Chateau Garagiste – Starting the 2025 Vintage

Most of my friends are aware that I have been, for the past 20 years, an amateur wine maker, and that most of my garage is taken up with wine making equipment.

Since retiring 20 months ago, I have been able to devote more of my time to this hobby, and made (with my closest friend) about 10 dozen bottles of a relatively passable merlot last year.

So yesterday we set out on a road trip to Shiraz Republic in Heathcote to collect an order of 200kg of freshly picked shiraz grapes.

Above is a photo of me at Shiraz Republic in Heathcote, sipping a beer from the connected microbrewery whilst waiting for our order of 200kg of Shiraz grapes to be ready for collection. Don’t I look happy and contented.

Above is what 200kg of shiraz grapes from Heathcote looks like.

Above is the wine crusher (with destemmer included) in my garage.

Another look above at our grapes being crushed.

What 200kg of grapes look like after they are crushed.

After we crushed the grapes, we took a baume reading with our hydrometer to determine potential alcohol content. This indicates that the final product will have an alcohol content of 12%.

We usually wait until March or April to buy our grapes. By then, the grapes are a little drier and therefore higher in sugar content, so we are accustomed to a baume reading suggesting 14% or 15% potential alcohol.

I expect that by getting the first batch of grapes so early, we might get a bit more than half of the 200kg converted into wine (we usually get about half).

It will be interesting to see how we do with this batch.

The Veuve Clicquot

I must admit, for all that I love wine and spend lots of money drinking premium reds, I count the times I have actually drank real Champagne, as in the stuff they make in that region of France, rather than other sparkling ones, on one hand.

I probably should explain myself a little better.

In terms of my origins, my father was from Treviso, a province just north of Venice. I have been both to the walled medieval city from which the province draws its name, and to Cusignana, the actual village somewhere north of there where my father was born and raised til age 17.

It turns out that Cusignana is smack in the middle of one of the seven wine regions where Prosecco is made, according to the appellations for such matters common to Italy. Have a look at the map:

https://www.winetourism.com/wine-appellation/prosecco/#:~:text=Prosecco%20wine%20region%20belongs%20to,to%20the%20city%20of%20Venice.

All around my father’s village, there are grape vines planted, mostly of the Prosecco grape. They are mostly owned by a local winery established by Canadian emigres who have returned home to the village:

That means, since I acquired a greater knowledge of my origins and my ancestral village, that I am going to have more than a slight leaning towards drinking wines from my ancestral village, if I am to drink sparkling wines at all. [Mind you, I do still drink wines called Prosecco even though they are made from that grape in Australia, and feel no guilt at all about letting down the home town team.]

I also, through my Uncle Mario who migrated to Turin after the War, have relatives who live in Asti, a town just south east of Turin where other famous and synonymous sparkling wines are made. I will drink that too, in honour of those kinfolk.

In childhood, going to the weddings of older cousins, I would be allowed a splash of sparkling wine in a glass, being Italian. We usually called that Champagne, but it was actually something really really cheap – mostly Stock Gala Spumante, a sparkling wine with a plastic cork wrapped in leopard spotted foil.

Getting older, when of lawful drinking age and going to parties and functions where sparkling wine was served, I think it mostly was Australian stuff, which might in the days before EU threats (ie in the early 1990s) have been still called Champagne, and later Methode Champagnoise, but which now is not allowed to be called Champagne at all.

The moral of the story, to borrow from the old Bacardi rum commercials, is that if you live in Australia, you probably drink sparkling wines which are anything but Champagne.

Which means that I have, at age 55, yet to try Moet Chandon (although I have drank the wines Chandon makes in the Yarra Valley), Bollinger, Pol Roger (ie Churchill’s favourite), Mumm’s, or Dom Peringnon.

Nor have I ever drank any Veuve Clicquot.

That is probably a huge gap in my wine appreciation education, for I have known the story of the Veuve for many years.

The Veuve (French for Widow) Clicquot is probably the most innovative figure in the history of Champagne making, if not the history of all wine making since the Babylonians discovered that yeast could turn grape juice into something joyous.

Amongst her innovations are the introduction of Champagne vintages, pink champagne, and the practice of removing the yeast plug from partly fermented bottles and topping the bottles up with wine and sugar. I think I read that the cages around the corks were also her idea.

Yesterday I went and saw the arthouse biopic Widow Clicquot, which is a fascinating account of her early struggles as a newly widowed businesswoman, seeking to keep her late husband’s wine business going, and succeeding against all the odds.

