- Feb 12, 2017
- 18,782
- 49,713
- AFL Club
- Geelong
So here I am, reading the recently released autobiography of Geelong premiership hero Zach Tuohy - available now at all good bookstores - when I let out a thunderous roar of laughter when he recalls some of his greatest moments at his previous club CarLOLton. Many moments make the list of fantastic fails that it's hard to nail it down to just one, so gather 'round my friends as we partake in a Friday arvo storytime! Excerpts from the wonderful literature to follow:
The Clarko disciples were hot on the market, and Carlton decided they needed one to turn it all around. On 24 August 2015, Brendon Bolton, who was an assistant to Clarko at Hawthorn, was announced as our new senior coach.
In the beginning, I was desperate to make it work. When you’re working on a relationship, of any kind, and I’ve never had to work so hard on a relationship as I did with Bolts, they say communicating is crucial. But communicating is difficult when your ‘partner’ doesn’t want to talk or isn’t very skilled at it.
I found Bolts very intense. It was difficult, in fact almost impossible, to have a casual chat with him about anything unrelated to football. On Monday morning, there was no weekend small talk.
‘Hey, Bolts, how’s things?’ you might say as you walked in the door.
He couldn’t respond with non-footy chat. It would immediately turn to the match we just played or the plan for the week ahead. And I would think, Jesus, mate, just say ‘hi’ back and leave it at that. Or make a gag and move on. I didn’t ask for a ****ing deep and meaningful about where the club is at. He just couldn’t turn off for a second. I started trying to avoid him.
Now, if that’s what the attempted small talk was like, can you even imagine how meetings were? Let me help you.
The first match we played under Bolts was against his former team, Hawthorn, in the Community Series, as the pre-season competition was called back then. The match was in Launceston, and Bolts was keen to make an impression and set the tone for how match week and travel would work during his tenure. Little did we know it, but a minor decision on the plane would set the tone for the whole weekend – and perhaps the season.
When we took off from Melbourne, the flight attendants made their way down the aisle with the refreshments trolley, offering tea or coffee, and a biscuit. I had a coffee, skipped the biscuit and settled in. From memory, the biscuits were those little shortbread tasty morsels. Why do you need to know this? I can explain.
When we arrived at the hotel, we were called into the team room for a meeting. The gathering looked different to when Ratts or Mick was in charge. All the assistant coaches were in their team gear, even though we weren’t planning to leave the building. Bolts had directed them to wear full kit, as he wanted everything to feel formal. He wanted them and us to know that, even though it was a pre-season game, it was a serious work trip – we weren’t there to have fun. It became abundantly clear that there was no fun to be had as soon as we sat down.
‘I’d like any player who ate one of the biscuits offered to them on the plane to stand up.’
Now, at this point I’m thinking, Is this a joke? Surely, it’s a joke. But his tone was serious. Players started to stand up. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Mostly I couldn’t believe I wasn’t one of the ones forced to stand up. It wasn’t like me to miss the opportunity of a biscuit. Maybe I hadn’t been feeling well.
I was still thinking that this must be some sort of ice-breaker, or a prank.
‘Do you think it’s professional to do that? Is that going to make you a better player?’ Bolts demanded.
F.ck me, it’s a biscuit, I thought. A lot of players were standing up.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing. I got that the guy wanted to set the tone and the standard, but this shit was crazy. It was officially ‘Biscuit-gate’.
The Clarko disciples were hot on the market, and Carlton decided they needed one to turn it all around. On 24 August 2015, Brendon Bolton, who was an assistant to Clarko at Hawthorn, was announced as our new senior coach.
In the beginning, I was desperate to make it work. When you’re working on a relationship, of any kind, and I’ve never had to work so hard on a relationship as I did with Bolts, they say communicating is crucial. But communicating is difficult when your ‘partner’ doesn’t want to talk or isn’t very skilled at it.
I found Bolts very intense. It was difficult, in fact almost impossible, to have a casual chat with him about anything unrelated to football. On Monday morning, there was no weekend small talk.
‘Hey, Bolts, how’s things?’ you might say as you walked in the door.
He couldn’t respond with non-footy chat. It would immediately turn to the match we just played or the plan for the week ahead. And I would think, Jesus, mate, just say ‘hi’ back and leave it at that. Or make a gag and move on. I didn’t ask for a ****ing deep and meaningful about where the club is at. He just couldn’t turn off for a second. I started trying to avoid him.
Now, if that’s what the attempted small talk was like, can you even imagine how meetings were? Let me help you.
The first match we played under Bolts was against his former team, Hawthorn, in the Community Series, as the pre-season competition was called back then. The match was in Launceston, and Bolts was keen to make an impression and set the tone for how match week and travel would work during his tenure. Little did we know it, but a minor decision on the plane would set the tone for the whole weekend – and perhaps the season.
When we took off from Melbourne, the flight attendants made their way down the aisle with the refreshments trolley, offering tea or coffee, and a biscuit. I had a coffee, skipped the biscuit and settled in. From memory, the biscuits were those little shortbread tasty morsels. Why do you need to know this? I can explain.
When we arrived at the hotel, we were called into the team room for a meeting. The gathering looked different to when Ratts or Mick was in charge. All the assistant coaches were in their team gear, even though we weren’t planning to leave the building. Bolts had directed them to wear full kit, as he wanted everything to feel formal. He wanted them and us to know that, even though it was a pre-season game, it was a serious work trip – we weren’t there to have fun. It became abundantly clear that there was no fun to be had as soon as we sat down.
‘I’d like any player who ate one of the biscuits offered to them on the plane to stand up.’
Now, at this point I’m thinking, Is this a joke? Surely, it’s a joke. But his tone was serious. Players started to stand up. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Mostly I couldn’t believe I wasn’t one of the ones forced to stand up. It wasn’t like me to miss the opportunity of a biscuit. Maybe I hadn’t been feeling well.
I was still thinking that this must be some sort of ice-breaker, or a prank.
‘Do you think it’s professional to do that? Is that going to make you a better player?’ Bolts demanded.
F.ck me, it’s a biscuit, I thought. A lot of players were standing up.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing. I got that the guy wanted to set the tone and the standard, but this shit was crazy. It was officially ‘Biscuit-gate’.
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