbane seemed a pace off, but after successfully reeling in a 5-goal margin against Carlton the week before, no margin would feel safe.  

Brisbane went inside 50 only 7 times for the quarter, their second-worst quarter for the season, but still kicked three goals.  Zac Bailey kicked two, with the second being one of the great Grand Final goals. He smothered the ball off Mason Cox’s boot (arguably it should have been a 50m penalty), before collecting the ball in the pocket and evading two tacklers and snapping it through.  Had the award not been already given, it would have won Goal of the Year. 

Late in the quarter Nathan Murphy was bumped in the jaw by Hugh McCluggage.  He had played well up until that point, but he walked off the ground in the arms of trainers. Sadly, we all knew he would not return to the field. 

Mihocek put us back in front with a beautiful goal from the pocket – which has somehow become lost amongst all the great moments of the day – before Jordan De Goey kicked a goal after the siren from outside 50 with his first disposal of the game. 

Brisbane played their best football of the day in the second quarter. Charlie Cameron kicked a goal in the first minute, moments after Country Roads was inexplicably played over the ground’s PA during the quarter-time break. He set up Hugh McGluggage after they won the next centre clearance, and then kicked another himself shortly after.  By the time Lincoln McCarthy kicked his ‘Great McCarthy’ goal from the pocket, the lead was 13 points and Brisbane had kicked 5 of the last 6 goals.  It felt like our worst fears were being realised the Lions might run away with it. 

But Jack Crisp and Bobby Hill kept Collingwood in the game.  Hill, who spent the morning watching Cyril Rioli highlights, played the best game of his career and the second quarter was his crowning moment.  He kicked one against the flow early in the quarter, marking a perfectly weighted pass from Tom Mitchell.  When the margin was 13 points, Crisp kicked his now customary 50 metre goal from the Olympic Stand flank following yet another perfectly weighted pass from Mitchell.  The fightback was on, then Bobby Hill took the mark of his life.  

Maynard won a free on the back flank and kicked the ball into the centre of the ground. Jeremy Howe did not break stride as he marked and passed inside 50.  Hill ran back with the flight and launched himself onto Brandon Starcevich’s shoulders with the sun in his eyes.  It bounced out of his arms before he clutched it again with his second grab. He said after the game he could not see it properly until the second grab, but jumped for it anyway. He sealed the moment with his third goal and the scores were level. 

Bobby’s fourth followed a wobbly inside 50 from Lipinski.  The ball landed on top of Hill and Ryan Lester in the Shane Warne Stand pocket.  Hill nudged Lester slightly out of the contest and almost marked, but it slipped through his fingers and bounced on the ground.  He quickly recovered to collect the ball and then faked a snap on his right before spinning around onto his left and kicking his fourth. 

When the ball was thrown in on the wing with 24 seconds left in the half, the scores were even at 8.9 to 9.3. Nick Daicos, in his 47th game, showed why he will likely turn out to be the greatest Collingwood player I have ever seen – indeed, he already might be. With a shake of the hips and slight change in his angle, he managed to move the ball through 4 opposition players from a dead spot near the boundary line to Will Hoskin-Elliot on the forward flank. Will passed it quickly to Crisp, who kicked a goal after the siren and put the Pies in front by 1 goal. 

We had just witnessed Australian football at its very best. The game was being played at breakneck speed with skill that you usually do not see in a grand final. 18 goals, 6 lead changes.  Upon reflection, it was the best first half of a Grand Final ever played.  

We retreated to the shade at half-time and drew a collective breath.  Mark Seymour played one of footy’s unofficial anthems, Holy Grail, which was good but also gave me flashbacks of the 02/03 Grand Finals.  We were surprised at how good we were playing.  The most disappointing day I have experienced in football was watching the 2003 Grand Final in Geelong with my father and his friend Bernie Slattery.  We entered that game with too much optimism, having beaten Brisbane only three weeks earlier, and our hearts were crushed by halftime.  I was so worried that history would repeat itself 20 years later, and it seemed for a few moments in the second quarter that it might. But we had proven that we could win this thing, now we just had to go and do it. 

The second half played out differently as the heat set in and the game became more of a grind. There were only seven more goals kicked, with Brisbane scoring 4 and Collingwood 3.  

The Lions’ first for the half came from a questionable 50-metre penalty against Oleg Markov and against the run of play. The second was forced through the defence at the wing and then the overlap play on our defenders meant they did not stand a chance at stopping it.  

The only Collingwood goal for the quarter was a Scott Pendlebury set shot. Bobby Hill passed it to him as he was walking into his run-up for a goal. It felt like a mistake from Bobby, given set shots are one of Pendles’ few weaknesses. That it went through when Collingwood had already kicked six points for the quarter is a testament to his strength of mind. It was one of his greatest moments ever, but the fourth quarter turned out to be his crowning achievement. 

And so at the final break of the season, Collingwood had a four-point lead.  In the toilets, there were lots of men screaming ‘Go Pies’. My brother-in-law saw one man gather a crowd around him and give an impassioned three-quarter-time speech that rivalled Allen Jeans in 1966. As the siren sounded to mark the start of the final quarter, I wondered how I would survive this.  I felt like the weight of Collingwood’s history might just cave in on me and do me in once and for all.  It felt like life and death, but as Bill Shankly said: football is much more important than that.

The first 18 minutes of near misses in the fourth quarter were excruciating. Similar to the other finals, with no goals late there was no outlet for my emotions, and the tension made my heart feel like it might burst and I might pass out. There were so many great moments of play, which were mostly influenced by Scott Pendlebury who ended up with 11 touches for the quarter and played one of the best quarters of his career, but we just could not kick a goal.  Then when Charlie Cameron showed his class it felt like the damn wall was busted. With Brisbane in front with 5 minutes and 31 seconds left on the clock, I felt as low as I have ever felt in my life.  We needed a miracle. 

We got two. First, there was the aforementioned moment when Collingwood’s stars went and wrenched the cup back. Then Steele Sidebottom kicked the biggest and best goal of his career.  He marked the ball on the wing, and Jarrod Berry decided that it would be a good time to tackle him to the ground. The umpire correctly paid a 50-metre penalty that brought Steele just outside 50. He needed to kick further than I can ever remember him kicking. Everyone thought he would feign a shot at goal and centre it, but he launched the ball from about 52 metres out and it landed over the fence. Having witnessed the greatest Collingwood goal I have ever seen only moments earlier, this was the craziest and most unlikely goal I have ever seen.  Two goals in just over a minute in the dying stages of a close Grand Final has not been Collingwood’s story in the past. But this was a new script for a new era. 

It was not over though.  There was 4.23 still left on the clock. An eternity.  Minutes passed and we were holding on. Then Hugh McCluggage got out of jail as he evaded Lipinski in the Wayne Harmes pocket, kept it just centimetres inside the line, and passed to Joe Daniher.  He immediately played on and kicked a goal.  Fans around me screamed that it was outside the boundary despite being 100 metres away.  We just assume that a pass in that pocket late in a Grand Final must be out of bounds.   

The margin was 4 points with 1:33 to play.  In real time, I knew there was less than two minutes, but no more detail than that. Usually, there is someone around you with the time on their phone, but no one could get their phone to work. It was utter mayhem. I saw Lachie Neale get tripped and thought the umpire missed it or put his whistle away.  The next thing I knew Nick Daicos was kicking it out of 50 to Will Hoskin Elliot who was near the boundary.  It was such a calm and measured kick from Daicos under the intense pressure.  Each time I have rewatched it I just cannot believe that this man plays in my football team. The ball kept moving, I did not know what had happened, but I later found out Will Hoskin Elliot played on almost immediately and his pass to Tom Mitchell was called not 15. The ball was booted up to our end but repelled by Harris Andrews, who was one of the best players on the field in the last quarter, after being properly quelled in the first three quarters. Then the umpire paid too high to Tom Mitchell. We all jumped out of our seats. We knew there were no more than 30 seconds left as we could see the sign on the bench. I felt like I might pass out. The ball was kicked our way and Will Hoskin Elliot banged it forward.  I did not hear the siren, I saw Collingwood players celebrating.  I saw fans celebrating. And then I heard the siren. Collingwood had won by four points.  Its closest Grand Final victory since 1903 against Fitzroy.  The feeling was indescribable. 

