For Andrew 'Andy' Smith: 'Cheer, boys, cheer we’re for Melbourne', by MUFC club president Andrew Donald - 2023

25 January 2023, Le Pine Funeral chapel, Essendon, Melbourne, Australia

During the last Test Match, I took a friend from Sydney to the Museum at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. On display were handwritten rules for the game of Australian football and dated May 1859, being the first recorded rules of the game. On Saturday, 28th May 1859, University played St Kilda in our first match with the match reported in Bell’s Sporting Life published on 4th June. Such was his longevity that one half expected to see the words “Timekeeper A. M. Smith Esq.” recorded in the match summary. Although self-evident, such is the esteem in which Andy was and will forever be held, we have called upon our most senior official to deliver this eulogy on our behalf.

Fifty-year celebration

On Saturday 4th August 2012, the Blacks held a luncheon in the old pavilion to celebrate Andy’s fiftieth year of honorary service to the Blacks and to the men’s football programme at the University. That service included occupying nearly every post, including two years as president of the M.U.F.C. in 1984 and 1985, performing a myriad of tasks for Blacks and managing teams in the M.U.F.C. intervarsity programme.

 As one would expect, the luncheon was fully subscribed with attendees from five decades from the halcyon days of premierships in the Victorian Amateur Football Association’s A Section to the equally celebrated premierships in the sections below.

The renowned scribe and keen observer of life, the Black Hack (one suspects a nom de plume) observed in his article published on 9th August 2012, “in any case, my choice of attire for this Saturday gone was a very straightforward affair. It was Andy Smith Tribute Day and a V-Neck pullover was the only way to go. As I packed my tram timetable and handkerchief in order to complete the outfit, I considered all that had occurred during Andy’s 50 year tenure – from wars to droughts, from colour TV to iPhones, from woollen to lycra jumpers – and that if Andy were to have a sav blanc for every year of service he could give you an opinion on all of them.”

A marvellous luncheon was had on a memorable day for the Blacks.

 The universal theme from those speaking on behalf of generations of Blackers was a deep affection for Andy and a genuine appreciation for his tireless work. Of course, Andy’s service didn’t end there and continued for more than a decade and into the 2022 season during which after more than sixty years of service Andy called time on his life as an official and life as a spectator beckoned.

Ern Cropley

Andy was chuffed when, in 2014, the new pavilion was aptly named the “Ernie Cropley Pavilion” after his great friend and house mate of many years, “Croppo”: curator of the hallowed turf for fifty years and described on the M.U.F.C. website as “the most colourful and best-known and best-loved character in University cricket and football circles.”

Blackers’ reflections upon Andy’s passing

 I have been provided with many reflections, a selection of which is as follows:

“A wonderful selfless servant of the club.”

“Andy was there at my first game in Reserves in 2001 and last game 2015.” He loved regaling me with stories of swindles he and my old man got up to at intervarsity games in the seventies. Something along the lines of cash bets and getting the opposition drunk with free booze before the games. I loved his brutal assessments post-match which were delivered with love.”

When letting a Blacker down lightly having missed a mark at a crucial time in a match “Moff, your old man wouldn’t have dropped that.”

“A warm man who made everyone welcome. No one went through our club without being bailed up by Andy for a chat.”

“Heart and soul of the club and part of the old firm along with Jack Clancy who schooled new players on the history and what it meant to play for Uni Blacks.”

 “So loyal and such a supporter of all who represented the Blacks. I rarely got to the Pavvy without a post-mortem and a 3.2.1 of the best and, at times, a 3.2.1 of who shouldn’t be in the best.”

 “My earliest memory of the Blacks was in 2001 after playing a practice match at Williamstown. My first game of football in years, lying on my back after the game exhausted with no skin on my knees and dazed. I am jolted out of my daze when Andy’s dogs are doing a great job at licking the wounds on my knees with Andy standing beside them with a cheeky grin.”

 And I remember a conversation out at C.B.C. St Kilda’s ground in Murrumbeena around 1990 when I was Blacks’ secretary Andy “Can you look after m’dogs, while I time-keep?” Me “Do I have to?” Andy “Yes”

And one final quote which transcends the generations of Blackers and ultimately defines the mood “Part of the Blacks’ furniture who helped make the University Main Oval such a special place for us all.” Such a special place for us all.

The A.M. Smith Perpetual Trophy for the Best Clubman

 Presentation nights represent the finale to a season and provide a serious forum in which serious awards are presented, serious speeches are made, and a club reflects in an earnest manner about the season just completed.

The best club person award is more than an award for significant contribution but is an acknowledgement of the value of the selfless acts of one person for the benefit of others (and the cohort generally) and an appreciation that those acts underpin a club’s very existence.

In the early nineties, the Blacks annual award for the best clubman was changed to the A.M. Smith Perpetual Trophy as a permanent acknowledgement of Andy’s contribution to the life, times and prosperity of the Blacks. To better understand how valuable this work is, it is worth spending a moment on the concept of the best club person. Although awarded on an annual basis, the truth is that usually the recipient has years of honorary service week in week out under his or her belt: managing the teams, keeping the time, field umpiring the reserves, (back in the day) numerous trips to V.A.F.A. HQ to register players, sweeping out the rooms after an under nineteen’s match, spending hours on a Saturday morning preparing for a legendary Blackers’ afternoon tea, sitting in a car listening to a player earnestly express his feelings about his relationship failure of three months.

The list is endless but, in essence, for up to eight months a year, it is assuming operational responsibility for the logistics in deploying more than a hundred players and officials to somewhere in metropolitan Melbourne and dealing with what has now become the complex business of running a community football club especially in a grade where the competition is fierce.

But Andy was not simply an official who came on matchdays, kept the time and went home. He was far more than that. He knew all the players and officials young and old well and was a welcome and active participant in the Blacks’ social life including the famous Black Spot which for many years held top billing on Thursday nights at the Clyde.

Andy’s love of the game of lawn bowls

It would be remiss of us not to talk about Andy’s love of lawn bowls a fact well known to all at Blacks. We enjoyed the fact that it gave him so much joy. We note that the Moonee Ponds Bowling Club was established in 1891 is situated in Queens Park, a beautiful garden, a short distance from here and is noted for having among the best bowling greens in Victoria and priding itself on providing a great family environment to around 150 social and bowling members.

It is a rarity for a person to be a life member of three sporting clubs with the M.U.F.C. (since 1980), the M.P.B.C. and the Carlton Bowling Club now the Princes Park Carlton Bowls Club.

Andy’s health no bar to his support for the Blacks

Over the past few years, Andy had his health issues but that didn’t stop him from attending the footy and expressing his views about all things Black in his usual forthright manner.

Last year, I visited Andy at the Royal Melbourne Hospital. Our salutation was that of two blokes who had known each for a long time as I was allocated to Blacks in 1979. We vaguely nodded at each other. Shooting the Blackers’ and general M.U.F.C. breeze and happily discussing the Blackers’ return to the Premier Division where the Blacks belong, well over an hour passed effortlessly.

As I left, our exchange embodied the idea that the ties that bind are often in what is not said. Me: “S’pose I’d better go” Andy: “S’pose you’d better.” Me: “Good luck with the operation.” Andy: “Thanks”.

Loyalty

In an age of fatuous over-statement, the word “loyalty” gets a fair work-out but one wonders how often its meaning is considered or used carefully. Synonyms are “faithfulness”, “constancy”, “commitment”, “dependability” and “reliability”.

In the mid-nineties when the Blacks were collapsing through the grades, at a low ebb, and where resources were very thin, one A.M. Smith stayed the journey, continued and remained faithful to the cause: constant, committed and dependable. Values which by his conduct Andy imparted to generations of University footballers who have gone onto to lead the way in business, the professions, academia, the arts, science, government and public administration and in professional sport.

Vale Andy

Our condolences to Andy’s family. We thank them for giving us an opportunity to speak.

“Cheer, boys, cheer we’re for Melbourne. Now we’re on the road to victory. We will beat them all round, at our home and any ground” the first lines of the traditional song of the University Football Club and successfully reintroduced into the Blacks after Andy led a long campaign.

And so we say goodbye to a favourite son. Blackers unum et omnia, Blackers one and all.

For Allan Jeans: 'What a man', by Cameron Schwab - 2011

20 July 2011, Melbourne Cricket Ground, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

Allan Jeans was never a dreamer, he was way too pragmatic for that, but clearly understood that he had the capacity to make or break dreams, and that often proved a heavy burden.

It would be rare that a football conversation would pass with Yabby without some reference to a player who he had dropped from a grand final team.

One sensed that the moment was burned into Yabby’s soul as it surely did with the player concerned. These memories for Yab, were as profound as the outcome of the game itself.

