Fortunate in the sense I now know something about an unsung South Australian sporting hero of the 19th century; sad however at his tragic end.

The SANFL this weekend celebrates Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island culture with its inaugural Indigenous Round.

As the league notes: “Throughout generations, indigenous players have made significant contributions to the game of Australian football in South Australia.”

The league has also selected an Indigenous Team of the Century. It’s a travesty the name of former North Adelaide player Harry Hewitt is missing from that team and I hope an effort is made to rectify it.

I discovered Hewitt while researching West Adelaide’s inaugural SAFA season in 1897. The Advertiser on May 26, 1897 reported that two Aboriginal players, BT Bailey and P Barker, had been “passed” to play for West Adelaide.

It was reported in a very matter-of-fact way, but I assume it meant that Aborigines needed special approval to play league football.

A further search led me to reports of Harry Hewitt, who played for Medindie, as North Adelaide was then known.

In this report from a match against South Adelaide in May 1892, The Advertiser wrote: “The Dingoes included Harry Hewitt, the Aborigine from Point MacLeay, and he played a splendid game in the ruck, defeating his opponents time after time”.

Another article on April 9, 1892 described Harry’s cricketing talents: “On January 2 against Medindie he made 126 not out, on February 13 against Milang 113 and on March 11 against Mount Barker 107 not out. Excellent performances these. Go on Harry, my boy, keep at it and you may get into an inter-colonial before long.”

Harry played at least one game for Port Adelaide. The Advertiser on August 3, 1891 described his play in a match against Fitzroy: “Hewitt, late of the Medindies, as is his wont, entered the field shoeless and stockingless, and arrayed in a gaudy guernsey, created the best part of the afternoon’s amusement by his appearance and his comical gait. He was wonderfully fast, seeming to be everywhere, and would have been a valuable man except for his infringements of the rules, for which the referee pulled him up with the utmost rigour.”

Harry was also a leader. On Friday, May 29, 1885 he captained an Aboriginal team against an SAFA combined side, known as the Wanderers, in an exhibition match.

Harry told the South Australian Register that nine of his best players were prevented from going to Adelaide and he was compelled to take substitutes who had never played before. Playing barefooted, Harry said the green grass was a drawback.

Intrigued, I searched again and sadly discovered the tragic story of Harry’s death. Here is the full report from The Advertiser of January 25, 1907:

A tragedy happened at Milang early yesterday morning amongst the blacks camped near the town, and as a result Harry Hewitt, an aboriginal, well known both at the Point Macleay Mission Station and in other parts of South Australia was killed.

There had evidently been a great disturbance in the camp, during which fierce fighting occurred. The police on visiting the place yesterday morning saw evidences everywhere of the battle, and they found the body of Hewitt who was quite dead. An examination of the corpse disclosed the fact that there was a large hole in the skull, which had apparently been caused by a terrific blow.

As a result of the inquiries made among the natives, the police arrested an aboriginal known as Tommy Lawson on suspicion of having struck the blow which caused Hewitt’s death, and he is at present in custody on a charge of murder, pending the outcome of the coroner’s inquest, which was opened at Milang yesterday afternoon.

Hewitt, who was about 40 years of ago, was well known in South Australian athletic circles. About 12 years ago he played for a cricket team in North Adelaide, which was known as the Cambridge Eleven, and he surprised his opponents on more than one occasion by his wonderful fielding. He would stop the hottest hits when the ball was travelling on or off the ground whilst his return was both accurate and rapid.

On one occasion Hewitt scored 144 not out against the Prospects. Hewitt played for a Milang team on the occasion of a turf pitch being used for the first time on the Unley Oval. In the football season his prowess as an all-round man when he was a member of the Medindie team is well remembered by old footballers.

He was not misplaced in any position in the field, but his particular forte was in the following department. As an athlete Hewitt took part in numerous sports gatherings, while as a swimmer he was no mean opponent. Besides his athletic excellences Hewitt excelled as an acrobat and gymnast, and he was for some time connected with a travelling circus.

He also took part in a variety show, playing in farces and sketches. The Salvation Army likewise claimed some of his attention, and while connected with this organisation Hewitt attained the rank of corporal. He was recognised as one of the most intelligent South Australian Aborigines at Point Macleay.

He could read and write and was conversant with a variety of subjects which are usually considered outside the ken of an ordinary native. Hewitt was a most quiet and inoffensive man and general regret is expressed at the manner of his sudden death. For the past few years Hewitt had been earning a livelihood at Milang as a fisherman.

