If you thought the game in Adelaide last week was pretty wet, you ain’t seen nothing.
Back in 2002, the Western Bulldogs flew to Cairns to take on the reigning premiers the Brisbane Lions in what was then called the Ansett Cup.
There was talk before we left, that the weather was a bit unpredictable in Cairns at that time of year, but no one really seemed that concerned about it.
For a start, we took a playing team of 26 players up to the tropics in case the heat became too extreme.
When we arrived, it became apparent that it was not hot. It was wet. Biblically wet. A cyclone was approaching Cairns straight on.
We got off the plane and headed to Cazaly’s Stadium for a light run, and it’s the only time in my life that I can remember hearing the football make a ‘tap, tap, tap’ sound as it flew through the air, hitting the fat rain drops on its trajectory.
The ground was like a swamp. It was almost laughable.
The entire team and support staff spent the next two days sat in the hotel foyer playing cards and watching the news reports on the television to see what was happening with the cyclone.
I was 19 at the time and still trying to earn my stripes in the team and the league. I remember on the day of the game that there was tension building at the real possibility that the game might be called off.
The rain that had been coming down in sheets hadn’t let up at all since we landed. We were told by our football manager Paul Armstrong that a definitive call would be made at midday.
With no four points on offer, the nicest way I could describe the general feeling amongst the touring party, is to say that there wasn’t a great deal of enthusiasm to pull the boots on.
A few players, who shall remain nameless, had laid out their best outfit on their hotel bed in anticipation of a cancelled game and a night out on the town.
As the clock ticked over to midday, ‘Arma’ strolled into the foyer and silence fell on the game of cards. “Good news boys, we’re playing”. Arma even gave us a thumbs up!
On reflection, I don’t know if he misread the group I was sitting with, or whether he was being ironic. It was head in hands for the boys who had laid out their best kit. We had a game to play.
Despite the unusual build up and diabolical mental preparation, the Bulldogs slipped and slid to a pretty comfortable win against the all-conquering premiership Lions.
Having just won their second premiership in a row, it’s quite likely that a few of their boys had prepared for a night of drinking and dancing too.
Deep into the last quarter, Lindsay Gilbee still hadn’t come on the ground. With only a few minutes left in the game, ‘Gilbs’ got the call. “Lindsay!, You’re on!”
Gilbs excitedly jumped up from his cosy spot on the bench and toed the line of the interchange as Simon Cox came off the ground.
But just as ‘Coxy’ was about to exit the field, the runner yelled out “Lindsay! Wait! Contessa, you’re on instead!”
A dejected Lindsay trudged back to the pine. He flew all that way to play cards in the foyer.
