Specific fullback skills aside, not getting overwhelmed in the moment was the hardest part of the job I’d been asked to do for my team. Easier said than done–particularly when you factor in that in my first dozen games I played on some more-than-handy full-forwards, including Tony Lockett, Tony Modra, Jeff Hogg, Saverio Rocca, John Longmire, Chris Grant and Allen Jakovich. One of my toughest afternoons that first season was against flamboyant Melbourne forward Jakovich, who had a big day out at my expense, kicking 8.6.
It was during the tough times that I called on the hard lessons I’d learnt during my tennis days. Back then I’d often found myself walking into tournaments knowing full well I was out of my depth. Singles tennis can be a lonely game. Out there on the court there’s just you and your opponent. There’s no-one else there for you to rely on when things go bad, the score starts to slip and the game begins to get away. Outgunned against the No.1 seed, you can only try to do your best.
In football, as in tennis, I learnt to rely on myself and play my natural game. In both sports I found myself in positions where the only option left was to grind out the game and make decisions by instinct to get on top of my opponent in different ways. The kids better than me in tennis often couldn’t be outplayed so they had to be out-thought. I had to acquire a bag of tricks – an arsenal of different tactics and responses – to get past them.
So whenever I was up against it on the footy field, standing next to a Lockett or a Jakovich, I put the odds against me to the back of my mind and formed the attitude: ‘Ah well, it is what it is today.’ And if my opponent got the better of me and my team finished behind on the scoreboard, the key for me was to get over it quickly and move forward.
*
As a team, the 1993 Essendon squad was moving forward in a hurry, winning six out of seven games coming into August and virtually securing a finals berth the following month.
Then I took a slight deviation. The call of a big school game saw me step down from the Bombers’ Round 19 team to play Sydney. Sheeds had copped it sweet when I chose school over club back in Round 3, but apparently stepping down from a vital AFL game at this end of the season was a different situation. He wasn’t happy at all. In fact, he was so angry he made his feelings public, suggesting to the media that I might not go straight back into the senior team the following week. That got up my father’s nose and he hit back, putting the spat into the headlines and on the TV news leading into the weekend.
It was a tough call. But if Essendon Grammar could defeat Assumption College, the prestigious Associated Grammar Schools flag was ours despite there being two rounds to go. I knew how much that flag meant to Dad as my school coach, and also to my Grammar teammates. And as captain of the team I’d made a commitment at the start of the year that I felt needed to be honoured, no matter what other demands on my time had come up in the intervening months.
My decision, and the subsequent feud between my father and my coach, meant the crowd was a lot bigger than usual for a Friday afternoon school game. As I led the team out there were cameras everywhere, all with me in their sights.
It was a tight game all day, but I gave the camera crews their ‘money shot’ when I made my presence felt in the tense final quarter with an old-fashioned hip and shoulder that cleaned up one of Assumption’s prime movers and edged us ahead. That brought a smile to Dad’s face. In the years to come he would talk about that one act often, proudly recalling it as the moment that helped get us over the line for a memorable 11-point win.
That night I sat in the stands at the MCG and watched my other team defeat Sydney by 21 points to take Essendon to the top of the ladder.
The next week Sheeds had cooled down enough to pick me to play against Footscray, but even then everyone knew it was the following week’s assignment that would present the biggest challenge of my fledgling playing career so far.
Gary Ablett was one of the greatest players in history and was having a career-best season in 1993, having passed the 100-goal mark back in Round 18. All season, Dad and I had sat on the couch together, watching videos of my games, and he offered me tips as we went along.
Dad had a theory on ‘God’. ‘Don’t jostle against Ablett because he’ll just push you out of the way,’ he told me. ‘Get in front and if you have to back-pedal then put your arm up. Then, if he pushes you it’s much more obvious, and if he doesn’t then you can get a fist on it.’
Thanks, Dad. I’ll try.