I jumped and hugged everyone in sight.  I hugged my sister extra tight – we had done it! I called my family on video call but could not hear a thing.  Tears welled in my eyes and I felt in shock.  We sang the theme song the loudest we ever had.  The sunlight was fading at the MCG and Collingwood had won its 16th premiership. It was magical. 

THE END

And the magic continued afterwards. There was Darcy Moore’s heart-warming acceptance speech in which he honoured the past players, so many of whom fell agonisingly close so often, including his father who was waiting patiently to hand him the premiership cup. Craig McRae announcing to the world that his wife had a baby girl that morning (we later found out they named her Maggie). Peter & Darcy Moore hugging on the dais. Craig and Darcy holding the cup in the air with black & white confetti falling from the sky. ‘Heroes’ playing on the speakers. The slow lap of honour. Hugs with our friends outside the Ponsford Stand. Speaking to Dad on the phone to find out how much of the game he could watch before his heart burst (he missed the last two Collingwood goals, but saw the ending). Celebratory beers as we walked down Smith St, shouting ‘Go Pies’ and hugging anyone we could. Watching the replay at the Birmingham and sitting there with all of our Pies friends and simply soaking it all in. Singing the Collingwood theme song & We Are The Champions at the top of our lungs. Having more drinks at the Yarra, where Collingwood’s players used to get changed before games in the 1890s while the grandstand was still being built. Walking home through Victoria Park, where some faithful had gone to pay their respects. Watching the replay on my couch at 1:00am.  I felt like I was floating on air through all of that, and that magic still hasn’t stopped. And it never will, because this was the most unexpected and pleasurable premiership I could have ever imagined. 

The trauma of losing Grand Finals, particularly close ones, is something Collingwood fans carry with them. Neil Crompton’s only goal for the 64 season, Barry Breen’s point, Ted Hopkins off the bench, Wayne Harmes’ tap. These are things I have known as long as I can remember. In my time, we have added to that with Akermanis at the front and Dom Sheed from the boundary. If I ever have kids, they’ll always know about those moments too. But now we have our own moment – or moments. A new chapter has been written that is the opposite to the script that my football club has followed for so much of its existence.  

This story seemed impossible when we finished 17th on the ladder in 2021. Craig McRae has taken us on the most remarkable journey in which we have won 17 of his 51 games by less than 10 points (losing 4 by less than 10 points). A finals series in which we won 3 agonising games by a cumulative margin of 12 points.  He has re-defined what it means to be a Collingwood supporter. So while a new season will begin and many more painful Collingwood losses will be lived through, this Premiership and the beautiful memory of it can never be taken away.  Because I saw ‘The Handpass’ to Jordan De Goey who repaid our faith.  I saw Scott Pendlebury play the quarter of his life. I saw Steele Sidebottom kick the ball longer than he ever has. I saw Collingwood players in ecstasy at the end of a close Grand Final for the first time in 120 years. I saw black and white confetti rain down on us at the MCG. I stood in the Olympic Stand with my head in my hands and tears pouring out of me uncontrollably. I felt the weight of Collingwood’s history lifting off my shoulders. I lived through this most un-Collingwood story. Now I can die in peace.

A Preliminary Final Victory

by williamschack

A note from the author

I wrote only a few lines on this victory during Grand Final week. It was the most stressful Grand Final week I have experienced. I could not concentrate long enough to put together anything worth reading. I put this together well after the fact, and it will have to make do.

I arrived at the ground with dark memories of the 2019 Preliminary Final at the forefront of my mind. There is an eeriness to a one sided crowd. When things go well, it’s great. When things go badly, the quietness can be worse than the screams of opposition fans. And apart from a short 15 minute period, things went very badly in that 2019 Preliminary Final.  I hoped for a game that would erase the painful memory of that failure.  

Collingwood kicked a couple of early goals but then ground to a halt. It was a story that Collingwood knew all too well from the Qualifying Final.  It was almost a complete domination of pressure, clearances, inside 50s and possession of the ball. However, they could not capitalise on the scoreboard and that is the only stat that counts in finals. It was a story that Melbourne knew all too well from the Qualifying Final, or perhaps not given the way they spoke about their loss. 

Collingwood caught the yips in the second quarter and the Giants kicked four unanswered goals. It sent the 95,000 Collingwood fans into the aforementioned eerie silence, with the 2000 fans dressed in orange punctuating the silence with chants of ‘Giants’.  
When Toby Greene kicked the Giants’ fifth unanswered goal early in the third quarter,  we were well and truly in 2019 territory.  But Collingwood counter-punched like it had on so many occasions in the last two years.
The fightback was typified by Oleg Markov’s one-on-one victory against Callum Brown on the centre wing. Having come off his man and saved an almost certain shot at goal for the Giants, Oleg quickly rebounded and kicked inside 50 where McStay out-marked the rarely beaten Sam Taylor.  That one play demonstrated why Collingwood’s recruits in the off-season had been so crucial to its success in 2023. Sadly, McStay walked off the ground shortly after with an injured MCL and did not return. 

When Mason Cox, who loves a Friday night Preliminary Final at the MCG, kicked a goal to put Collingwood up by six points, there was 14:43 left on the clock.  The remainder of the game felt like it took an eternity and – by Collingwood’s design – it turned into somewhat of a rugby game. Neither team could break free, but with 5 minutes to go Jesse Hogan goaled and reduced the margin to 1 point.  

For the remainder of the game I felt like I was having an outer body experience. I was willing the siren to sound, but like in a dream where you try to run and your legs won’t move, I was helpless, and everything was happening in slow motion. 

I saw the ball fly high in the air toward the Giants’ goal from a Toby Greene kick deep in the pocket.  From our vantage point, it looked like it was going through and our collective hearts sank. A close Preliminary Final loss two years in a row, and our third in 5 years, would be too much for our hearts to take. Amazingly, Steele Sidebottom marked it on the line saving both a goal and a point. The rugby game continued and time ticked away. 

And then Josh Daicos was on the wing chasing the bouncing ball. He had two Giants players chasing him.  There were 25 seconds left. The season was on the line.  Daicos collected the ball, moved away from our goal to shake the tackler, before turning back towards the Ponsford.  He kicked to the flank and the crowd in the Shane Warne Stand rose as the ball got closer to Hoskin-Elliot.  He marked, and from there we knew we had won.  The fans in the background were either hugging or directing Hoskin-Elliot to take his time.  There were only 12 seconds left. He took some time and then passed to Bobby Hill to shave a few more seconds off.  Lessons learnt from the past.  The siren sounded and it was utter delirium. 95,000 black and white fans went berserk. The Ponsford Stand was as good as it has ever been.  The pain of 2019 was erased.  I saw a fan whose reserved seat used to be behind us in M34 and went over to him.  He is a tough and aggressive man.  He had tears in eyes.  I gave him a hug.  
‘We still have to win one more”, said the man standing behind us. 

After the game we walked to the Mountain View Hotel in Richmond.  The former pub of the late Ron Barrassi, the man who loved winning Grand Finals against Collingwood more than any other. Me and my Pies friends sat around a table with pints of beer in our hands and smiles on our faces. The Collingwood theme song played over the speakers and the entire pub, save for a few Giants fans in the corner, sang along.  The anxiousness had not yet arisen, but it was in the post. Anxiety about grand final tickets, despite them being guaranteed. Anxiety about injuries, which along with suspensions we just cannot seem to avoid before a Grand Final. Anxiety about Brisbane, who had beaten us six times in a row. Or, dare we say it, anxiety about playing Carlton, who in Grand Final contests had beaten us five times in a row. Those anxious nerves would not arise until the next day, however, and at that moment it was just me and my friends enjoying Collingwood’s sixth Preliminary Final victory in our living memory. We had won the Preliminary Final – by one point – and were into the Grand Final. We were on the cusp of history and could almost touch our dreams with our hands.

