Introduction
As I sit amidst the familiar buzz at work sometimes remotely and sometimes in person or in any social setting, a subtle realization dawns on me: I’m not exactly old, but in the world of parenting, I’m a veteran or ‘‘mature’’.
Conversations often drifts to the realm of kids. Here, I notice the difference. My colleagues chatter about their young ones, toddling through life’s early adventures, while I navigate the complex waters of teenage angst and adult children finding their way.
It’s during these exchanges, especially with my Indian-Australian friends, that a familiar urge bubbles up. I find myself advocating for the relatively unexperienced pastimes in our community: the energetic world of AFL and netball, with a sprinkling of martial arts. ‘Don’t just chase the STEM dream,’ I urge them, hoping to ignite a spark of interest in AFL.
Of course, my impromptu guidance doesn’t always land as intended. Some politely nod in agreement, others seem perplexed and few understand my sudden role as an unofficial Australian sports ambassador. And in these moments, I ponder, ‘Why do I feel so compelled to share this advice with near strangers?’ The answer lies in a sense of achievement that I got it right.
Following is the story of my journey in AFL land as a flaneur
Year — 2013, Location — Richmond Football Club, Activity — Street Fighting class
My story begins on a day that felt plucked straight out of ‘Fauji,’ Shah Rukh Khan’s TV show which was aired in late 1980s, where a commando instructor embarks on a mission to transform his recruits. Only in my case, the instructor had an Aussie accent, and the mission was about to become my own unexpected adventure.
As I stood there, slightly bewildered, I couldn’t help but wonder, ‘How did I, of all people, end up here?’ You see, my combat experience was non-existent, unless you count dodging arguments. The closest I’d come to contact sports was my teenage stint as a soccer goalie, where I once stopped a penalty kick from an adult, nearly fracturing my hand in the process.
And yet, there I was, amidst the hallowed grounds of the Richmond Football Club (RFC), a place where legends like Jack “Skinny” Titus,
Jack “Captain Blood” Dyer, Francis “Saint Francis” Bourke, Kevin
“Hungry” Bartlett, Jack Riewoldt, Dustin “Dusty” Martin, and Trent Cotchin had likely honed their skills. A place some lifelong Richmond fans could only dream of visiting. The significance of this moment didn’t fully dawn on me until years later.
This surreal chapter of my life started unassumingly enough, with a text message to my friend Steve. It read something like, “Hey Steve! I’m thinking of getting my son involved in junior footy, but I’m not sure where to start.” Steve’s response was a game-changer: “Richmond is starting a multicultural club called the Masala Club. Why not give it a go?”
Steve, a familiar face whose depth in the AFL world I was oblivious to, turned out to be more influential than I had imagined. He was the president of an old boys’ club from a top school in Melbourne — when Steve made a call, things happened.
So there I was, playing a game or two, occasionally being the water boy, and gradually realizing that this was an experience I wanted for my son and the trip to RFC was a courtesy invite from RFC to masala football club.
As for street fighting i learned 3 lessons which anyone can find useful
A — watch the stance — in an argument if someone has one foot in font of another, and his eyebrows are defying gravity and his volume is getting higher this means he will hit you. This is what you call an attacking stance, unless someone is a trained boxer or a fighter generally people don’t attack in a neutral stance when both feet are on the same horizontal line.
B — Hand’s up — Generally untrained angry people do wild swings of hand to attack, they are called haymakers, if both of your hands are up it will prevent any damage to your upper body.
C — cardio — if you have done the trifecta — piss off the wrong person and you can’t outrun them and you can’t ask for help than you are a bloody idiot
Year — 2011, Location — O'Reilly's in Southbank, Activity — lunch break
It was just another December workday, the year was almost over, Ashes were on, most days we were having team Christmas lunch, and there I was, meticulously counting my alcohol intake for two very practical reasons: a) it was not exactly pocket-friendly, and b) I was on a lunch break from work. “I think I’ll just have two beers and then head back,”
The response came in a laid-back, almost cheeky tone from Governor, “i was thinking Double figures, mate!” Little did I know, Governor wasn’t just any beer enthusiast. He owned a beer company and even brewed his own beer at home. And so, in the most unexpected of places, a lifelong friendship with Governor and Richard was born. That day i took a half day and headed home.
The next few months working with Governor and Richard were nothing short of delightful. It wasn’t just about the work; it was the camaraderie, the shared laughs, and the unexpected adventures.
Then came Supercoach, an AFL fantasy game, and another chapter in my friendship with Richard. On a whim, I joined in, copied Richard’s team, and to my own surprise, began a decade-plus streak of beating him — or at least, I like to think I did. I never quite cracked the top four, but defeating Richard became an annual tradition.
Supercoach turned out to be more than just a game; it was a masterclass in understanding AFL. The players in our league were a diverse mix: the footy diehards, who could spend weeks crafting their perfect team; the footy quants, who relied on technical indicators; and the majority, who fell somewhere in between.
Playing Supercoach wasn’t just about choosing players; it was a commitment to understanding the game. It meant watching most games each week, building a mental database of team strategies, key forwards, and midfield dynamos. It’s like poker: simple to learn, but a lifetime to master.
Year — 2023, Location — downtown Melbourne, activity — office hours
One day, in the middle of a regular work routine, I found myself abruptly on a call with Joe, someone i worked with 10+ years back and we lost touch. I had courteously grabbed the phone from another colleague who was gesturing towards me and jumped right in with a casual “Hey mate, how’s it going?” Admittedly, it was a bit bold to dive into the conversation without a proper introduction, but hey, when you’ve known someone for over a decade, certain liberties come with the territory.
“Who is this?” came the firm, understandably puzzled reply from the other end. I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Come on, mate, you forgot me? You were the first guy to teach me how to kick a footy ball,”. After a brief moment of confusion, recognition dawned, and the laughter followed.
Getting into AFL was like diving into a deep, fascinating ocean for me. I wanted to soak up everything about the game as quickly as possible. One aspect that particularly intrigued me was the art of kicking the footy ball. If you’ve ever watched an AFL match, you might have noticed the ball’s peculiar behavior. As it’s kicked, it moves forward but rotates in reverse, a motion that makes it easier to catch.
But there’s a technique to it, a skill that doesn’t come naturally to everyone, especially to someone who had previously thought ‘footy’ was just a casual term for ‘football’. So, during one lunch break, Joe, took some time out to teach me the nuances of this essential footy skill.
To summarize, my journey into AFL has been both enriching and fascinating. I am deeply appreciative of the support from my mates who have been instrumental along the way. In the second part of the article, I share insights into how my son embarked on his own AFL adventure during his early years.
