When JFK was killed.

I was 15 and laying in bed on the Saturday Morning listening to 2UE on a black Little Nipper Radio which was on the dressing table beside me.  When I heard it, I raced into my parents bedroom to tell them.

When Neil Armstrong said, "One small step for man, one giant step for mankind."

I was undergoing National Service and in the Army on the day at 8 Signal Regiment, a CMF (or Army Reserve) Unit at Lidcombe in Sydney doing 'garden beautification'.  A bunch of us were there doing it and called inside to watch the historic event.

When Gough Whitlam was sacked.

I heard the news on commercial radio which I was listening to in a NSW police vehicle travelling from the office of the Superintendent of Licenses in Phillip Street Sydney to where I was stationed, at Waverley Police Station.

When my mother died.

I was at my home in Tumbi Umbi preparing to go to Sydney on a Saturday Morning to see her in hospital.  She had cancer.  Obviously I didn't go.

When the airplanes collided with the World Trade Centre in New York.

I was typing on my computer when my wife called to me what had happened which was about 9:50pm our time.  I watched the TV until 2:00am.

I didn't particularly hate National Service, the two compulsory years serving in the army when I was 20-22, but I disliked being regulated. 

I realised that I had no control over my time in the army but wanted to do something different than I thought I would be doing for the rest of my life - the NSW Police Force.

When I felt I lost that control and after initial training could see myself doing 18 months or so just jerking off at Ingleburn.

By god, I changed it as you will read in some of the stories on the left. 

 

JUST ANOTHER NUMBER

I was just another number when its all boiled down, I said,

Just another number to be clothed and housed and fed.

I was proud to serve my time with them,

A melting pot of fit young men

Selected as the very best

It wasn’t all who passed the test.

 

But I was just another number doing two years of my time,

Just another number in days they call your prime.

The others who were chosen were just the same as me,

Not in shape or colour, but our minds in harmony

To some I grew attached whom I would call a mate,

Not knowing then in time how they would help to shape my fate.



But was I just another number, one of many men

To weather my time simply just waiting for the end

Waiting to return, to a life I had before

When days were full of laughter and joyous times and more

But life had changed my boy, my pals and friends had gone

Things seemed so empty then at twenty two reborn.

 

Just another number, who kept his life at bay

Still haunted by the memory of his two year stint away.....



But what of those who served and left -

 A single medal hangs on their chest

In recognition that they did serve

two years – but, is that all that they deserved?

No, their memory is by numbers, and hope we don’t forget

The struggling national serviceman in the nation’s debt.

 

 And as the seasons change and my hair has turned to grey

Am I just another number, waiting for my day?

For when the curtain closes, and the time at last has come

There’ll be no cheering crowds or beating of the drum

So for that time I mention I ask someone to prey,

That I wasn’t just a number, the time I gave did pay.

 

Ian Granland - 2005

(and you didn't know that I had some 'arty' ability in me, did you?)

---

Someone I had known only on the football field, not that I had played against him, but someone I had seen play and at the time, 40 years ago, he was magnificent.  To be honest, I probably knew the reputation, rather than the person.
 
Maybe so because his family name was the same as a well known Geelong Footballer of the time.
 
He was someone I admired and someone all this time I wish I had known. But he faded from the scene, like so many Sydney footballers - unrecognized.
 
Well my time came today to meet him.
 
It was at a function.  I glanced through the crowd and conscious that many of the attendees were somewhat older than me, I was also aware that I would not know a good number of them all.  A few though caught my eye.
 
But they were sportsmen of the past, and in some cases, sportsmen whom I had grown up admiring.
 
“hmmm – who is that guy – no no, cant remember him, how about him, he’s by himself, who is he?.  No can’t picture him, let me get closer to read his name tag.  Good god, xxxx, isn’t he looking old?  I remember him as such a terrific footballer, someone so fit and here he is grey hair and bent over, - I’ll say g’day” (which I did).
 
“now who’s that, don’t know him, “hello I’m Ian Granland, I remember reading about you when I was young (see his chest puffing out) [gosh I thought, I idolised him].   We spoke, he had trouble remembering, putting words together.  All he wanted was to get tickets into the ground” [he was from
Western Australia + wife – just here for the weekend, a few had made that effort,  a magnificent gesture coming all that way].
 
