LESSONS ON THE FOOTBALL FIELD

from Tatura Bulletin August Edition 2022

QUIZ answers

by John Kriesfeld

We grow and develop through a variety of lessons learnt in a variety of situations. It is important to be aware of these lessons at the time they are presented to us, otherwise the universe will continue to send the same lesson until we eventually understand what is being taught to us.

I was nineteen years old, fresh out of college and sent to teach at the small township of Noradjuha, near Horsham. The locals were pleased that I was a young, male teacher as there was a subdued hope that I would be a gun footballer. The Horsham newspaper even had a small article describing me as a promising utility player from Melbourne. Being young and unmarried, I was boarded out to one of the local families who ran a sheep and wheat farm. Their eldest son, Gavin, was a year younger than me and spent his time looking after the sheep. He never had much to say and just rode around on his motor bike with his trusty kelpie sitting up behind him. He’d left school as soon as he could and could barely read. When he did speak, his grammar left a lot to be desired and, although it wasn’t a conscious thought, I felt innately superior to him.

I had played full forward in the U/18 competition, kicking three goals in the grand final played at the Western Oval in Footscray, and I proudly mentioned this when asked by the club. Even though I didn’t show a lot of promise at training, I was still named at full forward for the first game of the season against Balmoral. I remember listening to the team selections on the radio the Thursday night prior to the game and the feeling of pride when my name was read out. I had never harboured any illusions about my ability and knew that I was just a good, average player and not the match winner the town had been hoping for. Gavin was named as rover in the team as his endurance at training had been impressive. Even though the game was being played at Balmoral, most of the school children happily told me that they would be attending with their parents. The pressure was on. When I ran out onto the football oval, I noticed that the ground was ringed by cars and their horns abruptly burst into voice to herald our arrival. I hadn’t played in front of a large crowd before, or any crowd really, and I found myself walking taller as I moved into position next to the impressively muscled Balmoral full-back. Although I couldn’t jump very high or sprint very fast, I had a good pair of hands and managed to take a couple of marks and kick a goal in the first quarter. I hadn’t done much else, so late in the second quarter the footballing gods decided to intervene. As the ball was kicked into our forward line, I found myself in the middle of a large pack of players. My timing was fractionally off, and I jumped a split second too early. As the rest of the players jumped, I found myself squeezed into the air as if out of a tube of toothpaste and before I knew what was happening, I had taken a chest mark high above the pack. The car horns went crazy. Hope lived on within the community that perhaps I was a gun player after all and fortunately, I kicked the goal.

When I accidently flattened one of the opposition players, not the impressively muscled full-back I might add but a slightly built half-back flanker, the Balmoral supporters loudly voiced their disapproval, particularly the elderly women whose language was unbelievable. They obviously didn’t know my mother because the things they said about her were completely untrue. They continued to berate me loudly every time I went near the ball during the third and fourth quarters although I didn’t actually achieve very much due to the Balmoral fullback outplaying me on most occasions. Late in the final quarter, the footballing gods decided it was time to lend a further helping hand. We were three points down and well into time-on, when the ball was kicked into our forward pocket. Now there’s something I need to mention at this stage of the story. Just around from the point post was a white wooden flagpole where Balmoral would hang their premiership flag after a successful season. On this day the flagpole was empty. The action was both desperate and furious as I rushed into the fray, and I got knocked over several times as I attempted to grab the ball. Umpires usually award a dubious free kick to the defending team in an effort to clear the scrimmage but on this occasion the game was allowed to flow. I was quite disorientated when the ball suddenly came my way and I grabbed it and quickly looked up. There in front of me were the goals, only they weren’t. What I thought were the goals were in fact the point post and the flagpole. As I threw the ball onto my foot, I was brutally slung to the ground, probably by the impressively muscled fullback but I’ll never know for sure, and the ball skewed off my boot, over the milling throng and through the proper goals. I was quite confused when the car horns once more burst into voice and my new teammates began jumping all over me. It took a moment or two before I realised what had happened. Naturally I kept quiet as my success had only been achieved through sheer dumb luck.

Although I received the accolades for the victory and didn’t need to pay for a beer for the next two weeks, the player who was clearly the best on ground that day was Gavin. While books were a mystery to him, his ability to read the play was sensational. If the ball floated over the back of the pack, he was there waiting. If it fell to the front, he was there swooping on it. When we had the ball, he was out in space by himself calling for it and if they had the ball, he waTs one of the first to lay a tackle. I was in the presence of a master. Apparently, he could also talk to the sheep although I wasn’t sure what they discussed. I learnt an important lesson that day about the many different types of intelligence and that intellectual ability is only one of many. As my feeling of innate superiority evaporated, I realised it was merely intellectual snobbery. Gavin was easily my equal.

That was the last time the footballing gods helped me. After a few games the towns folk realised I was just a good, average player and accepted me for that by playing me on the halfforward flank and life went back to normal. The cricketing gods, however, were active for many years but that’s an entirely different story.

Magnetic Island Swim

Magnetic Island is a lovely spot to visit and the trip out there on the ferry takes about 20 minutes. But can you imagine swimming the 8km from there to Townsville? Well, that is what six intrepid swimmers from the GC Crocs Aussie Masters did at the end of July. They joined about 100 others in making the crossing, each supported by a paddler. The fastest swimmers completed the swim in around 1 hr 50 min. Conditions for the final few kilometres were quite rough however all swimmers finished the event. Local swimmer Stephen Orr finished second in his age group after covering the distance in 2 hrs 27 min. Will they do it again next year? Maybe.