In our game dreams become hope. Hope becomes expectation, often without substance or rationale.

For a man like Yab, with a propensity to personalise obligation like no other, he was often required to do some very heavy lifting.

So it was when Yab was appointed Senior Coach of the Richmond Football Club in 1992. Such were the circumstances of his appointment, and whilst he would never be so indulgent to say it himself, he clearly understood that dreams had already become expectation by the time he had donned the yellow and black tracksuit.

Here was a proud football club, Tigerland, dragging itself up by what were very frayed boot laces, its skin recently saved by the shaking of tins, and the passions stirred by the appointment of an icon coach arriving into the dilapidated rooms which seemed to be held together by nothing more than the smell of liniment, ankle tape and the ambitions of young men yearning to be led.

Our game likes to look at the events of history as a predictor for the future as though somehow we can will these events to repeat themselves.

When Allan Jeans was announced as coach of Richmond, immediate reference was made to the appointment of the first non-Richmond person for almost 30 years, in fact the first since Len Smith in the mid-60s, who himself was the first non-Tiger coach that anyone could recall.

The appointment of Len Smith at Richmond would be a catalyst to a great Tiger era, after many years in the doldrums, with the Tom Hafey coached club becoming the team of their generation. Nothing less was expected of Allan Jeans when he became coach of Richmond.

Adding to the colour of this story was Len Smith, the lesser-known brother of coaching legend Norm was also a great mentor of Yab’s.

Len is widely credited for the invention of the modern running game, and his handwritten exercise books on football are the stuff of football folklore.

Len shared these notes with a young Allan Jeans, although Yabby somehow never seemed young, as he prepared his St Kilda team for the 1965 Grand Final.

To say the Saints were inexperienced on the big day would be an understatement. It was only their second Grand Final and their first since 1913.

Yab kept the letters from Len, and I am sure he read them often, particularly in the last months of his life. They gave him context as the coach he was then, and the coach he would become.

History in fact did repeat, as with Len Smith, Yabby’s stint as Senior Coach of the Tigers would be very short – just one season before ill health cut short his time, but in many ways didn’t reduce the impact on those young ambitious men, most of whom would reflect on the time shared as the most significant of their lives.

The reason for this is simple. For Allan Jeans, identity was fundamental, and he educated and coached based on ensuring you had an understanding of where you have come from, where your place is now, and providing a clear understanding of where you were heading.

This was not a compartmentalised thing – it was one continuum – much like the game plan he preached and his famous three phases.

The basis from which he built this was trust, and Yab was the type of person who trusted easily, and trusted freely.

Whilst he had a somewhat intimidating veneer, his warmth and wisdom quickly become apparent, as he did what he could to help you find who you are, what you want to be, and what you want to stand for.

And for many young men finding their way in this most distracted of environments, identity can be elusive.

You quickly learn however, to benefit from the Yabby’s wisened methodology meant leaving your ego at the door, opening yourself up knowing that your confidences were safe, and you would be emboldened by Yab’s preparedness to reciprocate your openness.

Whilst the Yabby voice is legendary, his silences were often more profound.

“I was born with big ears, so I figured I might as well use them”, he would say, and listen he would. He also had a unique way of creating the space required for you to work it out for yourself – surely the best form of coaching.

He was also the master of the metaphor, often used to provide perspective and reality for a player who may be a tad ahead of himself so as to ensure they knew their place in the natural order.

I remember him talking to a young Tiger Tim Powell, who had played a pretty good game off half-back at Victoria Park against the Magpies. After receiving praise, Powelly mentioned his disappointment at not being given a chance to play on Peter Daicos who had kicked a match-winning 7 goals.

“Son, you’re a car salesmen aren’t you?” asks Yab.

“That’ right” says Powelly,

“Well let me put this in a way that you should relate to”.

“Well Son, you’re a Volks Wagon, and Daicos he’s a Mercedes Benz”.

“Now, do you understand?”

“Yes I do.”

“Success needs no explanation, failure accepts no alibis”, he would say, knowing fully that building resilience means you have to learn from your disappointments. That’s how you find out who you are.

Identity based on self-awareness.

And perhaps his best measure of character, “It’s not how you get knocked down, it’s how you get up”.

When Yab arrived at Richmond, he was asked to have a photo taken with the famous tiger skin that adorned the Richmond Board table. He refused. It wasn’t a snub, he would often talk of the club as ‘your club’, rather than ‘our club’, which could be misconstrued by those who didn’t know the man.

In his mind, he had to earn the right to be a part of it. For him it wasn’t a matter of signing a contract, it was about building respect, which he had earn the right – pay the price.

He had a deep respect for the game, the clubs and its people. He understood the Richmond story, the club from ‘struggle town’ that had once been mighty and wanted to be mighty again.

But the weight was heavy, and his health faltered, and so did the dream. He got through the year on pure courage, and his overwhelming sense of duty.

Somewhere from his moments of silent reflections these past months, he realised that he wanted Richmond to be recognised on this day as one of his clubs. “They were good to me” he said, “I want people to know that, please tell them”.

That photo with the Tiger skin was never taken, but the learnings are imprinted in the minds of those who happened to have the good fortune of spending just one very tough season listening to, and being listened by, Allan Jeans.

What a man.

For John Kennedy Snr: 'For being reminded of Kennedy is being reminded also of what Hawthorn is all about', by David Parkin - 2020

2 July 2020, Our Lady of Victories, Camberwell, Melbourne, Australia

David Parkin’s was captain of Hawthorn’s 1971 premiership side under Kennedy. Speech begins at 38.20.


Whilst the past nine days has been a time of great sadness and reflection, today I hope can be remembered as a genuine celebration of a remarkable and, in many ways, unique man’s life.

My association with ‘Kanga’ goes back nearly six decades. I have known him as a coach, father, husband, colleague, critical friend and educationalist. Like hundreds of others, with their parents being the exception, he became the most significant and positive person in their lives. The many conversations I’ve had this past week, would certainly reinforce that.

Two people I know well have sought some solace in John’s passing by visiting Waverley Park to stand in front of his imposing statue, to pay homage and reflect on his legacy.

In many ways, it’s not difficult to understand why this man was held in such high esteem. No, it’s more than that – reverence! This reverence came about not because of his many achievements, numerous as they have been, but because of the respect for the qualities of the man himself. Many, including me, have spoken this week about those attributes, but they bear repeating:

1. His complete objectivity in decision making!
I’ve met no other man in life who could make decisions without fear or favour. What was best for the team or club always prevailed. Personal feelings or relationships never influenced his decision. For example, the sacking of Lance Morton in 1970 mid-season and Kevin Heath in 1975 pre-season; his non-selection of Peter Crimmins in the 1975 Grand Final; his departure to Stawell in 1964; his appointment to North Melbourne in 1985. All are actions of a decisive decision maker. We admired him enormously for that!

2. His absolute single-mindedness
Nothing superficial or extraneous ever interfered with the achievement of the objective. His ability to pass through the pain barrier was a great example for us to follow.

In a pre-season run, using the ‘Walk Against Want’ as his vehicle (25 kms from Glenferrie Oval to Eastland in Ringwood) and John, now in his forties, caught up to Des Meagher, the best endurance runner in the Club, at Antonio Park and suggested a walk. Des said yes, then took off with Kanga in hot pursuit. He was eventually beaten into second place by Des, who took a shortcut. John never forgave him!

3. His exceptional oratory
The players were given plenty in his pre, during and post-match addresses. His “at least DO something? DO, don’t think, don’t hope, DO! has become part of football folklore. But I was always in the front row! He used his knowledge of literature as an exceptional skill, to provide the connection between football and life, using the philosophy of Karl Marx, the beauty of William Shakespeare and the passion of Sir Winston Churchill.

4. His tremendous sense of humour
Whilst his leadership style would have to be termed ‘autocratic’, there are multitude examples of this over the 60-70 years, but I will mention two:

i) On the back of a 103 point turnaround versus Essendon in 1973, (Round 3 to Round 15) there was no post-match team meeting, although I could see that John was seething. The following Tuesday night we copped 30 minutes of his best condemnation for our lack of effort. His closing words I will never forget. “The trouble with this generation is that you have dollars on your backs, fast cars in the carpark, and Brut under your armpits!” He then stormed off to have a shower. No-one followed. He reappeared and then we showered too. As Ian Bremner came out of the bathroom he hesitated near Kanga’s locker and said to Kel Moore “Can you throw me over your Brut mate?” to which Kel replied “Hang on a minute Brem, it’s out in my new Monaro in the carpark”. Even the coach, himself, had to smile.

ii) To put this into context, some years back Ray Wilson rang me to ask whether as a player I had ever had John put his arm around me and say “well done”. I assured him that never happened! “That’s good” said Ray, “I thought I was the only one to miss out”.