It is a great tribute to and celebration of someone who was truly a creative and formidable woman, who has done so much for wine making.

I also expect, after this film has been seen by enough people, that the price of a bottle of Veuve will spiral upwards, and that of a bottle of Moet will drop.

Hopefully at some point soon, my bottle club decides on Champagne as a theme, so I can buy a bottle of the Veuve and drink it in her honour.

Why I Changed Health Insurance Companies This Year

When I was a child, our family had a private health insurance policy with HBA. We kept it til the mid 1980s when Medicare came in, and then my parents made a decision to drop it.

Throughout my twenties and early thirties, I took my health for granted and did not bother with private health insurance. Then, after I started getting slugged with the excess medicare surcharge after I suddenly got a very big spike in my annual earnings (lots of work related travel and overtime over a couple of years), I decided to return to HBA.

I did not shop around or compare the merits or reputations of health insurance companies. I just went for my internal default option and chose the company which was most familiar, insofar as I had known that my family had used them over two decades earlier.

Soon after, HBA got taken over by BUPA, a foreign company, and inertia caused me to continue with them.

There’s a lot wrong there, of course. For example, if I had gone with NIB, I would have picked up some shares when NIB demutualised. Aside from which, BUPA is a sponsor of the Carlton Football Club, which does nothing for me. Along the way, BUPA’s partnership with AGL (another of my defaults – the utility company) ended, so less value there.

Still, I did not change policies – aside from once doing a half hearted price comparison with Australian Unity sometime a few years before COVID.

So, what caused me to dump BUPA for HCF last week after 21 years of loyally paying up my membership premiums each year?

I did not plan to do it. My habit is to pay my membership premiums annually, before 1 April, so as to avoid the coming year’s price increases. As I do not like owing money, I prefer to pay my bills in advance (a silly move, I know!), particularly if I have the money earmarked for it sitting in my bank account.

So I went into the BUPA store, and was told that their system would not allow me to pay 12 months in advance so far in front of where my current policy was paid up. This is a bit silly – they should have shut up and taken my money!

I did ask what the premium for 12 months was. I was told, without any contrition, that my current policy would cost just over $2700 – as compared to just under $2200 last March.

I ran the numbers on my calculator app. That was a 25% hike in price. I was shocked.

Something shifted in me. Much as I usually subscribe to the doctrine of ‘rational ignorance’ – ie that shopping around is not worth the hassle most of the time, we were talking about $500.

A one off 25% price rise is more than enough to sever the ties of nominal baseless unrecipricated loyalty and make me think twice.

A quick visit over the corridor to Medicare indicated that Medicare would charge me $3100.

I decided to walk a little further to the HCF office. There, I was quoted about $2300 for the same policy.

Health insurance is usually rather Byzantine to the layman. The various inclusions and exclusions, the claiming of the rebate (I have always claimed it even though promotions at work, growth of my share portfolio, and bracket creep have made it doubtful that I am eligible, preferring to sort it all out at tax time), and excess makes it hard to be certain that the Silver Plus cover I was claiming at BUPA was the same as that I was being offered at HCF.

So I decided to double check with BUPA. Rather than going back into the office, I decided to lie on my couch and call them to clarify some details of the policy. The wait time was meant to be 35 minutes. However, there was an option to get called back when I got to the front of the queue. I chose that option. It did not work, and kept me on hold. When I got to the front of the queue, the operator told me that the IVRU had inadvertently dumped me into a different queue from the one I had asked for – so I was transferred.

It ended up talking more than an hour all up to get the questions answered over the phone. I was not impressed.

Having confirmed what I needed to know about the existing policy, and being riled up by the unresponsiveness of the call centre technology and delays, I decided that I was going to drop BUPA after 21 years, provided that the HCF policy was sufficiently similar in coverage.

The next day, I went into the HCF store and asked the same questions about excess, rebate being factored in, and coverage. When it was confirmed that the policy was as similar to what I had with BUPA, but was $400 cheaper, I did not hesitate anymore.

Why now? I am not looking at dumping Telstra as my mobile/internet provider. Nor am I looking at changing banks. Nor do I see any need to dump AGL as my energy retailer. RACV as my house insurance is also safe.

I suppose it is a number of factors. The 25% price hike was something which I could not overlook. The lack of empathy from the sales rep, as compared to the friendly person at HCF is another. And the poor quality of the call centre system (ie the automated part) which made two separate serious mistakes which made my time feel as not valued by BUPA did not impress me.

