Dina Dounis - Soccer At Middle Park

In my other line of existence - being a career student at university - my honours thesis looked at the history of Australian soccer literature. That is, creative written work by Australians on soccer, and by Australians or otherwise on soccer in Australia. As has been mentioned previously, the nature of this work was in large part bibliographic - trying to find all the disparate texts and create a genre of sorts for them. The secondary goal was to begin analysis into the issues of the naturalisation of soccer in Australia; that is, at what point and how will soccer become genuinely Australian, and not subject to the whims of the cultural cringe.

One of the more interesting aspects of this research is how little of the substantial work has been done by members of the major community players in Australian soccer. That is, where was the work by the Greeks, the Italians, the Croatians, etc? Yes, there are certainly works about these groups and their involvement in Aussie soccer, but often times these are written by people from outside these communities.

So the question that leads on from there is, why are there so few texts from Aussie wog writers dealing with soccer? The easy answer is, combined with their under-representation in Aussie literature anyway, and ingrained antipathy among the intellectual class for sport (David Malouf's poem 'At a School Athletics Day' always comes mind) and it seems utterly natural that these works shouldn't exist.

But when you dig a little deeper, you find the apparent lack of even mentions of soccer within migrant written works as problematic. Soccer clubs are some of the major institutions created by Continental European migrants. And it's not like other major areas of their lives are not covered in Australian literature. Social life, family life, church etc. And yet soccer seems to fall by the wayside for some reason.

Maybe the texts do exist, but are hidden in language/community specific literary journals (like the Greek 'Antipodes' journal)? Perhaps because they are written in languages other than English, it makes it more difficult for databases to annotate and archive their existence? Perhaps, influenced by their Anglo brethren, writers from non English speaking backgrounds do not conceive of sport as important enough to be written about 'seriously'?

All of which is a circuitous way of getting to the thing that I wanted to cover most in this entry. While having another look at the AusLit database, which collects and categorises works of Australian literature (sadly for the general public, access is generally limited to people with university library accounts), I found something intriguing. Among several new entries, there was this poem by Konstandina Dounis, who also goes by the name Dina Dounis.

I was happy to find it for several reasons. It's about South and it's (of course) about Middle Park. It's the first text that I've found that deals with our club outside of allusions one could take from David Martin's 1962 novel The Young Wife and my own haiku phase, and disregarding uses of Middle Park and South in the film adaptation of The Heartbreak Kid and of course the still much loved sitcom Acropolis Now.

It's also by a Greek, unlike most of the main literary texts dealing with Aussie-Greek soccer. It's by a woman, which helps undercut the notion that it was only blokes at the soccer in the old times - indeed, Dounis says it is a family outing. Dounis also brushes aside the issue of crowd violence as something 'occasional'. It also brings class issues into the picture, something which I told my students in my Australian Literature tutorial to do, but which they seemed to not be interested in.

My guess is that Dounis seems to be talking about going to Middle Park at some time during the 1960s. The poem makes allusions as to why crowds have fallen at all ethnic clubs (putting aside for the moment South's exclusion from the top flight). That sense of ethnic community solidarity, which was once so necessary for newly arrived migrants, on an individual and community level, is no longer a driving force. As discussed by Matthew Klugman in his work on Sydney's Italian-Australian soccer community (which you can find in here), while there is still nostalgia among first, second and third generation migrants for that part of Australian soccer, these days it is almost entirely a nostalgic phenomenon.

In the present, members of these communities do not feel that they need that tangible or formal bricks and mortar style of community interaction in order to be 'Greek' or 'Italian' or whatever cultural tag may apply. The same could probably be said of regional associations, local community groups and churches. The decline of the ethnically backed soccer club does therefore not exist in a social vacuum. The poem is balanced in both undercutting and confirming stereotypes of supporting South, but being anchored by a nostalgic tone, it avoids making a direct comment on the present and future.

If you want to find out more about Dounis you an start by going here and here. If anyone out there knows of any literary texts dealing with Australian soccer, no matter how trivial and whatever the quality or language, do let us know. We'd love to know about them.

Some nonsense I whittled two years ago

Neos Kosmos English Weekly used to do this thing where they profile a local Greek-Australian soccer personality. I don't know if they do it anymore, because my folks don't buy the Saturday edition, and I don't buy it unless I've written for it, which hasn't happened for a long time. Anyway, I offered James Belias, the editor of the sports section, the opportunity to take up my profile, even though I don't play or coach or ref or administer - in the real world anyway. He declined to make use of a Hattrick profile answering the same questions. Pity. Well, I have a blog which is sitting idly here doing squat, may as well use it for shameless self-promotion.

