Fremantle’s biggest fan would barely recognise this implausible Ross Lyon model of today. It’s all belief, steel, efficiency and substance. Forwards that really tackle and chase? Huh?
Matt Price would be grinning from ear to ear.
Matt wrote the original book, literally, of Freo pleasure and pain. “Way to Go” was his ode to the club he worshipped. The big bloke was the kind of writer many of us who knew him wished we could be. It seemed to come so easily for him. He was cheeky, astute and funny. Laugh out loud funny.
For me he was also the archetypal West Aussie. Open, generous and warm as an evening in January.
When I was living with my family in Botswana, I sent him an email after reading a beautiful piece he wrote about the sheer joy of seeing the Olympic torch relay as a mere punter with his family. He’d been quite prepared to be the cynical journo I think, but then found himself with tears in his eyes cheering like a kid as the parade trotted by. His take on life was as unpretentious and expansive as the footy played by his hero, the great man with the blonde mop, Clive Waterhouse.
As the Fremantle Dockers have flirted with finals more frequently in the past 10 years, we’ve dared to contemplate the previously unthinkable concept of reaching the last day in September. If there was any doubt about the capacity of this wonderful group of players to achieve that, it was buried beneath the turf of Simonds Stadium last Saturday. Pacing the floor of a dear friend’s lounge-room in Sydney, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. Geelong, the greatest team of recent times at their impenetrable fortress, unable to deal with the relentless pressure. After the siren, we wondered what Matt would have made of it.
The big fella had planned a sequel to “Way to Go”, for when his team won a premiership. But there are still two chapters to complete before anyone can even consider fulfilling Matt’s wish. They are no doubt the hardest chapters of all in this sport we love. Luck, injuries, nerves, skill, expectations and sheer bloody mindedness will all have a part to play. From a place with a great maritime tradition, a master coach and skipper will be plotting the testing course ahead.
Matt embraced and embodied the mad old ride of being a Freo Dockers fan. He died way too young, at 46, ironically the day after the election that swept Kevin Rudd to power in 2007. Matt was just a month younger than me. His incredible wife Sue and three gorgeous kids survive him.
Dylan, the Stones, politics, footy and life peppered his writing. Song lyrics were often woven into the narrative. As a Sinatra guy, I feel completely unqualified, but let’s give it a shot.
From the Rolling Stones album ‘Out of Our Heads’ in 1965. “Good Times” is the song.
It might be one o’clock it might be three
Time don’t mean that much to me
Ain’t felt this good since I don’t know when
I might not feel this good again
So c’mon let the good times roll
We’re gonna stay here to soothe our soul.
If you’re in the stands at Patersons Stadium during the preliminary final, raise a frosty one with your friends or family to that voice that fell silent. Somewhere, somehow I’m sure he will be watching his team, wearing a Freo Dockers beanie and a disbelieving grin, just like the rest of us.
There is a lot of heave ho-ing still to do, but thanks to Matt Price, whatever happens, we know we follow a football team quite unlike any other in the country. Just don’t mention the P word… yet.
