The Fairytale

by H. G. Nelson

  The humble Crocker-inspired beginnings soon expanded into a day that combined old-fashioned show business with Grand Final football. It evolved into a showcase for artists from around the world. The big names selected by the NOF committee soon graduated from a throwaway afterthought, forgotten as soon as the teams ran onto the G through the club run-through, becoming a sizeable strawberry on top of a three-layer sponge cake that was football’s one day of the year. They became a crucial ingredient, almost as important as the game-day Sherrin.

  The humble Crocker-inspired beginnings soon expanded into a day that combined old-fashioned show business with Grand Final football.

  The annual build-up to the Oxide committee’s announcement about which local or overseas artists would grace the Grannie card occupied media speculation for weeks leading up to the reveal on Channel Seven’s six o’clock news. The announcement was usually made by the VFL/AFL CEO at a large press conference with music industry heavies like Mushroom chief Michael Gudinski in attendance.

  In the aftermath of every Grand Final, especially if the act had put in a ‘Barry Crocker’, there was forensic analysis of what went wrong and how the NOF committee could get it right next year. This kicked off the ‘Who’s Next?’ debate. Media speculation could run for months!

  The VFL/AFL Grand Final entertainment journey has been a long, strange trip. One melody has anchored the ride from day one. That tune is Mike Brady’s ‘Up There Cazaly’. This footy-focused chart topper quickly became a Grand Final day staple. It is a genuine footy anthem, penned in 1979 to promote the Channel Seven season-long football coverage.

  The title refers to the high-leaping South Melbourne ruck-man, Roy Cazaly, who pulled on the boots for the blood-stained angels in the early years of the twentieth century. Roy was a great mark, with a spectacular vertical leap, often grabbing the footy with one hand at ruck contests.

  The song topped the music charts in 1979. Given the Channel Seven free-to-air exposure, ‘Up There’ stayed on top for months. Musically, it’s a tricky song to get your head around, with a couple of startling key changes. But no one doubts its long life or its pride of place as Australia’s number one footy anthem.

  It harkens back to a time when football was not a vast international business but the suburban pastime that explained why Melbourne existed. Once this humble harmony is heard and the great game glimpsed, who would be mad enough to live anywhere else? Honestly? Melbourne is a city full of attractions, but when you line everything up the footy wins hands down.

  It harkens back to a time when football was not a vast international business but the suburban pastime that explained why Melbourne existed.

  The follow-up, ‘There’s a Little Bit of Cazaly in Us All’, spoke to every footy follower who needed convincing they were doing the right thing and not wasting their life by going to the game every weekend no matter what the weather.

  On the one hand, the Oxide Five realised that Mike Brady and ‘Cazaly’ was a Grannie given, and on the other, it did not take long for international music managements to see the promotional potential of touring the big stars through Australia in late September on the off-chance they could snap up an afternoon gig at the G.

  There were lean years when no one was around, the big stars were elsewhere, so on the day NOF had to rely on the Friends of the Grannie like John Farnham, Normie Rowe, Glenn Shorrock, Daryl Somers and Paul Kelly. Some years the crowd was serenaded by a choir in charge of the sing-a-long. There were almost as many on stage singing as playing the game.

  In other years the pre-match entertainment was weird. In 1991, the MCG was closed for renovations and the Grand Final was relocated to Waverley Oval, nicknamed Arctic Park for the obvious reasons. This was a challenge for all concerned. The Oxide Five’s handiwork on the big day at Waverley had a curious flavour.

  It was the last go-round of the final five concept. The VFL, in an effort to squeeze another drop from the September action lemon, added another team and the final five became the final six.

  On that history-making day, in a triumph of cross-promotion, hard-rocking Rose Tattoo’s front man Angry Anderson was tapped to farewell the Australian team headed to the Olympic Games in Barcelona the following year. Angry, with help from Mikes de Luca and Slamer, had cooked a confection full of gold medal encouragement called ‘Bound for Glory’. It climbed to number eleven on the charts. The sentiment, style and sound were unremarkable, but it was heartfelt and loud.

