Everyone loves a star. With another monstrous performance in the book, the Cats’ blushing victims and the congested pages of daily papers and the busy traffickers on blogs have all been out gazing. They are tracking him: Is he the best player of his generation? Is he as good as dad? Or better? Is he the best ever? Is injury the only thing that will stop him? Can he be cloned in Cyril Rioli? In 80 possessions and two weeks, he has become the benchmark.
While the devotees of ‘best ever’ are braying, little Gary diligently talks ‘team’ in his media commitments. He submits articles for his Monday entry in the Herald Sun on his awe at the freakishness of Joel Selwood. Selwood, in turn, talks ‘Ablett’ to ABC Grandstand’s mere mortals.
‘Team talk’ so often sounds like a script memorised by ‘the boys’ during the week: recovery, massage, weights, yoga, training, tapes, lines. ‘I went alright’ was Gary’s response to his 46 touches against Adelaide, before he quickly returned to the ‘t’ word.
It’s all very well for Ablett, G to turn the spotlight back onto Selwood, J and co. They are worthy of it. Selwood was drafted in 2006, debuted in 2007, has played 50 games for 46 wins and has a Premiership. He is 20 years old.
Since 2007, Joel Corey has played 55 games for 49 wins; Corey Enright has played 54 games for 48 wins; Jimmy Bartel has played 53 games for 48 wins; Cameron Ling has played 51 games for 46 wins; Steve Johnson has played 50 games for 47 wins; and on, and on, and on, and on, and on it goes.
But other teams are not so lucky. Other teams need more than the team plan, the structures and style, more than efficient role playing.
* * *
It’s something that has been playing on my mind since my pre-season training with novelist Richard Ford and The Sportswriter. I spent some time, on page 275, around the exact same question, as Ford’s central character, sportswriter Frank Bascombe, goes to Easter lunch with his girlfriend’s dysfunctional family in New Jersey and inadvertently strikes a debate over the team concept in American sport. I tucked away the following passage as part of my strategy for (over) thinking my way through Season 09.
‘If you talk to athletes and coaches the way I do, that’s all you hear. The line is, everyone has a role to play, and if anybody isn’t willing to play his role, then he doesn’t fit in to the team’s plans. Only the way these guys use team concept is too much like a machine to me. It leaves out the player’s part – to play or not to play; to play well or not so well. To give his all. What all these guys mean by team concept is just cogs in the machine. It forgets a guy has to decide to do it again every day, and that men don’t work like machines. We take too much for granted. What if I just don’t want to win that bad, or can’t?
A team is really intriguing to me. It’s an event not a thing. It’s time but not a watch. You can’t reduce it to mechanics and roles. The way the guys are talking about it now leaves out the whole idea of the hero, something I’m personally not willing to give up on yet.’
I feel conflicted when I re-read this. Bred as a Blood, I have been taught to frown on individual heroics. In the context of the footy I have seen bring success, heroism is being unheroic. It was the champion team not the team of champions that won my Premiership. My Captain is King Kirk of Co-operation. But I always had my unpacked doubts. I get star struck too, you know. I have secretly suspected that, on any given day, I can be just as tickled by a hero - a shooting star - as I am by a succession of loyal team players.
How often, in the scramble of commentary, do you hear them say: ‘Someone needs to take this game by the scruff’; ‘Such and such team needs so and so to lift right now’; ‘Someone needs to win this off their own boot’?
And it’s flash when it happens, no doubt.
It happened last weekend, a weekend fenced off for heroes. I’m not going to bite at the debate around Anzac Day and games of footy, but however loosely the link was held in your mind over the weekend, it at least had Row U in the mental grandstand. Consider the heroics of the Bombers’ sudden ruckman, Ryder, who played all of four quarters and won himself some bling. Or (what is the noun for a baby Bomber?) David Zaharakis, who had been playing senior football for 21 days when he marked, with six seconds to go, and played on for a 50 metre goal to win his team the match. Bet he’s done that a few times in a game of backyard footy hero!
Compare that with poor old Pie, Josh Fraser – lampooned for apparently dodging the physicality of the ruck contest – the ultimate act of cowardice, the ultimate insult in football, especially (apparently) on Anzac Day. His vastly less experienced opponent picked up the medal for best exemplifying the Anzac spirit — skill, courage, self-sacrifice, teamwork and fair play. At least it’s not a medal for heroics.
In the case of the Bombers, if they had lost, if Lovett’s and Jetta’s, Ryder’s and Zaharakis’ acts of ‘heroism’ had fallen just short, we wouldn’t be calling them that. They would have been individual players’ attempts forgotten on the pile of ‘too little, too late.’ In a worst case scenario, they could even have been deviations from the team plan. In this case, the individuals’ decisions to win, have been accentuated by the team’s ultimate (and unexpected) success. If the Pies had won, Fraser’s non-brilliance could have been excused as a testament to an all round team contribution, Didak’s absence and Davis’ lack of form a good sign for the Pies who would see they could win without them. Instead it was a double case of the team plan being ignored AND the stars not stepping up.
The thing about even the brightest stars is, they twinkle. And the thing about twinkling is, the shine is intermittent. How often, in the wash up of a defeat, do you hear them say: ‘You’re only as good as your worst six players’; ‘Success rests with the rest.’ Ask Pavlich. Ask Richo. Pavlich is a 6 times All Australian and 5 times Best and Fairest. He has played 199 games over 10 seasons for only 4 finals. Richo has kicked 5+ goals in a match 56 times and has prowled the field as a Tiger for 17 seasons … for only 3 finals! Despite great individual efforts in the face of adversity, they have failed to convert their personal heroism into greater good.
A bright star needs a good constellation. I think they call it ‘depth’ in footy. The Blues have it, the Saints have it.
Which brings us back to Gary. All roads in the AFL will lead you back to Gary.
Gary blazes. He is the supergiant of constellation Cat. But still, some say that the biggest strengths of Ablett are Bartel, Selwood and Ling, the suggestion being that he wouldn't look as good as he looks without their efforts to protect him, to block for him, to bring him into the game. I’m sure Daniel Kerr would agree. I’m sure Brent Harvey would agree. I’m sure Chris Judd would agree. ‘He’s a super player’, said a post-match Michael Voss. ‘They do bring him into the game, but why wouldn't you? He keeps his feet. I said last week he's the best player in the competition. So you put the best player in the competition in the best team in the competition.’
And ain’t that Geelong’s strength. They eclipse the contrariety of team roles and individual heroics cause they can accommodate both. They don’t need Gary Ablett Jnr to be a hero. They can afford for him to be a hero. They are the team of champions in the champion team.
This week, the question has been asked again: Is Gary Ablett’s greatness accentuated by being part of the Geelong team or is Geelong’s brilliance accentuated by having Gary Ablett? Both. The answer is – both.
* * *
When sportswriter Frank Bascombe has finished his spiel on the team ethic, his girlfriend’s sports ignorant step mother says: ‘That’s everything in life right there, is my belief.’
And that’s why I’ll be there on Sunday, at the SCG, for my team of part-rusty cogs and maybe, just maybe, someone will decide to step out of line and be a hero. I’m not willing to give up on it yet.
Happy tipping!
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