Two different football games (guest post)

This poem was originally published on Manny's blog.


Amongst the family homes

Besides the Merri Creek

No trains or trams in sight

The fans walk through the streets

They wander from their cars

And make their way inside

An old suburban ground

To watch their teams with pride

They join thousands on their feet

Not all can get a seat

They shiver in the cold

Just like the days of old

Down at the MCG

From comfortable modern stands

Far more go to see

Two clubs of foreign lands

Many chose to go

To simply see a show

And there are many more

To watch clubs that they adore

Those who’ve come in suits

are removed from the grassroots

There’s money to be made

And guests to entertain

Deep in Melbourne’s North

Two stories intertwine

One has stayed on top

One reversing their decline

They share a Balkan past

And a football rivalry

And a vision of the future

Gives this game vitality

National aspirations

Beckon both these clubs

A final game before they rise

A taste of what’s to come

The friendly down in Richmond

Is derided by some fans

Too soon after competition

To travel to far lands

The players are too tired

To put on a great show

Many chose to rest

With their families back at home

There’s no three points or silverware

No preseason insight

There’s not too much to play for

For either team tonight

Preston score in seconds

The stadium erupts

Their fans’ nerves dissipate

In a moment of triumph

The South fans are not happy

The urgency soon rises

Losing is not an option

For that there are no prizes

On the pitch each player rides

The passion from the stands

Each kick and tackle fueled by cheers

And jeers of all the fans

Clapping from the MCC

Some flags from fan clubs too

The neutrals of the MCG though

Aren’t sure what to do

A goal – that’s nice – another – cool

Half time substitutions

The first team players slowing down

Young players the solution

The intensity pedestrian

The fans can recognise

The goals don’t seem to matter

It’s a training exercise

Until the end of the first half

It’s tense at BT Connor

South score a goal to equalise

Half time comes soon after

The second half a change occurs

The teams come out much sharper

They’ve learnt their lessons from the first

This next half will be tougher

South go onto take the lead

But the Lions do bite back

The game hangs in the balance

Until South’s winning attack

The MCG goes onto see

And quiet second half

The final score, a one-one draw

Placates the fans and players and staff

To add some tension this can’t be

The solution much be penalties

The Aussie Kuol scores to see

Newcastle crowned the winning team

The fans saw Ange and Kuol and teams

They admire from afar

Many leave the game with smiles

They saw their superstars

The fans up north leave their game

Hungry for much more

A taste of what next year could be

Makes them insatiable

The work from volunteers

The patience of club fans

Was paid off back in spades

They can hope again

Across the country football fans

Tuned in uncertainly

But South and Preston showed in the end

What Australian football could be

Book Review - Jonathan Tulloch's The Season Ticket

Teenage friends Gerry and Sewell don't have much. They're not at school. They don't work. Their family lives are a mess. They barely have enough to eat, and spend most of their time chroming or smoking. All of which, according to then debut novelist Jonathan Tulloch, are not unusual circumstances to find yourself in when living in Gateshead, located across the River Tyne from Newcastle.

The one thing they seem to get any joy out of is supporting Newcastle United - the irony being though, that living below the poverty line as they do, Gerry and Sewell will probably never see a game in the flesh: Sewell hasn't been since he was a small child, and Gerry has never been at all. High prices and limited stadium capacities, a result of the English game being taken over by middle class interests, have forced out the working class from top flight football.

But Gerry has an idea - what if they gave up all their vices, and saved every penny for season tickets? Then they could go to every home match, in reserved seats, and drink their tea, and no one could do a thing about it. Thus the story moves on to detail the several daft schemes the boys come up with in order to earn enough money for season tickets.

Some of these attempts are quite funny, even as the reader can see the inevitability of the boys' failure. Starting off with an attempt to become scrap metal collectors, each scheme becomes more and more absurd. Some of these sections work well, most notably a social worker's attempt to bribe Gerry into attending two weeks of school, with the promise of two tickets to a cup match.

But others aren't so successful - an unintentional trip into the woods, and the boys' final scheme feel out of place and frankly, quite unbelievable. The novel also interrupts these comic sojourns with occasional 'hard-hitting' social realist chapters. Gerry's mother is sick, his sister Bridget is missing, and his father is a deadbeat alcoholic. Sewell's situation isn't much better.

While Tulloch's background can indicate an authenticity in his portrayal of Gateshead - he was a teacher there - too often it feels like he's overdoing it, making Gateshead seem like just about the worst place in the developed world. If there was some sort of nuance to his descriptions of the town and its social calamities, it'd lessen the sledgehammer effect a bit.

Like Irvine Welsh's Trainspotting (an obvious influence) there's also liberal use of dialect, in this case Geordie. I can't speak as to its authenticity, but for the most part there's no difficulty understanding the lingo, give or take a couple of words of local slang, mostly related to drug use.

Indeed, the entire novel feel like a case of Irvine Welsh lite. Not that there's anything wrong with that, and this book is still good enough to entertain in its own right. But it lacks the high level craft of Welsh's masterpiece; its playing with narrative reliability, its different voices and accents, and a city populated with several characters all of which add depth to the story.

A worthwhile comparison can also be made to Barry Hines' The Blinder, which we also reviewed on this blog, set 30 years previous to the events in The Season Ticket. There, the protagonist is both academically and physically talented, and his working class background, while an obstacle to his success, is nonetheless not an insurmountable one. Working class patrons can still attend matches with relative ease. Players are not removed from the lives of the communities they represent. In The Season Ticket, just about all of that has changed.

The Season Ticket isn't a masterpiece, and it's not up to the standard of Hines' excellent, though flawed debut - but having said that, if you do chance upon it in a secondhand book store or are wondering what to purchase next online when you do your book shopping, give this novel a go. Or you could just bypass it entirely, and watch the novel's film adaptation, Purely Belter.