What a remarkable man!

The Register reported that Harry was buried on January 28, 1907. “The weird screams of the wailing women around the bier, by the moonlit waters of the lake, was enough to chill the nerves of those who had never witnessed such a scene. It was simply thrilling in its blood-curdling intensity, then sad and mournful like the sighing and sobbing of the legendary Banshee of Ireland.”

Lawson stood trial for manslaughter, but was acquitted after the jury found he had acted in self defence.

Mrs Baxter, the licensee of the Pier Hotel at Milang, was found guilty of supplying Lawson with wine, and was fined five pounds.

Searching more about Harry’s life, it’s evident he was an early advocate of Aboriginal rights. The Advertiser published this forceful and heartfelt letter on February 7, 1905:

Sir, As an aboriginal, may I say a few words about the fisherman’s license? First, the white man took the land from us and killed our game, and now he expects us to pay £1 license before we can catch fish for the market. True, we can catch fish for our own use without a license, but what is the good of that? We have few opportunities for earning a livelihood, and now they are trying to stop us from earning a honest shilling. They are not getting rid of us fast enough, too they think they will starve us out. Perhaps, however, the Government have some means of keeping us in comfort, so that we won’t have to trouble about getting our living.
H. HEWITT (Aboriginal)

Harry Hewitt represents the spirit of Aboriginal Australia. He was a talented sportsman, intelligent and articulate. He was discriminated against and ridiculed for his appearance. He tragically lost his life in a drunken brawl.

As someone who played for both North Adelaide and Port Adelaide, surely he deserves to at least be recognised in the SANFL’s Indigenous Team of the Century.

Sturt plays most of its home matches there; the others at Adelaide Oval.

It’s what might be called a “boutique” stadium, with most of the seating and spectator facilities on the western side of the ground.

The highest verified attendance was 22,015 for a league game against Port Adelaide in 1968, although an estimated crowd of 24,000 packed in to see Sturt play Norwood in 1924.

I find it had to imagine the ground holding more than 10,000 people.

According to the Austadiums website, Sturt moved away from the ground to Adelaide Oval in 1986 under the SANFL’s ground rationalisation program. Negotiations with the Unley City Council in 1997 resulted in the return of league football.

An interesting fact for trivia buffs, a first-class cricket match was played at Unley Oval in 1903 between South Australia and Lord Hawke’s XI. It was the last time South Australia hosted a first-class game away from Adelaide Oval.

I enjoyed watching football at Unley. With 80 percent of the crowd gathered around 20 percent of the boundary, there was plenty of atmosphere.

Just a shame about the result.

Brad is a 192cm mobile, strong-marking forward who has spent the past eight seasons with Carlton in the AFL, playing a total of 99 games and kicking 127 goals.

The 26-year-old from East Burwood underwent knee surgery after the 2009 season. He was drafted at pick 72 in 2002.

Wikipedia says: “Fisher plays both in the forward line and at half-forward. He is recognised as an excellent and safe one-grab overhead mark, perhaps the best at the club, and regularly takes strong contested marks in forward packs.”

He sounds an ideal player for West Adelaide to pick up.

I hope he has a sensational year and puts himself back in the frame for AFL consideration, if that’s what he wants.

According to the club’s media release, Brad said:

“I’m extremely excited to have signed with the West Adelaide Football Club for the next two years. After speaking to well over 50 football clubs, I chose West Adelaide because of their great reputation and professionalism. Having met with the coach and some senior players I was very impressed with their future vision and the team culture. At just 26 years old, I know my best football is to come and I can’t wait to help contribute to some real success in the coming years for the West Adelaide Football Club.”

Scott Turner, general manager football operations said:

“Brad is a key signing for our club and a quality young man. We are really pleased to have him on board as he has been a dominant forward at both AFL and VFL level in recent years. He will be a valuable addition to our club.”

Update (December 30, 2011): I thought Fisher had a pretty good season, despite some missed games through injury and our lack of fluency through the midfield. We were really getting carved up in the middle during the losing streak and the ball just wasn’t finding its way forward with any precision. Fisher will be a key player in 2012 if the Bloods are to make the finals.

The Bulldogs booted the first seven goals within 20 minutes of the first quarter before the Bloods staged a comeback, only to be overrun at the finish.

I wanted to get photos for the newspaper website and I was interested to see the size of the crowd.

It was much bigger than for the A League pre-season soccer game between Adelaide United and Perth Glory. I estimate it was possibly 7000 people.

I like the ground. It has a lot of character.

