Once again Sheeds backed me, and I went out for the second half and did exactly what I’d been doing in the first half. This time it worked. Helped by my teammates dramatically improving their output, we reined in the Cats’ 27-point lead, kicking seven goals to one in the third quarter. Ablett only got one more goal for the afternoon and we held on to get a vital win, by 11 points.
Unfortunately the opening couple of months of Essendon’s premiership defence hadn’t gone according to plan. While we’d managed to win the pre-season competition, we’d lost Michael Long in the process after he hurt his knee and was ruled out for the year.
Injuries were to become a common theme in a season that had started badly, with just one victory from our opening four games, and steadily worsened. Many of our Grand Final heroes were grounded for long stretches with serious injuries, including Paul Salmon, Tim Watson, Mark Thompson, Mark Harvey and Mark Mercuri. I joined that list after aggravating a knee injury during the Round 12 game against Footscray. I was forced to have surgery to remove a cyst from the knee and didn’t make it back until Round 22.
By that time our season was about shot. We managed to beat the Hawks easily, but Adelaide got hold of us the following week. We bounced back to beat Carlton – who were sitting second on the ladder – again in the final game of the home and away season, but it was too late. There would be no finals for the Baby Bombers in 1994.
*
Off the field, I’d managed to secure my driver’s licence and was taking part in a traineeship program at the club run by assistant coach David Wheadon. It was an AFL initiative that saw me working in different areas of the club over a 12-month period. I would spend six weeks in the membership department, then six weeks with the grounds staff at Windy Hill, then another six-week stretch behind the bar in the social club, and so on. I really enjoyed it and felt I grew as a person over the year as I mixed with different people from all sections of the club. It was perfect for me at the time, too, given I had no idea what occupation I wanted to get into.
Further proof of my immaturity – and that of the rest of the trainees, as it turned out – came in Canberra when we travelled there for the finish of the program. We stayed at the Australian Institute of Sport (AIS) for a few days and were expected to abide by the rules just like the elite professional athletes who lived on the AIS’s state-of-the-art campus.
Those rules probably didn’t include sneaking beers into our dormitory after hours and getting a bit rowdy. The AIS officials were understandably upset at our behaviour and kicked us out. We knew our clubs and the AFL were going to be seriously pissed off.
My phone call to Wheadon as I sat on my suitcase in the car park to inform him that I would be coming home early was tough, but things got harder. When we arrived home we were quickly summoned to the AFL, where we copped a dressing-down as well as hefty fines. It wasn’t an ideal way to end 1994, but that debacle summed up the year in a strange way, given I’d been forced to have an ankle reconstruction at the end of the season.
I was determined to go on the end-of-season footy trip after missing out the previous year. Luckily I had an ally in Wally, who was also on crutches after post-season Achilles surgery. His advice, enthusiastically supported by Harvs, was that you should never miss a footy trip because it was the best way to truly bond and therefore cement trust with your teammates.
The squad flew to Port Douglas and hired boats to sail around the Whitsundays. There were around 30 of us in total, with eight players or staff in each boat, and the usual routine was that we’d sail during the day and then dock at night and party on one of the boats. I had a fibreglass cast up to just below my knee and wasn’t allowed to get it wet, but any doubts I’d had about going on the trip were forgotten with the boys being so adamant no young player could afford to miss the experience.
And so it proved. After drinks on the boat we would keep the party rolling by heading into town for a team dinner on whatever island we were near. Wally and I would always have to get a head start on the rest of the mob to try to get onto dry land before they did.
This plan had gone smoothly for the first few days but one particular night I sensed something amiss as I hobbled off the boat and made slowly for shore. ‘You’d better hurry up,’ Wally said. We were halfway along the jetty when I heard half a dozen blokes running behind me. I tried to quicken my pace but had no hope. Soon my crutches were snatched out from under me and I crashed into the beautiful clear water, crutches and all. When I surfaced I saw Wally in the water across from me.