On the basis that JK was not one for handing our bouquets to anyone, Don Scott was pleasantly surprised to receive a phone call from Kanga on Grand Final day a few years back. He was ringing to tell Scotty how well he had played in the 1971 Grand Final – some 27 years before! Apparently he couldn’t sleep on Grand Final eve, had turned on the TV to see Channel 7’s Grand Final marathon. Lo and behold, it was the replay of 1971, which apparently he had never watched.

Early the next morning Scotty received the phone call from John reinforcing how well he had played. He was dumbfounded but really excited and rang his three friends to tell them his news. I congratulated him on being the first and only player to receive that reinforcement from our coach.

Immediately I rang Kanga to make sure he understood the significance of his phone call, and asked him if he had my telephone number to give me a similar call? “Sorry Dave”, he said “but you didn’t play all that well, so I won’t be making that call”!

5. His complete and utter humility
John was always embarrassed by the accolades from others. Hawthorn or North Melbourne successes, to him, were due to the outward and visible signs, which were the players. Never was the team’s successes due to his words or deeds, and I mean NEVER!

6. Personal influence
His ability to influence the character and lives of so many young men, gave players purpose and meaning to what they were doing. There is no doubt, for this reason alone, that all who donned the Brown and Gold or Blue and White over those 18 seasons, have become better people as a result of being coached by JK.

In catching up with teammates at Club and AFL functions over the years, I have had that reinforced time and again.

Back in 1977 Hawthorn ran a testimonial dinner for John. In typical Kennedy style, he spoke at length about the people and events which had impacted his life, whilst serving that entity over the previous three decades.

I will repeat my public response then as a reminder to us all, for the years ahead.

I sincerely hope that John Kennedy is never forgotten by players, coaches, administrators and members at Hawthorn, for being reminded of Kennedy is being reminded also of what Hawthorn is all about.

Rest in peace great man!

John Kennedy 20 December 1928 – 24 June 2020

For Allan Jeans: 'His scallywags, he would call us', by John Kennedy Jnr - 2011

20 July 2011, Melbourne Cricket Ground, Jolimont, Melbourne, Australia

In the pre-season of 1981, the President Ron Cook, John Kennedy Snr & the committee made the decision to appoint Allan Jeans as the senior coach of the Hawthorn Football Club. .

No-one could have imagined the profound affect that decision was to have on the club and in particular those that worked within it.

Our perception and that of the football public was built on a media profile that had preceded Yab’s appointment at Hawthorn. A man who was very conservative, dour in his demeanor and one who gave the impression he loved sucking lemons for fun!

It wasn’t until you got to really know this man that the real Yabby Jeans was discovered.

Our first meeting as a playing group was in the Hawthorn Social Club. It wasn’t a long extended meeting on what lay ahead over the summer or any issue surrounding our poor performance of the previous season, but rather a short, to the point, quietly spoken message, that we as players did not have to like Allan Jeans but (with a crescendo in his voice) – “You must respect the position I hold at this football club! I will need to earn your respect & you mine, but I demand you respect this position I hold as coach!”

It set the tone for what was to be the most successful era the Hawthorn Football Club had experienced.

Yab’s wisdom and knowledge was profound. He extended this talent to his players on many occasions, usually accompanied by a real life analogy.

He would stress continually that in football and life you cannot have freedom without responsibility. That the freedom to say and do things must be accompanied with a responsibility in what you say and do. “You cannot have one without the other!” he would roar

When we found ourselves languishing out of form ,or having to make a decision on our football or even a personal matter , he would often quote the little boy who comes to a crossroad and doesn’t know where to go as the sign post had fallen over . A man nearby sees the confused boy and asks him what’s the problem. The boy replies, “I have come to the crossroad and the sign is broken. What will I do?” The old man says, “that’s easy son, pick up the sign post, point the sign to where you have come from and then you will know where you are going.”

Or

If you see a man at the top of the mountain you have to remember he wasn’t bloody put there. He had to work to get there!!

and

Of course his famous 1989 half time address of the mother who needed to pay the price for her son’s new shoes if she wanted them to last. She had to pay the price!

Then there was his renowned sense of humour.

This was no more evident than his explanation to us at a meeting one night as to the appointment of his great friend George Stone as runner.

“Well it’s like this – Napoleon during his times of war needed a messenger to get information to the troops. He decided to select the dumbest individual in his army because he believed if he could get the message through to him then it was more likely the message would get to the troops correctly. I have chosen George as our runner.”

In discussions with my father he recalls coming back from Geelong one day with Yab after being beaten by Tommy Hafey’s Cats. A long trip back with plenty of time to think. Yab walked in the front door of his house to Mary lightheartedly calling out from another room – “How did you go Allan – Tommy put it over you did he?” “Now Mary, I’m going back out that door and come back in and we are not going to talk football!!”

Prior to a game at Waverley Park in the mid-eighties he was wandering through the rooms with football manager Johnny Hook as we were all being rubbed down by the trainers. These trainers, the likes of Bob Yeoman, Max Deacon, Peter the Pear (to name a few) were all large men dressed in white pants half way down their backside , white singlets smudged with liniment and all bearing ample stomachs. They also doubled up as water boys. With the ever increasing speed at which the modern game was being played it became apparent to Yab that things would need to change. “Hooky, have a look at these water boys, they will need to be camels to do this job.”

We were playing Richmond at the MCG. The Tigers were causing us all sorts of trouble as the siren went for quarter time. As we huddled around Yab for his quarter time address, he swung into action roaring at us, in an attempt to snap us out of our lull. He suddenly turned his attention to Russell Morris, nicknamed FLY. And said “Fly – you are playing on a guy that has taken 15 marks in his entire career and half of those he has just taken on you in that quarter – LIFT-SON!!!’

There are so many stories .We all have one.

Yab loved his players. His scallywags he would call us.

In public he would defend us to the hilt, even after our worst performances he would never criticize us individually. Under enormous scrutiny from the press he would only say how well the opposition played and that they won in most positions and made the least number of mistakes. We as players appreciated and respected him for his stance on this, however, behind closed doors it was often a different story!

He would let us know in no uncertain terms with his booming voice what he thought of our performance. His piercing blue eyes would scan the room and phases such as “Blokes on ego trips and lairizing” “You know who you are” … “If the cap fits, wear it”… and “Don’t worry about me, I go out there and defend ya to the press, I’ll make something up for you! You just make sure you have fun tonight!!! Don’t let that performance get in the way of ya dancing- oh no we can’t have that. Hope ya beer tastes sour… Off you go!!!”

As a coach he once again displayed two faces. One publicly that presented a very old fashioned way of doing things but in private he was an innovator. He pioneered what’s now called ‘the running game’. He broke the game down for us in simple terms. “We have it, they have it or it’s in dispute.” We were drilled in what to do in all three areas. Our training was geared towards achieving the best results in all three areas. He did not adhere to the theory of long training sessions. He was a great believer in keeping us at the club for as little time as was necessary to ensure we didn’t become too bored in our surroundings.

As players we enjoyed the success that blended through the years.

He had an extraordinary ability to manage people, in particular his players.

In fact it was his greatest asset. Always fairly and thoughtfully.

I remember entering the club room doors and running into a player who Yab had just told that his services were no longer required. He went on to tell me that he was very disappointed but understood that Yabby had to make the hard decisions and that – wait for it - he felt sorry for Yab!!! I marveled as to how he was able to have this individual think this way

I stand here today to represent all the many people who have had an association with Yabby during his time at Hawthorn. In particular the players and match committee who were lucky enough to share in an amazing period of success.

This success in football terms is well documented.

What perhaps is less tangible, but in many ways the greatest legacy Yabby leaves us, is the undoubted impact he has had on our day to day lives.

The lessons he taught us to be successful on and off the field have been used by each and every one of us at various times since we left behind those halcyon days at Hawthorn.

The benefits of persistence, a sense of responsibility, commitment to family, how to win with humility, how to lose with dignity, without excuses. How to manage people and how to lead, to name just a few.

Yab always used to say that myths and images are built up about people, that some people and some things are not always what they seem.

There was no myth about Yab

Certainly an image had been created of him publicly but for those of us that were lucky enough to have known him well, he was the real deal.

A man of great character, integrity and honesty.

A man who did things the way he wanted.

He was not influenced by stereotypes that were often portrayed in the media.

He did not fall into that trap, but dealt with us all…players, club and media…in his own way.