Now that guy over there - who is he?  Collar and tie, jacket very well dressed with wife on his arm.  Look at the poor bugger, he’s shaking like a leaf.  Its not that cold I thought and all this whilst the speeches were on (only to be told later that he has parkinsons).  Shit I thought, he’s not much older than me!!!
 
And xxx, skinny little old man with a squeaky voice.  How we change – I should talk!  I had him on a pedestal too. Strangely he seems uninterested with the day.  Maybe he’s nervous.
 
Lets move back to that original guy I made mention of.
 
“Hello, Ian Granland (the chairman had mentioned my name in his speech so he might remember).  He introduced himself, and no, he didn’t remember me.
 
This was the guy I had well, not so much wanted to meet but someone I remembered from all those years ago.
 
“Yes Ray I remember you in the 1963 grand final at Trumper Park when they belted you, kicked you and stuck the boot in when you were laying on the ground and yet you still got up and killed them.  You won that grand final for Wests.  You wear a back brace don’t you?” I said almost as an aside.  (I watched the game from the hill at Trumper that day – there were thousands there, and me just 15 and so enthralled with it all).
 
“By golly you look fit, what work do you do? 
 
“I’m a shearer”  (no-ones a shearer at 63 I thought, they live with back trouble and this guy had back trouble when I saw him play 40, yes 40 years ago).
 
Turns out he was a Vet up until 3 years ago – “a vet I thought, they are on better pay than doctors, what’s he doing shearing???”
 
“When did you stop playing Ray?” . 
 
“1995, I was playing super rules”.  (an old guys’ version of aussie rules)
 
“Jesus I thought, what hope is there for me”
 
“I ran my last marathon in 2000, 3 hrs 46” 
 
“Is that good?”  I questioned one of my companions – “good” he said, “I have three boys who are flat our doing it in that time”.
 
“Drink Ray?”
 
“Coke thanks”
 
“I’ll drink your share” came the answer from a similarly aged medalist with just as an impressive record.  (This guy [the former] will live another 3 weeks I thought.)
 
As we chatted, I got to know him - albeit, slightly.  He came from Goodnight, a very small NSW community town near Tooleybuc in the Murray area near the Victorian border. (I'd never heard of it but from the way he explained, it was his party line)
 
He joined the air force young to become a communications technician. “A ground technician not air”.
 
He told me he had won 10 or so best and fairest awards in his time, 3 or 4 league (association) medals, which is a tremendous effort and for him to be so agile,  nimble and alert at his age, offering all the advice under the sun regarding play as we watched the Sydney Swans slowly devour Fremantle from high in the Bradman Stand.
 
“I lost my voice playing for Sandringham, couldn’t speak for 6 months after I was elbowed in the throat” he explained in a rafting tone as if to apologise for the way he spoke.
 
Later at the after match, I introduced him, coke and all, to Ron Barassi with whom Ron seemed to show some real affinity.
 
Ray Sharrock was and is a great ambassador for our game, our culture and race.
 
We shook hands and as he headed for the airport and no doubt missed his 7.00pm flight back to Melbourne, I caught a train home with the Big H.
 
Yes, I met a man today.. 

---

THE VOICE

I am sitting in a train,

Its morning, but not too early.

The train is a double decker from Newcastle to Sydney,

I'm on the top level towards the front of carriage 4 in an 8 car set.

I have a window seat, not all are filled,

I look at the faces, most of whom are silent reading or trying to sleep.

Some friends chat.

I hear a voice permeating the air,

It is coming from somewhere at the front of the carriage,

It is typically Australian

Mature and gravelly and far from sophisticated.

He is talking to someone.

The train pulls out from Woy Woy – last station on the Central Coast

A blonde lady about 38, sits next to me.

damn, I do like these train rides sitting by myself.

Now the carriage is full, some are standing

Some are sitting on the stairs.

The voice is still there,

I search the heads, which one is he?

I hear a few "bloodys" and 

"...told him to stick it up his arse"

His vernacular makes me smile.  I glance around, no reaction.

Him?  No.  Him,?  No. I am guessing as my eyes search.

Maybe its that balding man sitting next to the older lady.

I listen.

Is it coming up from downstairs?

No-one in our carriage seems interested except me.

Am I the only person with an inquisitive nature on this train?

