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Players' stories
"The Bont"Right from the start, the Bulldog Tragician was entranced by the amazing talent of a teenage prodigy we began to call The Bont.
Read: All about the Bont About the final vs GWS in which Bont was relentlessly targeted: The end of the innocence |
Bob MurphyPerhaps he could only have been captain at a club like the Western Bulldogs..
Read : One more song When Bob did his knee: Moments On Bob's retirement: Endings. Beginnings |
Jake Stringer & Jack MacraeTwo young guns, drafted in the same year.
But over time their paths - and our perceptions of them - diverged. Read: The story of Jake and Jack |
Fletcher RobertsThe magic of the 2016 premiership was in the roles of every single player, even one who had just two possessions, yet sitting next to one of them (Fletcher Roberts) on a plane one day, I was somehow too shy to just say: 'Thanks."
Read: Accidental heroes |
Daniel CrossMy favourite players have often been the less flashy, quiet achievers and in Daniel Cross, I always saw a player who was everything that is wonderful about footy.
Read : The wrong side of the Whiteboard On his bravery: On Daniel Cross and extraordinary courage |
Tom BoydHe's a premiership immortal. He's also a young man on whom too much expectation was heaped, and now his work in the mental health space is even more important than his match-winning performance on Grand Final Day.
Read: A life in the day Read: Footy joy, footy sorrow |
"My mother promised me I could start coming to ‘home’ games when I turned four years old. In my child’s imagination, a home game would mean that the footballers played, much like my brother and I, kick-to-kick in a player's backyard. I expected this to be with the only player I could name. Naturally this was Ted Whitten. I can still recall my amazement when the eagerly awaited day arrived and I walked in for the first time to the Western Oval (not yet christened in the legend’s name), to be greeted by what seemed like a vast expanse of emerald green grass.
"There was a unique smell of wet duffel coats, donut vans, and something indefinably Western Oval. (It may have been the plumbing). The players were remote and tiny specks far off in the distance. They wore dressing gowns and ate oranges while they listened to Ted rev them up in the breaks. We walked up to our seats in the John Gent stand - it was rickety even then. The Hyde Street band marched around the oval, coins whizzing dangerously past their heads.
"I was entranced. So began my journey as a fan...'