Australian Football

The walking wounded of St. Kilda

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A strong smell of iodoform, lint and iodine smote me when I opened the door of the St. Kilda training room on the Tuesday evening of last week.

"Smells like a casualty ward," I murmured ….and, by jove, it looks like one!" I peered under a wad of bandage.

"Pardon me," I said to the face beneath, "but can you tell me where Colin Deane is?" "Over there—the chap with his arm in a sling."

When I joined the St. Kilda coach he was chatting to Dr. J. Jones, the club doctor, on the team's long list of injuries.

"There's Mohr with broken ribs," Dr. Jones was saying, "Hindson, broken fibula; Cave, head injuries (four stitches were inserted); Bence, head injuries (five stitches); Downie, sprained thumb; H. Neil, ankle; Green, broken bone in foot; George, ankle; Fogarty, knee; Stewart Anderson, leg muscles; J. Connell, ankle; and Holden—I'm afraid none of those will be fit for Monday's match."

Colin Deane used his sound arm to push his hat to the back of his head, and looked grave."Anyhow, what's the matter with you, Colin?" I interrupted. "You look somewhat of a casualty yourself."

"Broken shoulder bone," he told me. "Got it against Fitzroy."

Chatting with Colin recalled the time when this fine player was the veritable idol of Tasmania, and whose fame as both footballer and rower had spread far beyond the confines of the Apple Isle.

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The momentous occasion when he lay in hospital with a ruptured liver (the result of an accident on the football field) will not be readily forgotten in "Tassy." No hope was held out for his recovery, and during the five days in which he lay in an unconscious state no fewer than 2000 anxious inquirers rang the hospital daily for reports on his condition—until the establishment was forced to engage a special staff to handle telephone calls alone. So great was the joy in Tasmania when Colin confounded the doctors and regained his health again that his many admirers presented him with a cheque for £200.

The wad of bandage I had first spoken to strolled up at that moment, and on closer inspection I discovered it to be Matthew (better known as "Weary") Cave. "Had four stitches in my head." he told me, "but I feel all right now."

Cave came across to the Saints this year from Footscray, along with another ex-Footscray stalwart, Bill Downie. In the first game of the season he took Bill Cubbins' place at full-back for the ex-Association team. Then he rested a fortnight, played with St. Kilda Seconds, and then with the Firsts against North Melbourne last Saturday week.

"Tick" Roberts, however, playing his first year with Saints, looked to have more time on his hands, so I joined him on the edge of a table.

"I've played for Sandhurst for the last three years," he told me, "under Bob McCaskill, the old Richmond player. We were a great side, and equalled Collingwood's record of four successive premierships."

He also told me that he went 'to school in Bendigo with "Fritz' Heiffner, the Richmond stalwart. Tick, by the way, is a cousin of Cyril Gambetta, the ex-half-back of St Kilda who was famous for the brilliance of his marking.

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A youthful player, engaged upon donning his uniform, caught my eye as being slightly familiar in appearance. It proved to be Colin Strang, whose resemblance to his famous Tiger brothers, despite his slighter stature, is unmistakable. He came down from Albury to Melbourne at the commencement of the year and had a run with Richmond, but afterwards decided to check the Tigers effort to corner the "Strang" market and went across to the Saints.

Gordon is the eldest; he's 24. Then comes myself, 22, and Doug, 20," he explained. "There's a fourth, but he's only 10.

A chat with the dashing wingster, Geoff Neil, revealed him to be the ideal conception of dyed-in-the-wool football enthusiast. In fact, Geoff, is one of those stalwarts you just couldn't keep out of the game.

Previous to coming to St. Kilda two years ago he played his football in Yanco, New South Wales, but, not satisfied with playing with Leeton in the South-Western District Competition on Saturday afternoons, he stripped again on Sunday with Yanco, playing in the Mia Competition.

His greatest feast of football, however, was an eventful King's Birthday weekend six years ago, when he played with Leeton on Saturday, with Yanco on Sunday, on the Monday morning visited Hay to play against the locals with the Leeton Second Eighteen, and on the Monday afternoon stripped for the Leeton Firsts in opposition to the Hay First Eighteen

In between times at Yanco—just by way of a little exercise—Geoff boxed professionally and played Rugby.

I also saw in the room Tom Fogarty, whose imitations of a certain well-known announcer broadcasting matches are ever popular with the players, and Jim Forbes, who has been out of the game this year through injuries.

"He's always the life and soul of the party," said Charlie Reilly, referring to Jim. Charlie, by the way, has been doorkeeper of St. Kilda for the past 12 years, and so faithfully does he observe the requirements of his job that he has earned the name of "Charlie Reilly—the man who won't even let the wind through."

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But the real veteran of the room is Jack McConnell, affectionately referred to as "old Jack," who, in the role of "property man," has been connected with the club for 45 years. In his day he had the reputation of being a bike-trainer of note, and started with the club as trainer, but these days it is his job to keep a tally of the towels and other "props" associated with the team.

"I give each man two towels at the start of the season, and they've got to last him the year," "Old Jack" told me—and if any player tries to acquire an extra towel, they tell me that "Old Jack" has some pretty strong words to say on the matter.

The previous week Jack McConnell had been prevailed upon to attend the football-cricketers' dinner at the Hotel Australia—and thus visited town at night for the first time for 30 years!

A tall form looming beside me attracted my attention. I turned to discover that Grand Old Man of the game, Dave McNamara, whose prodigious kicking and masterful marking had made him the hero of the matches of my youthful days. Dave still holds the record for the longest kick; 93 yards, recorded on the St. Kilda ground in 1923 against Collingwood.

Another ex-stalwart of the team was in the room in Wells Eicke, one of the most spectacular halfbacks the game has seen. I still recall vividly the sensational game I saw him play with Victoria on the Adelaide Oval in 1919—which was also, incidentally, one of the finest games I have ever witnessed.

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