Everyone seems oblivious to his voice.

And yet his conversation commands the carriage.

Where is he?

Yes, Yes, it is that balding man down the front.

The lady next to me is now reading a paperback thriller

(I take a sly glance at it out of the corner of my eye)

She receives a call on her mobile:

"Hello, yes, oh really, can you get a card?"

We pass a barge near Wondabyne Station

transporting piers for a jetty - "nice boat", I muse to myself.

The call ends, she goes back to her book.

The voice is still there, I want to ask if she can hear him.

"No", I think, she appears to be locked into her book - I'll say nothing.

I have worked it out.

His voice is reverberating against the front wall of the carriage

He is only just over a metre from it

It is bouncing back to embrace the entire compartment of about 80 people.

He has no idea I can hear everything he is saying.

We can all hear him I am sure, but I appear to be the only one listening.

He is talking about a friend: Jack

"Jack's a bastard, I wouldn’t get involved in that – he wanted me to you know”,

and then he started on more of Jack talking about "George Bush and those Muslims" (sic)

Two fisherman stand in their clinker boat as they

seek a bite from between oyster leases in Mullet Creek.

The shiny train glides past glistening in the sun.

Faces read or are they just looking, more now are asleep whilst my ‘friend’

from the front has taken to comparing rugby union

I have judged by now that the older woman next to him is his wife

There is some intimate discussion about what they will do on the weekend.

The noise of a broadsheet in front of me muffles his tones as a page is turned.

I switch off and read my book, or I try to.

As I near my station, I am wanting to look at this man 

I don't know why, he just intrigues me.

I stand, walk to the front of the carriage, as I pass I glance to my right, 

Great!  I am stuck waiting in line.  I have all day to look at him

It might appear rude, but I can't help staring.

Hmmm, about 60 or so, dressed in a dark suit, still talking.

I am guessing he is a public servant working flexi time

or are they both going to a funeral or court perhaps?  No, she is too well dressed.

I look back as I descend the stairs

As I move out of his world he glances at me as if to say 

"what are you looking at stupid"

I look away and move off the train.

Little does he know, that I was part of his life

Even if it was just for a while..

---

RULE VIII - it changed the game

As the game of Australian Football continues to grow and develop and more people become involved and interested in it’s origins, the accuracy about how it actually evolved spreads wider and wider.
 

I became drawn into football in the early 1960s, first as a junior player and later in that decade as an administrator.  I was only 17 when someone tickled my ego by suggesting that I could take on the secretary’s position in a senior club in Sydney.  I did and that started a life long association and passion with Australian Football; one which has had a major bearing on all facets of my life ever since.

As such I became a student of the game.  I became interested in the how, when, where and why of it all and midway in the 1990s urged the establishment of the NSW Australian Football History Committee. 

Thankfully this group is comprised of some very keen aficionados of the game who still meet on a regular basis and now, almost 10 years after somewhat of a shaky start, have identified some particular goals and annual objectives for their being.

Nevertheless the question of how the game started intrigued me.  I would spend hours researching and reading the results of my investigations – one of the many pitfalls of a researcher –  document what you find and keep the reading to a minimum!  It did however help me to unearth two interesting publications:  One in particular, an article in the Quadrant Magazine from the winter of 1958 and written by A.G. Daws – a writer of whom I have no knowledge.

The piece he wrote was called ‘An Institution in the Metropolis’ – for the Centenary of Australian Rules Football – a strange title indeed but one in which I believe more than most, was able to almost identify HOW ‘it’ happened.

Initially he quoted the well hackneyed letter by T. W. Wills in the publication: Bell’s Life In Victoria during the midwinter of 1858 where he suggested and encouraged cricketers to form “a football club, and form a committee of three or more to draw up a code of laws…”

It was from this suggestion that a football club was formed and a set of rules drawn up following a practice game on the ‘Richmond Paddock’ which is said to be close to the present site of the Melbourne Cricket Ground. 

Remembering that Melbourne,  founded only 23 years before in 1835 by John Batman and John Fawkner, would have remained a fledgling colony but for the discovery of gold around Ballarat and Bendigo regions which was then shipped overseas through Melbourne. 

It was gold that laid the business and social foundations for the city of Melbourne. 

