Authenticity, Alberti and the “Team of the West”
There was a familiarity in the trek to Whitten Oval on Saturday evening. As I’ve done so many times with my Dad, I parked on Buckingham Street, walked under the bridge and saw the Whitten Oval facilities rising over the hill.
Of course, it wasn’t all familiar. For a start, the dashboard indicated the mercury was pushing 40 degrees and the walk to the ground, normally a frosty experience, ended in brilliant sunshine at the back of a queue stretching almost to Barkly Street.
It’s not unusual to see the odd neutral fan lining up at Footscray games. Suburban footy has a charm that transcends club loyalties, especially in this era of concrete bowls and sterile superdomes. This was different, though.
With the Bulldogs women set to take the field in just under two hours, the crowd was humming with excitement and expectation, particularly after the turnout at Ikon Park the night before.
The queue moved swiftly — so swiftly that my attempts to buy a record were thwarted as a lady argued with the young vendor over the price — and we were in before long. The Bulldogs Shop was buzzing; the women’s guernseys had already sold out and fans scrabbled for training gear, scarves and all things red, white and blue.
As the crowd swelled almost to capacity and the players were cheered on their way into the rooms for their final preparations, I felt the same nervous energy that typically bubbles up as the players run onto Etihad. The occasion mattered more than the outcome, but there were points to be won!
Both teams received a standing ovation as they took the field, but a special cheer was reserved for Susan Alberti as she took her seat. Susan is a remarkable lady, a stabilising presence in bleak times out west and a key player in both the club’s resurgence and the establishment of a national women’s competition — she deserves the joy of following Footscray in 2017 more than anyone.
The game kicked off and the crowd was immediately taken aback by the ferocity with which the players attacked the ball. The contest settled into a rhythm and before long the familiar cries of “BALLLL!” rang out, as fans zeroed in on the umpires.
Kirsten McLeod wrote her name into the history books, running into an open goal to snap the first and Melissa Caulfield drew level for the Dockers just minutes later. Supporters flipped back and forth through their records, keen to put a name to their new favourites.
One of the most interesting aspects of AFL support is the solidarity that fans feel with the players. Older fans reassure all within earshot as Dale Morris grapples with a hulking forward under a high ball; younger fans don headbands at Auskick in the hopes of emulating Marcus Bontempelli.
We haven’t had the chance to develop that understanding with many of the AFL Women’s players, but Bulldogs fans responded to Katie Brennan marking on the lead almost as though they were Bruce McAvaney calling The Bont — “you know who, of course it’s her! It’s her!”
Conversely, the sight of Ellie Blackburn breaking a hard tag, snapping a goal from the pocket and roaring with delight ignited the curiosity of young fans — “who is two, Mum? I want her number on my jumper!”
At half time I walked around to meet my friend Cass, a Geelong fan who has pledged her support to the Bulldogs until her beloved Cats get a licence. I didn’t consider it at the time, but the ease of movement around the ground is an underappreciated aspect of footy in the suburbs; catching up with a mate at Docklands can often mean texting them to meet you at the top of the aisle because the official won’t let you in.
There’s been some discussion around moving the games to larger venues, but the communal feel generated by these matches can’t be underestimated — to see a man precariously balancing cans of Vic Bitter as he ascends the stairs, to bump into premiership heroes on the terraces, even to catch up with a friend without being held up by an official is to step back in time, and it may be a factor that keeps people coming back.
The Bulldogs peppered the Dockers in the third quarter, recording 2.6 to no score, and the match was effectively won. There would be no stream out in the final term, with fans crowding the player races to cheer both teams off and sing the song with the victorious daughters of the west.
I don’t want to give any oxygen to the specific arguments against this competition, but everything I saw on Saturday night convinced me that the detractors can’t win.
The crowd clapped, cheered and shouted as if time was ticking away in a close final. Kids were enraptured by the intensity, skill and passion on display. Women for whom the competition arrived too late beamed with pride, while their daughters dreamed of being the next to take the field. Television ratings boomed, Twitter was set abuzz and the game won a legion of new fans.
The advertising in the lead-up promised women riding high, “kicking balls,” never giving up and making a name for themselves in Aussie Rules football.
On the weekend, they delivered all of that and more. I’m so glad I was there to see it.
Bring on Round 2.