Name : Paul Mavroudis
Club : Juniper Hill
Position : Club owner/chairman
Occupation : Associate Editor of Das Libero
Last season : 5th of 8 teams in our division 4 series. Lost relegation playoff 3-0.
Greek clubs played at : None.
Ambition : Get my club as high as possible. Not suck.
Career Highlight : Against all odds finishing fourth in division V.150, even knocking off the top team. A round six cup run two or three season back.
Football heroes : Robbie Fowler, Paul Trimboli
Current favourite local player : Julius Stoker
Current favourite international player: Timothy Dahl
Fav Aus Soccer Moment : 3rd South goal in '99 grand final
Team in Greece : I'd be lying if I said I took Greek football seriously.
Other sports : Aussie Rules and Gaelic football
Away from footy : Reading, writing, blogging, arguing, music, surfing web, collecting enemies
Fave cafe : none
Fave night club/bar : None.
Fave music : Elbow, Eels, The Autumns, Lift To Experience, Manic Street Preachers, Faith No More, Weird Al Yankovic
Holidayed in Greece : Back when I was 12.
Favourite Movie : Millennium Actress
Best thing about being Greek Australian : The incredible achievements completed several thousand years ago by a minority of people that I can attach myself to. And supporting South Melbourne Hellas.
Worst thing : Being associated with Acropolis Now.
Hidden Talent : Ability to tell the truth and not be believed.

Fanatic of the Week - Paul Mavroudis

So we've exhausted our stash of genuine vintage Fanatics of the Week. And I'm bored and dismayed - and just because I'm typing this up on a rainy Saturday afternoon for release on a Wednesday, it doesn't mean that I won't be bored and dismayed at the moment it's published or when you read it.


FANATIC OF THE WEEK

Saturday, 14th March, 2009

This week’s fanatic is Paul Mavroudis who likes the club because, to paraphrase Lift To Experience "we have to, not because we want to".

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NAME: Paul Mavroudis

AGE: 25.

SUBURB: In the Darkness On The Edge Of Town

INTERESTS: 'Football'; the other football; books; alternative 'music'; Wikipedia; collating statistics; blogging; providing highly educational but seldom understood pearls of wisdom on Internet forums; stopping myself from writing cliched serial killer fiction where I annihilate everyone that shits me and handing it in as part of my coursework; public transport; retro gaming; providing constructive criticism of classmates' mostly pisspoor attempts at short fiction; stickers; Fred Negro's 'Pub' strip when it isn't just St Kilda in jokes; a fair few crazy animated television shows; dessert.

FAVOURITE SOCCER CLUBS: South Melbourne.

ARE YOU A MEMBER OF SOUTH MELBOURNE?
Yes. Until the Hellas Fan Club comes in and sets everything right again, back to the way it used to be, in the Beforetime, the Long Long Ago. Soon I hope. Put us all out of our misery.

WHAT AGE DID YOU EXPERIENCE YOUR FIRST MATCH?
Probably around 9 years old, the home game against West Adelaide in season 1992/93 where we won won 4-2. They were introduced as our cousins from South Australia or something like that, hmm.

WHITE COLLARS OR BLUE?
Seriously, should it really matter?

FAVOURITE SOUTH MELBOURNE MEMORY?
The day everyone realised Acropolis Now was actually farken shithouse. Which is technically not a memory since it hasn't happened yet, as can be seen from this review of Stephen Hawking's 'Brief History of Time', which I did end up reading the entirety of, and not just get bored by page 3, thank you very much John Safran. Not that I understood all or even most of it, but I got something out of it I think, and Carl Sagan's question in the introduction to that book about why we can remember the past but not the future struck a quixotic physical and philosophical chord.

Our ability to remember past but not future also coincides with the arrow of entropy. The reason, Hawking says, is that whenever a memory is made, in either a brain or a computer, the smidgen of energy required to light up a neutron or move an electron is released as heat. Heat ---roiling, chaotic heat--- increases entropy. Memories, then, because they release heat, increases disorder, too. Entropy increases from yesterday to tomorrow. That`s why memories are made in the past --- to Hawking a more convincing explanation than the pedestrian statement that one can remember only what has already occurred." (Newsweek, January 4, 1993.)

MOST MEMORABLE GAME WATCHED?
The 2006 VPL Grand Final, because within a few seconds a whole bunch of people forgot we'd just won a championship and were more interested in throwing rocks at other people who were piggy backing for a day on the fat woman's current club in order to pursue some sort of justice for issues of blood, land, culture and history located mostly in the Balkans and who were also throwing rocks. Halcyon days.

FAVOURITE DEGRASSI MOMENT
The scene where Wheels is for some inexplicable reason wearing a Footscray guernsey.

FAVOURITE CURRENT PLAYER?
James Spanos. Doesn't even have to do anything to be part of the senior team. Doesn't make mistakes. Known by people who don't even know of the actual players.

FAVOURITE BISCUIT
Arnott's Kingston, the grownups chocolate biscuit.

BEST SOUTH MELBOURNE PLAYER EVER?
Paul Trimboli. Stupid question.

ASTERIX OR TINTIN?
Asterix, but they're both pretty cool.

WHAT DO YOU LIKE ABOUT SOUTH MELBOURNE?
Oh wow, where do you begin? For starters, I like the lies. The little ones, like why we didn't wear the South Melbourne United heritage strip, to the medium ones, to the big ones, with the claims of 10,000 strong crowds at pretty much every game in the 1980s, because the people making those claims either have dementia or only went to the games with 10,000 people, and not to the games with 800 people against teams such as Brisbane Lions.

