Collingwood
They’re the team that many people hate, but for the diehard footy supporter Collingwood is the only Club to follow. For me it all started when I was 9 years of age. By that time Melbourne had won a swag of Premierships under the legendary coach, Norm Smith and by 1958 they were going for a record breaking four in a row to equal Collingwood’s feat set back in the 1930’s. Melbourne were ‘red hot’ favourites to win after beating Collingwood by 8 goals in the second semi, but Grand Final day turned out to be shockingly wet. Under coach, Phonse Kyne and the leadership of the captain Murray Weideman, Collingwood slugged it out in the mud and against all odds amazingly turned the tables on a hapless Melbourne winning by 3 goals. With another notch to their belt, the ‘Woods’ ruled with 13 Premierships stretching back over a proud history of a hundred years. I was caught up in the euphoria and decided then and there that this was the team for me.
I didn’t have to wait too long until Collingwood and Melbourne faced each other in another showdown in 1964. But this time ‘we’ were not so lucky. In a nail biting finish the Magpies were in front with minutes to play when Neil Crompton ran the length of the ground from the back pocket following the Collingwood rover and kicked the winning goal which ironically was his only one for the entire season. To be that close to glory and have victory snatched away left ‘Maggie’ supporter’s numb and bewildered.
During these years we often went to the footy. Because Collingwood’s ground, Victoria Park, was not really accessible for us, we usually went to the Glenferrie Oval which was Hawthorn’s home ground. It was the smallest VFL ground of the lot but it had you really close to the action. We usually tried to take up our vantage point on the Southern wing next to the sign that warned people not to go on to the ground. In this way we always waved frantically when the ball went out of bounce so that we could see ourselves on ‘Tellie’ that night when we watched the black and white replay with the commentators ‘Mike Williamson’ and ‘Butch Gale’.
No one took any notice of the sign and we freely walked across the ground and even got ourselves into the Hawks changing room. The whole place was filled with the smell of oil which really got the adrenalin going. We watched the players get their rub downs until their whole bodies were shiny and foot studders tapped stops into leather boots which supported players well above the ankles. We were able to get autographs and even meet the legendary Les ‘killa' Kaine’ who had played in the winning 1961 Premiership. This is how my brother Kevin got the nick name ‘killa’ which has stuck with him to this day. John Peck was the gun full forward at that time for Hawthorn and he seemed to always kick his torpedo punts out of sight.
Collingwood had its next chance in 1966. This time we were playing St. Kilda who at that stage had never won a single flag. Fresh from playing in a school Premiership myself in that year, having defeated Aquinas College in a grudge match that left us delirious, I was confident of victory. I was looking forward to attending my first Grand Final and I was full of expectation. To be assured of a seat I stood in the long snaking queue that stretched back forever in the early hours of the morning before the sun had risen.
After a few hours of inching our way forward I was finally through the turnstiles and took up my position behind the goals at the Western end of the MCG. They say there is nothing like experiencing a Grand Final and of course that is right. To see the players run onto the ground gives you the feeling that the spectacle is larger than life and the roar from 100 000 people made the hair on my neck stand up in anticipation.
It was a great game between the ‘black and white’ army and the newcomers with their multi coloured jumpers and it all came down to the dying seconds of the game. The scores were level but to my dismay Barry Breen kicked a mongrel punt from about 50 metres out on the northern flank. I was right behind the kick but my hopes sank when the ball bounced through for a point. Within seconds the siren sounded. Saints supporters were beside themselves with the delight of their first ever Premiership. I felt tears welling up in my eyes as I faced the long trip back home in the train.
I was back again in 1970. This time Collingwood was in the Grand Final for each game – the Under 19’s at nine o’clock, the Seconds and the Firsts. I had high expectations that this was going to be our day. Again I was at the Western end and it was standing room only. It was very hard to see the action so we filled some cartons with beer cans and this made all the difference. That is until in the second quarter we got carried away with our cheering and found ourselves collapsing the cartons and disappearing over the back row on the broad of our backs. That day a record 121 696 people attended which has never been broken since. The place was so packed that spectators were actually sitting inside the boundary line along the perimeter fence.
Collingwood had a wonderful team under coach Bob Rose and with Peter McKenna as its spearhead we were 44 points up at half time. We danced with delight. At last this was to be our day. In those times no one ever came back from that deficit. It was then that Barassi, coach of Carlton, decided to try a new style of play. He instructed the players to play on at all costs and handball at every opportunity. He brought his reserve on to the ground for the second half: the short, pacey, ‘blond bombshell’ – Ted Hopkins. As they say – the rest is history. McKenna suffered concussion; Jesaulenko took the mark of the year over ‘Jerker’ Jenkins and Hopkins kicked 4 goals. Carlton pegged back the margin and won by 10 points. I was left stunned. We had lost all three games. I forlornly trudged out of the ground and my head was so low I bumped into a light poll and hardly had the strength to avoid cars on Punt St. as I headed for the railway station. This was the day that Collingwood were christened with the horrible tag – ‘the collywobbles’ which galvanised a terrible loathing for Blue’s supporters.
More pain was to come in 1973 when Collingwood was defeated by their nemeses Carlton by 5 points. In 1977 we came back from the dead in the dying seconds of the game. Twiggy Dunn kicked an enormous punt after the siren to level the scores against North Melbourne. A tied Grand Final meant coming back the next week but in the rematch North won in a canter by 27 points with the old enemy Barassi as its coach.
