One of a kind

YOU would never meet a more eclectic bunch. Tradies, teachers, journos, a stonemason and roustabout.

Yet this disparate group clicked when gathering once a year as a club with a name like no other — the Windsock Club or, officially, the In the outer, near the scoreboard, down from the walkway, toward the Windsock Club.

Obviously too cumbersome to emboss on a business card, but business was never on the agenda. Rather, it was VFL football, a passion members shared despite their diverse backgrounds.

Not all Aussie football, though. They convened for one particular game, Geelong vEssendon, with the majority mad Cats fans and the rest a sprinkling of Bomber supporters. And while their allegiances were poles apart, they were all devotees of the great game for its skills, athleticism and courage.

Towering over the pack was gentle giant Johnny Mac, who turned his hand to driving tourist buses down the Great Ocean Road; Cocko, a Western District roustabout who doubled as a demon chippy; Spud, a sparky on the planes at Avalon; and Freddie, who was in heaven on a curling left-toright six-footer at Torquay.

Others wielded the tools, too, like builders Harty and Jimmy, while public servants Johnny Hart and Paul McG, ex-Ford engineer Hornso and importer-cumpurveyor of health foods Hendo added a certain flourish.

Affable educator Macca, from Ocean Grove, Trev, who threw in accountancy to drive taxis up Hamilton way, and stonemason Steve and brother Pratty thrived on the camaraderie. Squirrel was another. I never knew his name; he was just Squirrel.

With fun and refreshments on tap, an assortment of Addy journos was inevitable. Like Coodabeen Champion and former football writer Coves; senior writer Beggsy, who clocked up almost 40 years in the ink business; Slats, a brilliant feature writer and cracking bloke; Wanci, who departed the dingy readers’ room for a spot on the upstairs sub-editors’ desk; and Stubbsy, masterful head snapper for many years.

The club name was no great feat of imagination. Before the Windsockers originated in 1980, several lads attended most home games at Kardinia Park. If you wanted to join them, the directions were simple: “They’ll be standing in the outer, near the scoreboard.”

Now before accusations of gender imbalance, an explainer.

Wives and partners were too intelligent to partake in an early Saturday champagne and orange juice breakfast and listen to the ravings of diehard footy fans. (Actually, I think the beverage was spumante, not that anyone raised on hops would know the difference.)

Nor were they interested in wasting the afternoon standing in freezing weather on the windswept outer, or afterwards lining up at Mrs Clat’s Sawyers Arms Hotel for a final frothy.

The first venue was a given — the Moon family’s Criterion Hotel in Ryrie St, a handball from the Addy’s then headquarters. Before a name change to something nondescript, the fine establishment featured a Press Bar highlighting the work of Addy photographers. The cosy bar was a second home to newshounds and was mourned when the pub changed hands.

That initial breakfast with the lot became a season highlight and many more have followed. One year, the club moved to the Argyle Hotel on the publican’s promise of free transport to the ground.

The arrival of an empty removalist van did not amuse. The Windsockers demanded taxis and the publican begrudgingly coughed up the fares. OHS, you see.

The following year the club convened at the Big Fella’s place in Fyans St. The late Peter Burnett and his Lord of the Isles Hotel were synonymous with the Cats and it was an obvious fit.

Peter, whose staggering philanthropy was never advertised, looked after the Windsockers, and there they remained. Mine host became the time-honoured VIP while numerous players dropped in en route to the ground, such as captains Ian Nankervis and Michael Turner. But the standout guest was the legendary E.J. Whitten, and the knockabout character from Footscray never let the Windsockers down.

After opening with a tape of his memorable on-air bloopers (Xrated), his game review was followed by a fiery State of Origintype address to motivate members. Then customary vice-like handshakes all around, before charging out the front door bound for the old 3GL commentary box. He always mentioned the Windsockers in his call.

Some members are no longer with us, similarly the Big Fella and E.J. But they will be remembered next time with raised glasses of the soft stuff. Definitely not spumante! Graeme Vincent is a former Geelong Advertiser editor.