I pull up at the kerb. I love this park they train in. I must have walked the figure-of-eight around its ovals hundreds of times, at dawn, winter and summer, to throw the ball for Dozer, our red heeler, but he’s buried now, in the backyard, under the crepe myrtle near the chook pen. The boy jumps out with his footy and trots away, bouncing it. Boy? Look at him. He’s five foot eleven. The last of my three grandkids. This year he’s in the Under 16s. It’s footy season in Melbourne, and Helen Garner is following her grandson’s suburban team. She turns up not only at every game (give or take), but at every training session, shivering on the sidelines in the dark, fascinated by the spectacle. She’s a passionate Western Bulldogs supporter (with a rather shaky grasp of the rules) and a great admirer of the players and the epic theatre of the game. But this is something more than that. It is a chance to connect with her youngest grandchild, to be close to him in his last moments as a child and in his headlong rush into manhood. To witness his triumphs and defeats, to fear for his safety in battle, to gasp and to cheer for the team as it fights its way towards the finals. Garner’s sharp eye, wit and warm humour bring the team and the season to life, as she documents this pivotal moment, both as part of the story and as silent witness. It’s a reflection on masculinity, on the nobility, grace and grit of team spirit and the game’s power to enthral.