As well, I have spent a lot of time on calls and emails this past month trying to sort out my electricity meter reconfiguration with my electricity supplier and my less than stellar solar panel installers. My patience with poor customer service is starting to wear thin and I am now much more inclined to reward price rises and poor customer service with what they truly merit.

Does The Super Bowl Actually Matter?

Given that Super Bowl LIX kicks off at about 10.30am AEDST tomorrow morning, it has been making its way into my news feeds a bit lately.

I don’t actually care that much about gridiron, and have never found the patience to watch an entire game, to be honest.

Tomorrow will not be an exception. Apparently many people will be gathering at pubs around Melbourne to watch the game, but I will not be one of them. This is because, whilst retired and able to drink beer whenever I want to, I don’t see starting at 10am when the Anglers Hotel opens its doors as a wise life choice. [I’m planning to do lunch at the Savage Club on both Wednesday and Thursday, and both lunches will involve wine.]

As one concession to this special occasion however, I have dragged my Cleveland Browns jersey out of the wardrobe to wear tomorrow. When I bought it 27 months ago from Rebel Sport for about $40 – a deep discount – the player named and numbered on the back had just left the Browns for some team more likely to be successful (a familiar story), and I have never really paid close enough attention to the NFL to find a reason to wear it.

But for tomorrow, I will make an effort – me being quite contrarian in my choice of NFL team.

However, the interest in the Super Bowl on this far flung corner of the globe from the USA does beg the question as to why does this matter to us anyway?

As I have written in my blog several times, organised sport, both in terms of players and spectators, is a matter of economics.

The Industrial Revolution led to the rise of the organised football codes in the UK initially, as greater wealth and leisure time enabled people to rise above the drudgery of their normal dreary lives to enjoy something joyous and uplifting. Horse racing, the ‘sport of kings’ became more accessible as more people had money to bet on it or to own thoroughbreds (a sub breed of Arabian horse descended from 3 stallions and 7 mares imported to the UK in the 18th century).

The Victorian Gold Rush suddenly made 1850s Melbourne the wealthiest city in the world for four decades – bringing with it the early development of Australian Rules football, the popularisation of horse racing, and the birth of Test Cricket.

Having the time to watch a sporting match of some sort, or to buy overpriced tickets to that game, to say nothing of the associated fan gear, is a sign of both individual wealth, and, more broadly, of societal wealth.

We live in a society where people can afford to ‘chuck a sickie’ to day drink in a pub whilst watching a game popular only in one particular country most of us never want to visit, and to buy the otherwise obscure fan gear of limited relevance to our usual sporting alliances.

That the opportunity is there for us to congregate in such pubs and bars across the country to do so indicates that this is merely not a matter of individual high disposable income, it is a sign that there are enough people with sufficient discretionary money to spend on this that pubs are going to open early on a Monday (virtually the only pubs who are open before 12pm these days are those with poker machines) in order to rake in the money from the punters.

I suppose that this is a good thing – that we are wealthy enough to celebrate even the most irrelevant sporting events at the most inconvenient time imaginable despite all the regular background chatter about interest rates, housing inaffordability, and related economic doom and gloom.

The Rosstown Tavern

You have to feel for the good burghers of Rosstown. The founding developer of this village, 7 miles southeast of Melbourne, William Murray Ross, had gone broke after the land boom of the 1880s went bust in the early 1890s, and all the promise and potential which had come with his big dreams had evaporated.

And so, when they heard that Scottish-American industrialist and philanthropist Andrew Carnegie was donating money for civic good works around the globe, they decided to change the name of their town from Rosstown to Carnegie in 1909.

They hoped that as a result of this flattery, Andrew Carnegie might find it in his heart (and wallet) to fund a public library for his namesake town.

This did not happen, but the name Carnegie stuck, as a reminder of this failed attempt at flattering a foreign tycoon into parting with his money.

Perhaps it was better than leaving the original name to remind the townsfolk of the trials and tribulations of the land boom and the failed speculations of their local dodgy property developer.

The only remnants of the Rosstown name now, over a century later, are Rosstown Road, and the Rosstown Hotel, which sits on Dandenong Road.

I was in Carnegie recently which is a rare thing for me. The pretty old wooden railway station, surrounded by peppercorn trees, has been overshadowed and superseded by the skyrail station, and whilst this gets rid of a level crossing bottleneck, it does make the area feel a little colder and impersonal.

