Paul Waterhouse |
Tuesday, 1 July 2008 6:00 AM |
We’re midway through various footy seasons and the clichés are already coming home to roost.
Continuing the fine tradition of Rex “oose” Mossop, former footballers turned commentators are brushing off their thesauruses and bringing out their stock of footy phrases.
Each weekend and in footy shows and articles throughout the week, imagery (so well-worn that the floorboards are starting to show) is tossed around like hapless opponents. And there’s usually a theme.
As with any “titanic struggle” or “rugged contest” that “separates the men from the boys”, military terms find frequent use in descriptions of football matches.
Let’s face it, when two tribes face up against each other in front of their baying, one-eyed fans in a contest where the score, rather than the game, is the most important thing, it’s no surprise that comparisons will be made with competitions of a more life-or-death nature.
Would (insert your code here) football really be as interesting if there wasn’t the constant potential for bloodshed or violent outbursts?
Could football tribalism survive if teams didn’t hold on tightly to perceived slights and grudges?
Is there any better way to inspire bloodlust amongst players and spectators than making the stakes seem more desperate – even if the justification for hatred is decades old?
Your humble correspondent thinks not.
Tribalism allows football teams to survive and prosper.
As cities get bigger, they let us reconnect with a community – even if that community is over 1000km away, we’ve never visited it, and we’re only supporting it because our parents bought us the jersey when we were four. And we use our knowledge of perceived offences to reinforce our support and prove our loyalty.
Thus it is that ardent fans remember when an opponent Tommy “the Gun” Jones knocked on when scoring the winning try in the 1912 Grand Final, or when the umpire failed to notice that Bertie Smith touched the ball as it went through the posts and awarded a goal in the 1926 Premiership, or when Barry Hall knocked out Brent Staker – and maintained the rage each and every week.
Football fans are tribal creatures. Once someone supports a team, they are unlikely to abandon their loyalties in a hurry. So you would never expect that Kiwi immigrants would ever renounce their support for the All Blacks, even if they became Australian citizens. Nor would Queenslanders in Sydney or New South Welshmen in Brisbane readily switch State of Origin loyalties.
Even foreigners, to whom a ‘handpass’ is something that happens in a crowded pub, have been known suddenly to become slavish and undying supporters of Carlton … for some reason…
Football allows the average punter to alleviate their own aggression by watching grown men (and occasionally women) beat the daylights out of each other. It is the modern version of the gladiatorial contest – except that players don’t end up being fed to the local dogs after the game – an alternative to war.
However, I have a theory: football is not just a substitute for war, it’s a replica.
Over several sessions of intoxicated debate, I have identified a significant international conflict that epitomises each major code of football.
Take rugby league, for example. Have we ever seen a situation, where:
- One side runs directly at another with no thought for safety, tactics or common sense?
- The sole purpose is gaining and holding territory, only to be lost with each counter-attack?
- A key weapon is the ‘bomb’?
- And we have borne witness to senseless massacres (such as occurred in the recent State of Origin)?
It reminds me of the First World War. (the mud should be a giveaway)
Rugby Union? The Second World War – it’s a similar conflict, but both sides have worked out how to move around each other.
Soccer could only be described as equivalent to the Korean War – you have an entire conflict, but at the end, it’s still a draw. Oh, and like the war, there’s often a significant amount of police action.
What about Victoria’s number one religion, AFL? I think it’s most like Vietnam – you have a large number of people running around a paddock, nobody really knows what’s happening and, let’s face it, most of the action occurs behind the play.
And our American cousins aren’t exempt.
Gridiron? The American Civil War, of course:
- It’s an Americans-only affair
- Each team involves a cast of thousands
- The game plans look like they’re the product of a night sampling moonshine
- Each contest drags on forever
- The rest of the world wishes they’d just get on with it!
As you can see, it’s a developing theory. But in its own way it helps me to make sense of each football code in all their glory.
Let the battle begin!
Paul Waterhouse is national policy manager at the Property Council of Australia.
Paul Waterhouse |
Tuesday, 1 July 2008 6:00 AM |