One Against the Old Enemy

by williamschack

Note from the author:

I jotted down some lines on this wonderful victory on the weekend of the Semi Finals. It was an intense night and my emotions were running high for weeks afterwards, meaning I did not get around to finalising it until now.

It ended in glory, with me hugging anyone in the Ponsford Stand that I could.  It started in the rain, as the heavens opened up on my way to the ground. And in between it was traumatic, exhilarating, painful, exciting and terrifying. 

It was Collingwood’s first final against the old enemy, Melbourne, since 1989.  In my lifetime, the Magpies-Demons rivalry has not been as bitter as it was back in the 50s and 60s when the Demons reigned supreme. In recent years, however, the bitterness has returned and given the aftermath of this match there is an argument that Melbourne is now Collingwood’s biggest current rival.  

The build up to this game was big, with many predicting the winner would go on to win the flag as they would have a favourable run into the Grand Final. The winner would get a week off and most likely avoid the path of having to play Brisbane at the Gabba in the Preliminary Final, avoid playing a rampant Carlton in the Semi Final, and would host an interstate team in the Preliminary Final.  It was a similar scenario to last year’s Qualifying Final, which ended in heartache. 

The Ponsford Stand was full when I arrived at 6:00pm with many rain drenched supporters, including an unusually large cohort of Demons fans on this side of the MCC fence. The rain cleared by the first bounce and barely returned.
Collingwood started strong with Bobby Hill kicking the first two goals and sending the crowd wild.  Melbourne won the third centre clearance and Angus Brayshaw kicked inside 50.  Brayden Maynard jumped high to smother. On his way down Maynard’s shoulder hit Brayshaw in the head and knocked him unconscious.  Jack Viney tried to fight Maynard who ripped Viney’s jumper in response.  There was a bay full of Melbourne fans to my left and they were very angry and yelled at us as though we had knocked him out. The Collingwood fans around me looked very keen for some violence and started to chant Collingwood in their faces. It was not a good look while Brayshaw was still lying unconscious on the ground. I decided to not look to my left for the rest of the night, but the fans in both bays made it their mission to antagonise each other all night.

Brayshaw left the field on a stretcher and raised his hands to show he was somewhat alright. Thankfully, some Collingwood fans clapped him off, and Maynard and Murphy checked on him. Maynard was booed for the remainder of the night, as was Viney, despite him doing nothing wrong. Given the spoils promised to the victor, I was already incredibly nervous. Following this incident, I felt physically sick and on the verge of vomiting for the remainder of the match. 

The game continued, with Collingwood having most of the play and Jack Crisp sent Collingwood further ahead with a long bomb from a set shot outside 50, that went well beyond what I thought his range was for a set shot. At quarter time it was 4.2 to 1.0 and Melbourne had barely given a yelp. However, after Mihocek kicked the first for the second quarter, Melbourne began to get a stranglehold on the game.  Collingwood could not move the ball forward with any fluency and was stuck kicking down the line to the inevitable punch or intercept from Gawn, May or Lever.  Yet Melbourne kicked only one goal and the score at halftime was Collingwood  5.3 to Melbourne’s  2.4. 

In the third term, Collingwood put the foot down.  McStay, who had been positively awful for the first half, kicked two in 5 minutes. Then Jordan De Goey, who was born to play finals, kicked a typical De Goey goal from 50.  However, at 22 minutes into the third quarter, that would turn out to be Collingwood’s last goal. 

From there, the ball stayed almost exclusively in the Demons forward half.  In the final quarter, there were 19 – 4 inside 50s.  Melbourne were dominating possession but they just could not kick enough goals. It was gut wrenching to watch. I thought to myself that I am not sure how much longer I can do this. They got two early ones to keep them in it, but took another 20 minutes to score their third for the term and reduce the margin to 7 points. We kept glancing over to the bench to watch the signs for the time. It was agonising

Thankfully, Collingwood’s defence could not be penetrated, with Isaac Quaynor seemingly marking everything, including the critical final mark of the game that sealed the victory. There was also a bit of luck, it must be said, with some woeful set shots by Melbourne. 

It was not the most exciting game, Melbourne games rarely are (despite Simon Goodwin declaring in the press conference that the way Melbourne play is the ‘right way to play football’ as though he was the English Test cricket coach), but it was one of the most satisfying victories in my lifetime.  The Ponsford Stand was heaving and my voice broke when singing the song. 

A few of my Pies buddies ventured onto the Imperial Hotel in the city so we could enjoy a beer while watching the replay and discussing the game.  We had all recently obtained expertise in biomechanics and were sure that Maynard would not get suspended.  Unexpectedly, the replay was switched off and the lights came on at around 11:30. The workers were desperate to get out at midnight. 

As I boarded the 11:39 Mernda train I caught the eyes of a father and son who were watching the highlights. We smiled at each other and pumped our fists in acknowledgment of the fact that we were living through that most rare and treasured moment of a football fan: a close finals victory.  The train rolled northward through Collingwood territory towards home. The warm glow of victory against the old enemy permeated the carriage. When I arrived home, adrenaline was still pumping through my body and sleep seemed a long way away. I calmed myself down by watching the replay and letting the joy of victory wash over me all again. I eventually drifted off, dreaming of a Collingwood Premiership.

Station to Station

by williamschack

Note from the author: 

I wrote this in the aftermath of the 2022 Preliminary Final but I never got around to posting it.  Now that Collingwood has won the 2023 Grand Final, I thought best to document this heartbreaking moment that we suffered along the journey. 

I find my tribe of Collingwood fans on platform 1 of Southern Cross station, waiting to board the 19:50 train to Sydney.  There is a mood of concern amongst the travellers that there might not be alcohol for sale at the buffet bar. NSW TrainLink sent us a text earlier stating that the buffet offering will be reduced due to a very busy train down to Melbourne.

The price of a plane ticket to Sydney on this Thursday night is around $800.  Not feasible for a man who is saving for his wedding, or the majority of the kind of people who travel to another State for the pleasure of watching their football team (most likely) lose. No alcohol will mean our 11-hour journey will take even longer.  

Soon after boarding, the two women next to me take matters into their own hands and crack open a Canadian Club and Dry. 
‘Is the buffet open already?’ I ask. 
‘No, no, these are BYO’, they cheerfully respond. 
We chat for a while and they tell me they are staying at the same hotel as the Club, which they may or may not have scoped out before booking. 

There is a rowdy bunch of Pies fans at the back of the carriage who are mostly sporting luscious mullets. Much to their relief, there is alcohol for sale. They congregate near the buffet to consume their drinks, as though they are at a pub.  The conductor wearing a Sydney Swans scarf warns them that she has her eye on how much they are drinking, ‘especially given they are Collingwood supporters’. 

Amongst the travellers there is a cautious sense of joy and optimism. We all know that Sydney will likely win, but we imagine how good it will be if Collingwood wins. This season has taught us that anything is possible.  

The buffet closes at 22:30 and the lights go out. I recline my economy class seat to 28 degrees  (first class has a 40% recline) and try to sleep.  The gents sporting mullets ask the staff how long until Albury, as that is the longest stop that allows them to smoke. I drift off sometime after we leave Albury and wake up just outside of Campbelltown. The train rolls into Central Station at about 7:15 am and I catch the bus out to Maroubra Beach where I will be staying at my friend Mike’s apartment. 

***

I work on Friday on my laptop in Mike’s dining room.  We eat lunch down by the beach and as I look at the white sand and blue skies, I question why I live in Clifton Hill where we have a muddy Merri Creek and Yarra River to look at. 

On Friday evening we eat dinner at the Bay Hotel, where the Bra Boys once celebrated a successful defence of a murder charge.  I hope there might be one TV playing the Cats v Lions game, but that is foolish thinking given there is an NRL semi-final on tonight. 
While in the toilets, a local starts talking to me as I am wearing a Collingwood jacket.  
‘An unlikely sight in these parts’ meaning Maroubra, not the toilets. 
It turns out to be Amon Buchanan, who the Warrnambool Standard took ownership of after he kicked the match-winning goal in the 2005 Grand Final, despite him hailing from Colac, more than 100 kilometres away.   
‘It is nice to see a couple of western district lads in Bunnies territory’ he says. 

