“Back of Bourke – is where every other footballer is,” my father once ungrammatically said.
Dear old Dad came to footy late in life. Aussie Rules, that is, and he was only in his 20s when he saw his first match but that would be considered ‘late’ for a person nowadays.
Oh, he had played football – with a round ball – for his works team back in Coventry and the only time he had seen a ball shaped like ours was on a rugby pitch. He landed a job at a Richmond engineering firm and one Saturday afternoon found himself dragged along to watch a game at Punt Road oval.
Not realising what he was in for, he later said he watched the first quarter with his mouth open. Never before had he seen such ferocity on a sportsfield. The second quarter passed in a blur as he struggled to comprehend what was happening out there on that huge ground (huge by soccer standards). Someone gave him a beer at half-time and then the third quarter started.
Someone, a Richmond player, went down and Dad wanted his opponent ‘sent off’. The crowd laughed. Dad soon learnt the gentle art of barracking. By the end of the game, he was hooked. Wintry Saturday afternoons became ‘football afternoons’ – Richmond afternoons.
And he saw the best of what Richmond had to offer. All through those disastrous grandfinals where Collingwood won three of their four consecutive flags and then, finally, success in 1932 and 1934.
Years later, he would thrill my mind with stirring tales of the valour of Bentley, Foster, Geddes, Judkins and, of course, the great man himself. I never saw that great backline of Bolger, Sheahan and O’Neill, never thrilled to the sight of George Rudolph strutting his stuff, and I can only vaguely recall the last days of ‘Skinny’ Titus, but I felt that I knew those champions very well thanks to Dad’s word pictures.
I’m glad my Dad saw the 1967 and 1969 premierships. After that, he was too sick to go to the footy but I had three sons who used to accompany me to games and we would go around to ‘Grandy’s’ on Sundays and tell him all about our wins and losses. Of course, television helped him in his confinement.
One of the early games we attended in 1967, saw a young, dark-haired, angelic-faced recruit called Francis Bourke make an appearance. “Hmm,” said Dad, “he’s the son of Frank Bourke.” We watched him with interest. Frank Bourke had been a ‘shining light’ to us tragics, the next Titus. I was so infatuated with his short career that I used some of my meagre pocket-money to buy a photo of Frank. I still have that photo in my collection - shown here:
Son of Frank didn’t let us down.
It wasn’t long before Dad wouldn’t hear of anyone else. Francis was always going to be a champion. Funny when I now look back on it, Francis began his Richmond career as ‘Frank’ – as evident in this 1966 pre-season cutting:
Alf Brown of the Herald/Sun: Richmond hope two promising recruits will play on permit with their Reserves.
They are Eric Moore, 17, 6 ft. and 13st. 4lb., a centre or centre half-back from Coleraine, and Frank Bourke, 18, 6 ft. 1 in., and 12 st. 12 lb., a full-forward from Nathalia.
Moore, a bank clerk, has been transferred to the head office in Melbourne. He played one game with Richmond Reserves last year and this season did well against Bill Barrot in practice matches.
Bourke’s father, Frank, was a promising full-forward for Richmond about twenty years ago but a knee injury ended his career. Bourke hopes to play with Richmond Reserves on three match permits. If he does well he will ask for a clearance.
Well, the rest is history. Francis Bourke’s record is covered very well on PRE. There is a good segment on the Main Page under Player Q & As and Blast From The Past: 300 – For a Tiger who earned his stripes the hard way.
Dear old Dad came to footy late in life. Aussie Rules, that is, and he was only in his 20s when he saw his first match but that would be considered ‘late’ for a person nowadays.
Oh, he had played football – with a round ball – for his works team back in Coventry and the only time he had seen a ball shaped like ours was on a rugby pitch. He landed a job at a Richmond engineering firm and one Saturday afternoon found himself dragged along to watch a game at Punt Road oval.
Not realising what he was in for, he later said he watched the first quarter with his mouth open. Never before had he seen such ferocity on a sportsfield. The second quarter passed in a blur as he struggled to comprehend what was happening out there on that huge ground (huge by soccer standards). Someone gave him a beer at half-time and then the third quarter started.
Someone, a Richmond player, went down and Dad wanted his opponent ‘sent off’. The crowd laughed. Dad soon learnt the gentle art of barracking. By the end of the game, he was hooked. Wintry Saturday afternoons became ‘football afternoons’ – Richmond afternoons.
And he saw the best of what Richmond had to offer. All through those disastrous grandfinals where Collingwood won three of their four consecutive flags and then, finally, success in 1932 and 1934.
Years later, he would thrill my mind with stirring tales of the valour of Bentley, Foster, Geddes, Judkins and, of course, the great man himself. I never saw that great backline of Bolger, Sheahan and O’Neill, never thrilled to the sight of George Rudolph strutting his stuff, and I can only vaguely recall the last days of ‘Skinny’ Titus, but I felt that I knew those champions very well thanks to Dad’s word pictures.
I’m glad my Dad saw the 1967 and 1969 premierships. After that, he was too sick to go to the footy but I had three sons who used to accompany me to games and we would go around to ‘Grandy’s’ on Sundays and tell him all about our wins and losses. Of course, television helped him in his confinement.
One of the early games we attended in 1967, saw a young, dark-haired, angelic-faced recruit called Francis Bourke make an appearance. “Hmm,” said Dad, “he’s the son of Frank Bourke.” We watched him with interest. Frank Bourke had been a ‘shining light’ to us tragics, the next Titus. I was so infatuated with his short career that I used some of my meagre pocket-money to buy a photo of Frank. I still have that photo in my collection - shown here:
Son of Frank didn’t let us down.
It wasn’t long before Dad wouldn’t hear of anyone else. Francis was always going to be a champion. Funny when I now look back on it, Francis began his Richmond career as ‘Frank’ – as evident in this 1966 pre-season cutting:
Alf Brown of the Herald/Sun: Richmond hope two promising recruits will play on permit with their Reserves.
They are Eric Moore, 17, 6 ft. and 13st. 4lb., a centre or centre half-back from Coleraine, and Frank Bourke, 18, 6 ft. 1 in., and 12 st. 12 lb., a full-forward from Nathalia.
Moore, a bank clerk, has been transferred to the head office in Melbourne. He played one game with Richmond Reserves last year and this season did well against Bill Barrot in practice matches.
Bourke’s father, Frank, was a promising full-forward for Richmond about twenty years ago but a knee injury ended his career. Bourke hopes to play with Richmond Reserves on three match permits. If he does well he will ask for a clearance.
Well, the rest is history. Francis Bourke’s record is covered very well on PRE. There is a good segment on the Main Page under Player Q & As and Blast From The Past: 300 – For a Tiger who earned his stripes the hard way.
