I am grateful to have been asked to write a book about the Bulldogs' grand final win of last year. I am grateful because it takes my mind off the fear and uncertainty surrounding the historical clock that has started ticking with the inauguration of Donald Trump.
The Bulldogs' flag was good news, good news not just for the Bulldogs, but for anyone who wants to believe that causes which appear lost – and have appeared lost for decades – can suddenly come from nowhere and win. A club that famously had no luck suddenly found luck on its side. What does the 2016 grand final tell us? If the Dogs can do it, maybe we can too.
One fear I have with the book is that no one will believe what I write. Listen to the tone of footy discussions in this town. That tone is nothing like the tone of the conversations I have been having at the Bulldogs over the last couple of months with the 22 players in the grand final team. They proceed from a different platform, from a different set of understandings. They are positive, upbeat.
The last time I conducted an inquiry as comprehensive as this into a football club was in 1992 when I wrote my book about a year with the Dogs titled Southern Sky, Western Oval. I was shocked then by the toll this game takes on the bodies of those who play it. I am shocked anew.
When I met Tory Dickson at the club on Tuesday morning, he had just ridden 50 kilometres on a bike. That's because he's still not running. He played last year with groin injuries, nearly missing each of the last six games including the grand final. He battled loss of speed, loss of agility, had his hips strapped before every game and was still a crucial player. Post-season, he had an operation which replaced an eroded hip joint with gell and took shrapnel bone out of tendon. Only four Bulldogs played all 26 games last year.
It's also easy to overlook the fact that AFL players not only compete against players at other clubs, they compete against one another for a place in the team. Yet the Bulldog players talk with genuine feeling for their teammates who "missed" – that is, who missed the big ride, the top-of-the-mountain experience, that was the grand final victory. It's a competitive environment but it's not meanly so. It's not dog-eat-dog. There are other values at work in the club culture and these have not appeared by accident – a network of people at the club, including the players' leadership group, have worked very hard to create and maintain them.
My respect for AFL footballers has been refreshed and expanded – they deserve every cent they get paid. The game demands so much now – eight hour days (longer on camps), strategy meetings, group meetings, weight sessions, training sessions, handball alone sessions, all manner of physical tests ...
Dickson is a mature footballer. He's 29 and a man who fully appreciates what it takes to get to where he is. When I asked Dickson about drinking alcohol during the week, he replied: "I'd ask myself is this going to get the best out of me?"
His rules are – when the Dogs have a six-day break between games, no alcohol; a seven-day break, maybe one drink; an eight-day break, maybe a couple. But no more than that, not if you want to be in peak condition, which is where you have to be because this is a game of fine competitive edges. Everywhere, the standards are rising and the effort, just to compete, demands enormous energy.
Yet compete they do and more than one has said it's the best job he could possibly have. That's not just because they are young men who enjoy playing physical games. When you think about the old jobs that are disappearing from the workforce, particularly for unskilled males, and the nature of the new semi-permanent ones being created, I can see why, with all its risks and disappointments and demands, these young men view AFL football as they do.
What happened at the Bulldogs in 2015-16 can be likened to what happened at Geelong with the Leading Teams program in that a whole group of players bought into a common understanding about what being in a team means and then zealously pursued it. What differs in the two cases are the personalities involved and the methods they employed.
If I were to make a preliminary report to other clubs on the basis of what I've learnt so far from my inquiries at the Kennel, I'd say: "Beware. The energy is still there." That's what the Bulldogs have got – a special energy. I cannot say whether that will be sufficient to win them another premiership given: (1) the enormous part luck plays and (2) I have no idea what the morale is at any of the other clubs. But there's a buzz at the Dogs. What I'm trying to work out is how that buzz was created. Who did what?
I know I will never get the whole truth, that I will never be able to give due credit to everyone involved. There are all the people at the club from president Peter Gordon down to the supporters who travelled to Sydney in buses for the preliminary final against Greater Western Sydney. I'm here to tell those supporters that they played a part in that victory. I know because player after player has told me. It sounds like a cliche. Dare to believe it's true.
In 2016, the Dogs dared to believe. How many people outside the actual group of players believed they could win the flag? Very few, if any. The fact that virtually no one else believed didn't bother the Dogs one bit. That's the moral of the Bulldog victory to me. Get across, help your teammate. When our beliefs meet and merge, we are both stronger.