After dinner, we return to Mike’s place to watch Geelong decimate the Lions. If Collingwood is lucky enough to make it to the Grand Final, the club that scares me more than any other will be waiting, 11 years after the Tom Hawkins massacre. 

***

I head into the city early on Saturday so I have plenty of time to soak in the atmosphere at the SCG, where I have never been.  I walk from Central Station to the ground, taking in the sights of Surry Hills on my way.  The pubs are surprisingly filled with Swans and Pies fans.  I stop off at the Dolphin Hotel for a pre-game drink where the crowd sporadically erupts into chants of ‘Collingwood’.  I continue down Crown Street towards Devonshire Street, then through the Arts district to Moore Park. Inside Moore Park it feels like a festival and I cannot wipe the smile off my face.  I  make my way inside the ground and immediately become confused about where my seat is.  The underside of the Bill O’Reilly Stand is a rabbit warren. I ask a security guard for help and feel as old as I have ever felt. I finally find my seat and sitting next to me is a kind lady named Sophia.  She has travelled up from Melbourne on her own and is staying at her daughter’s house.  We chat about  the remarkable season and agree it is the best we’ve ever experienced.   We are in a Collingwood bay but two Sydney fans sit in the seats next to Sophia.  She is nervous but promises them and me that Collingwood will win.  On the other side of me is a father and his three young children who are excited and oblivious to the pain that likely awaits. 

Collingwood starts badly. Sydney kicks 4.1 before we catch a breath. Buddy Franklin loves playing the Pies, and he loves it even more so when Brayden Maynard is playing on him.  The ground seems tiny.  Collingwood cannot get space in the centre and Sydney seems to kick the length of the field with one kick. The game feels like it has not started when the half time siren sounds.  The score is 11.7.72 to 7.1.43, Sydney’s highest-scoring half of the season.  

Music has been blaring after each goal, much to Sophia’s disgust, and during the break the DJ turns the volume up to what must be 11 and plays Sandstorm.  I see a Collingwood fan yell at a security guard that the SCG is a ‘disgrace of a stadium’ because he cannot find his way out to enjoy a cigarette. The security guard points to his left and the angry fan storms off in that direction.  If he manages to find his way outside, he will probably not be let back in. Angry Collingwood fans aside, the crowd is relaxed and happy and you would think we were at a round 2 game.  

Collingwood starts better in the third quarter, but cannot score. Then Jason McInerney intercepts a Darcy Moore kick across half back and runs into an open goal to put Sydney 35 points in front.  It feels like the Lewis Jetta moment of this Preliminary Final. In any other Collingwood season, some fans would leave the stadium now, but as has happened so many times this season, Collingwood begins a fightback. 

Josh Daicos and Jack Ginnivan both kick goals before three quarter time, then Trent Bianco scores our third in a row early in the last quarter. Papley stems the flow as he receives a dubious free kick – or mark, still not sure – and puts Sydney 20 points up with 9.24 remaining. Collingwood keeps surging, and in the blink of an eye a trio of goals to Mihocek, Hoskin Elliot and Sidebottom puts us within 3 points. The momentum of Collingwood scoring 6 of the last 7 whips us fans into a frenzy. I scream ‘Coll-ing-wood’ with my scarf over my head.  I later find out that this moment is broadcast on national television and I look like a deranged madman.  Following Collingwood has been crazy this year, but this will be the craziest night of my life if we pull this off. The impossible ride that has been the Collingwood season may just continue for one more Saturday.

The ball is thrown in from Sydney’s pocket with 51 seconds to go and the margin is 2 points, after an earlier rushed behind. Collingwood bashes the ball forward, Crisp gathers it in the middle of the ground, streams forward, and launches to Mihocek inside 50. Darcy Moore waits at the back of the contest, ready to win the game when the moment arrives, but it never does as Callum Mills spoils and a ball up is called.  The ball is at the Nick Davis end, but no one can find space and there is another ball up.  Cameron wins the ruck contest, no one can get a clean possession and the ball pings around. Eventually, Sydney rush a behind as Mihocek and Mills jump on the ball at the goal line like they are playing rugby. 1 point down. The person behind me says there are only a few seconds left. Lloyd plays on and kicks it to the flank. The siren sounds, the Swans fans erupt and the Pies fans hearts break. This wild ride of 2022 comes to an abrupt end at the SCG. 

I hug Sophia as she covers her face with her hands. The kids to the right of me are crying. I pat them on the back and send their Dad a knowing look. It is their first experience of the real trauma of following a football team. The first in what will inevitably be a long list of heartbreaking moments. I look behind me and see that the crying is not limited to children. The old Swans fan who was sitting to the left of Sophia – and patiently listened to her complaints about the loud music and how the umpires were always wrong – exits the row.  I shake his hand and wish him good luck for next week. The animosity of 1 point Preliminary Final loss can be put aside pretty quickly when Geelong is in the Grand Final. 

The Pies players walk to all parts of the ground to clap to the fans.  We feel so grateful that they feel grateful to us, as they have given us so much joy this season – more than any season in memory. The Swans fans around us also clap them off and then we all exit the stadium.
“I now know what it feels like to be Collingwooded” one says to me. 
“I can’t believe it – we just stopped’ says another 
“I have a sick feeling that we are going to be flogged by Geelong” I also overhear.

I walk back to the CBD to try and wear off the adrenaline.  I am about halfway there when a light rail (that is what they call trams in Sydney) pulls up right as I am passing the stop.  It is full, but I try my luck.
‘Any room for a heartbroken Collingwood fan?’  The polite Sydney fans oblige and make some room.  
At Central Station the train is filled with distraught Collingwood supporters.  The train was filled with hopeful joy on the way, and now it is filled with what looks like a group of mourners at a wake. The buffet bar is fully stocked. The conductor is the same Swans fan that was working on the way up. She is thankfully humble in victory, probably just so she can keep the peace. The only Sydney supporting passenger on the train has a seat next to me.  She is in a state of shock and not in a gloating mood. I watch the last quarter of the Collingwood v Carlton round 23 game to try and ease the pain. The exhaustion of an intense Preliminary Final washes over me and I fall asleep. 

***

The train jolts and I wake up. I gather my thoughts and I remember that Collingwood lost the preliminary final by 1 point.  My heart sinks.  The train rolls past disused rusty buildings and warehouses. I am somewhere on the outskirts of Melbourne’s north-western suburbs. Outside it is grey and raining.  The blue skies and white sand beaches are well behind me, as is Collingwood’s season. The train rolls into Southern Cross and I alight in my Collingwood jacket and scarf, looking like the saddest man in Melbourne.  Nevertheless, I am still proud of what my football club has become. And there is always next year, I guess.  

Pleasure and pain

by williamschack

It’s a fine line between pleasure and pain. 

I do not remember much of the match.  I have not taken the opportunity to watch any of the replay or highlights. My memory is a series of fragments that I don’t have the strength or energy to pull together into a coherent structure, but would like to record for future reference.

I remember walking down Smith Street looking for the lady who I gave $2 to in front of Woolworths before the Carlton game, but she was nowhere to be seen. 

I remember a Geelong marching band playing before the game.

I remember us being in front early, just as I had hoped we would as Geelong are great starters, but we were also kicking inaccurately. 

I remember my sister saying we are going to lose this game because we were kicking so badly and I remember agreeing. 

I remember Geelong reeling in the margin in the second quarter and Collingwood not kicking a goal in that quarter until after the siren. 

I remember being so angry at the umpiring. 

I remember the song “What’s new Pussycat?” playing after a Geelong goal. 

I remember Jordan De Goey playing the best game of his career. 

I remember thinking that our disposal was off. We were rushed when we didn’t need to be. Inexperienced, it seemed. 

I remember thinking in the last quarter that I cannot do this anymore. This feeling of dread. This feeling of my stomach churning with anxiety. I can’t handle it anymore. 

