Damian Bourke: Standing Tall

By Sasha Lennon

Standing six foot-five inches in the old scale, Damian Bourke looks every bit as lean as the Geelong Football Club captain who retired from the game almost 20 years ago.  With a friendly and engaging disposition, he’s an articulate man with a knack for storytelling.  Making coffee in his kitchen, he recalls with fondness his days at Geelong and later at the Brisbane Bears/Lions where he served as both player and assistant coach.  Then the conversation turns to the 1989 Grand Final and the inevitable question: how does it feel to have lost the greatest match of the modern era?  He pauses, stares out the window and smiles.  “You know, more than 20 years on I only think about that match two or three times a day.”        

 

Damian Bourke captained Geelong from 1987 until 1989. Taking the reins at age 22, he was one of the youngest VFL / AFL captains in the history of the game.  His last game as Geelong skipper was the now-famous 1989 Grand Final when the Cats lost to Hawthorn by just one straight kick.  Now part of Australian football folklore, the ’89 Grand Final is remembered for the physical nature of the contest and the resulting injuries sustained by both sides as much as it is for Geelong’s thrilling comeback, led by enigmatic forward Gary Ablett senior, only to be pipped at the post by a resilient Hawthorn. 

Himself an early casualty in what became a war of attrition, Bourke recalls that famous September afternoon as if it was yesterday.  After leading his side out on to the field, he was injured early in the play.  He went off the ground at quarter-time and played no further part in the match.  “It was frustrating to watch and not be able to do anything.  There was a few of us that day...we did have this absolute desire to win a Premiership.”

He’s eager to point to the fact that it wasn’t only the victorious Hawthorn side which was racked with injuries during the match.  “We had six players out of that team that couldn’t have played the next week.  Stephen Hocking played out the match with a ruptured testical!  Heaven-forbid it was a draw or we would have had the seconds playing the next week!” 

One image which resonates with those who follow the game and who remember that match is Bourke consoling his teammates after the narrow defeat.  Bourke acknowledges that image perhaps best encapsulates Geelong’s loss that day.  And while he jokes about how often he thinks about the match, he admits 20 years later, the loss is still a burden he carries.  “To lose it and lose it so close, it was hard,” he says.  It’s one of those things I suppose that you wanted to achieve and you didn’t, and you can’t undo that.”  

The Grand Final loss and the need to take the following season off football to recover from knee surgery were reasons enough for Bourke to relinquish the coveted Geelong captaincy.  But football, as important as it has been to Damian Bourke, was never everything.  After leaving Geelong at the end of the 1992 season (a year of another Grand Final defeat for the Cats), Bourke went on to succeed in football (albeit as a coach) as well as in other walks of life.

Today Bourke still lives in Brisbane where he runs his own property development company while also studying law by correspondence part-time.  In fact, it wasn’t football but the lure of the property market which enticed him to Brisbane in the first place.  That was in 1993 when then-coach of the Brisbane Bears Robert Walls approached Bourke and offered him a playing contract.  At that point he’d given up on football. 

Damian Bourke (centre) with teammates following Geelong’s narrow loss to Hawthorn in the 1989 VFL Grand Final (source: www.afl.com.au)

“I wasn’t that passionate that I wanted to have a career only in football.  My passion was property and ultimately development.  As a kid all I wanted to be was a carpenter and build houses.  But when I finished school in the early ‘80s, carpentry apprenticeships were few and far between so I got a job as a cadet building surveyor with the local Council.  I didn’t even know what it was but it had the word ‘building’ in it so I went for it,” he says laughing.
Never one to consider football his only option, Bourke continued to develop his skills in the building trade, first qualifying as a building surveyor followed by a Graduate Diploma in Project Management.  Following that, he completed his Masters Degree.  All of this has helped grow a property development business with projects in Queensland, Victoria and as far-flung as Canada.

Reflecting on his days at the Bears, Bourke recalls “it was an exciting period for the club because it was all new to Brisbane”.  He also remembers questioning his decision to pull the boots on again after a year out of the game.  “My first game back was against Footscray.  I remember Scott Wynd running into me and sticking his knee into my head and I was thinking oh my God, what have I done?”  After just 22 games with Brisbane, Bourke’s playing career ended, this time for good.  After that, he took up a position as ruck coach under Leigh Matthews.  It was during his time as an assistant during the Lions’ golden era from 2001 to 2003 that the demons of 1989 began to fade.     

“Those premierships made me feel a lot more satisfied with my football career.  I remember standing there with [then fellow assistant coach] Mark Bayes thinking this is what it’s about...we make premiership players.”   