I was there to have a look at the local bottleshop, which was formerly known for its back vintages. Sadly, whilst it is still of excellent quality, back vintages no longer make up a part of their business plan.

Hence, out of curiosity, I decided to pop into the Rosstown Hotel for a look.

Aside from the Nottinghill Hotel on Ferntree Gully Road, I am not particularly familiar with any of the pubs in the intermediate southeastern suburbs. Travelling to and from Monash Uni to my home in Footscray took long enough in my younger days, and when I worked in Dandenong, the journey home was even longer and more tiring.

So I was interested in seeing what the Rosstown Hotel was all about. From the outside, it is done in a Spanish Mission style, with attractive terracotta tiles on the roof – I think there is another pub nearby which has been done in a similar style. [Of course, do not quote me on that – I don’t pass through there often enough to have the landmarks engraved into my mental map of Greater Melbourne.]

The inside however, is a bit of a shock. It is a giant rabbit warren of poker machines and possibly nothing else. The only other pub I can think of in Greater Melbourne with such a large poker machine presence is the Braybrook Hotel, approximately 11km due west of the city.

I heard tell, around the time that Crown Casino was opened, that no other casino was ever to be permitted (or at least for very many years) within 10km of the city. That, I heard, made large pub venues just over the 10km radius, even more valuable as potential alternative sites for future casinos.

That might not be true, and I am not particularly interested in digging out the realities of Crown’s casino license and whatever undertakings were made 30 years ago when it opened. But what is true is that the Rosstown Hotel is, in terms of poker machines, almost a casino in its own right, as are the Braybrook Hotel and Ashley Hotel (a former uber-dive pub with sticky carpet and ball point pen graffiti on its walls) on the other side of town.

In the case of the Rosstown and Braybrook, I fear that these are pubs which could have been something better for the local communities than de facto casinos.

But it is what it is. Poker machines have ruined a lot of pubs in the past three decades, and represent a lack of imagination and creativity on the part of pub owners, many of whom are now large corporations who care nothing about a local community.

Manhattan in Maribyrnong

There is an oblong of land (as a child I preferred the word ‘oblong’ over rectangle) in Maribyrnong, bordered by Rosamond Road, Williamsons Road, Wests Road, and Raleigh Road (fun fact – the latter three roads are named after early land owners from colonial times). This land has mostly been industrial until recently, although it has partly transitioned since the late 1980s to retail showrooms along Rosamond Road.

Over the past decade or so, three high rise apartment complexes have sprung up in this oblong. Two are at opposing ends of Wests Road, and one in a side street somewhere off Rosamond Road.

Hence, whenever I stroll down Canning Street, I do not have to look as far as the CBD 11 km away to see a skyline – we have one 2 km away just over the river.

This is just the start of something big.

The northeast corner of this oblong is a very large site, which used to be occupied by a large warehouse. This has now been bulldozed and two large apartment towers (one being 30 stories tall) will be built there with an estimated completion date of 2032.

All along Raleigh Road from that corner, there are various other warehouses. One is a storage facility, and another is the Victorian HQ for some Buddhist sect whose name escapes me (all I know is that Suzanne Vega, my favourite singer, is an adherent to it).

As land gets more expensive in Maribyrnong, I strongly suspect that those warehouses would not be the most profitable use for those locations, at which point we will see more bulldozers and a few more apartment towers going up.

Nor do I see any of the side streets off Rosamond Road remaining as they are either.

Ultimately, I see a future where almost the entire oblong is taken over by apartment towers, aside from the various furniture showrooms located along Rosamond Road.

And then we have the explosives factory site immediately to the north. As I have written before, remediation of this site is going to be extremely expensive, in the hundreds of millions. The contamination has so far delayed all the proposals which have circulated for the entire length of my residency in Avondale Heights. But I suspect that remediation does not need to be done that thoroughly if high rise apartments are constructed on that site.

And thus I believe that we will see a very impressive array of high rise towers in West Maribyrnong within the next two decades, something to rival what has happened in Moonee Ponds and central Footscray in recent years.

Neoliberalism and its Malcontents

Keanu Reeves is one of my favourite actors. He has done quite a lot of interesting roles, starting with playing the stoner boyfriend of Martha Plimpton in the 1989 film Parenthood, where he says ‘Let’s record our love’ whilst brandishing a polaroid camera.

