by morell » Wed Mar 28, 2018 5:11 pm
Anyway, this recent conversation has hit on a theme and a post I’ve been thinking about for a while. It's a long one, but I don't care.
What happened to our culture of truly local, representative, grass roots, amateur football? I feel like its snuck up on us, this new toxicity of player payments, mass recruitment, coaching roundabouts and ruthless playing groups. When I first started playing I was in awe of Trevor Bennetts, Joe Leck, Bernie Kusterman, Phil Pike and Ian Colquhoun - all Mitchell Park legends who had been there for many years, including through the juniors. Seriously tough men, fiercely loyal types who other than earning a BoG would have never even dreamt of taking payment for playing. For them the Club was an entity to be respected, it came first and the privilege of playing senior football, even at a lower level, was seen as exactly that – a privilege. Wal and Joe in particular taught me a lot, and for that, a young introverted nerd more used to bricking threes and talking trash than shanking drop punts, their introduction to the inner sanctum of a football club shaped many of my ideals – inside of that world and out.
One would get the feeling the Club was an escape for those guys, a place to talk about tits and cars, to confess their woes and maybe even look for support, to relax and unwind with no social pressure or pretentiousness. The Front Bar at Mitchell Park certainly provided all of that, but even then, there was still a Club first attitude, they’d wash the dishes, help the canteen staff, fill water bottles, sell raffle tickets, help out with admin – whatever it was, they would always do whatever they could to help out the Football Club. As they knew that The Club provided them with so muc more. And that is precisely the right word. *Club*. To use an Americanism - a fraternity.
I fell in love with it. Mitchell Park soon turned into my happy place too. My Church. I would go there all the time, often by myself just to walk around and clear my head sometimes to celebrate or commiserate or simply to catch up. It was so incredibly important to me as a young fella to have a place to garner an instant feel of comradery and acceptance. In that regard it was so different to basketball and rugby, my childhood sports, where it was more like a high society bitch fest than sporting coterie. It didn’t matter if you were a bogan or a hipster – acceptance was for all, provided you put the Club first. Cross that Club, and sure enough street justice was known to have been handed out on occasion. In a really strange way it was like a fully legal, crime free (sort of) drug free (sort of) motor cycle gang.
Now? In its 50th Anniversary year, it is very close to death. Down from a full suite of junior teams to one and a half. From having powerful senior sides across 3 grades in the strong SAFA to lucky to be filling one in Division 7. Yeah, we’ve pulled some strings every now and then and won a flag or two along the way, but none of the above is true of the Club anymore. There are a few hanging on, but we all know of the likely impending doom that awaits.
I really like what Down the Hill wrote. It is rather sad how clubs are forced to survive these days when they were originally established to provide a recreational outlet with organised competition for their local communities. It’s a precise observation and one that rings painfully true. We’re structured from the bottom to the top that way. Despite the cries of the ignorant, there really isn’t much we can do. Smart people all sitting around the table all trying their hardest for hours on end – but constantly hitting road blocks. Be it business wise with limited options for revenue thanks to outdated management models, be it due the shifting populations and demands, be it the club reputation that despite all contrary evidence, still hangs like bad smell. We’re check mated.
Perhaps one of the most galling things, however, is this latest offseason where last year’s promising group of players, coaches and administrators have abandoned us like rats down a sewerage crusted outlet pipe. I recall the season Luke McDonnell wanted to try playing for Happy Valley. He was physically emotional and struggled to confront the playing group. We understood and wished him all the best. He returned two years later and won a GF. These days? One of our better players who smashed our highest paid player record last year by a long way – took us for every last cent and then still asked for more when the Club was on the skins of its arse. Another player, who I love dearly, left because he felt he deserved to be playing A’s but got dropped a couple of times - the Club owed him, apparently. A young star and Premiership player, son of a gun and much loved member of our club off to a nearby rival, I assume because it looked like it might be a struggle with us. Our coach who promised cultural change and 3 years of effort left half way through his contract for promises and thin air after realising that it wasn’t going to be easy and instant success might not be on the cards. Our President, who made awful decision after awful decision, also left, without so much as even having the guts to rock up to our AGM to hand over the keys. Countless more who for a bit more petrol money have decided to knife the institution that would provide them with much more valuable things than cash, should they merely give it the chance. Then we have clubs like Adelaide Lutheran, smelling a fresh carcass like a circling vulture, messaging players on Social Media from our list in an attempt to poach them.
Poisonous stuff, that’s for sure. As most on here would know I am hyper analytical. I have a yearning to understand why. Are we at fault? Sometimes, but I don’t think that’s the answer. To me we’re experiencing the consequences of a far more macro movement. One of individualism, narcissism and a generation of people that put image first. For a Club like ours that is about the group, humility and substance, this is decidedly out of step. Examples of this can be found all over the place – the best players in Sporting Pulse? Caused huge issues amongst our playing group. Complaints about not making it or being 4th instead of 2nd, absolutely ridiculous stuff, I tried to explain, but it was important to them. Payments? Heck, even average footballers deserve it as they are putting their body on the line, so the club ought to look after them. Forget earning it through awards. They were entitled to it for merely rocking up. Doing a chore for the club? No chance, they do enough of that at home, football is a place to escape nagging, god damnit! But easily the biggest indicator is what happens when it looks like we might not win much. It is unbelievable how quickly people pike out. The modern amateur footballer is a jellyfish, if it’s not going to be “fun” and by fun, of course we mean winning, then they want no part of it. Countless players have said exactly that. They haven’t left, per se, they just don’t want to play because it will be too hard.
So at 35 with dodgy knees, crippled hands and countless surgeries on other broken bones, I came to the realisation at full forward on Saturday that I’m now out of touch with the modern game. It’s no longer about the Club or the comradery, it’s about the person looking back from the mirror. I hope we hold on, but we’re on the precipice.
Are we good? Are we any bloody good? Well, we sure used to be.