By this stage I was starting to feel the pinch. Following a footy team was turning out to be very painful, disillusioning and frustrating. But this is where true supporters are found. Not your fair weather fans or those who jump on the bandwagon but your ‘true blue’ ‘never say die’ supporter who sticks with the hard times and fights in the trenches. As it turned out – it was a long wait in the wilderness. 32 long years had passed from the last Premiership and I was now drifting into middle age. “Would I ever witness a single winning flag in my lifetime?”, I thought.
Collingwood had become the butt of many jokes but the 1990 team was showing some promise. I decided to fly over for the Premiership from Broome as it looked like Collingwood was going to figure highly. My brother, Michael, had an AFL pass which included the Grand Final and since the Lions were not going to make it he offered me the ticket. I booked my $1000 air fare but thought I had done my money cold as we lost the last 2 games of the home and away matches.
In the lead up finals the West Coast Eagles had a chance to snuff out Collingwood’s hopes when Peter Sumich kicked for the winning goal after the siren. It looked a certainty but Sumich had a habit of pulling his kicks and luck seemed to be finally on our side when he could only manage a point. This levelled the scores so both teams had to come back the following week for a replay which threw the finals plans of the other teams into disarray.
In the rematch the Eagles were belted and the Magpies gathered momentum all the way to the Grand Final. This was fine but not for me. The airline refuelers had decided to hold the public to ransom by calling strikes over Grand Final week. Apparently they wanted to continue with two people holding the hoses instead of one. Wouldn’t you know it – 32 long years of waiting with the Grand Final ticket in my hand and no way of getting out of Perth. But I was going to get there come hell or high water. I booked a bus ticket with Greyhound and then joined the long queue outside the Ansett Office in St. George’s Terrace. This was so frustrating but all my prayers were answered 3 days later when Ansett released a limited number of seats and since I had registered my name when the strike was first announced, I was one of the lucky ones. Unfortunately, most never made it and it must gall them to the present day.
I departed Perth on Wednesday and was able to attend Collingwood’s last practice the following night at Victoria Park. I saw many of the players arrive including the star wingman Darren Millane who was nursing a broken thumb. God knows how he played with it through the Finals because I noticed he even had trouble trying to sign autographs. Peter Daicos only needed two more goals for his ‘ton’ and when he booted these at training, the 15 000 who attended thundered their applause.
Everyone was soaking up Grand Final week and supporters for the black and white were really coming out of the wood work. I attended the parade through the streets of Melbourne on Friday and prepared myself for the ‘Big One’ which was played the first week in October! There was no way I was going to miss out so I waited outside the ground in the darkness and when the gates were finally opened we hit the turnstiles and then sprinted madly through the MCG tunnels and staircases to secure a good seat. I didn’t have a clue where I was sprinting too but just followed those who seemed to know more than I did. My faith in them paid off because I had a perfect spot in the second tier of the Northern stand across from the wing.
The ‘G’ was an interesting spectacle with the old Western Stand demolished and the gap created a swirling wind. I was sitting next to a Greek guy who looked like the Bulldogs rover Tony Liberatore. We watched the under 19’s and the second’s games but they were of no consequence. There was a mass of black and white and the shivers went up my spine as Tony Shaw led his players out in a slow military line which showed that this may well be the day we’d all waited for.
It was an even first quarter but a terrible fight erupted after the siren and when the players withdrew our worst nightmare lay before our eyes. Our star player, Gavin Brown, had been king hit and was laying unconscious on the ground. “Well, that’s the end of that,” I sighed! But Matthews gathered his players and told them to get their mind focused back on the game and just worry about getting the footy. This was the right ploy because Essendon came out in the second quarter with ‘head hunting’ on their mind. This proved very costly because the umpires took full charge of the game and at half time Collingwood was over 40 points clear of the opposition. But we’d been there before and no one rejoiced.
At the half time break many of the past players of Collingwood went on to the ground to ‘gee’ the team up for the killer blow and the rest of the game went according to the script. It was fascinating when the final siren sounded and the Woods had run out winners by a huge margin and Darren Millane was left holding the footy in the last passage of play. There were a few moments of unbelieving silence and then the crowd stood up and sang in dignified tones the strains of “Good old Collingwood forever.” When this was done everybody then went berserk with celebration. It was so good to see the elderly fans especially who had finally had their day of glory. Former players were dancing on the MCG and others were taking some of the hallowing dirt from the playing surface.
Eventually we spilled out of the ground and you just felt like kissing a perfect stranger. I wanted to lap this one up so I caught the train out to Victoria Park. The whole carriage was filled with ‘Maggie’ supporters and one wag was leading everybody in various chants including - “DID WE WIN?” to which we all replied “WE SHIT IT IN!” Things then started to get out of control when they began ripping the lights out of the top of the carriage.
I always said that I would get drunk when Collingwood won a Premiership but that night was so cold I could only manage one stubbie before calling it quits. The ground swelled with partygoers and some were out of hand even souveniring the point post at the Western end. The players arrived at the ground about 11:30. Their entrance was highlighted with spot lights and each one was introduced to the stage with rapturous adulation. I had to leave at this time to make sure that I was able to catch the last train home.
Sunday was a day to watch endless replays and to get my hands on every newspaper I could find. I wanted to soak this up because it could be a long time between drinks until it happened again. In 1990 the Black and Whites ruled with Premierships to Collingwood in Victoria, Port Adelaide in South Australia, Swan Districts in Western Australia and Bidyadanga (who used to be black and white) in Broome.
The following year Collingwood was still suffering from the long hangover and never really reached those dizzy heights again until the last two years when they made it to the Grand Final but were ‘knocked off’ by the Brisbane Lions. Who can stop this juggernaught? It looks like they may win four Premierships in a row this year and equal Collingwood’s long standing record, but it doesn’t make any difference because I’ll be a Pie until I die!