I also love the fact that we've never played in South Melbourne.

I love the hypocrisy which pours fourth constantly out of every orifice, especially with regards to the A-League and the AFL.

I love people living off past glories and thinking it's enough to last a lifetime.

I love the fans who see only what they want to see and never what's actually in front of them.

That's just the stuff off the top of my head.

WHAT DO YOU DISLIKE ABOUT SOUTH MELBOURNE?
The food could be better at times.

WOULD YOU EVER SUPPORT ANOTHER NSL TEAM?
No.

WHY?
Well, the league doesn't exist anymore, so I guess it's impossible to support another NSL team.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME PAUL!
My pleasure.

Canberra Trip Part 3 - Dodgy Asian betting and the ride home

So we're on the bus trying to figure out where the ground is, getting directions from a couple of kids that came up with their dad in their own car - one of which I was doing one of those vocalised/mouth noise guitar solos to Frozen Tears - but were hitching a ride with us to the game. Good thing they were there too or else we might've still been looking for the place. We eventually find the place, and we're early enough to co-ordinate a dramatic entrance - by Canberra standards - and take up a position on the hill. Except of course that I was roped in to do the dodgy Asian betting thing. So I'm off to the halfway line.

To explain what that's all about, as best I can. Betting firms of indeterminate legality in a place which or may or may not be called China hire people to hire people to 'call' or 'commentate' VPL games. Except that it really isn't commentating in an Andy Paschalidis kind of fashion, more stuff like 'away danger', 'home corner', etc. There's different levels of detail for different companies, but the main thing is that the gamblers and those listening to your commentary don't care so much about South Melbourne or Robbie Wynne (for example) as individual entities, rather as part of an over the phone, online, and imagined tug of war .

I had agreed not only to do one game of commentary with one guy on the line saying 'ok', but also have another guy on another phone just listening - and if he was to talk tome, my instructions were not to talk to him - which all got a bit difficult when the game was delayed because not enough pegs were holding the goals, something that would usually be checked during half time in the reserves, except that the AIS's reserves play in Victoria, and they're not really their reserves, they're just the VIS. Anyway, the guy who I was talking to seemed to understand that there was a delay - which just kept on dragging on - but the listener kept asking for information who was attacking and such.

He must've hung up as I then received a call from my boss for the day, some guy called Jerry, getting stuck into me, telling me that I wasn't doing a very good job as his client wasn't getting information on who was attacking and such. A little miffed because I've been telling one guy on the hands free and one on my own phone that game has been delayed and the reason for it. Explaining it to Jerry his tone changes fairly quickly, and we're back in business. The game eventually gets under way, and apart from a few early teething problems, the sun in my eyes, and a linesman doing his best to block out my view, it's going ok.

At the end of the first half, which at that moment I didn't realise had gone only 40 odd minutes, I noticed that my battery had gone down to one bar. Would it last to the end? A mad rush to find someone to swap sim cards with ensued; incompatible carrier; seemingly impossible to release sim card; I decided that I would just try my luck with what I had. Of course the confusion caused by the 40 minute halves started kick in during the second half. My 'listener' called in a few minutes into it, and my talking 'ok' guy dropped out entirely, and didn't call back. Persevering to the end, seeing the game in only a limited palette, I wondered whether it had all been worth it, and would I get paid? The players go over to the supporters and high five, shake hands and say thanks for coming, and despite coming in a little late, I get a gloved hand to Goran Zoric, and then get my head shaking in annoyance on camera at the farcical situation of it all, having driven eight hours up and with another eight to go, for 80 minutes of football.

Time to get back on the bus, with the previous night's missed sleep starting to catch up with me. There's still the travelling humour, but people are more tired, and sleep takes over. Even I start drifting in and out of consciousness from Albury onwards. Easy listening music drifts across, most of it dross, but there's the brief flicker of outstanding respite when Springsteen's 'The River' comes on. More Acropolis Now episodes get played, with at one stage the DVD stuck at the menu screen and playing the theme song about 12 times in a row. Most of the complaints are coming from the back, the hellish torture of the the song itself magnified by the fact that there's almost no way of getting past that many arms and legs stretched into the aisle in order to turn it off.

We stop at a few places, service stations, roadhouses. I buy myself a bag of marshmallows and the most crappy banana flavoured milk I've ever had. Not wanting to get a carton which I know I'll spill over the seats, it's the only thing in a bottle that isn't some variation of coffee. Someone as a joke buys a forbidden dim sim. Just outside Seymour a car is flipped onto its roof, a police car behind it. Someone gets dropped off in Wandong. Someone else on High Street. Finally back to where we started from, a quick clean out of the bus, and them time to go home. I'm going to catch a taxi, but it's insisted that I get a lift with someone. That someone turns out to be a person who can't quite grasp the purposes of speedbumps and roundabouts, but there's no complaining, as I'm expected to be grateful. And when I get home in one piece, I am.



- This would have been better had I taken notes, but perhaps it would have lost some of its charm. With thanks to everyone involved on the trip, but especially Michal, Eamonn and Tony.