Royal blood

Many years ago it seems now, I used to go to the footy and watch a stellar collection of players represent the team I barrack for, Essendon. In the the eighties they were a great team that enjoyed much success. I was there every step of the way, from the outer at Windy Hill to the grandeur of the MCG. I roared and cheered and cursed and lived by the fortunes of the team. I had a lot of favourite players, but my favourite probably was Tim Watson.

In a team chock-full of legendary players Tim – or Timmy – Watson was probably the most popular of all. He made his debut in 1977 when he was just 15, the second youngest on record. He was a dynamic player even then, big and strong for his age, a mop of floppy air, with the dash and exuberance of a kid who doesn’t know any different. He captured the imagination of supporters of all clubs. Over time he developed into one of the best players in the competition. His was a rare, but prized combination of gifts. He was big, but he was also quick. Anyone quick enough to catch him – and there were few – weren’t strong enough to hold him; those strong enough to stop him had no chance of catching him. He was skilled and fearless and charismatic. He was exciting to watch, capable of breaking a game open within a few minutes of dynamic play, and features in many iconic moments of the club. He grew into a good looking man, articulate, and a natural leader who eventually became captain.

In a team of truly great players – some all-time greats – he was close to the best, if not the best: Simon Madden was pretty good too. Like a lot of great careers his had a narrative swoop – a knee injury took him off the ground for over a year, only to return even better. He retired after the disappointment of 1990, then made a comeback as in the fairy-tales, to play in the 1993 premiership. He won 4 B&F’s, an AFL players award for the best player in the comp (1989), a few media awards along the way, and played in three premierships. He even won a father of the year award back in 1993 – how apt that seems now. Now he is a media figure, affable, articulate, and the father of Jobe Watson.

It’s that last label which may now stick longest, for last night Jobe did was his father was never able to do: he won the Brownlow medal for the best player in the league.

Jobe is a very different player to his dad. He shares his size – about 190cm – but has none of his father’s raw power or speed. His gifts are much less obvious, and have been honed by hard work rather than being gifted to him. His success is the product of character, as much as it is of soft hands and a quick mind. He has been a very good player for a number of years now, and captain of the club for the last few. He is an outstanding man as well as player, a leader voted best in the comp by his peers, and steadfast in the face of the greatest challenges. This medal is just reward for that.

It was no surprise that he won last night. Watching the season unfold it looked like he had a grip on it from very early on. I think he has a lot more ahead of him, though I’m still not convinced that he is better than his dad. I might change my mind in a year or two.

It’s always strange to watch the offspring of great sportsmen take the field. Many fail, but a surprising amount become champions in their own right. As a supporter you feel a sense of kinship different from the other players in the team, as if you are watching club royalty. Jobe was born to it, the son of a club legend who spent many of his childhood years playing around the club. You watch a player like him come on the scene and you think, well I remember his dad. There is that automatic attachment.

While Jobe might play different from his dad, it’s clear that he is his father’s son. Jobe is very different from the stereotypical boofhead AFL footballer (eg last years winner, Dane Swan). He is articulate, thoughtful, intelligent, humble without being false, a thoroughly decent person. It’s a credit to his family, to whom he is openly grateful and affectionate. It’s almost inspiring to see that, simple as it might seem. I watched last night as Jobe responded in his calm and sincere way to the questions put to him, and the open and unaffected way that he answered, the big, kind eyes. In the audience Tim looked on, looking very proud, and his wife – Jobe’s mum – Suzie beside him, one of the great partnerships it seems.

What a loving and supportive family, I thought. What a great example. How lucky we are to have someone like this win the medal, and what a great role-model he is.

I have in my collection of football memorabilia a VHS tape with the highlights of Tim Watson’s career. There’s an interview with Tim that must be from the early nineties, with a very young Jobe by his side. Tim was affable and easygoing, Jobe cute and clearly adored his dad. Strange to think that 20 years on it’s now Jobe who has the spotlight, and a great win it is, not just for Essendon, or football, but for decent values.

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