Since that role, he has belied typecasting as a stoner, despite his first lead role being Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan in the Bill and Ted trilogy. Aside from Ted, he has earned great acclamation as John Wick in the surreal ultra-noir series about a hitman at war with the underworld, and in the Matrix franchise as the hero Neo.

Neo is not usually used as a noun, either Proper or Common. Neo is usually used as a prefix, based on the Latin, denoting something new or revived, usually in a political context, and usually in a pejorative way.

For example, we have ‘neo-conservatives’, or neo-cons for short.

Since 9/11 or thereabouts, neo-cons have mostly been regarded as that faction of foreign interventionist Americans who supported the second Gulf War and other military misadventures engaged in during the presidency of Bush fils.

However, if you go back a little further, to the early 1980s, people would describe neo-conservatives as former socialists who had abandoned the socialist cause to support the free world in its struggle against communist tyranny. In 1984, for instance, I remember reading an article on the legacy of Eric Blair which argued ‘Orwell would be a neo-conservative if he were alive today’.

Similarly, we have the term ‘neo-liberal’.

Back in the late 1980s, when I did a course on US Politics – ‘America: Decay of the Liberal Dream’ taught by the late Professor Ray Nicholls if you are curious – neo-liberalism was a new American development in American liberalism.

[Let’s do a quick pause here to differentiate in the use of the terms ‘liberal’ and ‘conservative’. In the USA, a liberal is usually someone to the left of centre and a conservative is someone to the right of centre. In the rest of the Anglosphere, a liberal is an adherent to a particular individualist political philosophy which values individual liberty, whilst a conservative is someone who adheres to a somewhat more cryptic political philosophy which shares a lot of the same values, but which also values traditional social and cultural values. Both are considered right of centre.]

1980s neo-liberalism was some form of progressive social democratic political thinking, but which had an American accent to it (Professor Nicholls did emphasise to us that no one had successfully explained why exactly socialism had never developed in America unlike in other Western countries).

Neo-liberalism today is very different from what it was defined as back then. Neo-liberalism is what is now used to describe, usually in a very pejorative way, what in the late 1980s was usually termed ‘neo-classical liberalism’, or more simply, classical liberalism.

Classical Liberalism can probably be contained best in the works of such products of the Scottish Enlightenment as John Locke, Adam Smith, James Mill, David Hume, and John Stuart Mill.

With economists such as Von Hayek and Milton Friedman (as distinct from his son David, who termed himself an anarcho-capitalist and therefore perhaps a ‘post-neo-classical liberal’ – a term I have coined myself) classical liberalism underwent a post war intellectual revival. This is what led to the common use of the term ‘neo-classical liberal’.

Which leads me to a recently published pamphlet which I read yesterday during the 40 degree heatwave, The Invisible Doctrine: The Secret History of Neoliberalism (& How It Came to Control Your Life).

I call it a pamphlet in the old fashioned polemical sense, as when Thomas Paine published his essays on his political views over 200 years ago. It’s only about 160 pages in length, and is there to, with a few selective quotes and some expositions of recent political, social and economic developments, blame this amorphous philosophy of neoliberalism for all the ills currently facing the world.

One of its problems is that it hardly quotes any Liberal philosophers at all, except in passing, and when it does, it gets it out of context. On quoting Adam Smith on page 4, in order to introduce his famed concept of the ‘the invisible hand’, the authors state:

‘The rich, he claimed:

…are led by an invisible hand to make nearly the same distribution of the necessities of life, which would have been made, had the earth been divided into equal portions among all its inhabitants, and thus without intending it, without knowing it, advance the interest of the society.’

The first four words in the quotation marks above are the words of the authors, and the following words in italics are from Adam Smith himself.

A more fuller version of this mention (From Smith’s The Theory of Moral Sentiments ) to put it in proper context is as follows:

The proud and unfeeling landlord views his extensive fields, and without a thought for the wants of his brethren, in imagination consumes himself the whole harvest … [Yet] the capacity of his stomach bears no proportion to the immensity of his desires… the rest he will be obliged to distribute among those, who prepare, in the nicest manner, that little which he himself makes use of, among those who fit up the palace in which this little is to be consumed, among those who provide and keep in order all the different baubles and trinkets which are employed in the economy of greatness; all of whom thus derive from his luxury and caprice, that share of the necessaries of life, which they would in vain have expected from his humanity or his justice…The rich only select from the heap what is most precious and agreeable. They consume little more than the poor, and in spite of their natural selfishness and rapacity, though they mean only their own convenience, though the sole end which they propose from the labors of all the thousands whom they employ, be the gratification of their own vain and insatiable desires, they divide with the poor the produce of all their improvements… They are led by an invisible hand to make nearly the same distribution of the necessaries of life, which would have been made, had the earth been divided into equal portions among all its inhabitants, and thus without intending it, without knowing it, advance the interest of the society, and afford means to the multiplication of the species. When Providence divided the earth among a few lordly masters, it neither forgot nor abandoned those who seemed to have been left out in the partition.

