Fletch

by Dustin Fletcher

  His kicking skills are the best I have seen from a defender. A lot of people ask me, ‘Who are the best you played with at the football club?’ and for me, in terms of natural ability, three come to mind really quickly – Mark Mercuri, Dean Rioli and Fletch.

  I put James Hird above that trio because of how hard he worked, but in terms of natural football ability you won’t see better than Dustin Fletcher. For a guy of 200 centimetres, to be able to kick a torp 80 metres with no dramas and also pin-point a pass 40 metres like a bullet like Fletch can is incredible.

  He’s also that rare individual in that nothing fazes him. If Fletch was to make a mistake kicking-in he’d be, ‘Oh well, sorry boys, I stuffed up but let’s get on with it’ and that’s probably the greatest thing I learnt from Fletch. You just have to get on with things. You see other defenders and if they get a goal or two kicked on them in quick succession then they’re gone for the rest of the afternoon. Not Fletch. He never dwells on the negative. Once something’s happened, he forgets about it and moves on to the stuff that he can control.

  Ultimately, I think that has been the key to Fletch’s longevity – he’s unfazeable.

  He is as loyal a friend as any bloke could ask for. When I was crook with my cancer, Fletch was there for me, whether it was taking me out for a bite to eat or simply rocking over to my joint with a six-pack of Bourbon-and-Coke cans to watch soccer or cricket, whatever. We’d just chat away and have a laugh. It meant a helluva lot to me at the time, and it does to this day.

  Fletch is a private man. But I have to say that he and his wife, Suzie, complement each other really well. Suzie doesn’t like footy that much but she’s been a massive support for Fletch, letting him do what he does. She has been a little bit crook over the last couple of years, not that you would ever have known anything was wrong from Fletch. For other guys it would have been the end of the world. But you never knew the emotion and stress of their situation from Fletch because that is just the way he is.

  It comes back to nothing fazes him. He says: ‘It’s my job and I’ve got to deal with it.’

  CHAPTER 13

  LAST MAN

  STANDING

  It was one of the more memorable victories in Essendon’s history. And for me personally, it certainly ranked in the top couple of home and away games I’d ever played.

  It was Anzac Day 2009 at the MCG, and the rain was pouring down. We were 14 points down with just five minutes remaining. It had been a hard slog all day and our task had been made harder when reigning best and fairest, ruckman David Hille, tore his hamstring in the opening minutes. We’d actually had our noses in front at three-quarter time but Collingwood had come out firing in the final term. Things weren’t looking great.

  Then Andrew Lovett took off.

  A key feature of the Matthew Knights game plan was having lots of quick players in the team who were encouraged to take the game on at any time. Lovett was the poster boy of this way of thinking. He was super-fast and skilful and was combining the two qualities now as he sped along the wing. After a couple of bounces he went long to another speedster, Leroy Jetta, who gathered the ball in, stepped past a Pies defender and dribbled through a goal. Suddenly, the Bombers still had a sniff.

  Another centre clearance saw us go long to the goal square, where a quick kick by Collingwood defender Leon Davis went out of bounds 45 metres out. Fortunately for us, it was left-footed Ricky Dyson who took the free kick. The angle was perfect for him and he duly slotted it, sending the ball sailing home for another major to deafening roars. Two minutes to go. Two points the difference. Essendon fans were going ballistic.

  Collingwood came again and briefly threatened the square before a rushed clearing kick landed in the arms of Lovett. He wasted no time and went long to Angus Monfries, who slid on to the ball, gathered it in brilliantly and quickly handballed to Dyson, who bombed it forward into space. Jetta had outmuscled his opponent and was 10 metres out on his own. All he had to do was pick up the ball. But the rain had turned the Sherrin to soap, and he fumbled. Still, Jetta just needed to get his foot to it because he was now only 5 metres out from goal. He couldn’t make contact before a lunging Harry O’Brien knocked him off it and forced it through for a behind. Was that our last chance? The scoreboard was approaching 30 minutes.

