Country ovals, take me home

Driving through the country you can’t help but admire what the families in the bush go through year after year. Battling drought, floods, bushfires and trade deals made in Canberra that affect their livelihoods and their lives. I remember AFL great and MND campaigner Neale Daniher said his father was not a farmer but a man who helped feed our nation. One thing that always strikes me when you go into these small towns is the pride they take in their sporting arenas, whether it be footy ovals or netball or tennis courts. Sport is usually the glue that binds these small towns.

My father spent the early part of his life on a farm near Rennie, about 40km north of Yarrawonga on the Murray River. Rennie consisted of a railway grain site, a post office/general store, a pub and three houses.

I spent many a school holiday at the farm with two brothers who were life-long friends of my Dad and who owned and operated their farms. This is where I learnt to drive a car at 12, milking cows by hand, dipping sheep, amongst other farm work and embraced the community spirit that Australian bush people are renowned for. All a pretty good experience for a city lad.

At 16 I travelled to the farm on my own for the first time. The train trip from Melbourne to Yarrawonga took about four hours and I was picked up by Ol’ Jimmy. It was Friday night and he took great delight in telling me that the Rennie U19 footy side was a few short and he’d mentioned to the coach the “Rhino’s boy” was up and would be keen for a run.

On Saturday morning we set off on the 50-minute drive to Wahgunyah. On arrival, not knowing one person in the team, I quietly sat in the corner of the change rooms. I looked at these hard-working farm boys who had men’s bodies compared to my 55kg stick-thin frame. I waited to be allocated a jumper and tried on the borrowed shorts, socks and boots that Jimmy had organised.

The coach was a big old Bushy. The first thing I noticed was that he didn’t have a great relationship with a toothbrush, but had one of the strongest handshakes I’d ever encountered. He opened his speech by welcoming the new gun player who was superbly skilled and fast.

As I looked around to see who this player was, he pointed to me and there was a huge round of applause as he handed a jumper to me. It seemed Jimmy, who had never seen me play, had been singing my praises at the Rennie Hotel late on Thursday night.

The jumper, which I think was woollen, had been used for at least 20 years; its green was faded and its white ‘V’ was a dull yellow. After I warmed up, it was as rough on my skin as the sand paper our cricketers used in South Africa.

Whilst the town was surrounded by dark brown dusty soil, the oval had superbly manicured green grass that would easily be relocated to Kirribilli.

The game was tough, fast and furious. Whilst I did not live up to the hype of the coach’s pre-game speech I played all right, kicked a couple of goals and had a hand in a few more. We won comfortably in the end and I mimed the words of the team song that I did not know.

After the game we stayed and watched reserve grade, then first grade, before heading to the Rennie pub. Upon arrival the publican poured two glasses of beer – country blokes only drank “ponies”. One for me and one for Jimmy. He said he heard I played all right and deserved a beer.

So there I was thinking: Life does not get better than this! I was 16 years old, had played a good game of footy, and was having my first beer at a pub. After about four beers the publican thought I might have been getting a bit rowdy so my next drink was a coke.

Many country footy teams and leagues have now folded or merged. The Rennie pub and general store has been closed for decades, but every time I see a well-kept country footy oval, I wonder how many other young men and women are making memories like I was given the luxury to do.

Visit the Northern Districts Tigers website at www.ndafc.com