I suspect that as time passes and AFL football and the Hawthorn Football Club continues to evolve, my generation will be talking of this man in similar tones to how my father’s generation talk of the great Norm Smith – in revered terms – arguably this is already occurring.

It’s difficult to put into words the varying degrees of influence that Yab had on our lives.

But in reflecting over the years, it would be fair to say, that for most of my teammates and I, he, outside of our parents had the biggest influence on the way we operate today

Men such as Allan Jeans are a rarity and we will be forever grateful that we were in the right place at the right time to enjoy one of the greatest characters that we will ever meet. He leaves us all with wonderful memories and achievements.

On behalf of all us Scallywags Yab –

Our Sincerest thanks and goodbye, our leader and Friend.

For Lou Richards: 'Lou is bigger than a legend', by Ron Joseph - 2017

Richards' funeral: Joseph's speech - collingwoodfc.com.au

18 May 2017, St Paul's Cathedral, Melbourne, Australia

Lou was right. He told me his farewell would be bigger than Texas. He also told me that I would have to speak at his funeral.

"All the other people I know are dead,” he said.

"You better start thinking about what you are going to say, because it will be a bloody big funeral. Harold Holt’s will have nothing on mine. I had a house down at Portsea near him, you know. He didn’t drown. He took off with a sheila.

"It will be a state funeral, just like his. So that’ll give Jack and Bobby Davis the shits.

"Don’t let them have it at Jeff’s Shed. That is a cold hole, like Jeff. It will be a telecast around Australia, it might even be around the world. So you better be ready to talk on national television, Ronnie, and don’t stuff it up. You’re bloody lucky to get this opportunity, you know. No one else would give it to you.

"Tell Nicole and Kim to make sure that they get a good quid for the television rights. If Seven are covering it, tell the girls to charge double. Casey paid me bugger-all for all the time I spent with him at 3DB and Channel 7. He was a good bloke, Case. Edna and I loved our time with Ron and Pauline, but he was tight, tight as a fish’s ...

“EJ’s was a state funeral too. I’m bigger than Ted ever was. I nicknamed him Mr Football and he believed it for the rest of his life.

“I called Barassi Mrs Football. Of all the blokes I have nicknamed over the years Barassi is about the only one that ever lived up to his moniker.

“And if that Mike Fitzpatrick’s at my funeral, you know the bloke who used to play for Carlton, the Rhodes Scholar — Rhodes Scholar, my bum — tell him he spent too much time at Oxford and Cambridge and can’t recognise a legend when he sees one.”

So Lou leaves us after 94 marvellous years. With memories that will last our lifetime. There would be few people in this church who wouldn’t have their own special story of Lou and his ability to warm up an event, a lunch or a dinner, with laughter and fun. You could almost say that Lou knew it was expected of him.

I remember as a young upstart at North in my early years having my first visit to Channel 7 and Ron Casey’s World of Sport. Uncle Doug Elliot was presenting an ad for Ballantyne’s chocolates, reading his lines off an idiot sheet, a piece of butcher paper held by two members of the Seven camera crew. Live on TV Uncle Doug was halfway through his ad, staring intensely, glasses over his nose, reading the idiot sheet when up came Lou and set the butcher paper alight. I couldn’t believe it.

Jack Dyer, Bob Davis, Neil Roberts, Skeeter Coghlan, Bill Collins and Bruce Andrew fell around laughing. It took a stern Ron Casey to get World of Sport back on track.

And who could ever forget the Phoenix Hotel? As legendary as the Flinders St Herald Sun building alongside. Sir Henry Winneke was Victorian governor in the ’70s and after a VFL dinner at the Southern Cross, Lou invited him back to his hotel for a drink. Sir Henry, the great man that he was, obliged. When I made it back to Lou’s pub at one in the morning there was the Rolls-Royce, numberplates VIC 1, double-parked in Flinders St outside the Phoenix. Upstairs, Sir Henry was the centre of attention. Lou came up and asked him if he would mind staying because Edna wouldn’t believe that royalty had visited his hotel and he wanted Edna to meet him. Lou was gone for five minutes and then reappeared.

“Governor,” he said, “Sir Henry, your Excellency, I never know what to call you, but Edna is in bed upstairs. She has rollers in her hair and she said is to tell you that she couldn’t care if you are the king of England, she’s not coming down to meet you.”

What a beautiful marriage Lou shared with Edna. They were inseparable. They shared a wonderful marriage and friendship. When Edna went into care, Lou didn’t leave her bedside. When Lou died last week he had endured 3350 days without her. It was only after Edna had gone that you could get Lou out for a coffee, a lunch, a footy match or a drive in the car. He could still laugh, there was some special events — his 90th birthday at Kim’s, the unveiling of Lou’s statue at Collingwood — but his darling Edna had left his life. You knew that deep down all Lou was ever thinking was, “Where’s Edna?”.

Having read, observed and listened to all the glowing tributes that have been printed and aired on the radio and TV since last week, it is easy to overlook the depth of the man himself. A character on the footy field, as a tough, take-no-prisoners captain, and a character off it as a person with a rare knockabout charm and sense of fun — as well as a generosity of spirit and a strong sense of doing the right thing.

The National Trust in 1982 went as far as classifying Lou as a national treasure. But Lou is much, much more than that.

First and foremost, he was a devoted husband, father and grandfather, brother to Ron and Glenys, and an uncle. And regardless of all the fame that came his way, Edna, Nicole, Kim, with the grandkids, were always his pride and priority.

How lucky were we at North. Shirley Trainor, the wife of our ’60s president Tony, was a close friend of Edna. They were best friends. Inevitably the Trainor family introduced Lou with Edna to a football club that wore blue and white, not black and white stripes.

After some hits and misses in the early ’70s, North started to get its show on the road. They were heady days. Fundraisers and functions that rolled from one week to the next, and Lou was always there. People attended just to be in the room with him. Six successive Grand Finals and in 1975 the inaugural premiership.

Then the famous draw and replay of 1977. The VFL competition was on its way to being a national competition. The Grand Final was televised live and in colour, and Ron Casey and Lou Richards led the way. For 40 years, Lou would be up on Grand Final day at 6am to host North’s Grand Final breakfast, that through his brilliance became its own institution.

Lou would then leave the Southern Cross to call the Grand Final with Mike Williamson or Peter Landy. Prime minister Hawke never missed one of those breakfasts and Lou never missed giving the PM his famous line, “Bob, the only thing you haven’t done for the workers is become one”. With Allen Aylett, Albert Mantello and Ron Barassi, it seemed that Lou was also a part of the executive team at North. Lou loved his involvement and North loved him back.

Out of all of this grew great friendships like Shirley’s and Edna’s that stood the test of time. It would be wrong to say that North was the only beneficiary of Lou’s generosity. Lou had friends at every club and he delighted in helping them all with his presence and star quality. Today we say farewell. Lou is a legend. Who else gets an eight-page wraparound in the Herald Sun that is as much a part of this city as Lou and the MCG.

So Lou Richards leaves us after 94 marvellous years, with memories that will last our lifetime.

Lou might not have kicked as many goals as Tony Lockett or Peter Hudson but he is a legend. Lou might not have won as many Brownlow Medals as Haydn Bunton, Bob Skilton, Dick Reynolds and Ian Stewart but he is a legend.

And if his game as a player was just a little short of the class of the great EJ or the dynamic Ron Barassi, Lou is still a legend. In fact, Lou is bigger than a legend. Decency, loyalty, gentleness, warmth, kindness, integrity, humility, cheek and fun all in equal parts gave us Lou Richards.

Our love and thoughts are with Kim and Nicole and their families. Their loss first of Edna and now Lou is immeasurable. I thank them for the honour of speaking here today, I thank them for sharing Lou with us and, on behalf of all of us and our marvellous sport, I thank Lou for all that he gave.

We remember Lou with affection, admiration, gratitude and delight

for Tom Hafey: 'Tommy shaped our lives, he was a father figure and mentor, he was an advisor', by Kevin Bartlett - 2014

19 May 2014, Melbourne Cricket Ground, Melbourne, Australia

Tommy was pretty lucky to kick a goal with his first kick in AFL football, because it was the only goal he kicked.

I can remember Tommy turning up to my daughter Cara's engagement party, and he turned up in just in a pair of shorts. No shoes, no top. And my son-in-law said to him, 'aren't you wearing a shirt, Tommy?'

He said, 'I didn't think it was formal'.

Now for those that don't know, Tommy drove a Jeep, D'you know that? He drove a Jeep. He drove a Jeep, all over the country. He didn't buy a Jeep, he drove a Jeep. He shot a commercial for Jeep, and the deal was that he’d get a new Jeep every three months.

Jeep figured that a man over eighty would drive to church on a Sunday, and maybe pick up the paper.

