Australian Football

Three years' football under a false name

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Sam ("Shine") Hosking was one of the most colorful small footballers in South Australia over a period of 15 years when he played with Port. He joined them in 1907 and retired in 1921. Port won four premierships during that time—in 1910, 1913, 1914, and 1921. In 1927, when he was nearly 40. "Shine" made a brief comeback at the re-quest of Port selectors, and played two matches to lend force to the forward line.

He played in the 1911 and 1921 carnivals, and has lost count of the number of games in which he appeared for the State. As a coach he took Torrens premiers in 1933, and Port to successive premierships in 1936 and 1937. In 1939 Torrens, whom he coached, fought out the Grand Final with Port. Only 5 ft. 6 in. in height and weighing barely 9 st. when he began his career, "Shine" won the Magarey Medal in 1910, when he captained Port and played at centre.

IF MY FATHER had really had his way, I would have never played football. When I was a lad, I was thrown out of a baker's cart and dislocated my left elbow. From that day on, the elbow was easily knocked out of joint, leaving me with virtually a broken arm. It made my father issue a "no football" edict, but I so loved the game that for three seasons I sneaked out on training nights and Saturdays, and played junior football under the assumed name of "Sampson."

IT was not until 1907, when I first went out with Port, that I dared disclose that I had been playing football, and then he relented—although reluctantly—and consented to my playing the game. I came into football in a roundabout way.

The team I wanted to play with—the Semaphore Seasides—wouldn't have me, because I lived at Glanville, and they had an abhorrence of Glanville boys. There was much district rivalry in those days. But one day an old friend, Mick Curtin, asked me to appear for a Marist Brothers team against the Seasides. I did, and played well, and the Semaphore chaps thereupon decided to waive their dislike of Glanvilleites and asked me to join their team. They undertook to look after my togs for me, so that my father would not learn I was playing.

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I put in two happy years with the Semaphore team, and then graduated to the Semaphore Centrals—an old-established Amateur League team from which Port Adelaide has gained many stars. That was in 1906. I was working with Big Tom Leahy at the time, and Tom was playing with West Adelaide in the league. I had seen my idols, Port, play only once in my life. He kept asking me when I was going to try for league football. Day after day, Tom would ask me. "Well, little 'un, have you made up your mind yet—West or Port?"

I was invited to Alberton, and from that day on my football anonymity had to be abandoned. I told my father about the invitation, and he agreed to let me play. That was in the 1907 season. It was not long before I received my first salutary lesson. We were playing West, who were not strong. There were only seven teams in the league then—Glenelg didn't become a league team until 1921—and our next match was against Torrens on the Eight Hours Day holiday.

I was not putting much ginger into my play, when suddenly I felt the heftiest kick in the pants I've ever had. I turned round sharply and found Nicky Corston, Port captain, glaring at me. "Did you do that," I said heatedly. "Yes," he replied. "and you'll get another if you don't get into the game." "I'm saving myself for the Torrens match," I said. "You won't even be picked if you don't get into the game a bit more," said Nicky.

After that I always scanned the papers anxiously to see if I were picked in the Port team. However, it wasn't long before the inevitable happened, and I put my elbow "out"—against North at Alberton. At the first bounce I went down, and immediately my elbow became dislocated. I said to another Port man, "Sinc" Dixon, "Lend me your ankle strap." He gave it to me, and I bound my elbow tightly and played out the first quarter.

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This was the first time my elbow was dislocated in league matches. But in the next seven years I was a casualty every July—it always seemed to be July. In all, during my career, that poor elbow cracked up 14 times. So I always played with a tight strapping on the weakness. If it became dislocated, a sharp smack with my right hand usually put it right again, although my left arm would go blue down to the fingertips, and at times my fingers were so numb that I could not grasp the ball.

At the start of the 1909 season injury again befell me, when at work—a ladle of hot metal spilled over my legs and feet. But I resumed football after a short rest, and when we played Sturt that year I figured in a controversial incident which contributed to a new rule being brought in. Sturt then had a pretty good team, among them "Dempsey's Immigrants"—Harry Cumberland, Phil Matson, "Diver" Dunne, Albert Heinrichs, and Bert Renfrey.

