Swans fans...is anyone else a little unsure about our new Buddy?

I am a Swans fan. And Buddy Franklin is, apparently, heading to my team. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.

The first thing I thought when I heard the news was, “Oh great, Eddie McGuire is going to be insufferable.”

The man already goes into an almighty red-faced huff about the unfair advantage Sydney has every time Collingwood doesn’t win the flag: you hardly needed to give him more ammunition, did you, Swans?

And this time, McGuire is really going to have a point: the cost-of-living allowance is a legitimate notion given the higher prices in Sydney, but if the Swans are going to go around snapping up Tippett one year and Franklin the next, it leaves them with very little room to argue they’re not taking advantage of the extra cash to corner the superstar market.

It’s also no way to keep the AFL friendly, snatching the biggest name in free agency from under the nose of their beloved new baby at GWS.

In fact, the Swans have pretty much ensured that everyone in the football world will now turn against them.

From being the gutsy blue-collar workers of the league, the tough-as-nail Bloods for whom every premiership is a heartwarming underdog story, they will now become the AFL version of the NRL’s Manly.

They are the silvertail poachers, grabbing all they can from the player pool and laying waste to less-privileged clubs in their lust for glory. And though being hated might suit your averaged Magpies fan, as a devoted Swanophile I am not amenable to this.

But to be honest I won’t spend that much time worrying about the outrage.

In the end, the club has made a play for a player who can give it a boost, not only on-field but in the publicity stakes (betting the NRL isn’t that happy about Buddy becoming a major harbour side talking point in grand final week).

Franklin himself has looked out for the main chance, as a young man with a short career – that could be further truncated at any time by an awkward tackle or sudden stumble – has every right to do. Both club and player can hardly be blamed for trying to do the best for their own futures. At least…they can only be blamed a little bit. Maybe.

But what I worry about is that this isn’t that great for the club’s future. Oh sure, Buddy will be great PR, and will no doubt draw crowds, but how good actually is he?

There’s no doubt who the number one forward at Hawthorn this year was – Jarryd Roughead.

The biggest goalkicking threat in the grand final was Jack Gunston.

Buddy is a breathtaking athlete who’ll slam booming 55-metre goals from the boundary line and dribble through miracles tight in a pocket, but for every time he does it seems he misses three from in front.

For every game he grabs by the scruff of the neck there’s another where a canny defender takes him out of the game and he starts throwing dumb elbows in frustration.

And then there’s the fact the the contract is for nine years.

As I said, he’s a supreme athlete, but keeping it up in the brutal world the AFL as a key position player with a huge body to take care of is hard enough for those who want to play to 32, let alone 36.

In three years it’s easy to see Buddy as a goalsquare-only proposition, wrestling with fullbacks but having lost the lightning lope that carries him so smoothly away from hapless opponents. I

n nine years it’s easy to see him using a walker. And that’s without factoring in the possibility that he does his knee or a shoulder next year and never manages to be the Buddy we know again.

Alastair Lynch got a ten-year contract with Brisbane: there is a very good reason why you can’t think of anyone else who did.

And then of course there’s the whole issue of cheering for Buddy.

I mean I know Hawks fans and they seem like decent people, and they managed it, but when he lifts up those arms and prances about like a Premier League billionaire, it’s going to be a bit of a wrench to share in his joy.

Plus when he lines up for goal he runs on his “natural arc”, which is the AFL Umpires’ Department’s special terminology for when a man with his own t-shirt line wants to break the rules.

Plugger and Bazza had their temperamental issues, but at least they were capable of running in a straight line when they were supposed to.

Can I really cheer for Buddy when he swings around on that massive sideways loop without the umpire calling “play on” like he would for any other player? Can I rejoice when he kicks a gimme goal from a free kick awarded under the special “don’t touch Buddy” rule?

Well of course I can. I mean I’m still a Swans fan.

And I hope Buddy turns out to be astoundingly durable, playing the whole nine years and kicking a thousand goals and winning countless matches off his own boot and writing his name into legend with astounding feats of strength and speed, freakish footskills and mighty marks.

And even more I hope he turns out to be a fine young man who can leave behind the image of the up-himself lair basking in an excessive rock-star lifestyle and prowling city nightclubs like a gigantic muscly panther. I hope he does good, and I hope he plays well.

But I can’t help wondering if it’s all really going to be worth it.

I have my doubts, sir. I have my doubts.