“Where are your handbags pussies?” - one of the many heavily intoxicated gold miners in an Eagles jumper yelled at me.
“Just ignore them.” Dad said.
I shuddered as I choked back tears, determined not give them the pleasure of our pain and frustration.
I stared at the big screen TV in the middle of the crowded pub trying not to make eye contact with the foul smelling, arrogant supporters.
It was the 1994 Grand Final and I was 11-years-old.
We were on a family holiday. I was decked out in a Cats jumper with the number 5 on my back (of course), scarf, headband, and I even wore blue and white socks pulled up to my knees.
Mum, Dad and I were sitting in Eagles heartland, 600 kilometres East-North-East of Perth in the red mining centre of Kalgoorlie.
The pub was full. It was hardly the place to take a family, but our motel room wasn’t available for check-in until later in the day.
The Cats were down by 6-goals at three-quarter time, Gary Ablett was well-held by Glen Jakovich, Garry Hocking was forced to play with a thigh injury and the Eagles bloodbath was only just beginning.
In the end Geelong lost by 80-points with West Coast’s blonde haired ball-magnet Dean Kemp winning the Norm Smith Medal for best on ground.
It was West Coast’s second premiership in three years.
Sadly, it was Geelong’s third Grand Final appearance without success in six years. Rubbing salt into the wound, it was also the second time we’d gone down to the Eagles in three years.
Hate is a strong word. I didn’t hate the Eagles I just really, really, really, disliked them and I still do.
My deep seated anguish isn’t just because of the morons at the pub who got their thrills bagging a kid whose footy team lost. The West Coast players were also hard to warm to.
Maybe it was because they were just brilliant footballers in a team that was ruthless, but they made my stomach churn.
Karl Langdon was atop of my hit list. Renowned for his platinum blonde hair, he was an old fashioned version of Ryan Crowley, blessed with the ability to frustrate his opponents to breaking point.
Later in life we crossed paths when I was working at 3AW radio on the 2006 Commonwealth Games in Melbourne. I was a young producer working alongside Karl who was commentating the cycling.
In the flesh, Karl was nothing like the man I staunchly barracked against on the football field. He was lovely!
It left me with mixed feelings – maybe all these years I’d just been blinded by the love for my Cats.
But even two decades on, when I hear the names Brett Heady, Glen Jakovich, Peter Matera and John Worsfold, those terrible memories return.
Not to mention Chris Lewis. It’s hard to like a guy who was suspended for sinking his teeth into Demon Todd Viney.
Then there’s the big Eagles full-forward Peter Sumich.
A year after that horrid ‘94 Grand Final, my VicKick team was lucky enough to be selected to play in the half time match of a Cats’ game at Kardinia Park. I couldn’t have been more excited.
The only problem was, the Cats were playing West Coast. My heart sank as I was handed an Eagles jumper and it was the dreaded number 4 (Peter Sumich).
Wearing that horrible jumper, I was lucky enough to take a mark in the goal-square. I went back and slotted the goal. It was the biggest adrenalin rush of my life until the Eagles fans began to cheer me yelling out ‘Sumich!!’ I ran over to the fence shouting back to them “No! I’m Ablett!!! I’m Ablett!”
My dislike for West Coast tempered a little with my love for superstar Chris Judd, but ever since the ‘92 and ‘94 Grand Finals - I’ll always barrack against them, no matter who they’re playing.
Thankfully we broke the Grand Final hoodoo in 2007, going on to win three flags in five years… Otherwise my feelings against the Eagles might be even stronger.
I just hope we knock off West Coast on Saturday and I run into those bogans from the Kalgoorlie Pub.
Go Cats!
Sean Sowerby
Channel 7 News Weekend Sports Presenter/Reporter
Proud Geelong Cats Member