Vansittart Park was created in 1883 when the town council accepted an offer from Captain Spencer Vansittart to buy 20 acres of land for 20 pounds an acre.

The land was used for grazing cattle until 1910. It opened as a sports ground in 1912.

The Queen visited in 1954.

The photos below show some of the grand final action and the big crowd at the picturesque oval.

I used to view them with some contempt, seeing the concept as a corruption, almost a betrayal of football’s origins.

It probably is those things, but the “super box” is also the way of the world, and if you can’t beat them, join them.

Juliet and I arrived at 12.30pm. Our hostess, Fiona, immediately offered drinks while we checked out the facilities.

There was a dining table with 16 places, a kitchen, toilet and seats overlooking the massive Melbourne Cricket Ground.

We were situated on level 3 overlooking the wing.

Our lunch included oysters, prime beef, lamb, fish, duck, chicken, cooked vegetables and salad.

Dessert and a cheese platter followed.

The windows of the box can be opened on a fine day to catch all the atmosphere.

There’s a TV inside, showing the match, just in case you miss something or can’t see clearly across the ground.

The drinks flowed: beer, wine, champagne, spirits, coffee. Party pies and sausage rolls were served at three-quarter time.

The TV also had Sky Channel for those who wanted to follow the races.

Not a bad way to watch the footy, which incidentally saw Collingwood defeat Melbourne.

Here are a couple of other photos from Melbourne:

The Melbourne Public Baths in Swanston Street.

The Welsh Church in LaTrobe Street.

Several months ago I converted to YouTube “The Ballad of Haydn Bunton” by Ken Mansell and Peter Bell.

I conceded at the time I was probably breaching copyright, and if Ken didn’t like it he could let me know.

Ken discovered the video recently and caned me with the soft end of a feather duster.

Suitably chastened, I accepted the rebuke and was pleased to receive from Ken his speech notes to the launch of the song. I offered to publish them here with attribution and Ken agreed.

The speech was made on July 9, 2003 at Haskins Hotel in Rae Street, North Fitzroy.

With Ken Mansell’s kind permission, I reprint the remarks here in full:

By Ken Mansell

As the author of a song eulogising a great Fitzroy footballer I believe it may be appropriate to begin my reflections on the Haydn Bunton ballad by confessing that I am not, nor have I ever been, a dyed-in-the-wool Fitzroy barracker.

I have in fact barracked for the Geelong Football Club for fifty years. This particular club loyalty was irrelevant when it came to writing the song. The code of Australian football invented by Tom Wills has flourished for almost 150 years. No doubt, the tribal tradition of one-eyed passion for a particular club has been one main cause of this longevity. However, love for the game itself, and for its traditions and skills, meaning that we can rise to applaud all the great players, has been equally important.

GEELONG

I should never have become a Geelong supporter. There was no family association with far-off Geelong. My father, born in Essendon, was a Don. I can remember the football broadcasts on our loungeroom wireless, and over by the open fireplace my father talking excitedly about John Coleman. This was 1950. Essendon in 1950 were to complete successive ( back-to-back ) premierships.

My interest in football began about this time. I was four years old. I became hooked on the coloured football action (and composed VFL/VFA team) photographs in The Argus and the VFL/VFA footy cards that magically appeared in the cellophane of our Kornies packets.

The intensification of my interest in footy coincided with the rise of a new football dominance. In the 1952 season Geelong, who had “stolen” the 1951 premiership from a Coleman-less Essendon, set out on their record-breaking run of 23 consecutive victories (in fact 26 consecutive matches without defeat as one of the 26 matches was drawn). Geelong topped it all off by winning the 1952 premiership. Forsaking Essendon, I jumped on the bandwagon of the Cats.

1952 was the year when my interest in football started to become an absorbing passion. I began a scrapbook into which I pasted all the wonderful coloured action photographs that I had snipped from The Argus. Such was the impression made by 1952 that the VFL ladder of that year was imprinted indelibly on my mind. So indelibly and completely that I found myself, whenever called upon down the years to perform a ”party trick”, able to recite the twelve VFL teams’ 1952 ladder finishing order in about four seconds.

FITZROY

The impact of 1952 probably partly explains why, at the same time that Geelong was being consolidated as my number one, Fitzroy became my second team. Collingwood, as runners-up, threatened more than any other my new allegience to Geelong. The team that finished third were good enough to tantalise the imagination of a youngster emotionally responding only to upperdogs (and yet to become the underdog supporter of later years) but they offered less of a threat.