  The kick-out spilled to Jason Winderlich and he handballed to Heath Hocking, who did the same to Nathan Lovett-Murray. Nathan showed great composure to chip it to young midfielder David Zaharakis, standing alone at the 50-metre line. The kid was playing just his fourth game and was yet to kick a goal in his career. But now he did something he – and everyone at the ground – would remember for the rest of their life. Zaharakis took the mark and played on immediately. Then, off one step and with Pies captain Nick Maxwell bearing down on him, he kicked a remarkable goal to take us from dead and buried to suddenly in front by five points.

  Every Essendon player immediately ran into defence. The ball was bounced in the centre and then bobbled around for a few seconds before the siren finally sounded. I couldn’t believe it, and the reaction of the crowd was extraordinary.

  We’d got back off the canvas a few times during that game and Paddy Ryder had played the best game of his career in the absence of Hille, and he was rightly awarded the Anzac Medal for his performance.

  Yet seven days later we came back to earth with a thud. In particular, I did.

  The trip to the Gabba to play Brisbane was my 300th game, so I’d had some media commitments in the lead-up. I didn’t enjoy these, simply because I don’t like the spotlight and never have done. For me, milestones are unwelcome distractions from the job presently at hand and things you merely look back on when your playing days are over and you’re well and truly retired.

  Still, running out through the celebratory banner with Mason and Max was a great moment and one which we would all cherish in years to come. It was a small reward for them and Suzie as they copped a lot being the family of an AFL player.

  In many ways it is a very selfish profession because your focus is always about getting your mind and body right for each weekend of battle. Sometimes, those around you suffer because of it and there were many times when I’d come home from training and the last thing I wanted to do was kick the football.

  ‘How come you can’t have a kick with us?’ Mason would often ask.

  It broke my heart to say no but I would offer the excuse that my legs were tight. They said they understood but I knew they wanted their father out there kicking the Sherrin to them. I had a thing where I didn’t want to do much the day before a game because I liked to be light on my feet so if Mason or Max had footy training I wasn’t able to go down and help out. I felt like they had missed out on a lot which is why having them with me as I ran through my 300th banner meant so much.

  Shame it was the only high point of my night. The Lions kicked five goals to one in the first quarter and then, just before half-time, everything went pear-shaped.

  To this day I’m not sure what happened exactly, but after landing awkwardly I felt pain three-quarters of the way up towards my knee. I hobbled around for a bit before going off. Bruce Connor had a look at it and wrapped it up. Even then I thought I could get out there again, but it was no good. ‘I’m 99 per cent sure you’ve got a crack in there, Fletch,’ he told me.

  So the celebrations for my 300th were conducted in the back of an ambulance with my two boys alongside for the ride to the hospital. The doctors said the injury would keep me out for three to four weeks, but it ended up being six long rounds on the sidelines.

  *

  Meanwhile, our form was up and down all year and behind the scenes the tension was building. Communication between the senior players and the coaching staff had deteriorated significantly, which wasn’t good for anyone and led to many awkward moments.

  I’d agreed to be a part of the leadership group supporting Lloydy as captain, but there were times in our meetings when there would be total silence. I’d look across
at Scotty Lucas and Mark McVeigh and they’d have the same strange look on their faces because no ideas or solutions to our problems were getting thrown around.

  Making things worse was the fact that Lloydy and Knighta would often have strong arguments in front of the boys about the direction of the team and the training program. The backdrop to all this drama was our captain’s strong suspicion that the coach was trying to get rid of him. Lloydy was still one of the best full-forwards the game had seen, but Knighta’s belief was that for the greater development of the group, the skipper should play further up the ground. The club had drafted two key forwards in Jay Neagle, the son of former club legend Merv, and Western Australian Scott Gumbleton, whom they’d selected at No.2 in the 2006 National Draft. Knighta wanted them to learn how to play out of the goal square, but from the moment he moved Lloydy up front it was a volatile situation for them both.