A self-confessed “deal-junkie”, today Bourke spends most of his time between his property development business and his studies.  As his business partner, former Brisbane Lions ruckman and premiership player Clark Keating attests, Bourke’s passion for the development game is clear.

“He’s always had a passion for construction.  In his playing days, whenever he had a long-term injury, he would double-up on his studies, so he always had that mind-set, thinking about life post-football.”

While he’s regularly reminded of that famous loss against the Hawks back in 1989, Damian Bourke maintains football’s always been just football to him.  He says he probably couldn’t muster the passion and level of commitment for footy, which is required of every modern player.  “If I was playing today, it would be too much football for me,” he says.

Asked if he’d consider working in the frenetically-paced professional football industry again, he doesn’t rule it out, perhaps in a management role outside the football department.

Keating agrees, where his friend, mentor and business partner would offer greatest value to any football club is on a Board or advisory committee where his talent for business could be put to good use. 

Bourke in his former role as an assistant coach at Brisbane, with business partner and former Lions player Clark Keating (right) (source: Courier Mail)

But what Damian Bourke likes most about life now is he can just go and watch a match with his kids, to enjoy the spectacle for what it is without the physical duress and psychological pressure which every player must contend week in, week out.

While life can be full of disappointments, Damian Bourke has no regrets.  As for the ’89 Grand Final, despite the result he believes he’s better for the experience.  If anything, it’s helped shape the well-rounded businessman and family man he is today.  Asked to describe the man, Clark Keating says simply Bourke is “genuine”, a man who loves his family and who always has one eye on the bigger picture.

Balancing his commitments between family and friends, his work and study, not to mention the odd football match at the Gabba, life is good for Damian Bourke.  With plenty of fond memories and a bright future ahead, Damian Bourke is standing tall.

Confident, Confused, Content

With the Hawks in winning form and the finals upon us, I’m feeling quietly confident, though a little confused.

I’d written the Cats off just a week ago. I’ve been writing them off all year. All season, I’ve watched and waited for the once mighty to fall, their gallant but weary warriors unable to defy the critics another week in what has been a long season.

And with the Hawks having managed an ailing list to perfection, I had recently gone so far as to pencil in a Collingwood-Hawthorn Grand Final.

But after watching Geelong obliterate the reigning Premiers on Friday night, I’m a little confused. Who are they, this Geelong side? Are they a reincarnation of the unbeatable side of 2007 as some would suggest? I don’t think so. But they are something to admire, and fear. In years past I would look forward to any Hawthorn-Geelong match with a quiet confidence. I look to this Friday night at the MCG with trepidation.

Of course, we shouldn’t forget that the Swans managed to overcome the Cats at Kardinia Park a week prior. What was that all about?

And what of Collingwood, who are they? A week ago they looked unbeatable. Now, the Pies have me just as confused as a member of the Collingwood coaching staff at a 2012 strategic planning meeting.

The Hawks just got over the line against the Suns on Saturday, but with so many of their top-shelf players being rested, it was always going to be a contest. Nevertheless, the young Hawthorn side (I had to keep checking the Footy Record to identify players), looked composed and in control for most of the match.

Alistair Clarkson’s biggest worry at the moment is who to play and who to drop for the first final against the Cats. There’s something about this season, particularly the latter part of it that feels like 2008. I hope.

Whatever happens in the coming weeks, I’m content for one achievement this season. On Saturday, my daughter Molly and I were lucky enough to gain entry to the Hawthorn rooms after the match (thanks Keith). Sam Mitchell was a gentleman. Molly went home beaming.

Yours in all things footy,

Sasha Lennon

Road Warrior

My profession takes me to lots of places.  Last week it took me to Western Australia’s Gascoyne region. 

The Gascoyne is a big place, twice the size of Tasmania but with only a fraction the population.  And like everywhere else in WA, the Gascoyne is big on footy.

Travelling by road between Exmouth, Carnarvon and Shark Bay is no mean feat, and despite good company, sitting in the car for hours on end can be tedious.

So at an outback hotel in a setting reminiscent of Mad Max 2, a plan was hatched.  We’d break monotony with a kick.  We just needed a footy.

Carnarvon’s local sports store was packed to the rafters with fishing rods and tackle, a favourite pastime in these parts.  But beneath the canopy of carbon fibre and nylon, we found Burley.

I’d been searching for a Sherrin and must admit, I’d forgotten about the Burley brand of football.  I’ve since been reminded that Burley is the oldest Australian owned football brand in existence and is officially endorsed by the WAFL, SANFL, NTAFL and the Victorian Country Football League.

Travelling along the North West Coastal Highway with a pumped up footy, any danger of boredom was quickly subdued.  With the footy, we had a greater sense of purpose, always on the lookout for an opportunity, a place to have a kick, any place.

