Article - RealFooty.com.au - Wednesday 30th of July, 2008
As I was saying to my friend William in the pub over a glass of cane-cutters' cordial …
John Harms
I DON'T watch much television these days — except for sport. Not since they took F-Troop off, and The Sullivans went from historical drama to soap. And I went away to uni. So, until recently, I didn't know who William McInnes was.
Then the Handicapper and I saw him in Look Both Ways, a movie we both found thoughtful and sensitive.
Then I discovered his book, A Man's Got To Have A Hobby, about growing up in Redcliffe, on the edge of Brisbane. I loved it. I started giving it to friends as a birthday and Christmas present. I could relate to it very strongly.
William had captured my Queensland: Queensland when it was happy to be what it was; Queensland before it became self-conscious and put itself on a path to blandness.
I loved the references to 1970s rugby league, when Brisbane had a wonderful competition, every bit as tribal as the VFL, with quirky grounds such as Bishop Park, where ancient blokes sold first-scorers' doubles near the gates and classic club songs. In those days, people all over Queensland had their team.
William wrote about Bevan Bleakley and Merv Cook, the very thought of whom would warm your heart; the same heart ripped out when the Broncos were formed and corporate football replaced community football.
Then I actually met William. The first time was over a few beers in Adelaide. He was just as his book suggested.
I liked how you could mention any name and he could go to the manila folder of stories filed is his mind under that name, pick one out and the conversation would be away.
It was rugby league players who really got him going. "What about Tony Obst?" I'd say. "Tony Obst," he'd say. "Nev Hornery," I'd say. He'd throw his head back, "Nev Hornery," and laugh.
Like he was being reminded of an old friend.
A few weeks later, he sent me a photocopy of a 1976 Brisbane Rugby League program. All those names. All those memories. He must keep that sort of stuff.
These days not only is William an award-winning actor, he has built a reputation as a cricket writer. I recently read his novel Cricket Kings and I can safely say he is the Neville Cardus of Australian actor-turned-cricket writers since the turn of the century.
We were both invited to appear at the Byron Bay Writers' Festival, which finished on Sunday.
We actually started the whole thing on Thursday at the Bangalow Pub with what was grandly promoted as a sports literary lunch entitled "Cricket: invented by India and stolen by England."
The panel included noted over-achievers Shashi Tharoor, United Nations dignitary, writer and commentator, and the prolific G.C.J.D. Haigh, who discussed the proposition with the earnest solemnity of Walls and Sheahan discussing the interchange rule on On The Couch.At one point, I caught the eye of McInnes, who had that I'd-rather-be-talking-about-Lucky-Grills look. Or Larry Storch.
On Friday night, we went to Strop's pub to watch Hawthorn and Geelong. About a dozen of us from the festival and Micky Crawshay up from Melbourne for someone's wedding. William likes his footy. He has followed the Doggies since moving to Melbourne many years ago. He was keen.
The Cats start solidly, building momentum throughout the first quarter. The game looks theirs. Alastair Clarkson wrings his hands. "Coaches," says McInnes. "They're like bad actors."
He runs an analysis of the action. As a warning to excited middle-aged Geelong fans, he quotes Clint Eastwood: "We've all got it comin'."
When the world turns against Brad Ottens and the Cats ruckman looks broken, McInnes breaks into, "O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I." I'm not sure whether he's ever played Hamlet or just owns a copy of the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations. When Chappy's hamstring isn't as bad as expected, it's: "Strained, not torn."
As things hot up, McInnes removes his jacket to reveal he is wearing an old Brisbane Past Brothers rugby jumper — blue and white hoops, or butcher's stripes as they are called up there.
Now I really am laughing.
It prompts a discussion of Brisbane and Darling Downs TV ads during the coverage of 1970s rugby league.
The Errol Stewart electrical appliance ad gets a run at three-quarter-time, just after everyone has been sent into a Soweto dance by Junior Rioli's mark. Then the O'Shea's Electrical ad from Dalby ("See me, Ba-a-rry O'Shea" done by Barry himself).
The last quarter is tense and McInnes has the you-blokes-could-lose-this look. He's almost right. But the Hawks can't take their chances and the Cats hang on.
The Geelong song sets us off. We sing the Wynnum song (to the tune of Men of Harlech) and the Brothers song ("The team in the blue and the white, it's the Brothers. The team that's superior to all the others"). Which leads to some old-fashioned rugby league tackling in the bar and a tap on the shoulder from one of the security zombies.
"Mate," someone says to the bouncer, "they've got a combined age of over 90."
We survive. The night finishes with a round of Bundy, a discussion of Norman Yemm and his performances in the middle-distance events at the Stawell Gift, and Geelong on top of the ladder.