I remember Gary Rohan taking a pack mark and kicking a clutch goal. 

I remember thinking Josh Daicos had very poor disposal all day. Then he kicked it out on the full with a couple of minutes to go.

I remember Gary Rohan dropping a chest mark but it not mattering as he managed to pass the ball to Max Holmes in the forward square, who kicked the winning goal. 

I remember no longer feeling like it was a free hit, but an opportunity lost. Having to go through Sydney at the SCG is about as difficult of a task there is.

I remember the Cats fans laughing with glee as we left the ground. 

I remember thinking that we have experienced a dream run of close wins this year, so I can hardly complain about this pain. 

I remember a Geelong fan on a packed Hurstbridge Line train playing the Geelong theme song out loud on his phone. I remember thinking he might not make it out alive.

I remember a new starter at work who is a Geelong fan misusing the word stoic to describe Geelong supporters. He said it did not matter who they play in the preliminary, as the hard game had been won. They would make the grand final regardless, ‘us cats fans are pretty stoic’. 

Not dead yet, I keep telling myself.  But also the refrain from the Dylan song keeps ringing in my head, ‘It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there’. I don’t have the resilience of Craig McRae. The widescreen wipers analogy does not work on me. I hope the players can lift themselves up. Let’s see how we go. 

After the deluge

by williamschack

The flood comes in the third quarter. It is raining Carlton goals. Eight. The first time Carlton has kicked that many in a quarter against Collingwood since the 1970 Grand Final. Three in a rush and then five more steadily throughout the quarter.  There is a feeling of hopelessness inside all of us. The Carlton energy is irrepressible and the crowd feeds off it.   Every time Charlie Curnow goes near the ball it seems like he will kick a goal. A small forward, Jesse Motlop, a person I did not know before today, kicks two.  There was a man named Hopkins who did something similar in 1970.  Only Ginnivan’s goal against the flow keeps us within touch. But with a four goal deficit at three quarter time, and Carlton seemingly unstoppable, we need a miracle.

The day starts with Bulldogs v Hawthorn. The Dogs need to win by enough to increase their percentage above Carlton’s.  If that is achieved, any victory by Collingwood – 1 point will do – will ensure that the Dogs are in, Carlton will miss out, and Collingwood will make the top four.  
During the first quarter of the Carlton game, the Bulldogs’ score and the live ladder are shown regularly on the screen.  Various Collingwood fans shout out ‘Carn the Dogs’ when it appears. Putting loyalties and hatred aside, the football world collectively wishes for the Dogs to win, so that this game can live up to its billing as the biggest game since 1992. The anticipation has been palpable in Melbourne during the week about ‘the game’. It would be a shame for it to lose its edge of being a quasi-elimination final.
By the end of the first quarter it is confirmed that the Bulldogs won and their percentage jumps to .6 above Carlton’s for the season. The stage is set for an epic contest of biblical proportions.

After the flood comes some good luck. The football gods seemed so against us in the third quarter, but they have now thrown us a life raft.  Carlton keeps pressing forward to create chances, but they keep missing. And missing. Curnow, Durdin, a forward square contest is rushed, O’Brien, McKay, and Curnow again.  In amongst all of that is a Docherty out on the full, an overturned Cripps mark 30 metres out and two Collingwood goals. 
By the time Curnow kicks Carlton’s sixth point for the quarter, the margin is 17 points and there is 6:45 left on the clock with the ball in Nick Daicos’ hands.  We are afloat, just. 

Daicos kicks the ball out to the defensive 50, receives the handpass from Murphy and kicks to Sidebottom on the wing. He kicks the ball inward to Lipinski and Daicos again receives a handpass. The ball moves inward via a series of handpasses, as we have done so many times this season. The ball finds its way to Isaac Quaynor in the forward half of the centre square, who kicks long inside 50.  Elliot flies high as he likes to do and clunks it.  He coolly kicks the goal without much fanfare.  There is 5:42 left on the clock. 

Carlton wins the next centre clearance, their eleventh for the day and it would end up being their last, but Quaynor out-marks Durdin on the back flank. The ball flows through the centre of the ground before Josh Daicos kicks it to Cox who picks it up on the bounce just inside the boundary about 40 out. He turns, slowly, like an ocean liner, in a wide arc toward the goals.  Eventually he dishes off to Pendlebury who pivots, draws in two players and handpasses the ball out to McCreery who has some space on the boundary line about 45 metres out. The angle seems too acute to score, but after messing up a shot in the third quarter by being too unselfish, he does not think about that. Mitch McGovern lunges for a smother but is too late. The ball looks good straight away.  It goes through the middle and lands about one metre over the line so we know there is no need for an interminable and unnecessary score review. I lose my mind. It is the best Collingwood goal I have ever seen live. There is 4:59 left on the clock.

With what seems like may be our last chance, Lipinski and Hoskin-Elliott run towards 50, the bounce from a De Goey handpass eludes them both. In the blink of an eye the ball is in Curnow’s hands, on Carlton’s forward flank, and he is keen to take as much time as possible. He holds it up for a bit before kicking inside 50. There is 2:11 left on the clock. 
Moore spoils and Daicos handpasses passes to Maynard, who kicks a spearing pass to Pendlebury in the centre of the ground.  The crowd’s anticipation rises. Pendlebury plays on and kicks towards Ginnivan on the flank but it goes over his head. He stops just long enough to block Saad’s run and give Elliot some time and space. Enough time to take a quick glance around him to properly understand how much time and space.  He collects the ball and turns to the goals. The moment arrives, the stadium is pulsating, behind Elliot the crowd rises in the Shane Warne Stand.  So does the crowd in the Ponsford Stand.  He sizes up his options and elects to take the shot himself. He runs to about 30 metres out and kicks the goal on a 45 degree angle. The collective ecstasy in the crowd is immense. We can barely believe this is happening. The margin is 1 point to Collingwood and there is 1:42 left on the clock. 

The remainder is frantic with some poor kicking and some lucky bounces for both sides. Finally, the siren sounds. The crowd is so loud that I cannot hear it, but the sight of the players with their arms in the air tells me it is over. There is no time left on the clock. Collingwood is still in front by 1 point. The Pies fans cannot believe it, but this is really happening. No words will do this experience justice, and neither will television replays. This miracle has occurred. Carlton hearts break. Ours are filled with joy.
We will never experience another season like this. There is now at least two games to go and the first is a free hit against the Cats in the Qualifying Final. We are trying to maintain our composure, but we are daring to dream.

Falling in love again

by williamschack

As Collingwood fans left the MCG on Friday night, we sporadically burst into chants of Coll-ing-wood.  After the siren I high fived and hugged friends and strangers. The crowd was delirious after another close, pulsating, adrenaline inducing victory.  This time against the reigning premier when all statistical logic said that we should have lost.  It was a wild game, like so many of them have been this season which has taken us on the unlikely ride from 17th to 2nd with two games left. My love for the game and club has been tested over the last two years, but it has well and truly been reignited this season.

2020 was a peculiar year for obvious reasons. I was heavily invested by finals time, but during the home and away season I watched the least amount of any season in a long time.  From soon after the first bounce of that year’s Semi-Final against Geelong, the most disastrous period of time at Collingwood since the 90s commenced. 
There was the embarrassing trade period in which people that deserved better were mistreated.   There was the Do Better report which found that the club was systematically racist and its botched release by the club administration.  And then the season started and things just got worse.  Eventually, Nathan Buckley was left with the option of stepping down or being sacked if he chose not to.   Then in the off-season, Jordan De Goey was again in trouble for his behaviour off the field. 
It was a tumultuous 18 month period in which there were moments that I felt guilty about loving the Club, but this year has been simply exhilarating.  With a new coaching panel and president, the weight of history was seemingly thrown off our back.  We were given a fresh start, despite the vast majority of people at the club being the same as the year before, and went into the season with low expectations about what we could achieve. 

