midfielder
Well-Known Member
It is difficult for me to even understand the competition in the first place but I gotta give it to the AFL and their sponsors they can sure write some good stories...Virgin Australia ran a competition for the best AFL world Cup article... what follows is the winning entry...
http://www.aflrecord.com.au/shortstory
It was late November 2022, and there was just over an hour til the first bounce. The second ever AFL World Rules final. I should have been in Melbourne, but here I was in a bar in Norway. The northern part of Norway, where the sun barely made an appearance at this time of year. Work had sent me here for an air-conditioning trade fair, which seemed like a bad joke in itself. It wasn't quite selling fridges to Eskimos, but it wasn't far off it.
But there was no way I was going to miss this game. An hour of traipsing through the snow-covered streets had led me to a cosy bar that seemed to tick all the boxes, so I was happy enough. I could have watched the final alone in my hotel room, or caught a replay the next day, but you need to watch a game live with a crowd to really feel part of it.
The bar was as empty as it should have been at this hour, but the photos and memorabilia on the walls showed that this was a venue that welcomed the sports fan. The big screen on the far wall was already getting into the mood, showing a collection of highlights from the tournament so far. Majak Daw's running goal was the standout for mine â what a tournament he'd had, leading the North Africans to a preliminary final.
'Would you like a beer this early in the morning,' the barman asked as I pulled up a bar stool. The fact that he spoke English was enough to earn this place another tick.
'Why not?' I replied. 'I'm on Melbourne time for the next few hours.' He poured me a pint. We got talking, and it turned out he was a fan of the game. I asked him when AFL World Rules had caught his attention, and he replied, 'Two words: Lance Franklin. London Olympics'.
Clearly that was four words, but his point was a very good one.
Back in 2012, the Australian Football world was in uproar. Buddy Franklin had decided to take a year off footy to try his hand at athletics. The high jump, to be exact. It may well have cost the Hawks a flag that year, but the knock-on effect for the game itself was surprising. When Buddy took out the gold medal, suddenly the whole world wanted to know where he had come from. His highlights reel was played across the globe and the world liked what they saw and wanted more.
It started with Buddy, then Liam Jurrah, Daisy Thomas and others. Their spectacular deeds captured the imagination of billions. Youngsters in schoolyards all over the world argued over whose chosen player was "cooler". Over the next eighteen months their guernseys began appearing on the streets of cities around the globe, from Chicago to Cape Town, Shanghai to Stockholm. Australian Rules had grown up, and was ready to leave home. New leagues sprung up everywhere and existing ones grew exponentially. Before long, people wanted a world tournament. Let's see the best against the best! This led to the inaugural tournament in 2018, won by Japan in a thriller over the Aussies. Their "Diamond Crush" formation had proven to be unbeatable that year, although our boys had gone close. The memory of that final still made me wince, but there was no doubt the tournament had been a resounding success.
I asked the barman what he liked about the game. He thought about the question for a moment before he spoke. 'At first it was the spectacle,' he said. 'The marks, the goals, the speed of the game. But as I got to know the sport, I began to understand the stories. No game on earth has the stories that this one has.' He pointed to the big screen. The Brazilians were going through their pre-game warm-up. The camera zoomed in on their coach, triple-AFL premiership player Harry O'Brien, watching his young charges intently. 'Take these lads, for example. A quarter of their starting line-up started their lives in the slums of Rio. Harry found these boys and gave them their chance. A great story.'
The thing that amazes me,' the barman continued, 'is how you people kept this game hidden for so long. It's been played for over 160 years now, but only in the last ten years or so the world knows about it.'
'I suppose the game got bigger as the world got smaller,' I replied. 'Going way back, it used to be that the sport you grew up with was the sport you followed all your life. Some of those who weren't used to Aussie Rules didn't want to like it. They used to say "it's the only game in the world where you score for missing".'
The barman snorted. 'Many sports have degrees of accuracy. Had they never heard of archery, darts, bowling..?'