My visit to Geelong didn’t start off well when the property steward forgot to bring my boots down and I had to borrow a pair from Peter Cransberg, who had played in the reserves beforehand. But even in borrowed boots, Dad’s tactic worked a treat. I held Ablett to one goal, receiving four free kicks off him. It was almost too good to be true.
The different boots had been giving me grief all day and late in the third quarter I went over badly on an ankle and had to be helped off to the bench, where I watched helplessly as Ablett kicked two vital goals in the last quarter to get Geelong home by 32 points.
The pain of that defeat, though, took a back seat to my injury. The joint quickly blew up like a balloon and frightened the daylights out of me. It was my first real injury and unfortunately for everyone it had come just two short weeks out from the finals.
Something special was brewing at Windy Hill and I didn’t want to miss out.
KEN FLETCHER
Father, Essendon captain, 1978 best and fairest winner, 264 games 1967–80
We used to play a lot of little skill drills, me and the boys. I remember on holidays, we’d stop somewhere in a country town and practise left-footers where you’d screw the ball back the opposite way, little things like that. It was obvious then that Dustin had a fair amount of talent. His younger brother Lach was a slammer, a real goer, but he was never going to be quick enough.
Dustin played one year with Keilor in under-10s and played really well – they won the premiership – but after that, up to age 16, he only played for the school, just the eight games a year.
In that sense he didn’t have a lot of footy development time. But I’m a big believer in that. I think lots of game time and training in those formative years is why a lot of kids get osteitis pubis later on. Dustin didn’t have that and I reckon it’s helped him last . . . his build helps too because normally the blokes with the stocky legs are the ones who don’t last too long.
Dustin was always lean but I look back at some of the school tapes, and even back then he had quick reflexes and a long kick. He hit the ground too much but he had brilliance.
He had a bit of shit in him as well. I remember the game he took off from Essendon to play for the school where he laid out one kid against Assumption College with a classic shirt-front, which was legal in those days. It set up the game for us and Essendon Grammar went on to win the Grand Final.
To get into the Teal Cup, the national under-18 championships, he played in the TAC Cup so he went from playing eight games a year to playing 38 and ended up with shin splints. In the Teal Cup Grand Final, I was sitting next to David Parkin as Victoria played a South Australian side captained by future Adelaide star Mark Ricciuto. The South Aussies were four or five goals up at half-time. Then they put Dustin in the ruck and he turned the game and Victoria ended up winning it.
The next year he went to Essendon as a father–son recruit.
Out at Skinner Reserve for a practice match, Dustin was playing all right but he still looked too skinny. I thought he needed one more year to build up a bit. I couldn’t believe it when Neale Daniher, who was an assistant coach at the Bombers, told me that he might be playing in a couple of weeks. I said, ‘What? He’s not ready yet.’
Kevin Sheedy told Rosemary and me before Dustin’s first AFL game that he would probably get him on in the last quarter, just for about five minutes. Imagine our confusion when we watched the players get ready for the opening bounce and saw Dustin out there! We were worried he’d get broken in two, and really we were just glad he got through th
e game.
Dustin has a quiet personality. He’s never shown anyone his feelings and has never been a big head. Waiting for him in the dressing rooms after a tennis game, you could never tell whether he’d won or lost because every time he’d just say, ‘I went all right.’
He could’ve been ruined early in AFL if he didn’t have that temperament.
Have a look at who he played against early on, when they put him straight in at fullback, and there’s not a dud full-forward among ’em: Kernahan, Ablett, Lockett, Dunstall, Sumich, Jakovich, Modra . . . they’re virtually the best forwards of all time. I was proud of Dustin – he stuck up for himself.
Dustin’s anticipation, speed and good timing were the key to his success back then. He was mainly spoiling then but if he got in front with his pace, he’d take a good mark and run off. He was brilliant going at a hard bouncing ball in full-bore attack and then bang straight in the hands. He got better every season, smarter every game. But it’s those delivery skills that stand out and I think remain underrated. Dustin’s one of the best target hitters in the comp and always has been.
