Murray MiddletonThe Week of the 1997 Grand Final
September 25th 2008 12:58
As a football supporter there is nothing greater than being a part of grand final week. This week's grand final is the first time in eight years that two Victorian teams have faced off. It should be a great game. Geelong - the champion team - versus Hawthorn - the team on the rise. Will the champion underline their greatness? Or will the younger team prevail and begin their own dynasty? It is the perfect sporting scenario. I have only experienced grand final week from the inside once in my life. It was in 1997 when St.Kilda made the grand final. I can remember it like it was yesterday.
On the Monday I remember seeing my tennis coach, Dan Donnelly, in the street. Dan was a mad St.Kilda supporter. Whenever he would hit a smash he would accompany it by screaming, 'PLUGGER!' Dan was in a delirious mood. As far as he was concerned, the game was already won. He asked my dad if he had a ticket to the match. He didn't. Dan said he would do what he could to help us out. That night Robert Harvey won the Brownlow Medal. He cried like a baby and gave a modest speech. What a champion!
On Tuesday we found out that Nicky Winmar's father was in hospital. His dying wish was to see his son play in a winning grand final. 'We need him to stay alive until Saturday,' said my dad. Our anticipation was at fever-pitch. At the dinner table that night I broke into a mocking rendition of the Adelaide theme song. My dad said that the song was banned from our house. Dan Donnelly called to say that the tickets hadn't come through. We resolved to watch the match from our living room.
On the Wednesday we went to see 'Year of the Dog'; a film that documented Footscray's 1996 season. I remember standing outside the cinema and my dad repeatedly saying, 'I can't believe we're in a grand final.' It was nice to sit and watch a film about football. I remember the exact point in the film when Terry Wallace stabbed Brendan Joyce in the back to take the coaching reigns. I also remember Richard Osborne asking for the cameras to be turned off when providing his opinion of Joyce. 1996 was a dreadful season for the Dogs. One year later they had come within a kick of making the grand final. It is a funny game.
Thurday was my favourite day. My dad and I drove out to Moorabin to watch the mighty Saints train. The entire suburb seemed to be coated in St.Kilda colours. It seemed like the whole state was on our side. Every shop front had banners in red, white and black. It was one of the most exciting drives of my life. Word had got around that Peter Everitt - who had broken his collarbone in the qualifying final - was making a last-ditch effort to play. I was desperate to see big Spider go up against Shaun Rehn. In hindsight, it was the prime of both player's careers.
We sat in the grandstand in front of the old coaching box. My dad pointed out Alan Davis, who was sitting in the aisle next to us. Everitt busted his gut on the track, but he could barely run. The crowd cheered every touch he had. I said to my dad, 'Even if Everitt is half fit, he's better than bloody Cook.' At the end of training Stan Alves ushered the playing group to the front of the grandstand, where he conducted a parody of the New Zealand 'haka'. Most of the players were wearing white headbands. Alves was wearing a tracksuit and used a whistle to direct the player's movements. God damn he looked intense.
I watched the grand final parade on television and attempted to gauge the player's mindset from their body language. They looked frightened. Matthew Young was ommitted from the team because he was having back spasms. Robert Neill was the shock selection. Neill had only played two games all season. Four months later he was off the club's list. On Friday night we received the news that Nicky Winmar's father had died. 'That's St.Kilda for you,' said my dad. 'This could only happen to one club.' In the grand final Winmar played like a hollow man. At the end of 1998 Tim Watson sacked him.
The game was a disaster. Shane Ellen kicked five goals. Today Ellen could walk down the street without being noticed. 'Pitiful' Pittman killed Stewart Loewe. Aussie Jones kicked one of the greatest goals of all time. Barry Hall kicked three goals in five minutes in the second quarter. 'Shit he's got talent,' said my dad. Sierakowski and Neill laboured across the half forward line. McLeod's pace was explosive. Harvey and Burke battled hard, like they always did. And then there was Darren Jarman. He was too elusive for Shanahn. When Jarman kicked his fifth in the last quarter my dad stood up and left the room. He didn't come back for a long time.