  When I returned in Round 12 we got on a bit of a run, winning three out of four games to put us a game inside the eight. Three losses and a draw followed before we snagged a couple more wins on the run home, including inflicting on St Kilda their first loss of the season, in Round 20. It set up a blockbuster final round for us against arch rivals Hawthorn. And the equation was simple: the winner would play in the elimination final the following week.

  It wasn’t looking good for us at half-time with Hawthorn 22 points in front, but the game changed direction in the opening five seconds of the third quarter. Lloydy came off the square from centre half-forward and ran straight through Hawks midfielder Brad Sewell, who’d just gathered the ball. Unfortunately for him, Lloydy’s shoulder caught Sewell flush in the head and he hit the deck, out cold. Enraged Hawthorn players immediately went after our skipper in retaliation, and an old-fashioned melee broke out with scuffles detonating everywhere, fists flying and bodies bouncing all over the place. I was in the thick of it.

  Alas, my flying the flag in defence of our captain and colours would cost me $1200 at the tribunal. Lloydy got worse – he was hit with a four-week suspension. He later said he thought he needed to make a statement because we’d been playing terrible football in the opening half. As an act of leadership it worked: we were a different team afterwards, kicking five goals to two in the third quarter to bring the margin back to five points at the final break. We kept the momentum going in the final quarter and ended up claiming the all-important victory by 17 points to book a spot in September for the first time in five long years.

  There was more fallout afterwards. Hawthorn coach Alastair Clarkson actually had to be restrained by officials and teammates after abusing Lloydy on the field, and then Hawks defender Campbell Brown inflamed the situation further by describing our skipper as a ‘sniper’.

  Sadly, it would end up being Lloyd’s last game. The hefty suspension meant he was absent from the elimination final at Football Park against Adelaide, which unfortunately for us became a rout after quarter-time. The Crows led by 39 points at half-time and then kicked 14 goals in the second half to win by 96. Our abysmal performance was reflected in a final scoreline that was embarrassing to one and all; there was no other way to describe it. A long off-season lay before us.

  For the first fortnight after our elimination there was widespread speculation about Lloydy’s future. The club ultimately offered him another contract but by then it was too late: he had mentally checked out, and announced his retirement soon afterward. I had no doubt that physically Lloydy could have continued to kick goals, but the toll of a challenging year on and off the field had worn the champion down and I think the furore over the Sewell hit was his tipping point. Given that Scotty Lucas had retired a month earlier, the loss of Lloyd after 270 games and 926 goals for the club contributed to a double whammy the Bombers couldn’t afford.

  It hit me particularly hard. I was used to being the oldest but when I was surrounded by mates who’d been through the highs and lows with me over the journey it didn’t seem like a big deal. Suddenly I was the last man standing from the great 2000 premiership team. That made me sit up and take notice.

  *

  Why keep going? It was a question that came my way a lot – from the media, from teammates, from fans.

  Just as many people were intrigued about how I kept going. How did I maintain the energy and willpower to play on given I would be turning 35 midway through the 2010 season?

  The way I’m built – being tall and lean and lanky – has certainly helped. It means I haven’t spent my career playing in the centre of the ground where your body gets hit and belted from all angles.

  My ability to match up on different types of players has also, I believe, kept me relevant. Way back at the start of my career I played on all the monster full-forwards, where it was just me and him inside the 50 metres. But then as the game progressed I developed an ability to lay off my opponent and really read the play. Out-thinking opponents became an important string to my bow combined with my long kicking. Being able to play on smaller, less experienced players later in my career helped keep me around, too.

  There are other factors that have contributed to my longevity and enduring love for the game. Being part of a successful team from the start was a massive asset to my self-esteem. Between 1993 and 2001 Essendon won a hell of a lot of football games. I think if I’d started off in a losing team and kept on having disappointing results year after year, it might’ve worn down my mind and body faster.