Welcome to footy trips, AFL style.
*
‘You have to start pushing yourself.’
My coach was giving me some career advice. My first two years had been about just getting a game, but coming into 1995 I had put on a bit of weight and was familiar with the club and AFL itself. Now it was time to do more than just stop my opponent. Football was evolving; I needed to do the same.
One of Sheeds’ strengths is his ability to read people. He didn’t ride me as hard as he did some of the more experienced blokes, but he had a distinctive way of getting his point across, often by dropping little digs at training. ‘He’s got you on that one,’ he would say during a drill. Or if I was working out in the gym he’d come over and look at what weight I was lifting and then pass a seemingly lighthearted but cleverly loaded comment. He knew such barbs fuelled my competitiveness and worked better on me than ranting and raving.
Deep down I wanted to do more for the team, and by midway through the year I felt like I’d finally got the hang of AFL football. I was feeling more like a part of the squad and was confident enough now to run off my opponents and get a few kicks. You don’t play footy to get just five touches a week. I wanted to feel like I was having an influence and helping my team win games and, ultimately, premierships.
A perfect example of this came in Round 4 that year, a historic day at the MCG as it was the first Anzac Day clash between Essendon and Collingwood. Sheeds, who’d spent two years in the army, had come up with the idea to make the Anzac Day match between those old rivals an annual event and pay tribute to those who had served our country.
There was a massive build-up for the inaugural showdown and on that holiday Tuesday there were almost 95,000 people packed inside the ’G. I had a tough day on Collingwood full-forward Saverio Rocca, who was instrumental in the Pies kicking seven goals to two in the third quarter to lead by 14 points coming into the final quarter.
I had my head down and Sheeds knew it. He swung me forward and I was able to salvage something, kicking two goals and helping us rein in the margin before James Hird snapped a great goal to put us six points up with just a couple of minutes left. Rocca then produced one of the marks of the year at 28 minutes to kick his ninth goal of the day and level the scores. Although Collingwood’s Nathan Buckley had an opportunity to score in the dying seconds he instead tried to pass to Rocca, who was spoiled. The siren went and the game finished, fittingly, in a draw.
My brief venture into the forward line had shown I had a few extra strings to my bow, and my confidence took a big leap. Now that I was comfortable and capable in both positions, my whole game lifted and my per-game possessions average virtually doubled as the season progressed.
Even the great Ablett noticed my work. Well, he remembered my name – which is saying something, given the stories I’d heard about him not even knowing the names of some of his Geelong teammates.
The moment came at Victorian State of Origin squad training. I’d been lucky enough to be asked to train with the Big V along with fellow Essendon youngsters Joe Misiti and Mark Mercuri. We travelled together to the training and ran into Ablett on the way.
‘G’day, Fletch,’ he said, which made me feel pretty good about myself. He then looked at Mercs, who was in front of me, and said, ‘How are you, Joe?’
It was a priceless moment that I reminded my two mates about regularly over the coming years.
A six-game winning streak late in the sea
son saw us finish fourth at the end of the home and away rounds.
Hird had backed up his best and fairest year of 1994 with another brilliant season, while we’d unearthed a couple of other handy young players, in particular a kid at full-forward named Matthew Lloyd. Lloyd kicked two vital goals in our qualifying final victory over West Coast, which set up a semi-final showdown with Richmond.
Everything went to plan early on. At half-time we led the Tigers by 30 points and were eyeing a preliminary final showdown with Geelong. Ironically, a man who would later feature prominently in the toughest time of my career then intervened to cause some pain, rallying the Tigers with three goals to get them home by 13 points.
His name? Matthew Knights.
MARK HARVEY
Premiership teammate, former Essendon assistant coach, ex-Fremantle coach
It wouldn’t matter who Fletch was playing on, he rarely showed any sign of nerves. Even if the full-forward he was marking kicked a few goals on him, Fletch would just re-gather and re-group, get on with business.