Fitzroy were third in 1952, although only just. (The first semi-final victory over Carlton was achieved when 1950 Brownlow Medallist Allan The Baron Ruthven kicked the winning score in the dying moments of a nail-biting finish).

But it was the fascination with the Fitzroy jumper that was the clincher! Maroon and blue were made for one another and I was very impressed by them. In those days, Fitzroy were the Gorillas, but no matter: in The Argus colour shots, Fitzroy players seemed particularly dashing in their maroon and blue, with white ankle straps peeping out of their boots. The 1952 Kornies cards – Don Furness, Jack Gervasoni and George Coates – offered more rich Fitzroy colour.

Until 1957 we lived in Camberwell. In the very early fifties, my father would occasionally take the tram to Hawthorn, and then walk to the Glenferrie Oval, to see the hapless local VFL team – Hawthorn – receive another thumping. Hawthorn lost every match in 1950!

Sometime in 1951 or 1952 my father began taking me to some of the Hawthorn home games. He remarked that the Glenferrie ground was like a “sardine tin”. There were several ways of getting into the ground. The most exciting way was to come through the turnstiles in the tunnel under the railway line on the southern side of the ground.

You then had to sit in the elevated but narrow little outer along the rail line and put up with the trains clacketty-clacking past you every half an hour. Or you could come in from Glenferrie Road and stand in the outer section behind the goals at the eastern end. This was great. You saw a lot of the play when Hawthorn were defending the outer goal.

I loved hearing the crisp cracking sound made when Len Crane, the Hawthorn full back, kicked off. A big booming drop-kick every time, to a far-off pack on the wing. My father would point out some of the players to me. At a match between Hawthorn and Carlton, he pointed to one and said “That’s Chooka Howell”.

On another occasion, Hawthorn were playing Fitzroy at Glenferrie. This time we were sitting on the railway wing. Pointing to 1950 Brownlow Medallist Ruthven, Dad exclaimed: “That’s the Baron!”. The spectacle and the theatre of this particular match made a deep impression on me, and so did the Fitzroy colours.

And so, for me, for reasons to do mainly with aesthetics, Fitzroy was the “second team”. In later years, as the nomadic old club struggled through one insecure season after another, many were to adopt Fitzroy as their second team. After all this insecurity, you could probably hardly blame Fitzroy for opportunistically going along with the VFL’s Footscray merger proposal in 1989.

At the time, Fitzroy’s implication in the ultimately abortive merger definitely dampened my sympathy for the club’s predicament. Still, along with thousands who value the game’s hallowed traditions as much as we value our club of first choice, I was devastated by the final destruction of Fitzroy in 1996. However, none of this, not a word of it, explains why, one day in August 1999, I chose to write a song about a great Fitzroy footballer.

Haydn Bunton tribute

I grew up with a deep interest in the history of Australian Rules Football. This was initially developed by reading the five football publications published by The Argus in the early fifties. Later, it grew into a love of history in general.

At Monash University in 1968, the “labour historian” Ian Turner, of “Ron Barassi Memorial Lecture” fame, announced his intention of writing a history of the game (in fact the first scholarly history of the game – Up Where Cazaly?).

Seized by temporary insanity, I visited Turner at his home in Lennox Street, Richmond, one afternoon and handed over (forever, as it turned out!) my once beloved Argus books. My lingering fascination with Haydn Bunton started with those books. I can remember taking particular note of the laudatory comments about Bunton in these publications.

See for instance “That Quicksilver Man called Haydn Bunton”, Football Headlines, circa April 1955. This particular Argus publication, produced only weeks before Bunton’s death, was written by Hugh Buggy, Percy Taylor, and Peter Banfield. I vaguely remember that the the footballer’s premature death in 1955 hit the football world like a thunderclap.

The latter-day AFL has instituted a commemorative institution called the Hall of Fame and installed some former great players as “Legends”. It might be more correct to describe these players as “Myths”. What do we know of them? Footballers, until relatively recently, did not publish memoirs. Nor did ( or could ) they speak into the tape recorders of oral historians. Because they, and those who ran the sport in yesteryears, seem not to have left memoirs (or other material of an intellectual nature) to posterity we know very little about footballers in the past.

What we do know is gleaned from tales (including, of course, contemporary newspaper reports) of their on-field football exploits. These tales have been told by others – more so than told by themselves. We therefore know something of what the players achieved on the football field but we know next to nothing about them personally.