*Thankyou all for reading my column this year. At this point I am unsure whether I will continue it next season. We'll see. Your readership is much appreciated. And GO SAINTS!
-Murray
On the Monday I remember seeing my tennis coach, Dan Donnelly, in the street. Dan was a mad St.Kilda supporter. Whenever he would hit a smash he would accompany it by screaming, 'PLUGGER!' Dan was in a delirious mood. As far as he was concerned, the game was already won. He asked my dad if he had a ticket to the match. He didn't. Dan said he would do what he could to help us out. That night Robert Harvey won the Brownlow Medal. He cried like a baby and gave a modest speech. What a champion!
On Tuesday we found out that Nicky Winmar's father was in hospital. His dying wish was to see his son play in a winning grand final. 'We need him to stay alive until Saturday,' said my dad. Our anticipation was at fever-pitch. At the dinner table that night I broke into a mocking rendition of the Adelaide theme song. My dad said that the song was banned from our house. Dan Donnelly called to say that the tickets hadn't come through. We resolved to watch the match from our living room.
On the Wednesday we went to see 'Year of the Dog'; a film that documented Footscray's 1996 season. I remember standing outside the cinema and my dad repeatedly saying, 'I can't believe we're in a grand final.' It was nice to sit and watch a film about football. I remember the exact point in the film when Terry Wallace stabbed Brendan Joyce in the back to take the coaching reigns. I also remember Richard Osborne asking for the cameras to be turned off when providing his opinion of Joyce. 1996 was a dreadful season for the Dogs. One year later they had come within a kick of making the grand final. It is a funny game.
Thurday was my favourite day. My dad and I drove out to Moorabin to watch the mighty Saints train. The entire suburb seemed to be coated in St.Kilda colours. It seemed like the whole state was on our side. Every shop front had banners in red, white and black. It was one of the most exciting drives of my life. Word had got around that Peter Everitt - who had broken his collarbone in the qualifying final - was making a last-ditch effort to play. I was desperate to see big Spider go up against Shaun Rehn. In hindsight, it was the prime of both player's careers.
We sat in the grandstand in front of the old coaching box. My dad pointed out Alan Davis, who was sitting in the aisle next to us. Everitt busted his gut on the track, but he could barely run. The crowd cheered every touch he had. I said to my dad, 'Even if Everitt is half fit, he's better than bloody Cook.' At the end of training Stan Alves ushered the playing group to the front of the grandstand, where he conducted a parody of the New Zealand 'haka'. Most of the players were wearing white headbands. Alves was wearing a tracksuit and used a whistle to direct the player's movements. God damn he looked intense.
I watched the grand final parade on television and attempted to gauge the player's mindset from their body language. They looked frightened. Matthew Young was ommitted from the team because he was having back spasms. Robert Neill was the shock selection. Neill had only played two games all season. Four months later he was off the club's list. On Friday night we received the news that Nicky Winmar's father had died. 'That's St.Kilda for you,' said my dad. 'This could only happen to one club.' In the grand final Winmar played like a hollow man. At the end of 1998 Tim Watson sacked him.
The game was a disaster. Shane Ellen kicked five goals. Today Ellen could walk down the street without being noticed. 'Pitiful' Pittman killed Stewart Loewe. Aussie Jones kicked one of the greatest goals of all time. Barry Hall kicked three goals in five minutes in the second quarter. 'Shit he's got talent,' said my dad. Sierakowski and Neill laboured across the half forward line. McLeod's pace was explosive. Harvey and Burke battled hard, like they always did. And then there was Darren Jarman. He was too elusive for Shanahn. When Jarman kicked his fifth in the last quarter my dad stood up and left the room. He didn't come back for a long time.
*Thankyou all for reading my column this year. At this point I am unsure whether I will continue it next season. We'll see. Your readership is much appreciated. And GO SAINTS!
-Murray
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