John Harms
I DON'T watch much television these days — except for sport. Not since they took F-Troop off, and The Sullivans went from historical drama to soap. And I went away to uni. So, until recently, I didn't know who William McInnes was.
Then the Handicapper and I saw him in Look Both Ways, a movie we both found thoughtful and sensitive.
Then I discovered his book, A Man's Got To Have A Hobby, about growing up in Redcliffe, on the edge of Brisbane. I loved it. I started giving it to friends as a birthday and Christmas present. I could relate to it very strongly.
William had captured my Queensland: Queensland when it was happy to be what it was; Queensland before it became self-conscious and put itself on a path to blandness.
I loved the references to 1970s rugby league, when Brisbane had a wonderful competition, every bit as tribal as the VFL, with quirky grounds such as Bishop Park, where ancient blokes sold first-scorers' doubles near the gates and classic club songs. In those days, people all over Queensland had their team.
William wrote about Bevan Bleakley and Merv Cook, the very thought of whom would warm your heart; the same heart ripped out when the Broncos were formed and corporate football replaced community football.
Then I actually met William. The first time was over a few beers in Adelaide. He was just as his book suggested.
I liked how you could mention any name and he could go to the manila folder of stories filed is his mind under that name, pick one out and the conversation would be away.
It was rugby league players who really got him going. "What about Tony Obst?" I'd say. "Tony Obst," he'd say. "Nev Hornery," I'd say. He'd throw his head back, "Nev Hornery," and laugh.
Like he was being reminded of an old friend.
A few weeks later, he sent me a photocopy of a 1976 Brisbane Rugby League program. All those names. All those memories. He must keep that sort of stuff.
These days not only is William an award-winning actor, he has built a reputation as a cricket writer. I recently read his novel Cricket Kings and I can safely say he is the Neville Cardus of Australian actor-turned-cricket writers since the turn of the century.
We were both invited to appear at the Byron Bay Writers' Festival, which finished on Sunday.
We actually started the whole thing on Thursday at the Bangalow Pub with what was grandly promoted as a sports literary lunch entitled "Cricket: invented by India and stolen by England."
The panel included noted over-achievers Shashi Tharoor, United Nations dignitary, writer and commentator, and the prolific G.C.J.D. Haigh, who discussed the proposition with the earnest solemnity of Walls and Sheahan discussing the interchange rule on On The Couch.At one point, I caught the eye of McInnes, who had that I'd-rather-be-talking-about-Lucky-Grills look. Or Larry Storch.
On Friday night, we went to Strop's pub to watch Hawthorn and Geelong. About a dozen of us from the festival and Micky Crawshay up from Melbourne for someone's wedding. William likes his footy. He has followed the Doggies since moving to Melbourne many years ago. He was keen.
The Cats start solidly, building momentum throughout the first quarter. The game looks theirs. Alastair Clarkson wrings his hands. "Coaches," says McInnes. "They're like bad actors."
He runs an analysis of the action. As a warning to excited middle-aged Geelong fans, he quotes Clint Eastwood: "We've all got it comin'."
When the world turns against Brad Ottens and the Cats ruckman looks broken, McInnes breaks into, "O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I." I'm not sure whether he's ever played Hamlet or just owns a copy of the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations. When Chappy's hamstring isn't as bad as expected, it's: "Strained, not torn."
As things hot up, McInnes removes his jacket to reveal he is wearing an old Brisbane Past Brothers rugby jumper — blue and white hoops, or butcher's stripes as they are called up there.
Now I really am laughing.
It prompts a discussion of Brisbane and Darling Downs TV ads during the coverage of 1970s rugby league.
The Errol Stewart electrical appliance ad gets a run at three-quarter-time, just after everyone has been sent into a Soweto dance by Junior Rioli's mark. Then the O'Shea's Electrical ad from Dalby ("See me, Ba-a-rry O'Shea" done by Barry himself).
The last quarter is tense and McInnes has the you-blokes-could-lose-this look. He's almost right. But the Hawks can't take their chances and the Cats hang on.
The Geelong song sets us off. We sing the Wynnum song (to the tune of Men of Harlech) and the Brothers song ("The team in the blue and the white, it's the Brothers. The team that's superior to all the others"). Which leads to some old-fashioned rugby league tackling in the bar and a tap on the shoulder from one of the security zombies.
"Mate," someone says to the bouncer, "they've got a combined age of over 90."
We survive. The night finishes with a round of Bundy, a discussion of Norman Yemm and his performances in the middle-distance events at the Stawell Gift, and Geelong on top of the ladder.
posted by WilliamWatch at 2:05 PM
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