Not far from the Kennedy Range, Burley was kicked and passed back and forth; marked beneath the wind turbines of Denham and handpassed on a beach against the backdrop of a pod of dolphins at Monkey Mia.  It was stab-passed on the main street of Carnarvon and booted by the banks of the Gascoyne River.

That’s one of the beautiful things about Aussie Rules.  So long as you’ve got a footy, you can play it anywhere, and we did.     

After Shark Bay our road trip ended.  But the journey wasn’t over.  After a two hour flight to Perth we took a cab to Subiaco to catch the Hawks train before the following day’s match against Fremantle.

And there at Subi I experienced a second coming - Peter Knights.  Just like in Launceston back in June, I chatted with Knightsy.  I passed him my pen.  He signed Burley.  A happy Hawk, I headed back to the airport and then home to Brisbane, Burley by my side.

I love this game. 

Yours in all things footy,

Sasha Lennon

Alan Jeans: he frightened, he inspired and he’ll be missed

Last week I was saddened to hear of the passing of Alan Jeans.

There are lots of ‘Yabby’ stories, one of the best being during the mid-‘80s when he made a complacent and not-surprisingly arrogant Robert DiPierdomenico cry during a half-time address.  The story goes that Dipper had begun to believe his own hype and Yabby, in the efficiently brutal and honest manner that we’ve read about this past week, let him know it.  Apparently, it hit Bertie hard and he never looked back.  The rest is history. 

My own experience of the ‘Yabby address’ was during the Hawthorn-Melbourne merger debate at Camberwell Town Hall in 1996.  The carnival-like anti-merger crowd jeered and mocked each pro-merger speaker who took to the stage to argue his case.  It was ‘un-Hawthorn like’ and it bordered on the farcical.

Then Yabby took to the stage.  Like many others, I couldn’t get into the Hall.  I was standing outside listening.  I couldn’t see him.  I didn’t need to.

Yabby was pro-merger but that’s beside the point.  We listened, not to what Yabby said, but to how he wanted us to feel.  Hawthorn had to be saved, somehow.  He believed the merger was the right way to go.

Yabby’s voice boomed and literally penetrated the now-silent crowd.  I could feel the power of it pass right through me.  I’ve never experienced anything like it and I doubt I ever will again.

A few people voted for the merger that evening.  I reckon Yabby convinced them.

For Hawthorn, the merger debate was necessary.  Like Dipper, we at Hawthorn had become complacent, even a little arrogant.  With his brutal honesty, Yabby showed us that.

He’ll be missed by many.

Yours in all things footy,

Sasha Lennon

Thanks Barry and Go Pies!

Carlton plays Collingwood next week and as a Hawthorn supporter I couldn’t be happier.

Against a dispirited North Melbourne, Collingwood reminded us all on Sunday afternoon why the Magpies are the team most likely in 2011.  Defeating the Kangaroos by 117 points made even Mick Malthouse look a little embarrassed after the match.

And after two losses in a row, this week against a resurgent West Coast Eagles, Geelong showed us again that Cats do bleed.

On Saturday, the Hawks managed to battle their way through another round with as many as 15 of its list out of action through injury or suspension.  With the bye next week, coach Alistair Clarkson looked relieved to say the least.

But it was Carlton’s loss to the Western Bulldogs on Sunday that pleased me the most.

With Hawthorn’s young guns fighting above their weight week after week and the Blues only two points behind the Hawks on the ladder, the two teams are in a tussle for third spot.  With West Coast now threatening for a top four position, every point counts.

Had Carlton won on the weekend, as many had expected them to, the Hawks would have fallen back to fourth with the Eagles breathing down their neck.

I tipped the Bulldogs out of hope with little regard for any considered analysis.  I was pretty sure my tip was in vain and that the Blues would quite easily account for an unreliable Bulldogs outfit.

But Barry Hall had other ideas.  In what was perhaps their best win of the season, the Bulldogs fought out an enthralling contest with premiership contenders Carlton to eventually win by a very respectable 27 points, putting them only half a point out of the top eight.

While it was the midfielders led by captain Matthew Boyd who were the best for the Dogs, big bad Barry was inspiring up forward, answering the many critics who have written him off this year by booting four goals.  As an impartial observer, it was nice to see him back.  

Now the Hawks have a rest and the Blues face the mighty Magpies.  I never thought I’d say this but GO PIES! 

Yours in all things footy,

Sasha Lennon

Good Guys and Heroes

Saturday the 18^th of June 2011 was a special day.  It was a day for good guys and heroes.  It was about players past and present, and what happened on the field was just a side-story.

My eight year-old daughter Molly and I were in Hawthorn’s second home of Launceston, to watch the Hawks take on newcomers the Gold Coast Suns.