  What was remarkable on the day was that the bad boy for love, bald-headed Angry, waddled out at half-time into a rain sodden venue accompanied by the Batmobile. The what? Well, it was a canny piece of cross-promotion, letting footy heads know that Batman Returns was going to be in town at a cinema near you. The cinema in 1991 still pulled big crowds, especially to superhero blockbusters. The suggestion was that this film was almost as good as football – just look at the car. The car still talks to Batman fans. It still goes and was sold in late 2020 on eBay where it attracted a lot of interest from speed freaks who had space in their double garage.

  Once the Oxide Five had a taste of the cross promotion-caper it was all systems go. The concept struck gold in 2010 when the AFL unveiled the Dreamliner. It’s a huge plane and the future of flying. It swooped in from the Punt Road end at the MCG. The Big Bird looked as though it was about to touch down in the centre circle of the G before suddenly gaining altitude and swinging over the city and out of sight. The daredevil pilot had 100,000 supporters staining their underwear – the future of aviation was that close.

  Once the Oxide Five had a taste of the cross promotion-caper it was all systems go.

  In 1995, Scott Morrison’s favourite, Tina Arena, stepped out to her biggest audience when she wandered on and blasted an acapella version of ‘Waltzing Matilda’ with the help of many friends. This brave presentation was followed in 1996 by the big ensemble doing the Grannie standards. The hundredth year of the VFL/AFL Grannies was celebrated with a star-studded line-up of stars who had been having a sing on the day since 1977. This was the big one and it needed a big crew. Barry Crocker was back, John Farnham was in the house, along with Normie Rowe, Venetta Fields, Slim Dusty, Daryl Somers, Glenn Shorrock, Lindsay Fields, Diana Trask, Norm Watson and Maroochy Barambah.

  The joint effort on ‘Matilda’ had everybody chipping in a line or two before the massed voices of the Nitrous Oxide Grand Final All Stars chimed in for the chorus and brought it all home. Critics raved, ‘Not a dry eye in the House!’ The game, however, was another lopsided affair. The North Melbourne Kangaroos touched up the Sydney Swans by forty-plus points.

  And as the years and seasons rolled by, more footy songs were added to the AFL canon. Hunters and Collectors contributed ‘The Holy Grail’ (this song is actually about Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow, but it was clear to anyone who kicked a Sherrin that the Holy Grail was the AFL premiership). ‘One Day in September’, ‘Rock ’N Footy (Rock the G)’ and Paul Kelly’s ‘Leaps and Bounds’ were all great additions to the songs that could be rolled out as part of football’s biggest day.

  Blueprint Blight’s great Grannie successes are tempered by numerous totally forgettable moments and many completely forgettable games. But pre-match immortality was achieved in 2011 when the Oxide Five tapped Meat Loaf to appear on the Grannie boundary line. Hard to know if the Loaf knew anything about Australian Rules football or footy fans. For starters, Loaf freaks had to be middle-aged, as in about forty-seven, to have a clue who he was. It had been decades since Captain Meat had a hit on the charts. In his prime this great act had sold forty-three million records and was a Grammy award-winner.

  The committee’s nitrous oxide–fuelled concept reached a historic low (or high) with Meat Man’s startlingly cod ordinary performance. It was a complete Barry Crocker.

  Introduced in magnificent fashion on the big day by ‘the Voice of the AFL’:

  Ladies and gentlemen, Carlton Draught and the VFL are pleased to present a man who burst onto the world music s
tage in 1977 . . . [A list of achievements and hits followed.]

  Please welcome to the stage Grammy award-winner Meat Loaf!

  One hundred thousand footy fans were scratching their heads as the Loaf roared into the G, leg over a Harley. He was a noisy speck in a sea of supporters’ scarves. Suddenly, he was there with a twelve-and-half-minute medley of the best of Meat. It was Bat Out of Hell (1977) hits rammed together, including ‘Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad’, ‘Bat Out of Hell’ and ‘You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth’.

  It was all there: that voice surging like a runaway cement mixer, the leather threads, the Bat Out of Hell ensemble blasting away and letting the chips fall where they may, and those songs. It was a performance that baffled the knowledgeable MCG crowd, who would have needed an international musicologist to unravel the Loaf’s sonic mess. As far as anyone at the G knew, the Mince in Motion Man was singing the team list from the Grand Final Footy Record.