From the first game against St Kilda, almost immediately the game style felt different.  The ball moved freely and the crowd noise increased as it moved forward.  Early on, it was hard to get a read on where we were.  Some week’s we were good, and some weeks we were bad. The season meandered along but was enjoyable to watch.  We were in games most of the time, but when we lost to the Bulldogs by 48 points it felt like we had reverted to our previous season selves.  

Then this bizarre streak began in Perth, beating Fremantle one week after they beat Melbourne. Then Carlton, on a Sunday afternoon in what felt like a final. And it has continued on and on, with us barely scraping by teams we should be beating comfortably, but still winning nonetheless.  It has been a remarkable ride which has seen me celebrating wins against teams that are 13th on the ladder like my life depended on it.  I know I have acted like a fool, but I cannot help but be swept up in the emotion of these wins. 

There is no doubt that the journey of watching your club rise from the bottom is so much more enjoyable than when they have reached the top.  If you expect to win the premiership, or know you can, then the joy of each moment towards the premiership is lessened by the fact that the home and away season is just a qualifying period.  But if you do not expect to win the premiership, or make the finals, then the wins along the way can feel of relative importance.  And once the wins start accumulating, each victory has that same importance while also morphing into a stepping stone to a future that was impossible not long ago but now seems real.  The lack of expectation forces you to be entirely in the moment of each game that might otherwise be meaningless.  Then when the siren goes you dream of what could be.  The combination of the two makes for the most pleasurable of sports fandom experiences.  It is that similar feeling of joy from winning the Preliminary Final as compared to a Grand Final.  You experience the ecstasy of victory and can gaze at your orgastic future. It is like experiencing the dopamine rush of falling in love with the promise of what a happy future you could have together. A Grand Final win is better, of course, but it is peculiarly different.

And that is what it has felt like the longer that this streak has continued.  It reached a crescendo last Friday night and there was delirium on both sides of the fence after the siren.  Kane Corne thinks we are being over the top and that celebrations like that ought to be reserved for after the Grand Final.  He is likely right.  We probably will lose our last game of the season. It probably will be in heartbreaking fashion. We probably will look silly for celebrating a round 21 game that had no bearing on the ultimate outcome of the season.  But there is also a chance that it won’t. 

So while I take Kane’s point, and at the risk of having my heart broken by this tragic football club yet again, and although it is scary, I cannot help but fall in love with this team and throw all of myself into this season and hope that it ends in happiness. If it does not, at least I will have had fun along the way. 

Warnie

by williamschack

Shane Warne is dead.  A man that every Australian felt like they knew, whether they liked cricket or not, has died.  Suddenly and shockingly, at the age of 52.  It is a tragically young age for the passing of a larger than life figure who still had so much to give.  He was a national icon who transformed from a failed Australian rules player into a global superstar in the blink of an eye.  A boy from Black Rock who felt lost when his dreams didn’t work out.  Cricket found him at this time, he said, and we are all the richer for it.  And now he is gone. 

Warnie was an artisan of the most difficult craft in cricket, leg-spin bowling.  He had some natural gifts, namely his large hands and broad shoulders, but he also had an immense competitive spirit and desire to be the best.  By the time he decided to give cricket a proper go, he sought out a coach and practised and practised and practised leg-spin bowling.  He was not the fittest player on the team, but he would practice his technique as much as anyone, and it was the combination of his natural talent, practice, competitiveness and artistic flair that made him so compelling.  

Warnie said that when he bowled he knew he was the lead in a theatrical play.  Nothing started until he said so.  He would sometimes move players from one spot to another, then back to the same spot. Just to make the batter think he had chosen a particular spot because he knew the exact shot the batter wanted to play.   Gideon Haigh’s brilliant book On Warne is the best thing I have read about Warnie, a remarkable document of what it was like to watch him play.  The second chapter, The Art of Warne, is all about his run-up.  It is the best sportswriting I have ever read.  Rather than try and imitate Haigh, I suggest that you read it yourself. 

And on top of that, there was his cricket brain.  What teams now spend millions of dollars a year paying statisticians and data analysts to work out, Warnie understood in just a couple of overs and with a bit of chat to the opponent.   He bowled not to a spot on the pitch, but to the shot he wanted the batter to play.  Batters always felt like he was one step ahead of them, and he really was.  He was always toying with his opponents and making adjustments, like a mad scientist experimenting on the fly, seeing what a few inches more flight might do when the concoction came together 22 yards away.  The adjustments almost always worked. 

It was his cricket brain that made him such a compelling commentator.  He knew what was happening on the field and what ought to be happening at all times.  It could sometimes be grating, particularly when it seemed like he had an agenda against a player, but for a novice like me who does not properly understand the technical or tactical aspects of the game, it was a delight.  He could also rabble on about things not altogether to do with the game, such as whether he liked pineapple on pizza.  Although this was sometimes annoying, it strangely also made him relatable.   He was simply himself, and at the end of the day, he was just like all of us. 

It would be remiss to not say that he was also a flawed man.  He was in trouble with the cricket authorities on multiple occasions and also caused incredible pain to his wife and kids in a very public way.  Simone’s hurt is unimaginable and it must have been so difficult to persevere under such intense scrutiny of the media and gaze of the public.  She also didn’t have the luxury of being universally loved for her sporting prowess.  Yet Warnie would not hide from his mistakes and his honesty was refreshing.  There are far too many stories of his generosity to people from all walks of life for him to not fundamentally be a good and kind person.

He once told his coach at Hampshire that just because he sometimes did stupid things, this did not make him a stupid person.  Every time he did do a stupid thing, he did try to become a better person, and in particular a better father. The world’s collective heart has broken for his children who were able to enjoy him in the 15 years post-retirement in a way they had not during his 15-year career.  Our loss is nothing compared to theirs.      

 But even though he courted intense public attention and humiliation throughout his life, he had a remarkable ability to compartmentalise the issues he might be experiencing off-field, with his duty to his teammates on the field, and the 2005 Ashes is the greatest example of this.  There is an illuminating scene in the new documentary Shane where he reveals that during that series he would sit in his hotel room after a day’s play drowning his sorrows and cursing himself for the hurt he caused his family.  Then he would go out and play the series of his life in which he was performing works of art such as the Strauss Ball.  The Barmy Army spent the entire series chanting hurtful songs at him asking, ‘Where’s your missus gone?’, yet when it was all over, they were chanting ‘We wish you were English’.   At the lowest and most difficult point of his life,  Warnie was producing his series masterpiece, and it is that mental capacity that sets him apart from the other greats of his generation.  It is perhaps that mental capacity to live in the moment so intently that also allowed him to make those mistakes in the first place. 

***

As we all woke up on Saturday morning in a state of shock at his passing, many of us took solace in being able to watch his great feats on Youtube.  The moment that I always return to (and there was one in just about all of his 145 Test matches and 194 One Day Internationals) is the 1999 World Cup Semi-Final.  In that match, with a miserly 214 as the target, South Africa were cruising at 0/48 off 12 overs.  Victory was about to fall out of Australia’s reach before Warnie dramatically swung the momentum back our way. The ball to dismiss Gibbs is almost as good as the Ball of the Century and was in a much higher stakes moment.  He was also returning from a shoulder operation and dealing with the emotion of being dropped in the preceding Test series against the West Indies.  His relationship with Steve Waugh was broken and sadly was never mended.  Yet amongst all of that, he was able to turn the match on its head with his fierce desire to win, his belief that he and they could win, and his sheer talent.  However, that is just one moment in a career that was simply mesmerising.  We are lucky that almost all of it was captured on camera and will now likely live on for as long as the human race.  Whenever we like, we can click on a YouTube link and savour his mastery, and future generations who did not know what it was like to witness this phenomenon will be able to do the same. 

So while I am now filled with sadness, I am also filled with gratitude at having lived in the same times as this man.  A man who was sometimes easy to laugh at for all of his controversy and for his curious life choices such as commissioning a large painting of his dream party.  Despite being able to laugh at him, he was also unashamedly himself, and for a man who had reached dizzying heights, this was overwhelmingly endearing.   He is the only Australian cricketer who stands equal to Bradman.  A man who sits comfortably in the Wisden top five players of the 20th Century with the other four other batters (one being an all-rounder).  The only one of the five to have not been knighted, which feels about right.  He may have mingled with global celebrities, but he was still one of us.  He was, as he said, someone who drank a bit, smoked a bit, and bowled leg-spin.  He was Warnie.   He was not just a once in a generation bowler, he was a once in a nation bowler.  The greatest bowler this country will ever produce.  And he has gone too soon. 

