Broome footy
When you think of disappointments, Saints Football Club is the Collingwood of the Kimberley. There has been such a litany of ‘what might have beens’ it just makes you shake your head with disbelief. When I first came to Broome I noticed a message at Matso’s Store asking for players to attend training at the oval as Saints were gearing up for another season. They were a Club formed in 1960 based on the very successful St. Mary’s Club in Darwin which had a number of Aboriginal players in the team. In 1974, John Puertollano, a stalwart of the Club had purchased a set of jumpers from Aldo Rosetto's Sports Shop in Darwin; Aldo was Captain of Saints Footy Club at that time. The jumpers had the yellow letters ‘SM’ on top of a green background and these jumpers were the same ones which would be used in the coming season of 1979.
I rocked up to the first ‘training’ session in late February which was still in the wet season. I introduced myself to the captain/coach – Greg 'Patches' Fiorenza!’ He was cocky but likable, strong leader with a small moustache and he wore an ear ring. I could see that many of the team members were locals with an ethnic mix which reflected the last 100 years of Broome’s existence. The humidity was almost 100% and I was relieved to find out that ‘training’ meant a good old fashioned kick to kick with the odd ‘specie’ mark thrown in. Ronnie was a particularly memorable fella in the team and I don’t think I’ve heard anyone utter so much profanity on a regular basis and shock me so much about what he did on the weekend since that time.
Later the training sessions became more serious as we started running up and down sand dunes and did marathon runs out of town to lessen some of the beer bellies that had started protruding since the last season. Soon we were facing the arch rivals Towns in the first game of the season. Unbelievably, they had won the last 5 Premierships and it was great to knock them out of their tree first up. The ‘mosquito fleet’ as they called the shorter local players of Saints were far too nimble and fleet of foot for the more polished but slower opposition. Town’s players were usually those who had come up from Perth to work at the Bank or other Government bodies with a few locals thrown in like the Howard’s and the Gregory’s.
Most of the players undid some of their work on the training track by downing ales at the local Roebuck Hotel. I was never a pub person but they invited me there to check out the local action. I arrived there on Friday night and was immediately overwhelmed by the volume of noise coming from the local band ‘Black Label’ and the lead singer ‘Funka’, (Frank Martin) who was belting out Rock and Roll standards. I struggled to push myself into the bar which was in semi darkness. There was not an air conditioner in sight and a couple of fans just circulated very warm, humid air. The walls seemed to be vibrating with the music and a mass of writhing, sweaty bodies were gyrating in an alcohol induced state through a haze of cigarette smoke. “Wow, I’d never seen anything like this except in some of those Western movies,” I thought. The lead guitarist was amazing and he had thoughtfully left his smoldering cigarette wedged between the strings on the head of his guitar so that he could continue puffing at the end of the song. I eventually made it to the bar and mouthed the words – “can I have a BEER?” The bartender mouthed back “A beer?” and I nodded. It was impossible to hear what anyone was saying until the end of each musical bracket.
It was then that all hell broke loose. The bald bikie ‘Hells Angel lookalike’ beside me carefully place his beer down on the bar and then ‘flattened’ someone who had offended him with a single blow. The lights were turned on and I made a quick, polite retreat as the casualty was dragged out into some fresh air to recuperate. I’d never seen this side of life before and was quickly coming to the conclusion that this might do me for awhile. Order was restored for another half hour until someone yelled out, “FIGHT!” above the din of the music. This caused many of the dancers to rush out of the swinging double doors including myself. Two Aboriginal women were really going for it and it was a relief when the Police arrived to patrol the place. When the pub closed for the night I was informed that the party was only just beginning as everyone headed for Cable Beach to continue the good times until the early hours of the morning. I thought, “that was an education, but I might limit my relaxation to just playing footy.”
We played Beagle Bay in the Grand Final. They were an Aboriginal team made up mainly of the Cox’s, William’s and the Dann’s. Most wore bare feat and they had unbelievable talent and speed. The game was starting to slip away from us until John Puertollano was brought on from the bench. It was enough to turn the tide and we ran out winners by eleven points.