  On the upside, Australia has not stopped talking about the Loaf’s unique Grand Final performance. His contribution to football gossip and folklore in those magical few minutes was outstanding. In a Best on Ground performance, he was the benchmark of both success and failure. Everyone in Australia claims they were at the G on that day when the train with Meat Loaf up front, with his hands on the levers, crashed, leaving millions asking: Why?

  The horrendous nature of Meat’s performance did not give the Blueprint Blight committee pause to reconsider their strategy. They kept throwing acts at the wall and were delighted when one stuck. The pre-match entertainment had come a long way from the humble ‘The Impossible Dream’ days and the simpler times of Barry Crocker.

  The horrendous nature of Meat’s performance did not give the Blueprint Blight committee pause to reconsider their strategy.

  Back in Jolimont House, after another pull on the nitrous oxide, the NOF suggested expanding the musical and artistic content of the day by shrinking the role of football. The committee always had that as a dream. It made so much sense: if you were paying a star for a warble before the bounce, why not roll the ensemble out at half-time for another blast of big hits? Or even better, get another act to do the half-time and then get the pre-match artists back for a big set after the game. Suddenly, it was Glastonbury, Sunbury and footy at the MCG.

  Once the Norm Smith and the premiership medals had been dished out, the speeches boxed and buried, and the winning team had made a stumble around the boundary line greeting delirious fans, there was a football audience gagging for more. The Blueprint Blight committee tipped the footy crowd out, reopened the gates and let 100,000 music buffs back in.

  The Blueprint’s ultimate dream was to cement the link between entertainment and football. If only a player from the winning team, still wearing the jumper, could get up on stage and sing a big hit with the band during the post-game show.

  Hopefully, the international act and footy star could find a chart-topper that the crowd knew and could join in the sing-a-long. What a ‘sensational’ finish to the day! This would climax the journey begun all those years ago when the Famous Five first assembled around the gas tank, breathed deeply and dreamed.

  This marriage of footy and art climaxed when Tigers forward, Jack Riewoldt, still sporting his sweat-stained premiership winning jumper and shorts, sat in on vocals with Las Vegas chart toppers The Killers. The band and Jack swung through ‘Mister Brightside’ after the Tigers’ flag success in 2017. This selection, The Killers’ first song, has an autobiographical flavour, but what a choice it was! The opening line about coming out of a cage talks directly to the Tigers faithful. The rest of the song is pure yellow and black.

  It was an absolute triumph, for the G, the Grannie, a Tigers’ win, Jack and The Killers – and the soundman out front on the mixing board who had the sense to turn Jack’s mike down.

  Live Performances at Rugby League Grand Finals

  On that one day in October, was the league just as insanely creative as the AFL?

  Rugby league, the AFL’s great football rival, was keen to get involved with the pre-match entertainment romp. Over the years the Greatest Game of All (G.G.A.) had baked a wide variety of music into the promotion of game. There were plenty of acts to choose from for the big occasions.

  The history of the G.G.A. Grand Final entertainment is littered with the great and, not surprisingly, on-the-blink moments. Mixed into the fiasco of feeble are some A-grade stinkers.

  There are more big nights on the rugby league calendar than on the AFL schedule. There is a finals series, including the big tombola, three State of Origin matches and an assortment of Test Matches and All-Star games. All these fixtures require musical support. Game theory suggests a crowd will never be pulled simply by the drama of the game.

  No one remembers the good nights when the show went to plan. Nights when the Provan–Summons trophy arrived without a hitch, when the game started on time after the musical act had quietly packed up and moved on. When the choking smoke of the fireworks was blown away on the spring breeze and when the parade of old players in ill-fitting suits passed without comment. There is no reason to remember those nights. It’s the dud that lingers.

  As in the AFL, pre-match entertainment in rugby league is a heady cocktail of moving parts. Performers, staging, PAs, lights, fireworks, dancers, road crew, musical equipment and power all have to be rushed on and then rushed off after a blast. The moving parts cannot collide with the players from both teams running on for their date with destiny.