 Jeep figured that after three months, it would have fifteen hundred ks on the clock, and would be sold as a new car.

Jeep didn't figure that after three months, that it would have eighty four thousand kilometres on the clock, and would be sent to the wreckers.

Tommy drove a Jeep alright, to every football club and netball club in the land.

He had some favourite sayings; 'If you want loyalty, get a dog', That was to all the football committees that sacked him.

'You'd run faster if chased by a crocodile', that's what he used to say to players when he thought they could run a lot faster than they were on the field.

 He always answered the question, 'how do you like your tea, Tommy?' with, 'Hot and strong. If not I'll send it back', and he did.

 'He's so slow he couldn't catch Humphrey B Bear'. That was a player that just couldn't run.

And of course, 'Sensational, but getting better' was his favourite one.

Tommy actually thought that getting up at five twenty in the morning and walking across the road in his Speedo's, swimming across Port Phillip Bay and back, in icy water, and then running ten ks, followed by a thousand sit-ups and a thousand push-ups was a great way to start a day.

He didn't convince me, nor many of his friends.

And then of course, he saw himself as a beach inspector, because then he'd walk along the beach to pick up syringes. His record was thirty eight in one day, he was really proud of that record. No gloves, just put 'em in the towel.

His first training session at Richmond as coach was two laps of the ‘Tan. He said 'Do your best' and off we all went. We never saw him again. Except for the several players he lapped. Those he lapped, please put up your hand in this room. The next training session was ten 440s with sixty seconds break in-between, and then the third one, which was on the Friday night (we trained the Monday Wednesdays and Fridays) the third training session was twenty 200s. Twenty 200s, I should say, with a sixty second rest.

Tommy ran them all until he absolutely dropped because you had a little chunky legs and he ran those four-hundreds, and that's where the legend was made, and everyone at the club said, well how good is this. Because all of a sudden you had this coach who turned up and he's beating everyone around the ‘Tan, and he's beating everyone in the four-hundreds, and he's beating everyone in the two-hundreds. I mean, it was quite remarkable. And the legend was made.

You know, nothing much has changed in football, Tommy's first game as coach of Richmond was against Carlton at Princes Park. And the siren didn't work at the end of the game. So, nothing has changed in football.

And they couldn't find the cow-bell to actually ring.

We believe to this very day -- just a Carlton conspiracy. The game actually continued on, and a policeman on his horse charged out onto the ground to alert the umpires that the game had ended. Richmond full back was a young man called Billy Walford, I played with him in the under nineteens, he was playing full back that day in just his fourth game of AFL football, recalls that he had to run around the horse to actually contest the ball. That should have alerted the umpire that the game was over. The Tigers won by six points, and of course, the Hafey era began.

That game was the start of the clubs golden era of premierships, '67, '69, '73, and '74. When a little club, of course, hadn't played in finals for twenty four years and Tommy took over, with a bunch of very experienced players in Roger Dean and Neville Crow and Mike Patterson andBull Richardson -- Freddy Swift, of course was there -- and a bunch of young kids came up from the under nineteens. A lot of us came up and then he went out and recruited of course, Royce Hart came across from Tasmania, Barry Richardson from Saint Pat's College, Michael Green, of course, also in the under nineteens came down from Assumption College.

And then in 1967 against a very very formidable Geelong side, which at that stage had  the likes of Polly Farmer and Doug Wade, and Billy Goggin and Gordon Hynes, Kenny Newlands and Sam Newman, I mean they had a fantastic side, they were a team of champions like they are today. And Richmond of course, did not have one player who had actually played in any final until that final series. And in that grand final, Richmond won its first grand final in twenty four years against Geelong.

And then of course it carried on in '69, '73 and '74 and Hafey's Heroes were born.

I had the best seat in the house, of course, at Carlton, when he coached his first game, because I was 19th man, so in those days you sat next to the coach. I told him at half time that he didn't have a clue, for I was the greatest rover in the game and I was on the bench. I was eighteen at the time. He ignored me and the following week he dropped me. Should've kept my mouth shut, I reckon.

Most Saturday nights there was a function at Tommy and Maur’s, which was fantastic, Tommy believed in keeping everyone together and it was always at Tommy's and Maur’s. He'd go out and buy the Kentucky Fried Chicken or the Fish n Chips. The players could have a drink, there'd always be a cup of tea on of course around the kitchen.

He would say, of course, at training on the Thursday night, 'there's a function on at my place, it's not compulsory, not compulsory to attend’, he always made that point, ‘not compulsory to attend’, but if you didn't, you won't be selected the following week. There was always a rider, and it was always a packed house, at Tommy and Maur’s.

Tommy was proud that every birthday and every twenty-first, engagement and wedding was a club function, he prided the club on that, that it was a club function, because that's what he thought football was all about, getting the players together, and the wives, and the girlfriends, getting all the kids there, because he felt if you had a happy club, you're going to have a very very good football club.

And that's what Richmond was.

Tommy shaped our lives, he was a father figure and mentor, he was an advisor, and he was a conduit that actually joined us all together.

Tommy's time at Collingwood was an extraordinary one when you look back at it. Wooden spooners to a grand final draw in 1977 was incredible.

I can remember when Tommy rang me and told me he was going over to Collingwood, I was so upset and disappointed that he'd decided to leave Richmond. He rang me and said he was going to resign as the coach of the Richmond Football Club, which to me and I said, ‘Well reconsider, because the players love you,’ and he said, ‘No, I have to move on.’

So it was with great disappointment when he did. But he took Collingwood from wooden spooners to that grand final, and Tommy still maintains they would have won that if the great Phil Carman had've been able to play after being suspended, I think, against North Melbourne. He'd kicked five goals in both games they played that year. So he was a mighty loss and they drew that first grand final, and lost the second one.

Of course, in total, five grand finals in his first five years including that drawn grand final, and then he was sacked.

We had a lunch date at the Commonwealth Cafeteria, we had lunch three times a week for ten years -- Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Tommy would always drop in and we'd have lunch at the Commonwealth Cafeteria, 'cause I worked at Telecom, well, I attended Telecom. I became very good at darts and chess and so Tommy would drop in and we'd have lunch at the Commonwealth Cafeteria on the twelfth floor at the top end of Spring Street.

He came to my work on this particular day and I said, 'How're ya going, Tom', and he always said 'Sensational, but getting better', and he said, 'but there has been better days'. And I said, 'Why's that, Tommy?' and he said, 'I've just been sacked as coach of Collingwood’.

He was shocked by that because he had a phone call to come down to the Club, and he went down to the Club and he expected them to say ‘keep going,’ they'd started the season pretty ordinary, ‘keep going, we're a hundred percent behind you, you've done a mighty job.’

But, he was sacked.

And he came to my work, and when he told me that I said to him, 'Well, let's forget lunch, you've probably got so many things on your mind'.

He said, 'Don't be crazy, lamb roast is on the menu today!’

So we went up to the top of the twelfth floor of the Commonwealth Building and there we were having lamb roast and I kept thinking to myself, the biggest story in football is about to break, and here's Tommy having lunch at the Commonwealth Cafeteria -- because he had this great ability to just move on. Just move on. He didn't believe in rejection at all, and was already looking forward to the future.

He loved his time down at Geelong and it was great to see Bruce Nankervis here today, the only person I ever got reported for striking in AFL football. So it’s great to see Bruce, it was an accidental king-hit, too, Bruce, I'm sorry about that. 

But he did love his time down at Geelong, by the sea. In his first game as coach of the Cats, Gary Ablett Senior played his first game for the Cats on a wing, and booted four goals.

Everyone's entitled to an off-day, even Gazza.

In the centre, playing his first game was Greg Williams.

Greg Williams had written a letter to Tommy, asking him to give him a chance. He'd been rejected by Carlton, and he'd been a great player up in Bendigo, but for some reason he wrote this letter to Tommy saying that he was slow, he was small, probably had attributes that some people didn't like, but he said he could win the ball a lot, he could pass it off, he’d like to be a team person, and he liked to bring other people into the game, and he begged Tommy for a chance.

And that's how he got down to Geelong. Tommy answered the letter, got him down there and Greg Williams lined up in the centre in that very first game Tommy coached down at Geelong.

And on the other wing, of course, was the great Michael Turner. Not a bad centre line. Abblett, Williams and Turner. Second only to ... you know who. Bourke, Barrett and Clay.

In Sydney, he did great things, Tommy, in Sydney.

I don't think he quite gets the recognition that he deserves in shaping the national game.

He became coach in 1986, was a great admirer of Geoff Edelston, I know he has a lot of critics, but Tommy said he was absolutely fantastic, in the way that he helped generate interest up there in Sydney.

