PASSION FOR THE BROWN AND GOLD

PASSION FOR THE BROWN AND GOLD

By: Marianne Mavrikios

A cold, wet and windy Saturday afternoon, it is not very inspiring and not one to motivate anyone to go outdoors. The wind blows on the house with a cycle of blasts that frighten the little ones and makes them run to my mother for protection. The day belies the fact that it is spring but winter is holding on, comparable to someone holding on for dear life so they don’t fall to their death. Her grasp so tight it is as if our circulation is being cut off, as the temperature outside is 15 degrees but the wind chill factor feels like negative 10. We struggle to get organised and dress up for the wintery blast that is outside. For this day is not an ordinary day, it is the day of the AFL Grand Final and to make the day as poignant as any day that is special in anyone’s life, our team was a contender for the illustrious prize.

We all clamor into our 7-seat Holden Captiva which at times feels like a sardine can, especially when the kids are uncooperative and push and tug, screaming and fighting as if this activity, which is repeated regularly, is something new and there is a need to get some pecking order established. Nevertheless we finally get them settled as my father opens the garage roller-door. The antarctic blast sending a chill through us all hoping to GOD that this was not some hidden omen that would lead to our teams demise. The trip to the ultimate die-hard hawks fan club- my uncle’s home was short. The roads were quiet except for the screaming siren of a Police car that shot passed us like a bullet reminding us that they were out in force for anyone thinking of drinking and driving. The atmosphere in the car becomes lighter and more jovial as we get closer to my uncle’s house, the air of expectation growing as we inch closer. The atmosphere heightens as we pull into the driveway-feels like I’m sitting for an exam that I did not study for, I am becoming nervous, it feels as though I had swallowed a thousand butterflies, as if I’m about to talk to my crush for the first time. The door of the house bursts open and there is a swathe of brown and gold colours with the 55-inch plasma blaring in sound, the smell of fresh smokey barbeque sausages cooking right under my nose. All the relatives yell with anticipation as if they haven’t seen us for 20 years, excited at the prospect of a successful day enjoying this extra large familial gathering.

Only fifteen minutes have passed and it’s now 2.30pm, the game begins- feels like Christmas morning, the excitement rushing through me so fast as if I’m about to open my first present. My family, all in hawks uniform, beer in hand, eyes on screen, all fully focused on the game. They start screaming. “GO!” even the dog barks, it gets tense, my uncle screams again, “GO BUDDY!” in his loud, deep, and extremely European tone of voice. Man that voice I tell ya- could be heard streets away. Now, we’ve been sitting here on the couch for some time, hearing each other’s loud voices echo from the tiles to the walls of the living room. Here we all are bouncing and swaying to the rhythm of our own voices escalating with excitement, armed with what seems like a continual cache of brown and gold flags, drums and whistles. It’s a wondrous mass of noise and colour, and all I can think about is victory. I’m wearing my Hawks jersey with pride, waiting for the next goal. The neighbours hear our ruckus and come over to see what’s happening, the energy here being so infectious and raw; it bites you without notice, smacks you across the face and invites you to come closer and closer- so without question they stayed for the game. I’ve now made the assumption that I’m surrounded by two categories of Hawks fans. There are those like my dad and uncle George who are perpetual motion: chest beating, fist pumping with battle-masks on. They scream as if it’s the last breath they’ll take. If it weren’t for context, it would almost be frightening. Then there are the others, my cousins. Eyes closed, hands held aloft or clasped together at their chests, singing almost under their breath, as if chanting to a higher power with a mental focus so strong, its exhilarating.

I think especially at this point, up by 23 points at half time, it’s fair to say that they’re all completely lost in the moment.