'Exactly,' I said, wishing I'd thought of that comeback years ago. 'But people are more open-minded now. These days most people have access to most sports, so they can make an informed choice.' The barman smiled. 'I suppose what you're saying is "There's a place for all sports in this world. This just happens to be the best one". This time I laughed; he had summed it up beautifully.
I looked around the bar, and noticed people were starting to drift in. One or two in the Norwegian colours, but most seemed to be in either the Irish or Brazilian camp. I couldn't help pondering how close the Aussies had come this time - losing a prelim with a super-goal after the siren. Beaten by the luck of the Irish, but what can you do.
I'd read an article during the week suggesting the Australian team was disadvantaged because too many of the star players played overseas. That wasn't my view. The whole squad had spent two weeks in a training camp prior to the tournament. Plenty of time to gel as a team. The simple fact was that, so far, we'd been unlucky. Surely 2026 would be our year.
'Were you expecting many for the game?' I asked the barman. He nodded.
'It took them a while to catch on in this country, but when our boys almost qualified for the finals this time round, everyone rode the wave. Knocked out by the Irish lads at Croke Park in the end, so now we're all watching them to see what might have been. I think we'll have a full house here to either cheer for or against Ronaldo's boys.'
Ronaldo was the nickname of Ronny O'Shea, the man who was presiding over Ireland's charmed run. The Irish coach was also known as the Prospector, due to his success in identifying World Rules talent from amongst the Gaelic football ranks. His attitude towards taking the most-suited players, rather than just cherry-picking the superstars, had allowed both codes to flourish side by side in that country.
The magnificent irony had not been missed by the world's media. All week, countless articles in hundreds of languages had pointed out that Ireland would be coached by Ronaldo in the final, while Brazil would be led by a man named O'Brien. Truly the world game.
The barman was kept busy as more fans arrived. I turned my attention to the big screen, and felt that twinge of sadness that occurs when you see something so beautiful and familiar from the other side of the world. The camera panned around the stadium taking in the atmosphere that 120,000 people under the roof at the MCG can create. There was a close-up of the AFL World Rules CEO Brendan Gale, sitting amongst the dignitaries and world leaders. He was leaning over towards US President Winfrey, probably explaining a finer point of the rules.
Then there was a shot of the tournament's patron, Jim Stynes, watching with his family and other former greats of the games.
'Another great story, that man,' the barman called to me as he poured another beer. 'Although I'm not sure Daniel Radcliffe was the right choice to play him in the movie.' I was inclined to agree; he'd gotten the accent completely wrong.
My wristcom buzzed. A quick glance showed a frozen image of some mates from home. It was the barbeque I should have been at. I took a deep breath and hit play, and the image sprang to life:
"Mate. Hope you're having an awesome time in Antarctica or wherever they sent you. Just letting you know you drew Gomez in the sweep. Fifty bucks if he kicks the first goal and two hundred if he gets the Sheedy Medal. I swear we didn't rig it." There was laughter in the background. The young Brazilian defender was unlikely to win me anything from the back-pocket. "Anyway mate, hope you've found somewhere to enjoy the game. Stay safe & we'll catch you soon."
I had to strain to catch the last bit, as the bar was getting quite noisy now. On the big screen Up There Cazaly was nearly at the chorus and someone had cranked up the volume, so I just sent a quick text back home. "Thanks mate. Watching in a bar in Tromsø. Hi to all. Keep my $$ safe til I get back! (ha ha)"
The anthems were played and although no-one tried singing along to either one, the cheers at the end showed a slight advantage to the Irish camp. The players began to move to their positions. I raised an eyebrow as Rafael Gomez seemed to be starting on the ball for the first bounce. Clearly Harry had something up his sleeve, and suddenly I had some small hope in the sweep.
All eyes were now on the big screen. I threw one last question to the barman, as he enjoyed some respite from the bar traffic. 'Who do you think wins it?'
His eyes never left the screen as he answered. 'Maybe the South Americans will be too strong, but I don't really mind either way. I'm happy to just let the next story unfold.'
I settled into my bar stool and took a sip of beer. I had a feeling the luck of the Irish might hold out for one more game. The siren sounded and the room roared in unison with the rest of the world as the umpire hurled the Sherrin into the turf.