And with a group of players that went up there, Greg Williams followed Tommy up to Sydney, Gerard Healy, Bernard Toohey were some of the guys that went up there, Geoff Edelston, always, Tommy speaks so highly of.

 He became coach in 1986 after the Swans had finished tenth the previous year, in a twelve team competition. Not easy up in Sydney then, as you know, not even easy today.

In his first year he had Sydney rocking and rolling, and finished second after the home and away season. Which is not a bad effort. Second on top of the ladder. He drew crowds of forty thousand to the Sydney Cricket Ground, can you believe that, in 1986, and forty thousand people went to Sydney Cricket Ground to see Sydney Swans play Hawthorn. And thirty eight thousand turned up to the SCG when they played Carlton.

These are massive figures. This is in the mid nineteen-eighties, could you imagine, even today those figure would stand up and people would be thrilled.

In 1987, the Swans in round sixteen, versus West Coast, Sydney kicked 30.21. In round seventeen, the next week, versus Essendon, his team kicked 36.20. And in round eighteen, the very next week, against Richmond, they booted 31.12.

So, thirty goals, thirty six goals, and thirty one goals. He had Sydney rocking.

What a way to play football. Three weeks of football the likes we've never seen before or since, was when Tommy, of course, was coaching the Sydney Swans.

The following year, the Swans finished seventh, now that today, gets you into the finals.

Back then it got you the sack. In fact today, if you finished seventh you might get a three year contract extension.

Since then of course, he devoted his life, he's inspired and motivated children, young adults around the country, and those in industry.

Tommy started that when he was down at Geelong, there was no full time coaching in those days, so what he did was, to fill in his time, and he thought it'd be great for the Geelong Football Club, to get out there and promote the club, that he would travel around to all the schools in Geelong, and talk to all the kids, as the family has mentioned.

He loved that, it was fantastic. And you heard those great stories, but he wanted to do that. One, you could follow Geelong, and two, he thought it'd be great to educate the kids on living a good life.

Tommy related stories of course, of AFL players, to everyone at every talk, every speech he made. Because he didn't believe in rejection at all, it was just to motivate you to actually go on to do bigger and better things.

He related stories of AFL players being cut from their clubs and then went to other clubs to win Best and Fairest awards, Brownlow medals, win premierships, become All-Australians and captain their clubs. He had a list as long as his arm that he could give some demonstration to kids, to say, if you got knocked back, don't worry about it, pick yourself up, dust yourself down because I've just told you of all these guys who've gone on and done great things.

And he also loved telling about cricketers who left their State, batsmen and bowlers and wicket keepers who went to another State, and then of course, went on to play for Australia in test cricket.

He loved that, he loved those stories. Because he felt they were uplifting.

Tommy of course, lived in Canberra for a period of time, as we know, and played rugby league up there as a young boy, and then when he went to Sydney, he really embraced Rugby League. And he got a lot of the Rugby people around to take training and also for tackling and that was one of the strengths of all Tommy's sides, was tackling.

He only had one player that never tackled, that was me. But, it was impossible for me to tackle because I had the ball all the time, so...

But he used to get it in for the other players, and he did that up in Sydney and the idea was to make them the strongest tackling team in the business, so he loved rugby league, he loved it. He loved Australian Rules Football, it was always number one, but he loved the toughness of the people in rugby league. He loved the way that they went about it, he loved their character.

Just recently I was visiting Tommy in hospital and Craig Bellamy was there. He coach of course, of Melbourne Storm, he loved Melbourne Storm, what a fan he was of Storm, and CEO Frank Ponissi was there as well.

Great friends of Tommy, and they came in to see Tommy.

And Tommy was in bed and I just thought I'd wind him up a bit by saying to Craig Bellamy there in the company of Frank Ponissi as well, I said, 'How do you rate Billy Slater, Tommy?' And he said, 'Billy Slater! Billy Slater would win the Brownlow medal in his first year of AFL footy, he could open the bowling for Australia, he could beat Usain Bolt at the Olympic Games, and he could ride the winner of the Melbourne Cup.'

I think it's fair to say he had a high opinion of Billy Slater.

Tommy loved setting himself goals, we heard the girls talk about this before, you know, silly ones, I used to say to him, 'you're crazy', 'you're silly', 'why wont you have a cake or biscuit?', because forty five years ago in a New Years resolution he got up and said ‘I'm not going to eat cake and biscuit any more.’

I mean, how stupid is that? Then he decided that he wasn't going to eat sweets for the last thirty five years, he hasn't even eaten a sweet. And of course, we heard the girls talk about it, he told me, he said, he rang up the start of this year, I had New Years Eve with him, he said, 'I'm going to read twenty books this year, twenty books, that's my goal', Twenty books. Always sporty books of course, nothing too heavy, always about sport, and people who'd done great things.

He said, 'I'm going to try ten new restaurants this year,' that was another thing he wanted to do, always had to go to ten new restaurants, didn't mean that he didn't go to the old ones, he did eat mainly at Dimattinas, I will say that. Frankie was always very kind with the bill.

Then of course, he had to go to five concerts, five new concerts a year, that was important to him. Five new concerts. Had to go watch people sing, loved it when it was down at the Palais there, and they had the local Go Show was on there recently, and back to the rocking and rolling from forty five years ago. His great mate Danny Finley was there of course, with MPD, ‘Mike, Peter and Danny’ -- managed Tommy for so many years and did a marvellous, marvellous job. When Tommy was at Collingwood, at Sydney and at Geelong, and he was a life-long friend, and Danny of course, was a famous drummer in ‘Mike Peter and Danny’, MPD, Little Boy Blue, Little Boy Sad, I may even sing a few bars if I keep going ...

But, he loved to go to concerts, he loved music and we heard it before, his beautiful granddaughter Sam, singing a marvellous song.

And of course, the other thing he loved to do was ring everyone in Australia, that's what he loved.

No matter where he went, around the country, for some reason, Tommy had this, this memory where he knew where every former player lived, every former player resided, so if was giving a talk somewhere, he'd go fifty ks out of his way because he'd knock on somebody's door and he'd say, 'You won't believe who I saw the other day', and then away he would go.

He would do silly things, in actual fact, he would do things like -- he was a workaholic, he did love talking to people all the time. He had to meet people, he had to be there in their company.

He'd go to Mildura and I'd say, 'What are you doing this weekend, Tommy?' and he'd say, 'I'm going to Mildura.' I'd say, 'that's great',

 'On the Monday,' and then, 'I've got to get up very early Tuesday morning 'cause I've got to drive to Shepparton for a dinner, a luncheon there at Shepparton.'

I'd say, 'That's fair way, Tommy', 'Oh no, she'll be right', so then I'd say so what then, home?'

He'd say, 'No, I've got a function in Mildura.'

I used to say, 'Tommy if you're in Mildura, and you've got to drive all the way to Shepparton, I mean it's a bit difficult to go the whole way back to Mildura, isn't it?',

 'No, no, no, no. She's fine.'

Of course, he was a shocking driver, as everyone knows. Shocking driver.

He got pulled up once, out the front of Punt Road, got pulled up by the (police), he was sitting at the lights -- Tommy drove very very fast, by the way, very fast. He was sitting at the lights, and he was looking in his rear vision mirror, and he was very late for a speaking engagement. And he was at the lights, waiting for the lights to change, and then he took off. He knew the police car was behind him. The police car, very quickly put on their siren and pulled him over. And Tommy was in a hurry.

So the police pulled him over, and as you know, when they pull you over, they sit in their car for a short period of time. Tommy was pulled over in his car. But unlike most people who sit in their car, he jumped out of his car, he ran back and he said, 'I'm in a hurry, what's going on?'

And they said, 'Well, you were travelling too fast'

He said, 'That is rubbish!' he said, 'I saw you in my rear vision mirror, I'm not going to take off and break the speed limit when I can see you in my rear vision mirror!' he said. 'That's rubbish!'

The bloke said, 'Well we clocked you doing seventy five ks.'

And Tommy said, 'Check it out, it's wrong!', and ran back, jumped in his car and took off.

I said to Tommy, 'What did they do?' He said, 'They just sat there in amazement.' Just took off!

Tonight, on behalf of Tommy, I'd say, go home, do five push ups, have five sit ups, go for a walk or go for a jog, and say “sensational, but getting better”.

And always remember, Tommy drove a Jeep.

For Jack Clancy: 'Did I tell this gentle giant that he'd got my name wrong?' by John Clanchy

3 April, 2014, The Boulevard, Kew, Melbourne, Australia

Read as part of a memorial event for Jack Clancy. Posted on the tribute site by novellist John Clanchy.