Yet whether they’re animated beyond containment or seemingly calm and motionless, they all crave for the same thing. They could be anywhere, in the room or even at the game, yet I believe they’d still carry themselves in the same way. You see, in a matter of just 60mins, Hawthorn will defeat Fremantle in the 2013 grand final. For us, excluding our grand 2012 loss it’s been a 5-year-long-wait since we’ve last felt what it’s like to be here this close to the end. And we’re just not ready to let go of this feeling just yet. It’s at this point that I realise, my thoughtless 24 year-old cousin so confident yet desperate for the win, made a bet with his best mate Pietro that if our mighty hawks win he ‘will run down the street bare butt while waving the hawks flag’- assuming against all odds that even if we lose, at least he saves himself from pure embarrassment. He’s stone-faced and motionless, with his hawks flag cloaked tightly around his shoulders as he watches the hopeful merriment before us. Still for whatever reason he seemed a bit crestfallen- so I giggle and hug him with pity. The AFL grand final so heated it tempts and it teases, pairing the possibility of ultimate glorifying bliss alongside the possibility of ultimate heartbreak. Ecstasy and misery, both in equal measure- being the epitome of our scene.

Eternal greatness is there for the taking, and all that mattered was how much we wanted it. However just the thought of being prepared to fall, and fall hard if all fails, is a sharp bitter taste thought, evidently the thought of brown and gold we only ever wanted to see in our toilets.

The Grand Final, It’s cruel and it’s twisted but it’s beautiful all at the same time. My family and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fremantle surged back into the contest at third quarter closing to within three points. Our faces so stunned and frozen in plain site- but thankfully our mighty hawks pulled through and held firm winning 77 to 62. I pounce away in celebration, a felt sensation so powerful it’s intense, euphoric and magical yet so beautiful as though intriguing fireworks surrounds me. I am so lost in my thrill and find myself throwing my sister an exaggerated high-five that evidently turns into a vast hug. I attempt to physically program this moment of joy into my memory. It works, I think, because as I type this I can still recall the feeling of fulfillment and absolute sensation this event brought to me.

Out had come an explosion of flailing arms, flying beer cups, the smiles and laughter of utter relief and a distinct capturing moment of pure refreshing happiness. Hawthorn did it! They sealed their triumph by kicking the first three goals of the last quarter, which opened a 31-point lead, which was enough to hold out a Dockers side that never gave up. We have now had officially won the 11th premiership, defeating Fremantle by 15 points in today’s physically demanding and mentally tough, unpredictable Grand Final at the MCG. My arms were stretched out to the heavens, as I remained chuckling in delight. My aunty had her palms pressed together at her lips and through her fogging glasses I could see a few hanging tears. Then here we are, this very moment, a very satisfied European/ Aussie bunch whose team just won the premiership, this was easily the most fun I’ve ever had in my history of sporting events that really impacted on my life, a moment I will never cease to forget- but unfortunately, as all things do, this day came to an end. So, It was home time for us, and a chilly stroll down the street for my thoughtless yet very happy bare butt 24-year old cousin.

To admit that the celebration continued throughout the night would be an understatement. With our spirit, drive and passion we chanted our beloved club song all the way home, waving our flags, tooting our horns, pounding our mini drums and blowing our whistles. Fair to say, within our excited state of minds, the involvement and encouragement of fellow neighbourhood supporters- our streets were buzzing, with the rumbling of the crowd believed to be heard many streets away, which remained unsettled and completely outrageous until the dawn of midnight. We are indeed a happy team at hawthorn.

MATCH REPORT

Tough Day At Yarraville- World Champion Aussie having a ‘Tru(e)- Go’

By: Marianne Mavrikios

Thursday 11^th, September 2014

Yarraville Trugo Club

Respected and charismatic Captain of Yarraville Trugo Club, 80-year old John McMahon (the 2000 Trugo World Champion) agrees that today’s home game against Brunswick was a spirited affair with Brunswick taking the honours by 9 points.

The newly top-dressed courts, well watered by morning rain proved very difficult for the Yarraville players. Players from both sides had trouble making the distance and then lost accuracy looking for extra power in their strokes. The exception was Brunswick’s star, and best on ground, Peter Batty who made light work of the conditions to hit a remarkable score of 23 out of 24 that helped his side to the win. This was the highlight and most significant achievement for today’s game.

Yarraville produced a competitive first half and despite Batty’s 23 only trailed the home side by four goals at half time. The strain of the conditions affected the players more than the much more experienced Brunswick players. Even Batty missed a few second half shots.

While Solid 16s from John and Odysseas ensured the home team posts a respectable score of 108, it was not enough to trouble the Brunswick team, which finished comfortable winners with 117.