Haydn Bunton was no shrinking violet. He was conspicuous and available in a number of different ways. On the field certainly, but also on the floor at Foys in the city, and on the airwaves and in print. With his newspaper column and his own regular 3DB radio program (and later radio programs in Perth and Adelaide) Bunton was the footy media star of his day. There are also suggestions of egoism in Bunton. But even he did not (to my knowledge) leave us an autobiography, having died before it became acceptable for footballers to do so. It is hardly surprising that there is a mystique about Bunton and other leading footballers.

Richmond’s Jack Dyer has a well-deserved reputation for inadvertently, as a radio and TV broadcaster, mangling the English language. Ironically, therefore, it is Jack Dyer, in his own pioneering autobiography Captain Blood, who has written (or ghost-written) the most evocative descriptions of Haydn Bunton, as he appeared to Dyer on and off the field. In writing my song, I drew on Dyer’s comments more than any other source.

What has emerged about Bunton seemed perfect for a song. He was a romantic figure, in all senses of the word. Dodging knucklemen on the football field, he was a symbol of good triumphing over evil. Adored by female fans for his matinee idol looks (Dyer’s comparison is with Rudolf Valentino) Bunton perhaps had as much in common with the Errol Flynn pirate character of “Captain Blood” than Jack Dyer himself did. Also, Bunton died before his time. The fatal car accident in Gawler seems to have been caused by Bunton’s desire to help those less fortunate than himself.

The way that Bunton created, for Fitzroy people at least, excitement (if not hope) in the midst of thirties economic despair invites a comparison with Don Bradman. The matrix from which Aussie Football’s Bradman emerged was not altogether different from the cricketer’s.

Like Bradman, Bunton was a country boy. As a seventeen year-old, Bunton took his place alongside young Bradman in a NSW Country X1 against a more senior NSW X1 and apparently so impressed that great cricket judge Monty Noble that he was rated by Noble as a more likely candidate for future Test selection than Bradman and Archie Jackson.

See “That Quicksilver Man called Haydn Bunton”, Football Headlines, circa April 1955. Later, when Bunton arrived in Melbourne, Bill Ponsford approached him to join St Kilda Cricket Club. Of course, Bradman continued his cricketing career; Bunton did not.

One particularly fascinating story about Bunton stood out above all others, and more than any other part of the Bunton myth provided the essential ingredient for a song. I found it in Mavis Thorpe Clark’s biography of the great aboriginal leader Doug Nicholls (and also in The First One Hundred Years, a history of the Fitzroy Football Club by Sutherland et al).

I was profoundly moved when I read about Bunton’s gesture of friendship in the Fitzroy dressing room towards the diminutive aboriginal. Nicholls, a skilled and lightning-fast wingman, was newly-arrived from Carlton (where he had been snubbed) and from Northcote’s champion VFA team. As possibly the only black man in senior football in Melbourne, what supreme courage he must have had to face on-field taunts and dressing-room ostracism! In later years, Nicholls stood out as a spokesman for his people. His greatness was finally acknowledged when he was appointed Governor of South Australia.

Bunton’s greatness consisted in the fact he had supreme football skills but it was augmented by his display of charity and humanity to his Aboriginal teammate. (The charity seems to have been reciprocated – Bunton became one of a group of Fitzroy players attending Nicholls’ Church Parade).

Today, we hear a lot about reconciliation between the races and reconciliation between the races in football. Black footballers like Che Cockatoo Collins, Michael Long and Nicky Winmar, who have worked against the grain to establish the rights of Aboriginal footballers, have been justly applauded. But what have white footballers done? It seemed to me that there was perhaps a great untold story of white footballers working against the grain of racism and in their own way pioneering reconciliation long before it was fashionable.

THE SONG

There seems to be an unwritten law that football songs should be comic or humorous, or at least not too serious. There also seems to be an unspoken assumption that football songs (and sport generally) should avoid the discussion of serious social themes. Perhaps this is because of the pervasive, male locker-room, larrikin tradition of shying away from the expression of emotion.

I felt this tradition as a barrier to be overcome before the Bunton song was possible. Football songs do not have to be overtly political to be good – take Mike Brady’s classic “Up there Cazaly”: now not far from being a genuine Australian folk song. But many football songs are ephemeral because they assidously avoid social comment.

I wrote the Bunton song in outright rebellion against the genre of football songs of the “There’s only one Tony Lockett” type. I tried to pack in as much social history as possible – the depression years, racism on and off the field, footy as an expression of (Fitzroy) community, the commercialisation of the sport.

