A good friend of mine grew up in Braybrook, less than a mile or two from the hallowed turf of the Whitten Oval.
Despite her western suburbs pedigree, she and her family are Richmond supporters.
No amount of inducements of “rooms after the game” or “meet the coach” – perks a conniving president has up his sleeve – could budge her son Jack as a true Tiger.
For most people, choice of team is (rightly) a matter of fun and family. But, truthfully, it’s always grated on me that the west does not have as a community the sense of fierce universal devotion to one club like Liverpool does, or the City of Geelong or Fremantle.
Because that sense of belonging to a place, a community, is no better exemplified than the shared senses of joy, expectation and crushed hopes that ebb and flow with a community’s major sporting team.
Our historical position as the team of the west has been handicapped by many years of inattention to the importance of the region to Aussie Rules, and while we are now starting to address that more seriously with the AFL, it’s the successive generations of kids of the west who have been the real losers.
A senior footy journalist recently told me we were losing our relevance and I, as president, needed to have my voice heard more.
I told her our battle for hearts and minds would not be won by a president talking equalisation politics on talk shows, but by Liam Jones kicking eight and by Tom Liberatore tearing the heart out of an opposition in the midfield.
Shortly after Sunday’s win against Collingwood, my friend texted me: “Yay! Jack said we should change to the Bulldogs.”
In that joyful hour after the game, when the phone rattled like the Energizer bunny on Sunday night, that text was the most important.
BULLDOGS IN FOCUS
THE PLAYERS
Mitchell Honeychurch | My first six months
Jordan Roughead | Still living the dream
Tom Campbell | Heartbeat of the West
PETER GORDON
