Sunday, March 04, 2007

[flawed hero] the tragedy of gary ablett

Nobody's interested in someone else's sport. The Americans skip over English football, the English ignore New Zealand club rugby. Goals, points, handpasses - when they're not your local heroes, they're simply a yawn.

Just occasionally, sportsmen like Beckam, Bradman, Alabama Pitts, Truman, Jordan, Shaq, Babe Ruth, Jona Lomu, Tyson, George Best, Shane Warne and Popov come along and their ability is inconceivable. Transcending the field of sport, soon to be cultural icons, more often than not their off field antics, their inability to simply live as human beings, makes them the stuff of legends and of course, of tragedy. Everyone is fascinated by a tragedy.

Such a man was Gary Ablett, of the AFL team Geelong, at a time when I was living in Australia in the 80s. He ended up, like Eric Clapton, being called G-d in the graffiti and in the flow of adulation which engulfed him everywhere he tried to turn. Everyone wanted a piece of him.

And on Saturdays, they'd flock to see the goliath perform his superhuman antics, often seeming to suspend the laws of physics as he quite legally, under the laws of the Australian game, bestrode other men's shoulders in his climb to the stratosphere to take in a high grab. Once asked about a particular spectacular he'd taken, he replied: "It was a good mark but wasn't such a good landing."

Therein lies the story of Gary Ablett. Not the most articulate of men, his tale is one of soaring for the stars then crashing heavily to earth and he rarely let you down on the field. When opposition fans saw him take a grab or whip up the ball from the turf, shoulders sagged all round and they'd mutter: "Bloody Ablett," with a touch of awe. The goal was usually a foregone conclusion.

He came from the right side of the tracks for a footballer - a street fighting, bar brawling country boy, with massive shoulders and an athlete's body; he'd been on the shady side of the law more than a few times, he'd once hospitalized a man. When he hit the big smoke, he was no immediate hit, joining his brothers' club and stifling in its atmosphere. Then he went to the flashy, lightning quick Geelong, of the western district 'old money', a one town club who knew how to worship a hero. Ablett was on clover but even here lay the seeds of the later tragedy.

Gary Ablett's story concludes here.

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