To fill out our understanding of Smith’s Invisible Hand for proper context, let’s look at the only other time he mentioned it, in The Wealth of Nations:

[…] every individual necessarily labours to render the annual revenue of the society as great as he can. He generally, indeed, neither intends to promote the public interest, nor knows how much he is promoting it. By preferring the support of domestic to that of foreign industry, he intends only his own security; and by directing that industry in such a manner as its produce may be of the greatest value, he intends only his own gain, and he is in this, as in many other cases, led by an invisible hand to promote an end which was no part of his intention. Nor is it always the worse for the society that it was no part of it. By pursuing his own interest he frequently promotes that of the society more effectually than when he really intends to promote it. I have never known much good done by those who affected to trade for the public good. It is an affectation, indeed, not very common among merchants, and very few words need be employed in dissuading them from it.

Whilst the authors open their pamphlet with an introduction to the Invisible Hand, so as to justify naming their book The Invisible Doctrine, they immediately abandon any further discussion of Adam Smith or any of the related philosophy. John Locke is only mentioned very briefly in the opening, and the utilitarians Mill, Hume, and Mill fils are not mentioned anywhere at all.

Nor is there any genuine effort to try and define what Liberalism is, as a political philosophy which has developed over the past 340 years, or even to outline its values, beyond a few selectively chosen phrases used as cliches. Discussing the merits of promoting individual rights and liberty, as opposed to the appalling alternatives, is beyond the authors.

The remainder of the philosophical exposition of the pamphlet, if you can indeed describe it as a philosophical exposition, is dedicated to misquoting from Hayek and Friedman, whom, whilst valuable for reviving interest in Classical Liberal philosophy amongst economists and politicians, are not themselves particularly original political philosophers – unlike Locke and Smith.

More energy, of course, is devoted to exposing the funding sources and supporters of organisations and think tanks which advocate for policies based on what the authors describe as neoliberal ideas.

The authors argue that the entire purpose of Neoliberalism is to use corporations and the state to enrich an overclass of oligarchs at the expense of the rest of the world.

I am left thinking that the authors have as much understanding of modern finance and capitalism as Karl Marx did (his straw men capitalists with their monopoly of the means of production showed a profound ignorance of the limited liability corporation and its role in economic development).

This impression is exacerbated throughout the book of the phrase ‘Neoliberal International’, as if, like with the revolutionaries and subversive Marxists of the 20th Century with the infamous Communist International, there is some sort of overarching organisation of Neoliberals who plot and scheme for the accumulation of all the wealth in the world. How different is this from the conspiracy theorists who argue about the trilateral commission, the Bilderburg group, or the Illuminati?

Liberalism, particularly in its Classical form, exists, and as a political philosophy, it is beautiful. Neoliberalism, as expressed by disgruntled and discredited former Marxists looking for a straw man to hurl political rocks at, does not.

The Factory Of Sadness Remains Open

Screenshot

Why the Cleveland Browns? Why not the Dallas Cowboys (who have a famous team of cheerleaders) or the Green Bay Packers or the New England Patriots? If one is going to root for (to use that quaint American word they use instead of ‘barrack’) an NFL team, something which is not exactly normal for an Australian born and raised in the western suburbs of Melbourne, then why not choose a team which actually has a history of winning.

After all, I do not have any links to Cleveland or to Ohio, aside from watching the occasional episode of the Drew Carey Show sometime in the 1990s. I did not even actually know where Ohio was in the USA until I read The Pioneers, David McCullough’s engrossing account of the start of the westward migration of Americans in the early 1800s. (It also, sadly, was the last of McCullough’s books – all of which are worth reading.). But I think I had already chosen the Browns as my team before that.

To be honest, I support the Browns out of sheer perversity. As a supporter of the Footscray Football Club (aka the Western Bulldogs), I am used to feeling the love for an underachieving sporting team. Indeed, the 2016 premiership miracle has so sated my appetite for success that I will feel the warm inner glow from that year even if we do not ever win another flag for the rest of my life.

