by There have been some great moments in Australian sport, and others that have been steeped in scandal, ineptitude and sheer weirdness. This is four.
‘Deport, Mr Djokovic’
Novak Djokovic could not have chosen a worse time to pack his bags, log on to Instagram and announce that he was going to Melbourne. In early 2022, the city was so divided, with the number of Covid cases in the tens of thousands. Melburnians were so down on a supermarket that a supermarket broke out, with one shopper whacked over the head with a saucepan. Then, Novak entered with his terrible ideas on vaccination, his sloppy paperwork, his 20 grand slams and hundreds of millions in tennis earnings. He didn’t have a prayer.
The saga of medical exemptions, visa and entry permit bungles dragged on and on. The smirking mug of “No-Vax” dominated the news every night. His supporters were singing Balkan folk songs outside his hotel. His visa appeal was a circus. Live streaming was sadly long overdue, porn, spam and bootlegging.
The Guardian’s Jonathan Liew noted how Novak treated it all like a tennis match, “with an indomitable and messianic faith in his own supremacy. He resisted his deportation as if it were a critical break point – as if it were his last stand against total oblivion.” Liew wrote about the problems that arise when you start to combine the hard white lines of the tennis court with the uneasy harmony of the real world.”
Essendon go to work
He was driven “by incompetence rather than misdirection,” according to Chip Le Grand in his book The Straight Dope. That’s being generous. The Essendon supplements scandal has rocked an election-year prime minister, the country’s most powerful and protected sports organisation, mysterious new drugs, warnings they are susceptible to organized crime, an underfunded peak anti-doping body, a haughty AFL boss , rabid press, controversial sports scientists, senior bureaucrats, crack silks, human rights experts, golden boys, conspiracy theorists and flagging bureaucrats.
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It was a perfect sporting storm and the scandal needed a face. For months, it was as if James Hird’s ashen visage was plastered all over the front and back pages. The AFL, as always, tried to control the situation. Essendon grappled with anesthetic press releases and lame hashtags. The natural tendency, whether you were a columnist, a tweeter, a keyboard thumb or a water cooler bore, was to stand as hard as possible. He won several Walkley awards. He won Brownlow medals for others. It drove people mad and drove others away from the sport. Few people can clearly explain what really happened. Essendon hasn’t been the same since.
Fine Cotton is subbed out
There have always been rings in horse racing. In the 1970s, a gentleman named Rick Renzella – whom journalist Andrew Rule called “a man of many parts, most of them stolen” – ordered a series of successful stings. The key, Renzella realized, was that the nags had to be vaguely similar to each other. But the ring in Fine Cotton/Heavy Personality was a misbegotten shambles. There was a cast of quacks, charlatans and crackpots, most of whom had intellectual concerns. At first, Bold Personality was a full shade lighter and half a furlong faster than Fine Cotton. There was also a big white star on his forehead. Application of dye and peroxide did not help. A half-witted sixth grader could create a more effective scam.
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What is interesting about the Fine Cotton affair is that it has never been fully explained or resolved. Although the Waterhouse family were not charged with involvement in the ring itself, it was found that there was prior knowledge of the switch. Bill Waterhouse, wrote Rule, was “a liar, cheat and bully”. When he and his son Robbie were found to have known about the ring in they were “warned” to every race track in the world. But Sydney’s racing world forgives all sins and Robbie eventually returned to betting. Bille Mór himself, with a straight face, a nice turn of phrase and no shame, published the book What are the Odds? and took his truth to the grave in 2019. Robbie married his wife, Gai, who won horses around the world, and his son Tom’s ads accounted for about 75% of all advertising on Australian television.
The underarm incident
The little girl grabbed Greg Chappell’s hand. “You are deceived!” she cried. “You are deceived!” On a terrible MCG pitch, in 41C heat, he made 90 and bowled 10 overs. Now, with one ball remaining in the limited-overs final against New Zealand, the series all square and the Kiwis needing six to force a replay, the Australian captain sat down at midday. Spectators had a whale of a time – sticking to the MCG’s two slab maximum and living in a pre-ozone layer world. But Chappell was in complete mental turmoil. He was craving a day off. He later called his biography Fierce Focus. At that moment he was focused on two things – rest and the brick outfield making its way to the crease.
Brian McKechnie was a double All Black, having represented New Zealand in both rugby league and rugby. As a batsman, he made a good keeper. But he was a big boy. If anyone was going to hit six, Chappell convinced himself it was this guy. He asked his brother Trevor: “How are you bowling your arms?”
It was the sort of thing you could only ask a younger brother. Trevor was not a world beater, but he rolled a nice grubber. McKechnie turned his bat in shame and all hell broke loose. New Zealand’s prime minister said it was “an act of sheer insanity and I think it’s appropriate that the Australian team was wearing yellow”. In the dressing shed, Mark Burgess threw his teacup against the wall – a major Kiwi tantrum. Greg Chappell went back to the hotel den, slept properly for the first time in months and was put on the SCG several days later. Then he got a standing ovation after winning 87 games.
