Holy Water

Hi everyone. This is my first post here and I'll admit I'm not a Melbourne supporter, but my old man took me to see a lot of Demons matches in the seventies and early eighties so I thought I would add my two bob's worth. My main recollections are of Melbourne losing most weeks, but Robbie Flower was a ray of sunshine on those cold wintery afternoons. He made the game bearable to watch even if the Dees were getting trounced. He was a phenomenal player out in the open spaces. He was tall and rangy, standing at least six foot, maybe six foot two. He was beautifully balanced, agile and fast. Watching him tear sides apart up and down the wing was like watching a gazelle, I kid you not. He was a sensational mover. Somehow he looked like he was moving in slow motion, yet no one could lay a glove on him. He had great hands and footskills. He never fumbled and every possession was the stuff of poetry: long raking drop punts and perfectly weighted stab passes. He was impossible to contain, so opposition sides literally had to try and play in the other half of the ground to avoid his mastery. On numerous occasions, I remember him setting the crowd alight by kicking the goal of the day. This might have been from a long solo run, three or four bounces, then a forty five metre drop punt from the boundary that would split the middle. Or maybe he would lead out from the forward flank, gather the ball on the half volley like he was plucking an apple and then throw in a blind turn, bob and weave around three hapless defenders and nail the goal from thirty five metres by kicking it over his shoulder. On countless occasions he would take the mark of the day, gliding in from the side of the pack, taking a massive leap and hanging in the air like an Olympic high-jumper. The comparison with Hird is fairly apt. They both had grace that set them apart from the rest. But whereas I think Hird is a shade better as a footballer than Robbie in terms of dominating in the clinches, Flower was twice the athlete that Hird was. Think of Brett Burton's freakish athleticism, but with infinitely more grace, then add a dose of Simon Black polish and you have some idea. I think he's a lot like Robert Harvey, not necessarily style-wise, but just in his elusive, tireless one-man-band brilliance. They both had the same humility and quiet demeanour. A true champion; It's a crying shame he never won the Brownlow. He definitely deserved to win one. His performances in the state games were absolute works of art. Invariably he was a clear best afield in these games. Perhaps a little bit like Dale Weightman of Richmond, these contests were his own version of a Grand Final. Don't worry about his Team Of The Century omission: in my opinion, he was better than Keith Greig. He had to wait longer than anyone to play in his first final and it was fantastic when he finally did so. That photo of him and Michael Tuck walking off the ground, with one arm draped around each other, at the close of play in the 1987 Preliminary Final should be enlarged five metres high and hung somewhere in the MCG.