Western Heist

by williamschack

On Saturday night, the Collingwood Football Club enjoyed one of its greatest victories in my lifetime. It was an underdog victory in the true Collinwood tradition, a club that has an unenviable record of defeats in Grand Finals, but an incredible knack for winning games and finals when it is not expected to. It was the perfect ending to a quartet of blistering games that has rightly been touted as the greatest first round of a finals series since 1994. That round, coincidentally, held another classic between West Coast and Collingwood, with the Eagles doubling the margin in this game and winning by 2 points before going on to win the premiership. This season, which has felt somewhat artificial up until now, was suddenly sparked into life.

Collingwood’s lead up to the game was at a resort in Joondalaup. The issues of quarantine have been discussed ad nauseum, but it is still confusing. The Western Australian restrictions meant that there could only be one person per room, and some stayed in campervans in the carpark. Some staff, players, and all family were forced to stay in Queensland. Campervans and reduced numbers aside, it remains unclear to me how these conditions differed to the conditions in Queensland. If they were drastically different, it was inappropriate to play the game in a State that had such drastic restrictions on new entrants. The logistics would have been very difficult to organise had it been in the second or third week of the finals.

The petty obsession that Western Australia has for ‘Easterners’ and the ‘East Coast’ was on display for all to see in the lead up to the game. The front page headline of the West Australian newspaper read ‘Dirty Pies’. It was unseemly behaviour from the local rag that one would expect from the publication that Paul Keating once referred to as the worst paper in Australia. But if its job was to increase interest in the game (not that it needed to), it certainly did that, and the stage was set for an epic Collingwood v West Coast final, the seventh in their short history.

As Collingwood and West Coast finals are wont to be, it was a see-sawing and pulsating game. The best game of the year, and probably the best since the 2018 Grand Final. And it was the man of the moment in the lead up to that Grand Final, Mason Cox, who unexpectedly tore apart Richmond the week before, who set this game alight. He kicked 3 goals in 3 minutes and his confidence grew with each kick. The commentators rightly stated that Cox can get a strut on in finals and after he kicked his second goal, he waved two fingers in the air and then egged on the Eagles supporters behind the goals. After his third he held his fingers to his lips. At quarter time Born in the USA brought us back in from the ad-break.

Collingwood knew the Eagles would be coming. A 16-point lead is meaningless against West Coast who can score very quickly. And they set about that task by kicking a goal from the opening bounce, something they would do again in the third and fourth quarters with ease. But the highlight of the second quarter was the battle between Liam Ryan.

In the 2018 Grand Final Liam Ryan perfectly timed a bump on Maynard on the forward flank in the second quarter, before taking a crucial mark in the match winning play on the opposite flank. On this night he laid him out again in the forward square. Then when Kennedy marked for his second goal they came face to face.
Shortly after they were in a marking contest on the forward flank, Liam Ryan marked the ball and dangled it out for all to see. Ainsworth kicked a momentum building goal and Ryan bumped Maynard on his way down the field to congratulate him. It was magnificent theatre. It was also pleasing to see the two of them show respect to one other after the game.

One thing that was strange about this game was watching it in isolation. Not being able to celebrate or vent with my friends somehow increased the tension. The adrenalin running through my body had no release and my heart rate continued to increase. But it was also easier to extricate yourself from the situation. After Liam Ryan kicked the first goal in the last quarter, I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth – preparing myself for the inevitable loss and a quick exit to bed. But then two of the greatest goals kicked by a Collingwood player in finals were kicked in succession.

First, the boy from Burnie, Brody Mihocek, took a handpass from Josh Thomas on the forward flank. The ball had fallen over the top of the pack of a down-the-line kick from Mayne. Thomas collected the ball and should have been wrapped up by Duggan. This would have been given time to drop back into the defensive 50, but Thomas somehow wriggled free and and got the ball to Mihocek. He kicked a hard and – what was supposed to be a – a centreing ball. It seemingly went off the side of his boot, however, and instead of landing at the top of the forward square it went straight through the goals. Comparisons were drawn with Swanny’s goal in the 2014 ANZAC Day game, but Swanny’s goal was a floating mess. Mihocek’s was kicked as hard as I have ever seen a goal kicked. ‘

The next one, remarkably, was not that surprising. I actually thought to myself before the ball was thrown up that De Goey could do something here. And right on cue, he kicked one of the most remarkable goals ever. I guess this is kind of what it was like to watch Peter Daicos.

But the game was not over yet. Liam Ryan beautifully assessed his options after Gaff smothered a Maynard kick and passed to Kennedy who coolly goaled. Darling then made sure the umpire knew he was collected high by Crisp and he kicked another. The margin was 1 point and there was 77 seconds remaining.

It was one of the most frantic finishes I can remember. Treloar had the chance to seal the game but his shot fell short, the ball bounced over Hoskin-Elliot’s head and fell into the arms of the man who tortures Collingwood fans for fun. He immediately moved it forward and a quick succession of passes meant all of a sudden Tom Cole had the ball in the centre of the ground with only 34 seconds to go.

Nathan Buckley bristled at Basil Zempilas’ mention of the similar between the final charge forward by the Eagles and the 2018 play that lead to Dom Sheed’s goal, but while watching I could think of nothing else. ‘Not again’ I screamed at the TV.

This time, however, the play was thankfully stopped. Taylor Adams crowded his space and managed to smother the ball as it went forward. The ball spilled to Maynard, who again was involved in an unpaid free kick but it went Collingwood’s way, and he threw the ball to Pendlebury who kicked it to the flank to Hoskin-Elliot. And Collingwood was home.

It was such an odd feeling watching the game at home on my own. I had so much adrenalin running through my body but no proper release. I love to scream and hug people (especially people I don’t know) when celebrating a Collingwood victory. But on this night it was just me, screaming to no one in my lounge room, scaring my cats. Me and my friends had a zoom chat shortly after to debrief. In Melbourne in 2020, this is the best replacement we have for a pub.

After the win, my mind began to try and find comparisons with past victories, but this victory is distinct. Its own beautiful thing. It is without doubt Nathan Buckley’s greatest win in his coaching career. In 2018 Collingwood already played well against Richmond in the home and away season in round 6 and round 19. In the latter game, Collingwood held on gallantly after suffering injuries to Jeremy Howe and Matt Scharenberg, before Richmond broke away in the final quarter. In our group chat after the game it was agreed (and never spoken of again) that we would beat Richmond the next time we played against them. Also, Richmond went into that game with injured players and were caught by surprise.

This victory, however, truly was an underdog victory. A victory against a team who decimated Collingwood in the home and away season by 66 points, with a strong home ground advantage, when Collingwood players had not slept in their own bed for months.
In this victory, all the history and animosity between these clubs and their respective States converged onto the field at Optus Stadium. The win did not wash away the pain and envy that I still feel about the 2018 Grand Final, but it made me feel prouder than I have ever been to be a Collingwood supporter – in a year in which there has been much to make me feel ashamed. There is still another three finals to win if Collingwood is to win the premiership. But in this season, a victory in a knock-out final against the Eagles feels like it is enough.

Heartbreaker

by williamschack

(NB: This was written in the days after the Grand Final but was never posted because I was too miserable. My mood has thankfully lifted since then, but this truly was a Heartbreaker.)

This one hurts more than any other loss before.  The day started out as a dream and ended up as a nightmare. The fourth Grand Final loss for me and my sister. My father’s twelfth. This is what my club does. I don’t know why I dared to dream of anything other than a kick from the boundary line with 1 minute 40 seconds left after a dubious non-free kick.

