photo: Mike Bowers, © The Slattery Media GroupLast Friday, there was Barry (or his ghost writer) defending his stats from the game against Geelong. He had five touches, four marks and one behind for the match. It was a defence he might have mounted in a manner as succinct as his stats. But he strung it out for 913 (disposable) words.
‘I understand how some writers rely heavily on the stats to help them determine who has played well and who hasn't and as a player you just live with that.’
Last Saturday night, at Stade Australie against old foes the Eagles, he had just one extra touch, took one more mark but kicked five goals. While I do wish Baz would leave his self-analysis at the club psychologist’s door, the big fella has a point. His fortnight does indeed support the old saying – it’s quality not quantity.
‘We said to him, “We're not worried about marks, kicks, handballs or goals, you're a better player when you tackle and chase”,’ said Roos. ‘I think he only had six kicks, but his tackling, chasing and pressure … all of a sudden the six kicks translate into five goals.’ Poor Baz – he just got lost in translation down at Kardinia Park.
More than any numbers, what struck me about Big Baz on Saturday night was that he seemed to belong again. How else do you explain the cuddles from Captain Kirk all night? That’s the trouble with statistics. The kicks and handballs don’t show you how you belong.
I have never been terribly preoccupied with belonging. It doesn’t bother me to be on the periphery. The view is generally better.
Last Saturday night, thirteen minutes into the final quarter, when all the action was in the centre, the periphery is precisely where I found myself. Nature had called and I had followed her siren cry, extracting myself from Row 18, jumping the too-deep concrete steps in twos until I was ‘backstage’ behind the concourse. No-one much around. The clopping of my wood-soled clogs drew attention from the teenage kid reconciling his Krispy Kreme stand. It’s quite a walk to the ‘ladies’ at Homebush. What was I missing, all alone?
Then, I noticed it. All the way there and back, across the endless poured concrete slabs – clop clop, clop clop – I could hear the tidal roar of the crowd, swelling and retreating. And it gave me as much of an indication of where the match was at as if my eyes were trained on it. It gave me as great a sense of being a spectator as sitting face to face with the 33 078 that I returned to.
This seemingly insignificant walk on the outskirts of the game was the final, lasting residue of the night for me. Kieren Jack’s match winning kick, ruckman Jolly’s 28 hit outs, Teddy Richards’ 9 marks, all of Goodes’ 26 possessions, Barry’s career high 5 tackles, Rhyce Shaw’s 11 run and bounces and the skipped heartbeat of a last gasp victory were all superseded by a walk to the toilet.
At home, I lay for some time with my nose in Elias Canetti’s Crowds and Power and, by about 2am, I understood the power of my strange little Saturday night stroll between doors 131 and 134 - I had truly communed with Barry.
Sometimes it’s not until you remove yourself from the central focal point that you realise where you belong, or how you belong, or that you belong, in the picture. As Canetti says:
'There is nothing that man fears more than the touch of the unknown. He wants to see what is reaching towards him, and to be able to recognise or at least classify it.’
That might explain why Baz himself fell prey to the statistics. Fear of the unknown, of how he may or may not perform. He was chasing those stats himself. And, in return, the journalists, the supporters – none of us know what will become of Barry Hall next mark, next week, next year - we pinned him to his individual stats to hold the unknown at bay.
‘It is only in a crowd that man can become free of this fear of being touched. That is the only situation in which the fear changes into its opposite. …. It is only in this moment when all who belong to the crowd get rid of their differences and feel equal.’
That might be what happened to Barry this week. He surrendered himself to his crowd – his team - and no longer feared the unknown of what he could or couldn’t do as an individual. Last weekend, his success may have confirmed for Barry that it really is OK to be on the periphery, just like Roosy says, that you won’t miss any of the action, that the aggregate disposals really don’t tell it all, that the tackles and the one percenters*, the much prized, team oriented stats which don’t however get published in Monday’s sports section, say just as much as the kicks and handballs and marks. He may finally have convinced himself.
Mark Twain’s ‘dim and uncertain’ (see Quote of the Week) can reveal just as much as the straight and narrow.The bad news, then, is that, if we follow the logic of Twain’s words, such a revelation for Barry seems to support the ‘ten thousand laboured words’ route rather than the lightning bolt.
So, just what does Slattery Publishing have in store for us in 2009? Barry Hall – Pull no Punches: the authorised and self-authored autobiography.
Noooooooooo!
Happy tipping!
*One percenter: Selfless acts by players such as smothers, knock-ons, shepherds, spoils and chases, which are often not recognised in official statistics but are invaluable to teams.
To nonetheless play around with the official stats click here.
And check this out.
No comments:
Post a Comment