As a lanky, shy, stripling teenager entering Melbourne Uni in the early sixties, I was keen to make new friends by joining the MU Football Club. I set out for the ‘Pavvy’ one March evening with a pair of boots, shorts and a school footy jumper and was welcomed into the warm and lively company of the under-age first year players (the ‘Juniors’). No coach had been appointed for the Juniors at that stage of the year, but a friendly giant had volunteered to coach and look after us in the meantime – a typical gesture of generosity which marked all my interactions with Jack in the ten years which followed.

After our first training session, this gentle-tough giant handed out application forms for joining the Victorian Amateurs Football Association.

‘Fill them in now,’ he told us. ‘We want to make sure you’re signed up and eligible for the first game of the season.’

I didn’t know that Jack was still playing competitive footy himself (captaining the UniReds ‘mixed-age’ team). So I was surprised when he took a form himself and standing bent over the table next to me began to fill it out. I was even more surprised when out of the corner of my eye I saw he’d filled in the first line (Name) and had written J. Clancy.

I was in a terrible dilemma. Did a long drink of a pimply adolescent tell this gentle giant that he’d got my name wrong – that he couldn’t spell – in the face of the astonishing fact that he was so careful of his new charges that he wasfilling in my form for me, and the even more astonishing fact that, among us all newbies whom he’d just met, that he’d remembered my name? Or did I just stay mum and accept the fact that I’d be registered under the wrong name and would have to live with it for as long as I played footy?

I said: ‘Sorry, sir. That’s not how you spell it.’

Jack looked up, laughed, and said, ‘Maybe but that’s how we’ve spelt it for a couple of hundred years.’

‘Perhaps, but it’s not right,’ I said.

‘Don’t be nervous, son,’ he said. ‘You know how to fill in a form?’

‘Yessir.’

I saw in his eyes he was thinking, How did this idiot ever get into University? But also saw that it was immediately blocked out by a second thought: This kid’s so stupid, it’s possible he could actually play football.

‘Okay, son,’ he said, ‘just relax, and do exactly as I do.’

He went back to filling in the rest of his form, and I started on mine.

Moments later I saw him look across and check on my progress and note that I’d filled in the first line (Name): J. Clanchy.

Our eyes met – and I read in his a sudden terrible concern.

‘I didn’t mean it literally, son,’ he said, one hand on my shoulder, the other already reaching for a fresh form.

Vale Jack Clancy. A gentle giant, if ever there was one.

For Jim Stynes: 'I love you Jim', by Garry Lyon - 2012

22 March, 2012, Channel 9, Melbourne, Australia

Jimmy Stynes was a giant in every sense of the word right from the very first moment I laid eyes on him.

It would be wrong to suggest we were close from Day 1, he was a novelty and for a 16-year-old kid from country Victoria he fulfilled all of my pre-conceived notions of what an Irishman should be - pale, lean and with an accent that was perfect for telling Irish jokes.

Beyond that I didn’t give him too much thought, my mind was captivated by the real footballers at our club, most notably the legendary Melbourne footy club figure Robbie Flower. He was the man I aspire to be.

How did it come to pass then that 27 years down the track, with the greatest respect to Robbie, that the Irish curiosity that I first encountered in the carpark outside of the MCG was to become, and will remain, the person that I judge and measure myself by?

With time and age or some form and degree of maturity comes perspective and I realize that life is more than just football and I now see the irony in that I was to become the leader of the football club and help set a standard for others to follow, all the while it was Jim who was doing the real leading and setting the real standard.

I see that with such clarity now. I didn’t then and it led to doubts about Jimmy.

Why was he not fanatical and obsessed like I was? Why did it appear that football was just a game to him when it was much more to me? Why could he smile an hour after a losing game whereas it took me a whole weekend to get over it?

Why did he not embrace the so-called 'manly elements’ of our game as enthusiastically as the next bloke where drinking beer and attracting girls was a badge of honour, worn as proudly as anything achieved on the playing field? Why could he be as passionate about the welfare of others outside of the club when I was predominantly obsessed with what happened solely within?

Jimmy refused to let the game define who he was. It was just a part of him and it allowed us to marvel at his determination, unwavering self-belief, resilience, strength, skill, endurance and courage.

Why was he so prepared to buck the system and explore an alternative path when the rest of us were so aligned to the one that had trod so rigidly for decades? Why did he not shy away from displaying his emotions where I saw it as a weakness to do so?

Why was he so fervently proud of his Irish heritage when I had barely given mine a second thought? Why was he so sensitive to issues of racial and religious tolerance, ahead of his time, while I was ignorantly part of the problem?

I thought he had it all wrong. What I now know to be true is that those doubts were less about Jim and more about myself, and I say that not self-consciously but with some degree of pride because it means that I’ve truly come to appreciate the man that Jim Stynes was and if that paints me in a lesser light then I’m fine with that because there are few that can compare to him.

Quite simply Jimmy refused to let the game define who he was. It was just a part of him and it allowed us to marvel at his determination, unwavering self-belief, resilience, strength, skill, endurance and courage. But he never let the game compromise what else he had going on in his life.

He showed me that you could be committed but not obsessive, the need to separate the playing field from the field of life, that you can gain satisfaction out of the contest regardless of the result, that you could enjoy the environment and male bonding that footy provided but always maintain a sensitivity to what is right and wrong, that you never get so tunnel visioned that you don’t recognise the needs of others, that you can be both passionate and ruthless in the pursuit of excellence.

He was secure enough to know that displaying vulnerability can be a strength and not a weakness.

So now he’s left us and it doesn’t feel right or fair in any way. I was honoured to have been able to spend some intimate time with him in the past few months and I’ll never forget those moments. We laughed more than we cried which as I’ve written about was consistent throughout our relationship.

I took a photo on one of the last occasions I sat with him and had the chance to say goodbye. It was deeply personal and highly symbolic of our 27-year friendship and it will serve as a constant reminder of him, what he stood for and how profound an impact he had on me, of just how right he got his 45 years.

The photo will sit on my wall at home and every time I look at it, I will think of the man that he was and the one I can only ever hope to be.

I love you Jim.

For John 'Starky' Gigacz: 'Dovidenia, Starky', by son Andrew Gigacz

29 August, 2014, Melbourne, Australia

John Gigacz, my father, was born on the 3rd of August 1922 and died last Saturday, a long way from where his life began, in distance – his birthplace, Brezno in Slovakia is 15,500 kilometres from here; in time – Dad was 92 years old; and in cultural attitude – when Dad was a baby, he wasn’t a very good sleeper and his parents used opium to quiet him down – definitely not something that would be approved of today!

John grew up in the village of Sumiac, but his adult life would take him to a number of places around the world, firstly to America, including New York, a city he loved, and Chicago – or as he pronounced it, Chicago [as in ‘chip’]. (As you will hear shortly, John had a great command of the English language but pronunciation wasn’t always a strong suit.) His second major trip was to Austria, made by somewhat unusual means – he got there by swimming across the Danube in 1949 to escape the communist regime that controlled what was then Czechoslovakia, leaving behind his own mother and father, whom he would never see again.

After a year in Salzburg, John was granted refugee status and approved for migration to Australia. After a voyage of several months on a ship called the Hellenic Prince, he arrived in Australia in January 1951, and spent several weeks at a migrant centre in Bonegilla, not far from Albury, before taking a job, picking grapes along the Murray.

Keen to settle into the Australian way of life, John quickly befriended several fellow fruitpickers, and was happy to accompany them to the local pub. Never having been a heavy drinker, John spent one early night at the local trying to keep up with his mates but failed miserably. His mates took him back home in a wheelbarrow that evening.

John was also to meet his future wife, our Mum, while fruitpicking. Having crossed paths with her on several occasions and then lost contact, John bumped into the lady who would become the love of his life at Flinders Street station in 1953. Determined not to let her go this time, John met up with her the next day, presented her with a violet posy and asked her to marry him. Fortunately for all of us, she said yes.

John and Evelyn married at St Joseph’s Church in Hawthorn in November 1954 – John wearing the suit that I’m wearing now - and started a family soon after. Stefan was born in September 1955, with John, Anthony, Jamie, Katie and Andrew following over the next 10 years. John became an important part of the parish of Sacred Heart, always willing to lend a hand in the development of the Sacred Heart community. As I grew up, I remember him taking on many roles, helping out at working bees, reading at Mass, singing in the choir and doing countless visitations as a member of the St Vincent de Paul Society. He was a man of strong faith and Jesus was a guiding light for him throughout his life.