After the game, the Captain of the Brunswick team, Gerald Strachan was delighted with the win. Satisfied with his team’s effort, he was looking forward to a top 4 finish, which will put his team in the playoffs.

After the day’s competition, all the players adjourned to enjoy the magnificent hospitality always on show at Yarraville and expound all the days’ highs and lows while celebrating the club’s efforts, improvements and determination for success in today’s performance.

The 'Unacknowledged' History

DISCOVERING THE ‘UNACKNOWLEDGED’ HISTORY OF TRUGO – using Trove 

Trugo is an uncommon, largely undocumented unique sport that is very rarely reported on, therefore it comes with no surprise that its origin is very vague, with many diverse and sometimes opposing details that have evidently been passed down over several generations of players. Essentially all published reports trace the origin of Trugo back to the western suburbs at Newport railway workshops in the 1920s, where informal games are believed to have commenced in Yarraville, which, in turn, prompted the establishment of formal Trugo clubs in what now appears to be several locations.

The most common version of the off-told story quoted from (Essendon Gazette, 1996, p 9) is as follows:

“During the Great Depression, workers at the Newport railway workshops needed a diversion from the iron horse. At lunchtime they would use wooden mallets to hit rubber rings, taken from railway carriage buffers, through goal posts spaced about 1.7 meters apart. As legend has it, on one occasion when a ring was hit between the posts someone called out “that was a true go”. From that moment the game of Trugo was formed and flippant attempts at fun soon evolved into a serious sport, with clubs formed and a competition established.” (Heritage Alliance, 2006, p 5)

Then a slightly different source provides some additional information stating:

“Some time back in the 1920s, workers at the Newport rail yards, on their lunch break one day started knocking about a few rubber buffer washers (used in the carriage couplings) with their sledgehammers. Before long, some bright spark had set up two cans as goal posts and the first “ring” was set careening through the goals to the resounding cry of “that was a true go.” (Heritage Alliance, 2006, p 5)

Nonetheless, it is this next version that was first distributed by the Age newspaper in 1984 that truly signifies one of the earliest and most detailed published reports of the origins of Trugo.

“Trugo, seemingly a distant relative of croquet, was the product of the bored mind of Mr. Tom Grieves, a Newport workshops worker in 1927. Mr. Grieves’ job was to replace the old rubber rings on the buffers between rail carriages – and he noticed that that as he threw the used ones away they would roll quite a long way... Mr. Grieves took a few rings to his Yarraville home one day and convinced his sons that it would be amusing to hit them about the street with sticks. Older neighbours thought it looked like fun and joined in and soon Mr. Grieves had introduced the game to the Newport workshops where it became the lunchtime sport. Workmen were so thankful to Mr. Grieves that they named the game Tru-go, after his initials T.G.” (Age, 1984, p 5)

“In any case, the connection with the railway yards was to play a significant part in codifying the sport itself. The size of a Trugo court was defined by the size of a typical railway carriage of the time – 90 feet (27 meters) long – while the width of the goals – 5 feet, 9 inches (1.7 meters) – echoed that of the standard railway gauge.” (Times, 2003, p 2)

Additionally, the number of shots permitted for each player was originally set at four, corresponding to the number of rubber rings to each carriage.

The circumstances that saw Trugo develop from a lunchtime diversion at the Newport railway workshops into a full-grown local sport are correspondingly unclearly documented. However, it apparently took place in the mid-1920s, with some sources giving the date as 1925 and others as 1927. (Mail, 2000, p 2 / Times, 2003, p 2)

According to ‘Heritage Alliance, 2006, p 6’, one version of the story insinuated it simply came about as a consequence of the retirement of Tom Grieves himself:

“When he retired he took some of the discs to the Yarraville Gardens and hit them about with a croquet mallet. He put up a couple of goal posts and, from a distance, tried to shoot the discs between them... Other senior citizens became interested and the Yarraville and Footscray Trugo Clubs were formed.” (Footscray 125th Anniversary Book, p 56)

It wasn’t until later in 1937 when the casual Trugo players of Yarraville officially turned themselves into the Yarraville Trugo Club. This was publicly launched in January that same year starting with ten members. This included Tom Grieves, the sport’s inventor, as foundation president, two other early players, Harry Woods and Claus Ebeling all in addition to the new club secretary William Thomas Piggott who, on 13 February that year, made a formal request to the Footscray City Council asking permission for old retired men of Yarraville to play a game called True- go in the Yarraville Gardens.