In this match they had a full back named Gregory. At least I think that was his name. Jack Willard, Port utility man, told me before the match that Gregory was his brother-in-law, and that he was a weak drop or punt kick and usually relied on place kicks. So I waited until Gregory was about to kick off. I watched him "set" the ball for a place kick, and as he walked back to take his run at it I raced up and stood astride over the ball. Immediately the crowd set up a howling and hooting. Gregory looked amazedly at the umpire.

I watched the umpire closely, too, and could see that he was bewildered and didn't know quite what to make of it. Anyway, he gave no decision against me, and Gregory was, forced to kick either punts or drop kicks after that. Later a rule was introduced compelling players to stand back at least 10 yards from the goal kicking-off area.

In 1910, after Nicky Corston had retired, I was switched to centre for the Magpies. That was when I won the Magarey Medal, but one incident during a Port-West game still stands out. Tom Leahy—he was a giant of a man—and I, just a lightweight, were still working together. During the week before the match Tom beamed at me one day and said: "Now look here, little 'un, you keep out of my way on Saturday and I'll keep out of yours."

In those days the Adelaide Oval was encircled by a wide, asphalt cycling track. During the game play swung into a forward pocket near the present members' stand. A pack surged after the ball, and I whipped round to snatch it up—almost. Next thing I got a terrific bump, and hurtled halfway up the asphalt bike track. When I picked myself up, there was Big Tom, chuckling. So much for our "understanding."

Dick Head, West's champion, was by far the hardest man I ever met while playing at the pivot. He was much taller than I, fast, and a hard-hitter. My tactics, when opposed to Dick, were to spoil as often as I could, as I had little hope of outmarking him. Too many players today, justly proud of their marking ability though they may be, seem unwilling to spoil an opponent, even though a blind dog can see that they have no chance of taking the ball from a mark. Champions of the past, even the great highfliers, were never afraid to spoil, and then use their pace and ground cleverness to go after it.

I remember one match against Victoria, played on the North Melbourne ground, which we used to call the "gluepot." Bert Renfrey, a great footballer and astute captain, led South Australia. I was roving and in a forward pocket. My opponent was a young back-man, and volunteered the news that it was his first State game. So I had a quick conference with Tom Leahy. I said to him, "This bird I'm on is playing his first State game. We'll trap him. When you go for the ball, I'll run him right up to you, then drop back smartly, and you can hook it back over his head."

It worked like a charm. I ran the youngster almost into Tom 's arms every time the ball was in the air, and Tom would pat it back. I got four goals, and South Australia won. Twice against Sturt, I can recall instances when I "put it over." Actually, they were only incidents such as happen every day in football, but they attracted notice at the time.

Harry Cumberland—one of the best footballers South Australia has seen—was making position to mark the ball near Sturt's goal. If he had taken it, he would surely have goaled. I raced up from behind just as he was about to mark. I had no chance myself, so I gave Harry a quick backhander in the solar plexus, which snatched his wind and doubled him up long enough to cause him to miss the ball.

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Then I raced away. Play went on, and the ball was rushed from the danger area. Later, though Harry angrily accused "Welshy" Davies of hitting him, and when "Welshy" disclaimed all knowledge of the incident—quite honestly, too—they scuffled a bit. Later, of course, Harry found that I was the culprit.

Jack Lonergan was another Sturt victim. Jack always ran with his arms shooting out in front of him like pistons. This time I was chasing the ball towards the boundary, with Jack close behind me, but with the umpire far afield. I could see the ball would go out of bounds unless something happened—so I threw my hands up sharply, as if I'd been pushed in the back. Sure enough, I received a free kick. A player can get away with subterfuges like that now and again; possibly he will be the victim at times. But no player who continually "stages" for marks will ever reach the top In football.

When I retired from the active side of league football I took on coaching, and since 1921 have tutored West, South, Port, and Torrens. I always drill into the young players of today that they should concentrate on their weak points. There is little benefit—or wisdom—in a player going out to practise something at which he is already adept.

My idea of training was to "shadow spar" with an imaginary opponent. If I fell over—purposely or accidentally—I'd see how quickly I could rise. Again, when taking a mark on my own, I'd conjure up a vision of an opponent coming from behind, and work on moves to beat him—knock the ball on, chase it, turn and boot. I always had that imaginary opponent at my side in training and found it the surest way of giving extra zip to practice nights.