CHAPTER 4
THE ULTIMATE
‘You are here to play finals and to make Grand Finals.’ If Kevin Sheedy said it once, he said it a hundred times throughout the 1993 season.
The message was aimed in particular at Essendon’s younger brigade. The coach wanted it drummed into us not to be content merely with playing AFL football each week. I understood what he was saying, but I was still too young to look at the big picture. All I knew was that we had a good team and were right up there as premiership contenders. And at that stage of life the challenges I faced each week standing in the goal square trying to do my job were more than enough to occupy my young footballing mind.
Now we’d finished the home and away season on top, it was time to start widening the vision.
The reason we were a good team was pretty simple: the mix was right. There were many different types of players in the squad, all of different personalities and ages and backgrounds and personal playing styles, but put together it was the right formula.
First and foremost we had eight players 20 years old or younger: Joe Misiti (18), Mark Mercuri (19), David Calthorpe (20), Ricky Olarenshaw (20), Gavin Wanganeen (20), James Hird (20), Paul Hills (20) and me. This earned us a nickname that stuck: ‘The Baby Bombers’. I was the youngest of those babies; having turned 18 on 7 May.
At the other end of the spectrum we had experience in the form of club legend Tim Watson, who at 32 had been lured out of retirement by Sheeds after a year on the sidelines. It was an honour to play in the same side as Watson. When I was growing up he’d been one of my heroes and I’d always looked out for him when I went down to training with Dad.
Watson had worked incredibly hard to get back to his best, doing a lot of one-on-one sessions with our fitness man, Danny Corcoran; he finally made it back into the team in Round 8. His worth wasn’t measured in possessions, kicks or marks. Timmy’s presence around such a young group was a currency far more valuable.
Under him on the veteran stakes was our captain, ‘Bomber’ Thompson, who was 29, and Paul Salmon, Mark Harvey and Gary O’Donnell, all 28.
There was also a hard edge to the team, which was important. Sean Denham may have been small in stature but he never took a backward step on the field, while Harvs, Bomber, Dean Wallis and David Grenvold were seriously tough.
Then there were the exquisite skills of Gavin Wanganeen, Michael Long and Derek Kickett, plus the freakish talent of Hird and Mercuri combined with the sharp-shooting of goal sneak Darren Bewick, the incredible ball-getting ability of Misiti and the dash of Olarenshaw.
Importantly, the core of that 1993 team was made up of mature, hardened players. They may not have made headlines individually, but their roles were crucial to the operation of the team as a whole. Quiet achievers were also in abundance. Players like Denham, Grenvold, ruckman Peter Somerville and Chris Daniher – another younger brother of Terry’s – went about their business with no fuss.
As for me, a teenage schoolboy who looked like he’d snap in half if a strong wind picked up, I was an easy target on a football field, so I was fortunate to have the likes of Harvey and Wallis looking out for me.
Earlier in the season I’d played a reserves match against Fitzroy and got myself engaged in a wrestle with my opponent on the wing. As I was getting up to move on, another guy came through from behind and ‘accidentally’ whacked me in the head. I felt like I had been hit with a hammer. My eye blew up straight away, blood spilt everywhere and I found out later that I had a minor cheekbone fracture.
As I ran off the ground to get bandaged I passed ‘Wally’, who enquired: ‘What happened?’ I pointed out the offender, who had longish hair and a glint in his eye. ‘He got me a ripper,’ I said. Wally nodded. This guy had a reputation for being a dirty player; now he had a bounty on his head.
Sure enough, Wally crossed paths with the offender in a pack and grabbed him by the hair while Wally’s boot was accidentally planted on his hand, which broke a couple of bones. Accidents like that often happened to grub players when Wally was around.
There was no doubt I felt a lot safer with him and Harvs riding shotgun next to me.