The Cleveland Browns have not won any championship since 1964 – before the Super Bowl era. Nor have they ever played in the Super Bowl. You can tell, as a Bulldogs supporter, that this resonates with me.

Their old stadium was described as a ‘factory of sadness’. The suffering of Browns fans is alluded to in countless TV shows and movies. Memes abound, such as the one with a despairing Browns fan and the caption ‘I once left my 3 Browns tickets on my windshield. I came back and there were 9.’ or the one with two hot women Browns fans ‘Why are females Browns fans cool to date? Cause they’re not expecting a ring in the future!’

I keep the Browns app on my phone so that I can check their progress each NFL season.

Given that it is coming up to Super Bowl soon, I opened the app this evening to read about the Browns’ 2024-25 season, and it was truly bad! They went 3-18 – which even for the Browns is a pretty poor year.

The Browns last made the playoffs (American term for finals) in 2023. They lost in the first week.

Of interest to me at the time was that I received an email from the Melbourne Browns supporter group (I did register for this several years ago) inviting me to attend a pub (Bell’s Family Hotel in South Melbourne) which was playing the playoff game and watch the game with other local Browns supporters.

I did not go, mostly because it was early on a Sunday morning, and I prefer not to start drinking alcohol until after 12pm, but I regret it now, particularly as it was the only invitation to a gathering of local Browns supporters I have received to this point in time. I suppose they only convene when the Browns make the playoffs, as I assume the pubs around Melbourne who show gridiron games live don’t bother to show Browns games unless they are in the playoffs.

So I will not be going to watch a Browns game at a pub anytime real soon. This is a bit of a pity, as I have accumulated heaps of fan gear – t-shirt, hoodie, and jersey (with the name of a player who left them around the same time I bought the jersey at a deep discount from Rebel Sport) – and would love an excuse to wear the gear.

Why Teams Need Their Rivalries

The AFL does not do ‘Rivalry Round’ anymore, or at least not at the moment. When they did do them, typically we would see the interstate clubs would each play their local rival, Carlton Vs Collingwood (obviously), Essendon Vs Richmond (mostly because of the Kevin Sheedy link, but possibly because of that infamous melee in 1974), Hawthorn Vs North Melbourne (because of the three grand finals in the 1970s they played against each other in), Melbourne Vs Geelong (just because…) and Western Bulldogs Vs St Kilda (because we both were bottom of the ladder teams with a distinct lack of success).

The supposed rivalry between my team, the Bulldogs, and St Kilda, does not really have too much bite to it. Failing to win a plurality of premierships (pre 2016 at least) does not really make for a satisfying rivalry. True, St Kilda did beat us in a couple of preliminary finals circa 2010 (or thereabouts), but their failure to then go onto glory erases any real sting.

At best, a rivalry with St Kilda is like drinking zero-alcohol wine – what is the point?

We do have a few teams where the Bulldogs have a better claim to a rivalry. We are now 1-1 in VFL/AFL Grand Finals with Melbourne, as well as being socio-economically different supporter bases. We are 1-0 in Grand Finals with Sydney, and have tended to beat them most times we meet them in recent years. We are 0-1 in Grand Finals with Hawthorn, as well as having been defeated by them in countless lesser finals in my lifetime (such as the 1985 Prelim).

Looking at other teams which I consider hoo-doo teams for us come September, Adelaide seems to have the wood on us every time we play them in a final – not just in the 1997-8 Prelims where they robbed us of Grand Final appearances, but more recently in the 2015 finals series, where a disgruntled second string player allegedly leaked the game plan to his brother in the Adelaide squad. Geelong has also beaten us in more finals than I care to remember, starting with the 1976 elimination final, and most emphatically in the 1992 Prelim (I left that game at three quarter time feeling quite depressed).

And then we have Greater Western Sydney, the newest of our rivals.

In the year of our Premiership Miracle, 2016, the Western Bulldogs slogan was BE MORE BULLDOG. That features on my membership scarf from that year (the one time I opted for a scarf rather than a membership cap).

In a gesture which could be described as either mischievous or mean spirited (I tend to think the latter), GWS choose to create a website that year entitled BE LESS BULLDOG, where they listed all the members of their coaching staff and playing list who had formerly been connected to the Bulldogs.