This was the third such trip in what is now officially our annual Dad-daughter weekend away, to bask in all things brown and gold.

I’m unashamedly proud of my little girl.  By the time she was five years old, she knew footy, knew the Hawks, and she loved Crawf.  Since the number 9 hung up his boots, Molly saves her football affection for Buddy and The General.  But on match day, affection makes way for clinical, yet passionate and sometimes one-eyed observation.  As a football supporter, Molly is what I would call ‘hard’.   

As we left our hotel to walk to the ground, I spotted a couple of Gold Coast players milling around the lobby, waiting for their transport.  Their captain was among them.

Sensing a photo opportunity I asked Molly “do you want to see if we can get a quick photo with Gary Ablett?”

“No” she replied sternly. 

“Why not?” I asked, a little surprised (she knows who, or more importantly ‘what’ Gary Ablett is).

“He plays for the Suns.  They’re not our team.”

Hard, I thought.

At the ground, with chips, pies and soft drinks in hand, we made our way to our seats.  I spotted a bloke in a funny outfit entertaining some kids.  My camera once more at the ready I said to Molly “do you want to get a photo with Hawka?”

“No, we haven’t got time, the game’s about to start.  Hurry up Dad!”

Hard, I thought again.  We still had 30 minutes to wait before the opening bounce.

The first half was a scrappy affair, frustrating to watch as the Suns threw everything at a Hawthorn side trying to find its rhythm, with a number of key players absent.

At half-time we were up by 17 points.  I sensed we’d eventually run away with it but had hoped for a much bigger margin at this stage of the match.

“Well, we’re winning Molly, that’s good”, I said encouragingly.

“We should be up by more.  Buddy’s missed a few.”

Hard.

Sensing the tension, I suggested a half-time to wander around the many Hawthorn merchandise stalls and displays.  Molly eyed off the Hawthorn teddy bears and ‘little Hawkas’ but didn’t push me too hard for a purchase.  She was focussed on what the third quarter might bring.

With Molly keen to catch the start of the second half, we made our way back to the Eastern Terrace when I sensed something which stopped me in my tracks, a sort of presence. 

It took a minute to register.

“Molly, that’s Peter Knights!”

“Who”?

Before I knew it, I’d tapped the great man on the shoulder and blurted out something about the 1970s, suburban Melbourne, my childhood and his brilliance.

Despite my initial bumbling, I do clearly remember saying this: “Molly, Peter was like Buddy Franklin when I was your age, only better!”

Number 24 smiled and said humbly “that was a very long time ago”.  (He didn’t argue the point though).

As an eight year-old I would dream about Peter Knights, pretend to be Peter Knights, convince myself that, based on our similar hair cuts, fair complexions and my self-acknowledged ability to take a high mark, we were somehow, possibly, maybe three cousins removed, related to one another.  (It made plenty of sense to me at the time).

And now, after getting the nervous talk quickly out of the way, here I was, face-to-face with the Hawthorn legend having a pleasant, rather intelligent and quite leisurely chat.

I’ve met favourite sportsmen or entertainers before and sadly, sometimes, they don’t quite live up to expectations.  Peter Knights however did.  Not only was he humble and quietly spoken, but he seemed genuinely interested in Molly and I, our interest in Hawthorn, our reason for being at a match in Tassie, the fact we’d flown down from Brisbane and our thoughts on the Suns.  In fact, we spoke mostly about us, not him.

Looking back now I wish I’d kept the conversation going, asked him more about his playing days or told him of my interest in writing about the game.  He seemed happy to stay and chat for as long as we liked.

Before we parted ways, I asked Knightsy for a photo.  Of course, he was happy to oblige.

What’s more, Molly seemed to soften.  I talked about Knightsy for the next quarter or more.  Molly listened and I think she got it.  I imagine Knightsy has that affect on people.  Calming.

And from there, everything just seemed nicer, more pleasant.  The Hawks switched into gear and finished the day winning by 71 points.

When we returned to the hotel a few hours after the final siren, none other than Gary Ablett was waiting at the lift.

With a friendly nod I offered Gary my commiserations for the loss and he thanked me, genuinely.  We talked briefly.  I asked him how he’s travelling, living on the Gold Coast.  He told me he’s enjoying the change but he misses his family.  Like Peter Knights, Gary Ablett just seemed nice, normal.  He was a pleasure to chat to - a nice guy and no doubt, some other kid’s hero.

We didn’t need a photo with Gary.  The conversation was enough.

“He was nice wasn’t he Molly?”

“Yes, he seemed very nice, and he’s a good player too.”

Not so hard after all.     

Yours in all things footy,

Sasha Lennon