It sits third amongst all-time painful Collingwood Grand Final losses. 1970 is number one. 1979 due to the opponent and the Harmes incident. I can think of no other losses that hurt more than this. We held on and on. They were dominating, but we still held on. Until we couldn’t hold any longer. And the siren sounded to conclude our 27th Grand Final defeat.

***

Before the game I went for a kick on Victoria Park with my fellow Pies Family. People dressed in black and white were cooking on the barbecues on the wing. Others were on the ground also having a kick. We all acknowledged each other with a “Go Pies!”.

We caught the train to Jolimont and it filled me with pride to see fathers and mothers with their sons and daughters waiting in expectation. If football has any point, then that is it. On our way into the MCG I looked to my left and saw The Macedonian Marvel, Peter Daicos. I was too scared to say anything to him. I thought to myself that maybe it was a sign of good luck. After all, he kicked the greatest goal of all time against the Eagles.

We arrived about 90 minutes before bouncedown to make sure we were all settled in our seats before the stress really kicked in. I was not drinking as I had gone without alcohol the two previous games. I figured I might as well keep the good luck running. In the pre-match entertainment The Black Eyed Peas and Jimmy Barnes’ played only a couple of songs each. I was particularly disappointed Jimmy did not sing ‘Working Class Man’. Then the main act, Mike Brady, came on and did a rousing rendition of ‘Up There Cazaly’, his final moment in the son in the busiest week of the year. At the end of his song the Eagles’ fans began chanting. They were loud and it was intimidating.

As our players prepared to come out the Pies fans began chanting Coll-Ing-Wood. It stirred up the entire stadium and made the hairs on my body stand up. Then the banner broke apart before our team had even reached the ground. My dad started visibly shaking. The Eagles fans were laughing.

Nathan Buckley’s composure to take time out of his intense schedule to hug the banner leader and wish her well is testament to his character. As was his discussion with our runner who blocked Stephenson in the third quarter. He is a great man. If you are a person who still calls him FIGJAM then you need to question what you are doing with your life and what kind of person you are.

It started out so brilliantly. A flurry of goals. Varcoe with the first, as he is wont to do in Collingwood Grand Finals. Two to Stephenson, including a brilliant running goal after a dropped mark by Thomas Cole. And De Goey with a brilliant piece of wizardry, beating three in the pocket. If the game kept on going like that, I may have calmed down by the third quarter. The West Coast Eagles, however, would not lay down and their high possession and marking game began to get on top.

We matched up badly against them and had lost the two previous contests in 2018. The first was at the MCG and after a good start we were comprehensively beaten. In the first final we played two good quarters but were overrun in the end. In both games, McGovern had periods where he completely dominated the play. That dominance continued in this game, most notably in the match winning play.

At half time we were up by two goals, but no one felt good. A sense of dread sat in the pit of my stomach, and it became more intense as the game progressed. Our flow had stopped and everything felt off.

About half way through the third quarter my Dad left the ground. He didn’t say goodbye or say where he was going. He sent a message in the last quarter with a photo of two people in the park doing tai-chi with the caption “Surrender”. A friend at work said her Dad also did not watch the final quarter. He said he had lived through too many of these to know how it ends. I guess that is my future.

At three quarter time with the Eagles having convincingly won the last two quarters, I felt like I needed to change something. I decided I would go to the bar and buy some drinks, but not drink them. On my way to the bar I walked past my sister. She had left her seat at some stage in the third quarter too. Her face looked pale, like she a had seen a ghost, and she didn’t respond to whatever acknowledgement I gave her. In the line at the bar I met an Eagles fan who was the complete opposite to me. I looked at him and shook my head and said I don’t know why I do this to myself. He responded by saying “How good is this!?”. I thought of my father who had left 15 minutes before, my sister who looked half dead, and my stomach that had been on the verge of coming up since late in the first quarter.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Oh, you’d hate it if it was a blow out either way like the rest of the finals series”
That is exactly what I wanted. I think in 2007 Geelong fans got the experience the perfect Grand Final. The game was over by quarter time, the fans and players ready to party, with the other team never showing a whimper, and the avalanche not ending until the final siren. This game was the exact opposite. I grunted back an unconvincing “yeah”.
“How good is footy!?” The Eagles fan said but I didn’t respond. He was not my kind of guy.

The final quarter started off brilliantly, with two quick goals to the Pies. The De Goey kick from outside 50 will remain one of the great moments of my life. We sat right behind it and it never looked like missing. I hugged everyone around me but it was not enough. My switch to drinking trick had not worked.

The last 15 minutes felt like it was all at the Eagles end. We were stagnant and could not get it past the wing. I know we had our chances in the last 5 minutes, but that all seems a blur. All I can remember is Adams having a shot that went out on the full, and Treloar kicking inside 50 with McGovern marking and setting up the match winning play. It was the latest that a lead has changed in a Grand Final for the victor since 1947. Much has been said about the non-free kick, indeed a change.org petition was even set up, but everyone knows that is not the reason we lost. We lost because we played 1 good quarter and the Eagles played 3. Even if the free kick was paid the Eagles would have likely given themselves another shot. Jack Darling gave us a glimmer of hope by dropping a mark and denying himself the opportunity to kick the sealer, but it was not to be. The siren sounded and we left immediately.

***

Outside it was strange. There were some Eagles fans in the marquees cheering but it was still very quiet. My sister began to cry. All of us Pies fans with pain-stricken faces looked like we were at funeral. Walking through the Fitzroy gardens I felt numb. I kept admonishing myself for daring to dream it could end any other way. A couple was having their wedding photos taken in the gardens.
The photographer asked us who won, to which we mumbled a response.
“I thought it must have been the Eagles, too many Collingwood fans walking through” she said with a smile on her face, as though that was a completely normal thing to do.
She just didn’t get it.

We quickly drank a couple of pints at The Cricketers Bar on Spring St, the same venue that witnessed such jubilant scenes only one week before. To distract ourselves we talked about the potential appointment of a man accused of rape to the Supreme Court of the USA. We finished our beers an caught an uber to meet our respective partners at a pub. Gubby Allen, ex-player and 1990 premiership football manager, was walking out as we did. I told him we were struggling, and he said with a pained look on his face, “Yeah, what can you do?”. He gets it.

And what can you do when you love a club that hurts you time and time again? I guess that is what following a club is all about. Your love endures despite all the pain they cause you. Your love exists for no reason other than that 61 years ago some kids were singing the Collingwood theme song on their way to school, and against odds of 1 in 400 trillion you happened to be born to the person who heard those kids singing that song. Yet, despite my love I am not sure if I can go to another Grand Final. I think I finally get it. The youthful optimism that has propelled my fandom up until now has finally been beaten out of me. I’ve lived with the pain of Collingwood Grand Final losses for as long as I can remember, but I lived it through books and grainy old footage of Grand Final moments that haunt those who love Black and White. I’ve watched Bob Rose pushing his way through the crowd in 1966 to congratulate Allen Jeans. I’ve watched him try to console the desolate Collingwood team after the siren in 1970. I’ve watched Wayne Harmes tap the ball to Ken Sheldon deep – very deep – in the Ponsford Stand pocket in 1979. I’ve watched and read about all those moments. But I saw with my own two eyes Jeremy McGovern launch at a kick into our forward line and take a mark as he did so many times this season. I saw him immediately play on and kick the ball to Nathan Vardy (Nathan fucking Vardy!?) on their back flank. I saw him pass the ball to Liam Ryan on the forward flank who ran back with the flight of ball and took a mark that should have been spoiled by Langdon or Thomas. I saw Ryan play on and kick the ball inside 50. I saw Brayden Maynard get blocked by Willie Rioli and the umpire pay a mark to Dom Sheed. I saw Sheed walk in from the fence, 40 metres out, with the season on the line, and I saw him kick a goal with what must have been ice running through his veins. I know that time heals all wounds, but I saw all of that and I don’t think I can take the risk of watching something like that ever again. I don’t have the resilience of Bob Rose or Nathan Buckley, or any of the hundreds of people who have endured through the pain of loss and fronted up again for another chance at success. I don’t have any of that – I don’t know how much more of this my heart can take.