Right now, English football is going snood-crazy; you’re either driven to buy one for yourself and your dog, or you’re driven mad just by the sight of grown men wearing some sort of spare tire around their necks to keep their precious throat warm.
Opening up the Sunday Times on the weekend (a somewhat classier production than the tabloid in Perth that shares the same name) there was a classic article penned by English journo Rod Liddle, a man who grew up in the ‘hard north’ around Middlesborough, where a foot of snow means you have to wear socks - as opposed to closing down the entire transport system, like those southern fairies at SouthEastern trains near me. His bollocking of the snood began thus:
“You pay 80 quid to watch a game of football and the players come out dressed as Omar Sharif from Dr Zhivago. Or, indeed, Julie Christie from Doctor Zhivago. A sable tippet here, a mink muffler there, fleece lined stockings and those gloves children wear which are tied together with string.”
Mind you, we’ve no such problem in Australia; especially out west. A man wearing a snood in Perth, assuming he’s not accused of being from Melbourne, would probably expect a similar reaction to those found in the English north:
“At first, when I saw [Tevez] wearing this thing I thought he had broken his neck and was incredibly brave to be on the field at all, that it was some complicated medical device to stop his head from collapsing onto his chest... but no, it was just a bit nippy and Carlos wanted to keep his throat warm.”
It is here then that one sees some similarities between the game in Australia and as it is played in the Midlands or north of England; or for that matter, anywhere across the motherland at a lower level. Notts County’s Lee Hughes in a snood? You’d be more likely see him awarded an OBE for his services to dancing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7hLeLYSpog.
The True-Blue Aussie Bloke
Australian football has always had a difficult time measuring itself in terms of masculinity; in England, where football is the dominant game, a real man gets stuck in - runs mile after mile, doesn’t shirk a challenge, and sure as hell doesn’t wear a freakin’ snood when it gets a little chilly! Sitting in the stands with your beef and gravy pie and your Newky Brown, you’re unlikely to see anything more manly - especially compared to those cricketing toffs who walk off at the first sign of a bit of dew.
Australia on the other hand has a massive ‘other football’ following - and all three other footballing codes are the comparable games for a real man. AFL players give the old hip and shoulder; they deck each other with solid tackles, and they used to be real tough nuts before the culture of drug-taking metrosexuality invaded its ranks. The game still has its hard men of course, but the view of AFL as the toughest sport in Australia is probably now defined by how much they run and how well they shirk a tackle, as well as the historical “biffo” of the past. There aren’t many John Worsfolds or Guy McKennas about these days.
Rugby - both league and union - is our other main football code, and they’re known for hard-hitting tackles and broken necks. It never ceases to amaze how these men can lock horns in a scrum and not come away broken wrecks; a real scrum that is, a la union. not these stand-around-looking-bored league scrums. England has both these codes too, and they’re popular in their own right - but the social generalisation of playing union implies you’re probably from a rich, “toff” family in the first place and thus not a real man. In Australia, there is no truer sign of such a man than someone who molests women in nightclubs, pokes fingers in opposition anuses, and defecates in a corridor.
“Wogball” then, has a lot to live up to. Unfortunately, a lack of corridor-crappers and a history of the game being played by weak, socially marginalised groups- women and immigrants- means that the code is often dismissed as being ‘soft’ before anyone bothers to watch it. Your football code of choice in Australia is almost tribal - it is rare than someone professes to like all four codes equally - they’re either a rugby, soccer, or AFL person. Understanding and tolerance - as any minority in Australia will tell you - has not long been part of our national psyche.
Mind you, the last decade or so has helped reshape Joe Public’s view of Australian football. On a local level, Perth Glory proved that you could go along to a soccer game and be swept up in an atmosphere that was at the time frankly awesome. It gave football back to the WA masses before the A-League tried to do the same thing at a national level. Then we have the 2006 World Cup; who can forget that magical night when we threw back another country’s god-given right to World Cup glory? Even the most bogan amongst us yelled in triumph when Aloisi sent that penalty into the net. The lads’ showing at Germany followed, and proved to each and every Aussie just what fighters the Socceroos were. They didn’t just play wogball - they were real men.
Everybody's Game
But this isn’t just a game for real men, oh no - let’s not forget the real women. I’d like to see any bloke try and get the ball off Sam Kerr without injuring the poor girl; I wouldn’t mind seeing what sort of damage a precision Cheryl Salisbury sliding tackle could have on a tough guy’s precious ankles; and what other football code in Australia can claim to have a professional women’s league which is shown live on free-to-air TV? It also acts as a stepping stone to careers overseas and brings through talented girls into the national side, ready for a tilt at a World Cup or Asian Championship. What’s more, as nice as some of these ladies look off the field, it’s a real woman’s game too - no snoods found here!
Of course, the game certainly doesn’t help itself with matters such as diving and simulation continuing to blight the sport; a problem for which players, referees, and FFA/FIFA are all equally responsible for. It can also be mocked for its ‘AFL-like quarters’ that are enacted when the weather gets a little too hot - drinks breaks that give the players a chance to rehydrate and rest in the middle of each half. Finally, a worldwide-impression of petulant brats like Balotelli, and a parade of other snood-wearing, Lamborghini-driving, referee-berating players across Europe don’t exactly give a good name to the game.
But here is where our league is - and has always been - different. While we have some players that are clearly overpaid (Stuart Musialik comes to mind) we’re closer to the rough-and-tumble honesty of League One than we are to the snooding samba superstars inhabiting top European leagues - and don’t get me wrong either, anyone who has ever been to some lower league English games can tell you they’re entertaining as well. One of the beauties of Australian football is that players of true class and quality - Bobby Despotovski is a perfect example - have always existed alongside more common thugs like Kevin Muscat, Danny Tiatto, and, er - Jacob Burns.
We have seen imports such as Perth’s own Adrian Trinidad come and go, unable to cope with some of the more physical elements of our league. Yet at the same time, we also manage to get by without some of the horrific injuries that we’ve seen come out of the EPL in the last 20 years or so. As such, we strike a fine balance - and one that gives Australia its very own flavour of the world game; something any football fan can use to stand up to the other codes that might try and bully the game in this country.
But this isn’t an article to incite code wars; not by any stretch of the imagination. More so, it’s an analysis into the the true face of the Australian game - and how lucky we are to have our own distinct style, whether we realise it or not. We retain the grit of our past - reminding us of the honest work and toil of the English lower leagues - but we have relatively skillful players in abundance too; unlike League One, there are not two divisions above ours to poach the best and brightest in our league. Yes, the overseas market will always swallow up the best - but how good is it to watch youngsters like Scott Neville or Josh Risdon make driving runs from right back? How spectacular are the goals of an in-form Adriano Pellegrino or Mile Sterjovski? And what planet are you on if you haven’t been able to appreciate the play of Adelaide United or Brisbane Roar this year?
It’s not the Premier League; but that’s a good thing, too. We might lack the Arsenal-like passing, the Tottenham-like flair, or the Manchester payrolls, but dammit - at least we don’t wear fancy kafkans out onto the pitch! We’re honest, we’re hard working, and we’ve got a little bit of skill too. Above all else; we’re fighters - men and women alike - never ready to give up (most of us, anyway... Perth will probably give up with five minutes to go). What's more, it's the universal game - there's a reason more of us play this than any other footballing code; it has appeal across genders and all age categories. Anyone can Come Play! Hmm... Good slogan that, should use it somewhere...
Be proud Australia - for this is a game for the real men and the real women... but no snoods allowed!