I think that quality is what stood him apart from other young fullbacks who can really get themselves in a lonely place if things aren’t going their way. There is no doubt in my mind that his cool, rational temperament is why he has played for so long. He just doesn’t get fazed by anything.
The other fantastic quality Fletch possesses is that he knows his strengths and weaknesses. Fletch learns fast and he picked up the art of defence quickly. He knew he couldn’t get locked into wrestling with those bigger, stronger forwards so he’d play off them, in front of them. He’d put them at an angle where they had to lead to certain positions and that gave him an edge he could work with.
Fletch has wonderful skills, brilliant speed and a great footballing brain but he’s always known that isn’t enough. There’s a bit of go in him too. Right from the start Fletch stood up for himself and let opposition teams know he wasn’t going to get pushed around or bullied.
In football the older players teach the younger players how it is, that you are not to be intimidated no matter what, that you have to stand up for yourself at times. Yes, we will be there to help you, but you have to make sure that your enemy doesn’t understand that you are vulnerable.
Dustin always stood up. And more often than not, if one of his teammates got hit or injured in that defence at the hands of the opposition, he’d be one of the first in there pushing and shoving.
Fletch was never a great trainer. He has done it all on natural ability, relying on his reach, his jump, his superior speed and agility. Weights weren’t on Dustin’s agenda then and still aren’t, I’d imagine. He never really had a muscle on him anyway.
Maybe when you read the game as well as he does – always waiting for the game to come to him – you don’t need to train. Maybe in the end it all paled before the fact that more often than not Dustin could read the ball as quick as a forward and could out-run and out-kick most of them too.
Still, not training hard was tricky to do under Kevin Sheedy’s coaching. His whole training regime was ‘We are going to be mentally tougher, physically tougher and we’re going to train harder than anyone else.’ Even then Dustin just cruised. I’d be flat out running 200s or 300s and he’d be out the back but then he’d gather up momentum to finish midfield, he was one of those sorts of guys.
Fletch was smart. He worked out the way not to get injured a lot of the time, which is important. He never got a serious knee injury along the way, which helped enormously in the long term. I think he learnt early not to get involved in too much contact when spoiling, and if he did go up for a mark he would know how to fall and not hurt himself. All of those things add up to longevity.
Part of being a defender is being able to defend your opponent, but the best defenders are also good at rebounding. Fletch is still one of the best kicks in the competition. To be 6 foot 5 and be able to kick long and accurate like he can . . . no wonder Sheeds used to play him forward a lot of the time.
You didn’t have to say too much to Dustin as a coach but Kevin realised the gnawing negativity playing fullback could have on a player and he knew the importance of being positive and reinforcing that positivity to Dustin. It was a great trait of Sheeds’ coaching, particularly with young players – he gave them all confidence and allowed them every chance to settle into a position.
It worked particularly well with Dustin. Ten years into his career he was actually hurting the opposition to such an extent they were tagging him to stop his efficiency on the way out. That is a rare and fantastic trait. But to Fletch, it came naturally.
CHAPTER 6
THE FAT CLUB
‘Sorry.’
I’m pretty sure that was what Tony Lockett said, but I was in a state of shock that he’d said anything. Even now I couldn’t be 100 per cent sure: the game’s greatest goal-kicker wasn’t one for banter, and whenever I played against big ‘Plugger’ I certainly didn’t do anything to engage the giant Sydney forward in conversation.
His apology – that’s what I’m going to call it – came at the end of the Round 6 game in 1996 at the Sydney Cricket Ground, which had sensationally finished in a draw. The reason Lockett was grunting the word ‘sorry’ to me was because he’d earlier thrown me over the fence into the crowd, where I’d cut my head open on a beer can.