My first game against Collingwood was another example of the ‘blood-brother-hood’ in my corner. Before the bounce there was a punch-on and as I walked to my position a number of Collingwood players, including ruckman Damian Monkhorst, ripped into me, unleashing a torrent of abuse and trying to intimidate me. I knew I had to stand up for myself but Monkhorst was so big and ugly – he would have been at least 30 kilos heavier than me – that I kept quiet, figuring I might get my head punched in.
It was at this point that I looked around to see Harvs and Wally close by. They both had crazy eyes and you could see when they were about to launch – a good thing when you were on their side.
I’d got used to copping a fair bit of abuse. Mainly it was verbal, which I got good at ignoring, but sometimes the physical intimidation included blatantly tripping me if I tried to run off. Being able to laugh it off was a skill I’d picked up: I’d discovered early on at Essendon that in a footy club environment you have to be able to have a laugh at yourself. It was a valuable trait to have – if you couldn’t see the funny side you opened yourself up to people being able to dig at you. In a team sport you need to be able to mix with 95 per cent of the people around you. If you can’t take a bit of criticism or someone occasionally hanging shit on you, then you’re in trouble.
My ankle, however, wasn’t a laughing matter. It was taking longer than expected to heal. For the first couple of days after the initial incident I’d been icing it every two hours to try to get the swelling down, but it wasn’t responding.
We had the bye in the final round, so rather than sit around sulking about my injury, I took the opportunity to head bush and support my Essendon Grammar teammate Damion O’Callaghan. I’d met Damion, who was from Ouyen in country Victoria, when we played tennis against each other in the junior tournaments at Mildura. When Dad found out Damion was going to Assumption College for Year 12, he persuaded Damion’s parents to send him to Essendon Grammar instead. They’d been concerned about accommodation for him but on Dad’s urging they found a unique solution – they purchased a caravan and plonked it in our front yard.
It had been great to have Damion along for the ride over the past six months, and I wanted to show my support for him as he was playing in the preliminary final back in his home town. I headed up there with another Grammar boy, Daryl Griffin (who would go on to play 18 games with Footscray), and after watching Damion taste victory we all headed back to Damion’s farm. Being in the bush we ended up doing what the locals do and headed out for some rabbit shooting from the back of his uncle’s ute.
I’d never shot a gun before but was super-excited about unleashing my inner Dirty Harry. When I saw a rabbit pass through the spotlight, I let rip. The first bullet hit the aerial o
f the ute and I rattled off plenty more that went all over the place – everywhere but near a rabbit, in fact. The bunnies weren’t the only ones who emerged unscathed. My ankle also survived the ordeal, although my shoulder came off much the worse for wear after repeatedly copping the recoil of the shotgun during the all-night shooting party.
*
It turned out I wasn’t the only one to miss out on the qualifying final against Carlton. There were plenty of big names next to me in the stands, including Bomber, Harvs, Wally, Hird and Misiti, all reduced to spectators for what turned out to be a piece of AFL history in that it was the first final ever to be played at night.
With so many frontline Bombers out of action, the Blues started hot favourites and they were led brilliantly by their captain, Kernahan, who kicked four goals in the opening term. Our boys recovered and by late in the third quarter their youthful enthusiasm and pace had us looking the better team, with a 19-point lead. But Kernahan came good again, kicking two quick goals to narrow the gap. And when Carlton rover Brent Heaver kicked two more goals in as many minutes – he finished with four for the night – the Blues suddenly had their noses in front going into the final quarter.
Unfortunately, they managed to keep it that way and booked the all-important week off with a two-point win.
Busted ankle or not, there was no way I was going to miss our cut-throat semi-final match-up with reigning premier West Coast, although I would need several painkilling injections in the ankle just to get up for the game. It wasn’t ideal but it got me out there, and I was joined by Hird and Misiti back in the team.
Fletch Page 4
