Hanging high up inside the walls of the kennel looking over the football department are the faces of our hall of fame Bulldogs. E.J., Charlie and John Schultz loom largest (as legends), but there are a dozen or so others whose gaze rests upon this current crop of players as we go about our daily football toil.
I’ve met most of the inductees and played with a few of them, too (Grant, West, Johnson and Wynd). You still see George Bisset around on occasion. Gary Dempsey was our ruck coach in my early years. Jack Collins and I (kind of) shared a locker. And I was lucky enough to meet Kelvin Templeton when he was inducted into the Bulldogs’ team of the century.
But there is another group whose names I’ve known for years, but whose faces belong to an era long before my time. The glorious silk banners bearing the faces of our long ago Bulldog heroes hang directly over the players’ gym area.
Harry Hickey, Herb Henderson, Arthur Olliver,Allan Hopkins, Norm Ware, Alby Morrison and Joe Ryan watch over us, and I must confess to the occasional daydream as I look up and wonder what they would have been like to play with, what they would make of me and my Bulldogs.
This past week has been filled with a few demons – both on the field and in our own heads, I suspect. I looked up at Joe Ryan this week, and he looked disappointed in me. Allan Hopkins looked utterly disgusted.
Last week I mentioned losing can leave you feeling unbalanced. Losses like the one on Saturday night can make you paranoid.
His eyes dart around and he looks anxious, almost panicked. A million potential decisions appear to rush through his thoughts before he settles on one.
The eyes now straighten and focus, shoulders lower and arms soften. Melbourne’s Jack Fitzpatrick approaches carefully, leans back on his banana kick and watches it curl politely through the goal posts.
His previously panicked eyes grow big now. So big I can see the full whites of them and their pure elation tells the full story. I watch all this from a few yards away and mumble out loud to no one in particular, ”Oh, piss off.”
The Demons are off to a flyer.
Early in the last quarter, their lead has ballooned out to 44 points. You feel like you’re drowning. Your initial reaction is to want to fix everything at once, but you can’t and nor should you try. Fix the little first, big things grow ‘n all that.
As the ball rises high from the centre bounce, I’m standing on the wing with my opponent Matthew Jones. I try to settle my thoughts. ”Calm down. Think your way through it.”
At some stage in a game of footy, the waves of stress crash down on top of you. It is unavoidable. How you handle it can differ from week to week, player to player, team to team.
Most coaches’ instructions and guidance is to ”go back to the basics” and ”stay in the moment”. But what does that actually mean? What does a player’s inner voice tell him to do? Here’s my stab at it.
1. Slow down. Think. Breathe.
2. Talk to the teammates in front of you and next to you.
3. Look out for younger players or players who look completely consumed by the worst-case scenario.
4. Calm them down. Reassure them.
5. Get yourself in the right spot.
6. Fight to win the ball.
7. Run like you stole something.
On Saturday night, with a massive deficit in front of us, we got on a roll. Suddenly, half-chances turned into goals. When footy clicks, the mind goes quiet and the only thought other than one from my snazzy seven-step plan is admiration for Ryan Griffen. His efforts are a shining example.
In the end we fell short and that’s fair – we didn’t deserve to win. The fresh faces of the competition await, and it’s time to wipe the concerned looks off the faces of those old Bulldog hall of famers.
This article originally appeared in The Age. To view the original article please click here.