It was one of the scarier moments of my career. I knew I was in a world of trouble a couple of seconds before I found myself launched into the bleachers and on to the laps of some unsuspecting Swans fans. I was paddling the ball in front of me just outside the 50-metre mark near the boundary line and was going to rush it over when it bobbed up. Momentarily I thought of grabbing it but then I hesitated – opposition players tended to do that when they knew Plugger was right on their tail.
I was going at a fair rate and realised with the boundary line so close to the fence at the SCG that I had to slow down quickly. But that idea went out the window as I felt Lockett’s hands push me in the back. The shove tipped me into terminal velocity, and there was no other option left but to hurdle the fence. Luckily I managed to clear it. Unluckily I landed on a couple of well-refreshed Sydney supporters, one of whom was drinking a can of VB that neatly sliced open my head.
I found out later that my future teammate Mark McVeigh had been sitting a couple of rows away with his younger brother, future Swans captain Jarrad, and their father. They screamed abuse at me as I untangled myself from the second row and sheepishly re-entered the fray. I would later require six stitches in my head.
What really impressed about the incident was that when I got back on to the ground, my teammate Ben Doolan was doing his level best to take on Plugger. Dools was a very brave and foolhardy man. By that stage Lockett had already kicked eight goals for the night and been single-handedly responsible for bringing the Swans back from a 22-point deficit to tie the match.
Our return match against Sydney in Round 21 at the MCG went a lot better. Even though Lockett still kicked four, I managed to stay on the playing field this time and had a career-best 26 possessions, a feat capped off nicely when I kicked two goals to get us home by 18 points.
We won the final four games of the season to finish sixth – Sydney finished top – and were gathering some serious momentum coming into September. That momentum stalled temporarily when we fell agonisingly short by just one point against the Brisbane Bears in the qualifying final at the Gabba. We’d found ourselves 27 points down in the last quarter before storming home, but unfortunately Gavin Wanganeen’s shot for goal in the dying seconds hit the post and left us just short.
There were no such problems the next week against West Coast at the MCG. Ruckman Steve Alessio kicked five goals and I made another successful sojourn forward for three goals in the 77-point win. This was once again the genius of Sheeds. He could read me so well and would often send me forward, if only to relieve the boredom for me of playing fullback and to keep me fresh. There was nothing like kicking a goal to lift the spirits.
&n
bsp; While I really enjoyed playing full-forward, I had a feeling that the teenage wonder boy, Matthew Lloyd, was going to keep me from fulfilling my dream of staying there.
It was back to the other end the following week for our return journey to the SCG, and another heavy contact showdown with my old mate Plugger. Once again we started well, and the Bombers led the Bloods by 19 points at quarter-time before the home team hit back to lead by two goals at half-time. We got it back to one point at three-quarter time but were losing men to injury by the minute. Lloyd had gone down with a serious lung injury, while Wanganeen, Darren Bewick, Damien Hardwick, Sean Denham and Dean Wallis were also hobbled.
Despite all this, with 10 minutes remaining on the clock we were still somehow in front. Lockett had come in with a groin injury and it was obvious he was still struggling with it – a major positive for me. I’d managed to keep the big fella to one goal for the evening, but as the Swans clawed back to level the scores with a couple of minutes left, my nerves went into overdrive.
With 25 seconds left until the bell, it happened. A Sydney player gathered the ball on the wing and kicked long into space at centre half-forward. I saw it coming and moved up – but Lockett had a couple of metres on me. Despite his size, Plugger could still move quickly on a lead. My only hope was one of my teammates filling the hole and cutting it off.
They didn’t get there.
Lockett marked on his chest. He was 55 metres out and, given his groin issues, had to be a touch-and-go proposition to kick it the distance. A point would put Sydney into the Grand Final; a miss would keep us alive, push the game into extra time where we would have another shot at getting a ticket back to the big stage. The siren had sounded and I could only put my hands up on the mark and pray.
As soon as Lockett kicked it I knew we were in trouble. He hit it sweet, and I watched in horror as sure enough it sailed through for a behind, clearing the fence on the full.
Fletch Page 6