Obviously, with former local boy Callum Ward and former captain Ryan Griffin both playing for GWS then, it was a very sore spot for me and other Bulldogs supporters.

Possibly that also has to do with the realisation that the AFL probably gave serious consideration to the viability of giving the Western Bulldogs incentives to relocate to Western Sydney at the time that the two expansion clubs were being considered, similar to what was offered to North Melbourne if they were to base themselves permanently in the Gold Coast.

Happily we got the last laugh. Our team went to their obscurely located home ground somewhere in darkest Western Sydney, beat them in that closely fought Preliminary Final to rob them of a place in the Grand Final, and then the following week won the AFL Premiership in what concluded a month long fairy tale.

Even sweeter, former GWS player Tom Boyd kicked three goals for the Bulldogs in that Grand Final, all in the final quarter at a time when we needed to pull away and win the game.

Three years later, when GWS did make a grand final, memes reminded AFL fans that both GWS and Tom Boyd had kicked three goals in a Grand Final. Ha!

Since that time, we have had a rather intense rivalry with GWS. We win some, they win some. We do not give quarter.

It is safe to say that GWS can be considered the New Enemy of the Western Bulldogs.

Of all the other teams that I have listed above, I think that Hawthorn has the most claim to being our Ancient Enemy. This goes back to when they beat us in the 1961 Grand Final, a defeat which has not been avenged yet. Since then, aside from the 1985 Preliminary Final, they have beaten us in a long list of finals in my lifetime.

And yet there is one game which sticks out in my mind – the 2016 Semi Final. That was when we, against all expectations, defeated Hawthorn when they were the reigning premiers. I fondly remember at the 11 minute mark of the final quarter, when we goaled and went 42 points up, all the Hawthorn supporters started leaving. We started singing ‘Good night Hawthorn good night!’ at them as they walked out, the game now beyond doubt.

Hawthorn have bounced back from that – they beat us in that elimination final last September, reminding us that our Ancient Enemy remains a potent one, a truly existential threat for our success and survival.

These rivalries add some flavour to every sporting competition. There is greater satisfaction when a much hated rival club is defeated, and greater angst when they win. This is what truly makes people passionate rather than apathetic about supporting their teams.

I for one would love to see the Bulldogs triumph in an AFL finals series where they eliminate (in the following order) Adelaide, GWS, Geelong, and then Hawthorn.

That would be extremely satisfying.

Not Everyone Likes Rock N Roll….

I just finished reading Land Of The Long Weekend, the late Ronald Conway’s 1978 critique of 1970s Australian society, culture and consumerism.

It was heavy going. Whilst I am quite well read, Conway was even more read, in the way of an autodidact, and fond of quoting his interpretations of many famed authors and philosophers throughout his text, which made it necessary to go slowly and concentrate on comprehending every word. I suspect he needed to do this because, despite becoming a lecturer in Psychology at RMIT, he was self taught and wanted to prove to his readers that his intellect was just as good, or better, than that of people who went to university rather than having to drop out of school at age 15.

Conway, as one can tell from the titles of his books – The Great Australian Stupor was that of his previous opus – had a very jaundiced view of Australian society. He was more or less contemporary with the much more famous Manning Clark and Donald Horne, with whom one could say that he shared the outsider’s desire to mock his surroundings, although his own critiques were from a more conservative viewpoint.

I do not think I got much value out of reading Conway, and it is telling that whilst Donald Horne’s The Lucky Country is still in print after 61 years, Conway’s own book is only indirectly now remembered for the title, which occasionally gets used out of context for the economic inertia of our society which supposedly results from our proliferation of public holidays, rostered days off, and tendency to ‘chuck a sickie’. [Indeed, the reason I ordered an out of print copy through Amazon was because I wondered whether this book addressed these latter issues – it doesn’t, not really.]

But on page 296 came a passage on Conway’s dislike for Rock N Roll. I will quote the best bit of it below:

‘The recent death of the ‘daddy’ of rock, Elvis Presley, at the age of 40, bloated, exploited as well as exploiting, taught no moral to his ageing followers. They mourned his hermaphroditic crooning and jelly-postures of sentimental lewdness as if he had been the dead god Adonis instead of an instrument of the most culturally degrading mass profit industry since the African slave trade.’

I wonder whether Conway preferred classical music over rock, but I am not too inclined to worry about it. Personally, I am rediscovering the 1950s big band Italian lounge music my parents used to play on the weekends in my childhood.