On the night of May 13 2006, the Brisbane Lions ran out onto Carrara Stadium for their game against Hawthorn.
Brisbane was no longer a great team, but they still had many premiership names like Daniel Bradshaw, Simon Black, Jonathan Brown, Jamie Charman, Robert Copeland, Beau McDonald, Ashley McGrath, Mal Michael, Tim Notting, Luke Power and Brad Scott.
But despite all these names, none stood out more than Michael Voss, the once and future captain of the Brisbane Lions.
On that cold autumn night, 11 players remembered for what they achieved in the premiership years ran out with 11 players remembered for playing in the aftermath of that success.
A 23rd person also ran out with the players: a ten-year-old Tasmanian who’ll never be remembered for doing anything in an AFL game. A ten-year-old Tasmanian who never did anything on a football field he can remember, unless a meeting with someone from his primary school days sufficiently jogs his memory. A ten-year-old Tasmanian who had previously never been to an AFL match before May 13, 2006.
Me.
Ten years does funny things to your memory. I remember being surprised at the size of the players, struggling through the banner (primarily because I was naive enough to approach it at full bore without turning sideways), how slow the jog around the ground seemed to be (not that I was complaining in any sense) and kicking a football or two after the lap had ended.
But what I remember most was the number zero.
Zero was Hawthorn’s score at quarter-time. They never looked like winning.
At that time, the Hawks’ full forward was Mark Williams, who was as good as any at that time, even if he was smaller than the typical full forward. But he was Hawthorn’s only forward that night. He ended up with five goals, but Brisbane’s defence watched him carefully and he was never a serious chance of changing the match.
Jonathan Brown, whose number I had chosen over Jason Akermanis (fortunately, considering it was just after Akermanis had made himself persona non grata), kicked eight goals. Brown was in alien form at the time, good enough to be a Brownlow Medal favourite. He was the one player who could have carried Lions to the finals on his own back, particularly when opposition defences also had to respect Daniel Bradshaw. He showed his class with eight goals and four behinds, 25 disposals and 16 marks.
Unfortunately, Brown’s body was still most decidedly human, and not long after my turn as mascot, he suffered a season-ending injury and Brisbane’s finals chances went down the drain.
But it didn’t stop my night out, with Brisbane’s premiership nuggets of gold and players of promise.
The Lions are struggling in this season, as they have for several seasons, and struggling non-Melbourne sides don’t get the oxygen of free-to-air television.
Many of Brisbane’s performances, when I can see them on television, are sustenance to fans as cheese is to good ice-cream. The premiership names aren’t there.
But I’ve jogged among Lions before. Standing by them now isn’t too difficult.
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