“It is a Yarraville man’s invention and they are all old ratepayers of Footscray. The game consists of four goal posts, two at each end, 22 yards from one end to the other and 2 yards apart at each end. The goal posts are 18 inches high and stand on the grass. A croquet hammer and rubber rings are used.” (Piggot, 1937)

The council had promptly granted permission, which then led to a successful series of tournaments organised by the new club, which, within only two months of its development, had already doubled in members. Later, commencing on Friday, 12 March 1937, five teams of four players competed for trophies that had been donated by local businessmen.

Heritage Alliance, 2006, p 8, specified “Such was Trugo’s popularity during this early phase that membership of the Yarraville club increased exponentially. The original ten members had not merely doubled by mid-March but doubled again, to forty, by mid-April. This boom was partly due to council support, with the local newspaper noting that the club had ‘good champions in the Mayor and councilors, who are helping in every way to advance the game.” (Footscray Advertiser, 1937, p 9)

“Yet the sport was still played only in Yarraville, with the members of a single club competing against themselves. After the second tournament on 19 March, club president Tom Grieves stated that he was ‘keen to get the game going in other suburbs, so as to create more competition.” (Footscray Advertiser, 1937, p 3)

According to an initial report by ‘the Mail-Advertiser’ in 1987, Trugo originally spread to other suburbs due to the encouragement of the four Yarraville businessmen who had pioneered the sport in the early 1930s.

The same week that a new club was launched at Footscray, the local newspaper reported that a resident of Williamstown who was interested in forming another club there had attended a recent match at Yarraville. (Footscray Advertiser, 1937, p 2) This was executed within a year, as there is a record in June 1938 of a ‘friendly game’ between Williamstown and Footscray at the Western Reserve. (Footscray Advertiser, 1938, p 2)

Due to the success and extent of popularity the game attained, published stories of Trugo drew attention to the games distinctive qualities, always quoting it as one of the few sports that are of entirely Australian origin. In such reports, Trugo has been variously described as “one of the West’s last truly home-grown sports”, “one of Australia’s few native sports”, and “a unique game that really only Melbourne has seen”. Some have even asserted that Trugo is “the only game wholly invented and codified by Australians in Australia” or, put simply, “the only true Aussie sport”. (Heritage Alliance, 2006, p 21)

(Heritage Alliance, 2006, p 34)

(Source: Herald, 11 February 1938)

One of the earliest published illustrations of a game of Trugo, showing Claus Ebeling and friends at Yarraville.

REFERENCES


·      Heritage Alliance, http://nla.gov.au/nla.arc-144449-20140123-1455-home.vicnet.net.au/_vtrugo/history.html,   Footscray Trugo Club Pavilion and Grounds, ‘conservation analysis’, 2006, pp. 5-21  - viewed 24 August 2014

·      Fair dinkum sport set to make world debut’, Age, 11 August 1984, p 5

·      Doin’ doughnuts till they die, Essendon Gazette, 21 October 1996, p 9

·      Trugo, the fair-dinkum game of champions’, Age, 19 December 2001

·      Keeping track of a true game, Times, 30 September 2003, p 2

·      Letter, Piggot to Town Clerk, City of Footscray, 13 February 1937

·      True-go club popular’, Footscray Advertiser, 13 March 1937, p 9

·      True-go club competition’, Footscray Advertiser, 25 March 1937, p 3

·      Trugo: A sport with origins in the Newport rail yards’, The Mail-Advertiser, 11 March 1987, p 42

·      Yarraville’s Competition, Footscray Advertiser, 15 May 1937, p 2

·      Footscray True-go Club, Footscray Advertiser, 27 October 1938, p 22

·      Footscray True-go Club, Footscray Advertiser, 21 January 1939, p 23

·      Trugo began in Yarraville, Footscray125th Anniversary Book, p 56

·      Trugo display, Mail, 29 March 2000, p 2

·      Keeping track of a true game, Times, 30 September 2003, p 2