  Having Kevin Sheedy as my coach for 14 years definitely helped. Sheeds was someone who believed in me and whom I deeply admired and respected. He always wanted to get the best out of me – for the betterment of myself, the team and the fans who followed us week in, week out. Mentally, Sheeds also clearly helped me achieve my potential, particularly in the early days when, despite having ample reason, he never ripped through me if one of the gun forwards kicked six or seven goals on me to steal the game away from us. Instead, he had the ability to get through to me by reassuring me that it wasn’t as bad as it looked or felt. He also knew when to move me into the forward line and out of my comfort zone at the back to kick a few goals, expand my horizons and release any built-up tension.

  The ability to get along with people is a currency in the modern game that can’t be underestimated. Not everyone finds it easy to operate in a team environment, but I’ve always enjoyed the company of not just my teammates but also the staff of the club. That’s another reason why I’m still running around playing long after my original teammates have moved into retirement or their post-playing career.

  *

  I’ve never been someone who jumped ship when it all got too hard. This quality is something I frequently had to remind myself about throughout 2010. For the first time I was seriously asking myself the question: is all this still worth it?

  Midway through the year I was struggling big-time. In Round 10 I was suspended yet again for tripping Bulldogs full-forward Barry Hall. Three weeks after copping that one-week suspension, my frustrations boiled over and I copped a two-week ban for kneeing Hawthorn youngster Beau Muston.

  The truth was there for all to see. I was in a dark place and so was the team. Going to training had become a chore. The whole squad was way down on confidence and it sapped all the energy and enjoyment out of the club.

  I was lucky to have a couple of handy people to lean on. Suzie understood the situation better than anyone and would listen to me vent, then get me back up. I never once said I thought I was done but sometimes everyone needs reinforcement to keep fronting up. Dad was the other sounding board and he always gave an honest opinion, which I appreciated. Plenty of people seemed to have an opinion on the coach of this dispirited Essendon group and Knighta was feeling the heat from the hard-core Essendon faithful, including some heavy-hitting financial backers who were still unhappy with Sheeds’ dismissal. They were making serious noises after we lost six games in a row in the middle of the season.

  The last in that sequence was a 32-point loss to West Coast at Docklands Stadium. I found i
t memorable for all the wrong reasons as Eagles forward Mark LeCras produced one of the great individual games. He kicked 12 goals on me and a handful of others who had a shot at trying to curb him. His dozen goals were all the more demoralising for us as we managed only 14 as a team.

  I didn’t start on LeCras that game, and by the time I got alongside him he was hot. I’ve seen it before where players have a day or night out and whatever they touch turns to gold. Gary Ablett had it when he kicked 14 goals against us way back when. Funny thing is, sometimes you just have to sit back and enjoy how fantastic those performances are.

  Meanwhile, we watched our chances at playing finals slide away. A couple of wins stemmed the flow, but we dropped the last four games to finish 14th. The final ledger was dire: seven wins and 15 losses.

  After our finals appearance in Knighta’s second season, the expectation had been of further improvement in 2010. Instead, we’d gone backwards at a rate of knots.

  MATTHEW LLOYD

  Champion full-forward 1995–2009, premiership teammate, Essendon captain

  The reason Fletch is so good is because of his long arms and legs, but that’s also what has got him in trouble with the tribunal so often for tripping. In AFL you’ve got to take the good with the bad. At times in our game you’ve got to be brutal and Fletch does that . . . in his own placid way.

  He’s been an unbelievably strong competitor for Essendon for such a long period of time but there’s no doubt he’s got a bit of ‘white line fever’. He’s nothing like a Barry Hall or Cameron Mooney, it’s more in his competitiveness. Fletch competes hard. When he hurts someone in a game, he knows how to do it within the rules and in a fair and reasonable way, with the ball in the vicinity.