For his entire working life in Melbourne, John was employed at ICI in Deer Park, forming many friendships with his colleagues there, as well as through the Sacred Heart community. One of the people he met early in his time at ICI was a man by the name of Hugh. Before he met him, John had seen his name written down, and with English not being his first language, he decided to pronounce the name the way it was spelt: H-U-G-H. Upon their introduction, he said, “Pleased to meet you, Hoog-her”.

John in fact had a very strong grasp of the English language. He read voraciously and was always looking to improve himself. But he did struggle occasionally with the nuances of English pronunciation, grammar and syntax. I remember he used to ask, “How did Bulldogs go today?” Not, “How did THE Bulldogs go”, just, “How did Bulldogs go?” He also sometimes got words in the wrong order, or at least not in the order WE’D use. Instead of trial and error, it was error and trial. And with him it wasn’t the Big Bad Wolf, it was the Bad Big Wolf. And I remember him talking about the seven lives of a cat.  Perhaps in Slovakia things were so bad that cats couldn’t afford nine lives.

Slovakia in fact was never far from Dad’s mind. Once technology made phoning overseas a simple process, Dad would ring his sister Marca, regularly, catching up on all the latest news from his family and friends in his homeland and passing on news from faraway Australia.

Dad also never forgot how welcome he was made to feel when he came to Australia and he was keen to make others feel just as welcome in later years. He spent many a Sunday in the 1980s visiting the migrant hostel in Maribyrnong, helping out new arrivals – most from Vietnam – in whatever way he could.

Above all, John was devoted to his family, his wife – our mum – Evelyn, his six kids and 15 his grandchildren. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for us. He happily did the grocery shopping and he ferried us to and from swimming at dawn, or cricket on the weekends.

Mind you, things didn’t always go to plan. Once when shopping at the supermarket, he left baby Jamie waiting in the pram at the turnstile while he popped in and grabbed a few grocery items. (You could do that sort of thing in those days and no-one batted an eyelid.) After collecting and paying for the groceries, Dad went home and it was only when Mum asked, “Where’s baby Jamie?” that he realised he’d left him behind. Jamie was still there sleeping happily in the pram when Dad got back there in record time.

Dad was our barber when we were kids, even my sister Katie’s, which led to her looking like just another one of us boys in her early years. One time his aim was slightly askew and he snipped the top of Jamie’s ear off. Being the resourceful man that he was, Dad just sticky taped the tiny bit of ear back on. Amazingly, it worked!

Dad had a thing about hair. He thought men should be clean-shaven, with short hair and that hair should most definitely NOT be parted in the middle. When I started to grow my hair long (parted down the centre) and not shave very often in my late teens, he HATED it. One time we got into a huge argument about it, and Dad shouted “Real men don’t have hair like that!” It was at that moment that I realised he was standing under the picture of Jesus that was a permanent feature of our lounge room. I simply pointed at the picture and Dad turned around to see an image of our Lord, wearing a beard and long hair, parted down the middle. It was one of the very few times I saw him speechless. Dad had the last laugh on that one, though. Even if I wanted to grow long hair now I couldn’t!

But if he differed with his family on issues – and his political views differed vastly from mine and those of several other family members – he was always respectful of the right of others to have those different views. He would argue black and blue against them but he didn’t love his family and friends any less for having those views.

He loved us all very dearly and we all loved him as much. Thank you Dad for being a wonderful, loving husband to our mum Evelyn, a fantastic, caring father to all of us kids and a happily devoted “Starky” to your 15 grandkids.

Dovidenia, Starky

For Jack Clancy: 'No-one ever sat on a bench as well as Jack Clancy', by Ray Wilson - 2014

3 April, 2014, The Boulevard, Kew, Melbourne

Most of the tributes to Jack have emphasized his extensive range of disciplines and interests. But we at University Blacks, given his 59 years of commitment to the club, could be forgiven for thinking it was his sole passion. Sort of an upmarket version of Collingwood’s Joffa.

With others covering Jack the family man, Jack the academic, Jack the innovator in film studies, Jack the crusader for the ABC, Jack the bon vivant, to name a few of this extraordinary man’s extraordinary talents, my focus falls to Jack and football.

First some facts. After a couple of seasons starring for the Blacks, one week mid season in 1957 Fitzroy selected him in the senior VFL team as a reserve. No interchange then, and Jack never took the field. A knee injury conspired to make it his only game. His coach Bill Stephen spoke at a luncheon in 2006 for Jack’s 50 years of service, and Bill reported that “no-one ever sat on a bench as well as Jack Clancy”.

He returned to the Blacks, played seniors for a few years, and in the University Reds and Blacks Reserves for what seemed forever. He won two best player in the competition awards, and captained and coached teams to premierships. He is in the Reds, now Fitzroy Reds, Team of the Century, and is honoured in the Melbourne University Team of the Modern Era, the period post 1945. Once retired, he held every possible office at the Blacks and the umbrella MUFC from chairman down. As he moved from being a contemporary of young players to an elder statesman, his ability to communicate with, understand and mentor them was amazing. It was all delivered with the hand of friendship and respect for the individual, no matter if it was the star player in the Seniors or the trainer for the Clubbies. I am so pleased my sons Tony and Ned, who are here today, knew him so well. A parent can’t buy that sort of help.

It is commonly said the test of a person is not in times of triumph, but adversity. Jack was one of only two long term supporters who, week after long week, followed the club in its 17 year slide from A Grade to E Grade by the 1990’s. Heroics of A Grade clashes with Old Xaverians and Old Scotch must have been distant memories while watching Blacks players being pulverized in the winter mud at Fawkner and Thomastown. Around such men is a culture moulded.

On the morning of the Blacks winning B Grade Grand Final in 2012, The Age carried a piece on the competing clubs. It quoted AFL legend David Parkin, who has stayed involved with the Blacks since his son coached us 10 years ago, as saying ”I’d have to say that the culture at the Blacks is the best culture of any footy club I’ve been involved with, including Carlton and Hawthorn.” On Jack’s tribute page 1980’s player Nick Heath has written, “Matthew Arnold said ‘Culture is the acquainting of ourselves with the best that has been known and said in the world, and thus with the history of the human spirit.’? Nick added “Seems like he knew Jack pretty well”.

Now Jack was no short term operator. For 33 years the Blacks’ best player count was held in the backyard at Acheron St. Patsy, the award winning translator could accurately translate the French word for tolerance as “Patsy Clancy”. For thousands of men that backyard holds some of their warmest, if foggiest, memories. And for most it is their only acquaintance with the complete works of George Eliot, or Schubert’s Trout Quintet in A Major.

The Blacks descent saw the historically mighty Blacks and the historically sociable Reds in the same grade, so Jack donated a cup. Paul Daffey’s book about grass roots football, Local Rites, records it “In 1998, the Rouge et Noir Cup was struck. The cup was named after the flamboyant 1836 novel, Le Rouge et le Noir by French writer Stendhal. Only in the Amateurs could football and French literature be mentioned in the same sentence.” What Daffey didn’t record was at a lunch to announce the cup Jack made the speech entirely in French, using an Irish accent.

Jack is the central character in a legendary story from intervarsity trips. The University of Tasmania players were on the same overnight train to Adelaide, and a cocktail of youthful competitiveness and youthful incapacity to handle alcohol caused a card game to cease being conducted with the participants remaining seated. The ensuing disturbance led to the police boarding the train at Ararat. A Tasmanian was quick to point to Jack as the instigator, and he was promptly bundled off the train and spent the night behind bars. Days later as the two teams lined up, some Melbourne players informed the Tasmanians that Jack was an absolute animal on the field, and was hell bent on retribution for his jailing. Amazingly his direct opponent was the police informant, who suitably terrified, never set foot near Jack all day, leaving him to kick six easy goals.

I’ve been back at the Blacks for just 15 years. We have won three senior premierships in the past 10 years and were a finalist in A Grade last year. I know that would have warmed Jack’s beautiful heart, by then housed in his failing body. From time to time I’m asked why I do it. I usually answer that a 160 year old club with such an admired culture, a culture which Jack Clancy helped mould in his own image and which has been such a positive influence on thousands of men, is worth the effort. What I hope I told Jack often enough is that his loyalty through the dark days was, and remains, such a powerful motivation that I and others would be ashamed not to follow his lead. All AFL clubs these days have leadership groups. The Blacks had Jack Clancy. I reckon we’ve had them covered for true leadership.

Rob Clancy rang me three weeks ago to ask about holding this function at the new Pavillion at the Melbourne University Oval. Jack would have loved that. But it is not available until May. But it is planned to take Jack back to the oval for a final visit, which fittingly for Jack will last for an eternity, as will his memory at University Blacks.

I have liked, admired and respected so many men and women I have met through football, but I loved Jack Clancy. I’ll miss him so much.