In recent years, there has been an acceleration in the movement of football away from its social – that is, its suburban and community – roots. Footy has become a part of “the spectacle” and the larger entertainment industry (particularly television). Certainly football is now an industry in its own right, and “money rules as king”. In the most recent period, a little sub-industry has been developing within the belly of the AFL as an integral part of club marketing strategies. We have AFL Halls of Fame, club Halls of Fame, AFL Teams of the Century, club Teams of the Century, and, like some footy version of the Top Forty, The Best Sixty Players in the History of Such-and-Such.

Central to the sub-industry is the comparison of great footballers across different eras. Books based on these comparisons are great money-spinners and marketing tools. They probe bottomless wells of nostalgia. They look wonderful on coffee-tables. They provoke interesting and never-ending arguments. As my ever-growing library (and ever-diminishing bank balance) will attest, I love them.

But from the point of view of History, the comparisons are really analytically untenable. How can Thurgood be compared (quantitatively or qualitatively) with Ablett? Reynolds with Carey? Pratt with Dunstall? In the end, it really just comes down to a subjective choice, a personal point of view.

In mid-1999, Melbourne’s Herald-Sun newspaper (following in the tradition initiated by Greg Hobbs and Scott Palmer) solemnly published a list of the best-ever footballers in order of merit, with Hawthorn’s Leigh Matthews as the No. 1.

The absurd pseudo-objectivity of this poll was the catalyst that sparked, at last, my song. I decided to declare my hand, and to do so in full consciousness that I was being totally subjective – expressing my own values.

Just as my favourite modern footballer is not some Geelong player but, of all things, a Carlton player – Brent Crosswell – so my greatest all-time footballer also had to be someone who could be shown to have worked, and not purely on the football field, against the grain. Embedded in the song is the notion that human qualities, not just on-field performance, ought to count for something in the estimation of football greatness.

At time of writing, the still-extant Fitzroy Football Club is petitioning the AFL to help fund the erection of a statue of Bunton at the Brunswick Street Oval. Bunton will join Ted Whitten and other sportspeople who have been monumentalised. My song also puts the Fitzroy footballer on a pedestal.

Anything unsettling, or incongruous with the image of perfection, has been scraped off the portrait. Bunton had his detractors. For Dyer, he was the ”umpire’s pet”. Turner called him a ”seraph”. I was shocked to read in a book on the history of Norwood Football Club that Bunton had hectored Haydn Junior from the boundary like a bad tempered schoolmaster.

I wondered what to make of the oft-mentioned opinion that Bunton, winning games for Fitzroy “off his own boot”, was footy’s (first?) supreme individualist. I chose to ignore his connection to the payments scandal of 1930.I also had to ignore the apparent truth that Bunton’s kicking prowess was barely above average! Of course, wherever old men gather, some do not say Bunton. Some say Coleman, or Reynolds, or Pratt.

And not all have a gleam in their eye. But can you imagine us, or anyone else, singing that?

My comment: Many thanks to Ken Mansell for sharing his memories, creativity and voice to honour Haydn Bunton, Australia’s greatest ever footballer.

It’s a good point, especially in light of the Maxwell tribunal fiasco.

Parents, especially mothers, probably feel more secure watching their sons play soccer than Australian football or rugby.

My own son started playing football too young, copped some heavy hits by older boys and lost interest. He now loves soccer and does very well.

That’s a shame really. I would have liked him to play both until about this age (13) and then choose. Michael was talented at Australian football, used to love bouncing the ball and running, but really lost confidence after being knocked down as a nine year old playing against 12 year olds.

There’s no doubt AFL has become less physical since I began watching in the mid 70s.

Extra umpires, rule changes, greater fitness and increased professionalism have all influenced the speed of play.

If the bump is taken out of the game they might as well ban tackles too. Change the oval ball to a round one for greater predictability and bingo! Australian rules becomes Gaelic football.

I wouldn’t like to see that happen.

There used to be one umpire! When football started, the captains acted as umpires. Now we need four white rabbits/maggots?

Running midfielders are being tagged out of the game, according to some.

Let’s adopt basketball rules and abolish tackling. That’s the easiest way to satisfy those who oppose physical contact. Or maybe we should merge with Gaelic football and play with a round ball.

Ted Whitten is turning in his grave.

He knew his time was up and wanted to get out a year early, rather than a year late. John Howard should have been that smart.

Lethal is a great coach and deserved to select the time of his departure.

It’s great that captain Jonathan Brown re-signed for another four years. The Lions have a solid base of talented players to build from next year and should play finals if they can discover some consistency.