FLEEING THE INFERNO

FLEEING THE INFERNO by the Biffinator

I was lurking around the Qantas Club at Perth airport, more morose than usual, when I bumped into Neal Daniher. Like me, he was trying to flee the Inferno. With an hour or so until our flights departed, he readily agreed to talk. Cheap wine in hand, we settled down beside a window overlooking the tarmac.

“Neale, thanks for your time. I am ever so grateful. Any preview makes me sweat, but when it comes to Fremantle or Port, it’s Desperation Stakes Day. Nor do I want to write about that dumbo Mark Harvey – what a wally. It will only get me into trouble; I am sure to mention that pool . . . . .”

He nodded his head.

“Biff, I knew you’d rope me in sooner or later. I’ve been reading your previews on the Dees board. Not much of a tipper, are you?”

I laughed. Our former coach is a very likeable guy. As always, his character is irreproachable. He radiates a folksy charm.

“Neale, we have not spoken for some time. You coached the Dees from 1998 to 2007. There were zero premierships but plenty of good memories. I’ll always recall fondly that famous victory against West Coast in ‘98. We had been butt-plugged the previous two weeks. No-one gave us a chance: Hell was more likely to turn Methodist. Our boys – and boys they were – fought with a ferocity that I have rarely seen in the Dees over the years. Yes, it was a mere Home and Away victory, but to my mind at least, it was a stupendous achievement – like Midway. What a pity it has not been replicated over the years.”

“Thanks Biff.” Neale replied gravely. “Yes, the guys were switched on that day. Mark Bradly still dines out on that match.”

“I am also forever grateful that you beat the Cheats at Princes Park in their final match at that shithole in 2005. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!”

Neale laughed. “Yes, that was neat. I always hated that dump myself.”

I fell silent. The other side of the ledger beckoned.

“Neale, we are witnessing a four year train-smash under Dean Bailey. The performances against Collingwood and the Cheats were redolent of 2008: the Rocky Horror Show. To be fair to Dean, he inherited a dud hand, whatever one might say about his own baseline skills. In making this statement, attention naturally turns to your good self and your deputy sheriff: the infamous Craig Cameron.”

As if bunkering down in his foxhole, Neale nodded his head slowly.

“Your greatest failure Neale – and I say this respectfully – was not the 2000 Grand Final; after all, it was the race for the Silver Medal, and we were lucky not to cop an ‘88-style thumping. No, to my mind, the slump that occurred at the end of 2004 was far more damning. That year was very winnable: Port was hardly a great team and Brisbane was on the wane. Mid-season, we had the momentum of a freight train. The likes of Hawthorn and the Cheats were obliterated. Johnny Beckworth declared that we were the most talented side to wear the Red and Blue since 1964. And then Scotty Thompson was injured; the Lions mauled us in Brisbane by ten goals and thereafter, we pretty much just rolled over and took it up the clacker.”

The cracks in Neale’s face deepened. He looked out the window towards the sun-burnt hills on the horizon.

“Well, what do you expect me to say, Biff? Of course it was a disappointing result. I was gutted. To sit top of the ladder at Round 18 was permission to dream.”

“Moreover,” I added grimly, “what with the passage of years, it is clear that succession-planning was minimal during your time at the club – and we are paying the price now. David Neitz was a stalwart of the club but his days were always numbered – FFS he started in 1993 and fourteen years later, from what I can tell, we were still operating on the assumption that he was a permanent fixture in the goal square. Granted, Silverback Gorillas of his mettle do not grow on trees - but where in the hell was the contingency planning ?”

Neale kept his mouth shut, but not for one second did I mistake his silence for acquiescence.

“More widely, there was no deepset urgency to turn over the list in, say, 2005, when it was clear that we weren’t good enough with the likes of Robbo, Yze, Jeff White, Nick Holland, Simon Godfrey, Luke Williams, Nicholson and the others. We blithely waltzed into 2006, won a minor final and failed to ask ourselves the hard questions. Behold where we are today ! Exhibit Number 1: a handbrake. Exhibit Number 2: two spoons. Exhibit Number 3: Dean Bailey’s coaching record. It was the Perfect Storm – and yet so foreseeable.”

Again, I gave Neale a chance to return fire but for the moment he kept his gunpowder dry.

“To my mind, Neale, there are two perennial challenges at the Melbourne Football Club: the first is culture; the second is cattle. Let’s start with the latter first. We would be lucky to have a single player in the Top 50 on current form. There are no superstars on our list – and that has been the case for some time. Even so, such a weakness can be offset by senior cadres. When I look back on our recruitment in the early 2000s, a certain verse from Jeremiah comes to mind: ‘the harvest is past; the summer is ended and we are not saved.’ Luke Molan; Steve Armstrong; Aaron Rogers; Gary Moorcroft, Nick White and the famous Isaac Weetra – to name a few. Even the decision to take TJ over Brad Ottens was a **** up; if it’s a choice between a good big guy and a shorter alternative, always take the big guy: even I know that. And culture – don’t start me on culture. Remember the first match of 2007. We were up against the Saints. Me, I have never been cockier going into a match. When Brick – sorry Brock - Mclean ripped his Achilles, you could see the rest of the team deflate like a balloon. I have never felt more cheated.”

I spluttered to an end. Neale sat up straight at that point. It was time for a rebuttal.

“I am happy to shoulder my fair share of the responsibility,” he replied manfully. “But you must remember that I didn’t operate in a vacuum. Szondy, for instance, was President during my time. Gardner was there as well. Few Melbourne supporters would remember them with fondness. I had to deal with them on a daily basis. Craig Cameron oversaw recruitment on a shoestring budget. I deferred to his expertise. And we were still cooped up at the Junction. They’re all facts. But there is a deeper consideration.”

As I watched on, terminal-bound, a Qantas jet taxied up to the runway. Oh, to take wing out of Perth.

“Biff, how did the Handbaggers become Geelong in 2007? Can you tell me? Why did it happen? Overnight they went from boiled lollies to chocolates. I don’t know. Ultimately, it is a mystery. You can rant and scream at players – I did. You can plead with them – I did. You can make them watch inspirational videos – they were a dime a dozen in my day. You can flog them on the training track – I did that as well. But there is a difference between knowing the path, and walking it like Geelong has done since 2007. I don’t have any ready answers for you Biff. The space between a footballer’s ears is Terra Incognita. Think of all the effort, hard work and sweat that’s been invested in the Dees since 1964 – and by better people than me - and you know what: it’s all been to no vivid end. Even if Sheedy had taken the reins at Melbourne, we’d still be having this conversation.”

He paused.

“How does that song by Bruce Springsteen go? That’s it: you can’t have a fire without a spark.. We – yes, we – have had some champion players since 64 – but not one out and out world-beater. That's no coincidence. Until a Messiah dons the Red and the Blue and galvanises the team, the Dees will default to half-arse efforts, punctuated by the occasional gutsy win.”

That was the Word. I sank back further into my chair. The wine offered no solace.

“So the Dees are up against Fremantle this week,” I said weakly. “What are your thoughts please, Neale?”

He grinned. “They’re just as nutty as the Dees. The MCG is their bogey-ground. But they have two stars whereas the Dees – well, we’re no better provisioned than Mother Hubbard’s cupboard!”

Our respective flights were boarding. We shook hands. There was a wry grin on his face.

“Biff, I will leave you with one of my favourite lines. It is from Captain Bligh – the guy on the Bounty: ‘the Floggings will continue until Morale improves.’ You know what that means!"

Freo by 30 points, I thought to myself. And Pavlich to kick six.

Biffinator from BIGFOOTY