So at the time of the formation of the game Melbourne’s population after such a short life was around 500,000 with a very diverse and ethnic and intellectual mix (due to the discovery of gold) than the older and more established Sydney who’s population at the time was estimated at 100,000.

In his article, Daws suggests that it was never intended that ‘the local players should stick to the “ ‘lethal’ rugby code” which had been established in England some twenty years before.”

 Football and cricket then were the domain of gentlemen and private schoolboys who had the time to play a sport.  The vast majority of the population worked at least six days a week so the only time the general population could involve themselves in a sporting activity was of a public holiday, Sundays being very much reserved for religious worship.  That is why those very early recorded matches were mostly were only played between schools.

Rugby was not encouraged because as the quote implies, it was then considered a very violent game by many Melbournites and one apparently held by Wills who himself had attended the Rugby School in England some years before.

Few contemporary sports fans do not realise the lack of sophistication of rugby in those early years.  It is safe to say that tackling had little or no rules.

Gradually teams evolved in Melbourne playing under these new rules however initially the playing of football on cricket grounds was banned because of the perceived damage it might cause to the pitch.

Daws goes on to say that the interpretation of the rules was “as motley as the football attire of the day.”  The main aim of the early rules was to do away with the rugby practice of running with the ball, because of the inevitable frequent scrimmages, hacking and tripping that went with it…

The revised rules of 1859 stated that “tripping, holding and hacking was strictly prohibited” and even pushing with the hands or body was restricted whilst another rule said that “the ball may at any time be taken in hand but not carried further than is necessary for a kick.”

Because these very early rules actually identified the restriction of brutal play it is safe to suggest that they were included to differentiate this ‘football’ from rugby football and perhaps reassure players of the perceived safer nature of the game.

One of the initial laws was that the ball “under no circumstances” could be thrown.  This implies a soccer influence by the codifiers and one which probably and unwittingly promoted passing by kicking the ball using the use of the rugby regulation and term of the ‘mark’ being permitted from a kick.  It may well have also led to passing the ball by punching it.  The principle behind this rule was never really changed or tampered with.

The local press derided the rules saying that they were “tame” but despite this, in 1860 Rule VIII was amended to provide “that the ball may not be lifted from the ground under any circumstances or taken in hand except as provided for in Rule VI (catch from the foot) or when on the first hop [bounce – ed.].  It shall not be run with in any case.”  

At that stage most games were played with a round ball and although players could claim a mark and a resultant ‘free’ kick.  Some games then adopted a soccer-like characteristic, fortunately though only momentarily.  The Richmond and Melbourne Clubs had discarded this rule from their games by 1861.

Some wanted to use rugby balls and by 1865 so the game had the situation of having both types of balls being used in respective matches.  Carlton in particular had trained with a round ball and used them in their games, so they weren’t happy if a rugby ball was produced to play with.

Between 1861-65 the ‘carrying the ball’ rule, referred to above, continued to be a breached and was much infringed by many of the players doing just that.

So, in May 1866 delegates from four leading clubs met at the Freemason’s Hotel in Melbourne to reach some sort of agreement about ball-handling, realising that this was a crucial issue which had sprung up between players and clubs.

Henry Harrison who, along with Wills, recognized as the two founders of the game almost 10 years before and apparently a particularly forceful speaker, had drawn up a new set of rules to present to the meeting, which he chaired.

Rule VIII was the all important one and realistically one on which hinged a possible divide in the football community of the day between those who wanted the game to be played like soccer and those who favoured the rugby influence and wanted to run with the ball.

Harrison’s bold manner saw his rules accepted unanimously and without alteration and Rule VIII was changed to read: “The ball may be taken in hand at any time but not carried further than it is necessary for a kick, and no player shall run with the ball unless he strikes it against the ground every five or six yards”.

So the revised Rule VIII was the start which gave our game it’s uniqueness and character by placating the majority of the bloody-minded interests who wanted ‘football’ to go one way or the other.  It formed a compromise and if you can see through the smoke, the basis of the game we play today.

And all this from two men who were born in NSW – Wills and Harrison. 

 

---

In September 2007 I went to the AFL Grand Final at the Melbourne Cricket Ground.  Unfortunately I did not have a ticket.  These are my thoughts as I stood in line very much hoping to putchase one:

If you want to comment on this site or have
some incidents or events I can include,
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