Willow | Kumuls
Hugs and kisses
CONTENT WARNING
THE FOLLOWING ARTICLE IS RATED PG. IT CONTAINS:
- Sexual Themes
- Violence
- Strong Language
- Nudity
PARENTAL GUIDANCE IS RECOMMENDED
With two generations of players celebrating tries and victories with hugs on the footy field, it's little wonder that most fans are blissfully unaware of a more sober time when players respected, or feared, each other's space.
Over 30 years ago, I was a young fella living in what was then the far-flung western suburbs of Sydney.
Isolated, I got my match calls thanks to radio 2SM and the doyen of rugby league, the late and great Frank Hyde. It was in the 1970s that post-try celebrations saw players getting all touchy and feely, and Frank described it in detail across the red-roofed housing of Sydney suburbia.
The game's greatest commentator picked out one afternoon and protested aloud when two or more players embraced each other.
"This hugging business is a nonsense. In my day, men just gave each other a firm handshake!"
Frank, a man of his time, was appalled by the show of affection between players on the football field. Even though it was the 1970s, and I was an ill-tempered, testosterone-laden teenager living in the manic-male domain of the western suburbs, I still thought Frank was out of touch.
To be fair, the 1940s was Frank's day. It was wartime. 'Rock and roll' had to wait another 15 years and the swinging sixties were not even a twinkle in the offspring's eye.
No doubt, the forties were tough.
With food rationing, the threat of invasion and the cream of the nation's youth at the front line, it should be no surprise that people were desperate for a distraction. Football provided this and everyone looked forward to the weekend. But the diversion only lasted until Monday when the facts of the day were again a sharp reality.
The 1940s gave rise to a new type of football player. They were fitter than the previous generation and the game itself was more professional. There were often no reserves. If they suffered an injury, players usually stayed on the field.
If you were a player in those days, there was no foxing, no diving, no winking at team mates as you got carted off for a breather. You toughed it out. For this, you were paid a pittance. To top it off, your day job was harder and you clocked in for longer hours for less pay.
While some may argue that football players of the 21st Century are true professionals and much fitter thanks to modern training methods, there is no doubt that players during World War II were a tougher breed.
Frank played during this time for Newtown, Norths and Balmain. Players like Frank set the platform for the even tougher post-war era where a 'softer' player found it impossible to hide on the football field.
Which brings us the 1950s - the time of Rex 'The Moose' Mossop. The Manly forward played when the game was no place for the faint-hearted. By 1956, it seemed that coathangers, spear tackles, headbutting and a truckload of indiscretions were commonplace. As were send-offs.
Mossop had his fair share of run-ins with referees. He was marched more than once but this didn't stop him receiving the prestigious
Sun Herald's 'Best and Fairest' award in 1958, such was the acceptance of on-field violence in these pre-snag days. Indeed, Rex had no time for what he saw as pansies. During his career as a league commentator and media personality, Rex made a number of gaffes when expressing his views on the naked male form.
"Some people don't want genitalia shoved down their throats." Good old Rex.
The Moose flew the Bloke Flag well into the 1980s. But he was part of a dying breed - Dinosaurs that carried the legacy of the ear bitten, eye gouging, and 'hand shaking' giants from the post-war era.
In the here-and-now of the 2000s, players wear pink in the name of charity and match day is frequented by families and their festive cousins. That's a good thing.
But were the tree-hugging days of the 1970s the thin edge of the wedge? Did it put us on that slippery slope? Should we put a stop to it now before it gets completely out of hand?
It could be worse, we could follow soccer.
...and now for some football nudity.
Frank must be turning in his grave.
| 745 words |