The following year I switched to play for Beagle Bay. I thought, “if you really want to immerse yourself in the culture, this is the best way to do it”. There were only three ‘white fellas’ in the team – ‘Doc’ Felix from ‘BRAMS’, a local medical service, Ollie Ryan and myself. We were well coached by Laurie Coyne who had a fair bit of experience down in Perth when he had previously played for Claremont. We had a great season with the high flying Jackamarra at centre half forward, ‘Whiskas’ Cox at centre half back and Mr Magic – Johnny Sahanna who had played with East Perth alongside Barry Cable.
On Grand Final day popular sentiment was heavily with the black and red colours of the boys from ‘Billard. Before the match we were addressed by Ernie Bridge, a local Aboriginal politician in the clubrooms which happened to be the front bar of the Continental Hotel. He informed us that no Aboriginal team had won a Premiership in the Kimberley before. We arrived at the ground and since there were no change rooms the lads let it all hang out the back of the Beagle Bay truck as they changed into their footy attire. Towns ran out on to the ground first, linking arms in an extended line as they paraded past their fans to promote solidarity and purpose. The Beagle Bay boys eventually burst through streamers and balloons and I was really pumped for the game. But I was amazed that the whole team kept running across the ground and disappeared into the public toilet leaving me alone in the centre of the ground like a pea on a pumpkin. Soon they were all back with relieved smiles on their faces and we were under way. Towns gave us a good battle but we came out victorious by 5 points. So it was then back to the Clubrooms to celebrate the win. I discovered after awhile that mixing a beer with a vodka chaser was not a good idea. When it came time to leave I got on my push bike and rode a short distance to Matso’s corner where I promptly hit the curbing which caused me to fly straight over the handlebars. I lay sprawled on the ground in an undignified manner for a minute or two trying to gather my senses and someone came up and asked me “Are you alright mate?” I looked up and mumbled. “Yeah – no worries!” Many of the team members were so elated with their win that they kept their jumpers on for a week. I was just happy to get home in one piece.
After the season was over I switched to umpiring which I thoroughly enjoyed for the next 20 years. In the end I had umpired over 800 junior games and 120 senior games. The highlight of this period was umpiring the 1987 Grand Final but it came my way by chance. I was umpiring the over 35’s curtain raiser and at half time the Association committee members informed me that one of the umpires had pulled out of the Grand Final and would I be willing to do it. I replied that I would let them know at the end of the next quarter. It’s a big deal to umpire a ‘GF’ in Broome and you are often thankful for a police guard and to get out alive. Umpire Ron Buckey usually did the finals in the WAFL Competition in Perth and the next week he came to Broome for years to officiate at our ‘GF’. When the two umpire system came in the Broome Association always supplied a local ump with Buckey. At the end of the quarter I thought, “why not, I’ll give it a burl.” Ron Buckey and I were of similar height and build and people commented later on how well I had done and often they said they couldn’t tell the difference between us. I really enjoyed the game and was on a high of satisfaction for weeks afterwards.
But my heart was always with my first Club Saints yet they seemed to always get a severe case of the ‘Colliwobbles’ in the finals. Just look at some of these results:
During the 1980's, Saints lost 7 finals and won only three. They broke their own hearts and those of their supporters during the 1980's with results such as:
Losing the 1981 Grand Final to Towns.
Losing the 1983 Grand Final to Towns by 1 point
Losing the 1984 Grand Final to Derby by 5 goals.
Going through 1985, finishing on top, then losing both the second semi and the preliminary finals.
In 1986 they went through the season undefeated only to lose the second semi final by 4 points after being 26 points up at three quarter time then losing the preliminary final by 5 points.
By 1993, Saints drought continued when they were defeated by Towns, going down valiantly by 20 points at the final siren.
But the daddy of them all - who could forget 2002? After a 23 year drought it looked like the elusive premiership was here. It was time on in the last quarter and Saints were 2 and half goals up against Towns and the champagne was beginning to pop. But victory was nipped in the bud with a 50 metre kick after the siren which sank their dream and left everybody stunned and silent. Football can be cruel at times, but the hard lesson learnt is: "it's not over till the fat lady sings!"
I’ve enjoyed footy and it’s given me a lot back. I just want at least one more Premiership for Collingwood and one more for Saints!!