  The league got lucky early. The entertainment committee set the bar very high on the dud gauge when they booked the cast of Neighbours to sing the national anthem before the 1986 Grand Final. This memorable big rhumba was a try-less fling, Parramatta Eels 4, Canterbury-Bankstown Bulldogs 2. It was a defence masterclass, entertainment as only the league can turn on.

  The afternoon kicked off with a choir that included Kylie Minogue, Jason Donovan and Guy Pearce. They lurched right out of their comfort zone when they lined up to unite the nation in song. When the booking was made, no one was asked whether the Ramsay Street song-and-dance troupe could actually sing. Rugby league people assume all actors can hold a tune and bring their A-game to the big watusi. Maybe the choir over-rehearsed or suffered from big-game pre-match nerves, but they contributed a unique rendition of the nation’s big tune with a lot of guesses about notes and lyrics. Once heard never forgotten. Even the players who are most reluctant to comment on art and culture were gobsmacked by the originality of the read. This rendition featured some genuinely weird pitch selections which would have stretched the great jazz saxophonist John Coltrane’s understanding of how music worked.

  From 1988 until 1998 the league Grand Final was played at the Sydney Football Stadium and witnessed several distinguished displays of dud. The Navy apprentices’ shed-erection competition in 1987 was a curious pre-match entertainment. Tradie teams from our senior service went at it hammer and tongs, showing what young Australians can do if given a chance. Sadly, the apprentices did the bolts up too tight during the erection phase. It took most of the first half plus a lengthy spray of WD-40 to loosen the bolts. Professionals rushed in to dismantle the structures before kick off could get underway.

  At next year’s final, the dome of doom featured a promotion of the cable channel Optus. It was a tight fit, as the cable channel was the new home of rugby league. It was decided that the best way to link the two was to suspend a giant television from wires running across from one side of the SFS to the other. It was all going swimmingly until the giant prop TV got caught up in the wires that held it in place.

  Clearing the collapsed promotional prop required time-consuming work by skilled riggers. It was not easy. The league was so used to disasters by this stage that the teams ran on and began the game with the technicians and stage crew still trying to clean up the chaos. In a weird way, the whole shemozzle foretold the future of the Optus channel, which collapsed in debt and disappointment several years after its wobbly Grand F
inal launch.

  In 1989 the big show in town was the musical 42nd Street. The tap-dancing cast were tasked to get the big dance underway. The Street’s big number was ‘We’re in the Money’. In the theatre the whole cast tap-danced their way in unison around the set. It was not the easiest routine to adapt to a football stadium, but Australian musical theatre thrives on challenges.

  The cast, wearing their show clothes with taps on their shoes, assumed the start positions at all points of the Stadium. It was a ‘ready, set, go’ situation. Then nothing happened. No sound, just a pin drop and embarrassed looks. With no beat, the dancers could not move their feet. The crowd turned restless. Word filtered through with stage whispers that someone had left the all-important backing tape cassette in the glove box of the car. The cast finally got the message and, feeling stupid, sloped off, lugging their props with them to ironic cheers. They gave it their best shot on the day and came up short.

  It was an early curtain for the tap troupe. Mercifully, the Canberra Raiders had their footy boots and heads on and cleaned up the Balmain Tigers. It was the Green Machine’s first flag.

  By 2002, the Grand Final had been relocated to Stadium Australia, at Homebush. It was not Billy Idol’s fault that he laid a dump centre stage that had to be flushed before the match could get under way. There he was, looking stupid in his threatening, old-school punk garb. That look of menace, the bleached thatch, the song ‘Rebel Yell’. An aging punk and rugby league – what a tight fit, it was going to be great!

  Billy Idol zoomed on in a hovercraft. Fireworks bursting from the back of the lawn mower that floats. He jumped off the airborne Victa punching the air. His sneer was dialled up to nine. Fists pumping the air, he was ready to rock. But the only thing that worked was his mike! He blurted out a few lines of punk cabaret.

  Awright! Sydney, are you ready to rock!

  Are there any Warrior fans here?