Northcote, Tasmania, 90 Minutes and All the Washing Folded

A Very Civilised Kick-Off

Last night, at the very civilised hour of a 7.30pm kick-off, we had our eyes firmly fixed on the livestream from Victoria.

Max coaching. Nick playing.

Northcote City v Bulleen in the VPL finals.

Huge game.

Win and you go through to the Grand Final.

Lose and you stay in VPL for another year.

Do or die. Sudden death. Winner takes all.

No pressure then.

Sitting Still Was Never Going to Happen

I pretended I was going to sit calmly on the couch and watch.

That lasted about five minutes.

I was twitching in my seat. Then I was out of my seat. Back in it. Then up again.

Thankfully our house is open plan, so I could wander around pretending to be useful while still seeing the television.

I folded washing.

I washed dishes.

I replied to a few emails. Hopefully they made sense.
I found jobs.

Anything really, as long as I could still see the screen.

Normally, when I am nervous watching football, I fiddle with my phone.

Couldn't even do that.

Mabel was sleeping over and we had handed her my phone so she could watch mermaids on YouTube Kids while we watched the football.

So there I was.

No phone.

No escape.

Just football.

Elation. Eventually.

Eleven minutes in, Northcote scored.

Except our television chose that exact moment to lag.

Of course it did.

We knew the ball had gone in, but we had no idea who had scored.

“Did Nick score that?”

Nothing.

Then Ken's phone went.

A message from Nick's sister Sarah.

Nick had scored.

Almost immediately another message came through from Ned.

“Did Nick score that?”

YES.

YES.

Angus Taylor had put the cross in and Nick had finished it.

1–0.

Absolute elation, just delivered to us via family text message rather than the livestream.

And suddenly the lagging television was forgiven.

For the moment.

Then the Mood Changed

Half-time came with Northcote still 1–0 up, but things were already getting pretty fiery.

There had been six yellow cards before the players even went down the tunnel.

This was not going to be a quiet second half.

Ten minutes after the restart, Bulleen equalised.

1–1.

And there went the comfortable feeling.

I got up.

I needed a job.

I honestly can't remember whether that was when I folded more washing or attacked something in the kitchen, but I had to move.

Anything that meant I could keep watching without actually sitting there staring at the television. Anyone who knows me knows I take photos at games - it gives me something to do other than stressing about every kick on the field.

Because somehow standing at the sink makes football less stressful.

Obviously.

Elation Again

Five minutes later, Northcote went back in front.

Nick scored again.

2–1.

This time there was no television lag and no confusion.

We saw it.

And then came the knee slide.

Quite possibly the best knee slide ever.

One minute I was stomping around the house trying not to look directly at the television and the next I was cheering a knee slide like my life depended on it.

Football is ridiculous really.

And Back Down We Went

It lasted eleven minutes.

Bulleen equalised again.

2–2.

Seventy-one minutes gone.

Back to despair.

Back out of the chair.

What else could I clean?

What else could I fold?

Were there dishes somewhere that hadn't yet been washed?

At that point I probably would have cleaned the oven if I thought it might help.

It was completely tit for tat.

Northcote ahead.

Bulleen back.

Northcote ahead.

Bulleen back.

And all the while the temperature of the game kept rising.

Perhaps Not So Child Friendly After All

The tackles were coming.

The yellow cards were coming.

The arguing was coming.

Eight yellow cards in total.

Tempers were well and truly frayed.

Then Kotsi was sent off from Max's bench.

At one point the commentators remarked that it was perhaps a good thing the microphones weren't picking everything up from the coaches' box.

I laughed.

At the start of the night I had been delighted about the very civilised 7.30pm kick-off.

7.30pm not so child friendly after all.

Meanwhile, Ken Was Being Strangely Calm

While I was up, down, folding washing, washing dishes and generally behaving like someone incapable of coping with ninety minutes of football, Ken was strangely relaxed.

Well, relatively relaxed.

Every now and then there would be a comment about something Northcote had done wrong, particularly at the back when they gave Bulleen opportunities they really didn't need to give them.

There was also some swearing.

Mostly under his breath.

Mabel was in the room after all.

But Ken is Ken.

He is always looking for more. Always seeing the thing a player could have done better. And when it comes to Nick, he is probably his toughest critic.

Last night though, there wasn't much to complain about.

Nick was everywhere.

He scored two. Set up the winner. Worked. Competed. Got involved in everything.

He was excellent.

And beneath Ken's occasional critique and muffled swearing, you could see just how proud he was.

Very proud.

I was probably showing it a little more obviously.

Eighty-Nine Minutes

By now I was a wreck.

2–2.

A whole season sitting there.

Promotion hopes sitting there.

A Grand Final sitting there.

Then, in the 89th minute, Nick put the cross in.

Angus scored.

3–2.

Absolute bloody elation.

Again.

Angus isn't Tasmanian, but he has his own Tasmanian connection after playing here with Launceston City, so there was still something very familiar about seeing him involved in such a big moment.

This time surely Northcote just had to hang on.

And they did.

Full-time.

Northcote City 3, Bulleen 2.

Into the Grand Final.

“We Played Poorly”

Of course, coaches see football rather differently to people pacing around lounge rooms.

I was messaging Max afterwards.

His assessment?

They played poorly.

Right.

I had just spent nearly two hours going from elation to despair, back to elation, back to despair and finally into something approaching hysteria, and apparently they hadn't played very well.

Maybe it was nerves.

Maybe it was the occasion.

Maybe it was simply the pressure of knowing exactly what was at stake.

But there is something in winning when you aren't playing your best.

They found a way.

Sometimes finals aren't about looking pretty.

Sometimes they are simply about surviving.

The Tasmanian Connection

One of the things I really loved about the livestream was how often Tasmania was mentioned.

The commentators talked about Max.

They talked about South Hobart.

They talked about Nick, Angus and the injured Kieran.

They talked about the players who had come across from Tasmania.

There was something pretty special about hearing Tasmanian footballers and coaches being spoken about like that interstate.

This was finals football.

Time to shine.

And they did.

A Different Level of Intensity

What really struck me watching the game was the tempo.

The speed.

The physicality.

It was immense.

Relentless.

We simply don't see that sort of football week in, week out here.

That isn't criticism of Tasmanian football. It is just the reality of population, depth and the level of competition players are exposed to every week.

Watching Nick out there and Max coaching in that environment made me enormously proud.

Proud of them, obviously.

But also proud to be Tasmanian.

And Now It Gets Even Harder

There isn't much time to enjoy it.

Next week Northcote head to Lakeside.

Melbourne Victory await after winning their elimination final.

And this is where things get interesting.

I was messaging Max afterwards asking exactly what people mean when they talk about Victory's “scholars”.

His answer was that there could be six or seven of them involved. Players called scholars but, as Max put it, basically young first-team players.

Their goalkeeper is 23.

Right then.

So Northcote could potentially be lining up against a Melbourne Victory side containing a decent group of players sitting right underneath their A-League first team.

That is a fairly serious assignment.

But then again, this is finals football.

If you want to go up, these are the games you have to find a way to win.

From the Lounge Room to the Hotel Room

We will be in Launceston next weekend for the Cup.

Another 7.30pm kick-off.

So it will be straight back to the hotel room, livestream onto the television and another evening pretending I can sit quietly and watch Max and Nick in a final.

We all know that isn't going to happen.

Hopefully the hotel walls are thick.

Oh God. There won't even be washing to fold.

And hopefully the microphones at Lakeside aren't too close to Max's coaches' box.

Bring it on.

Super proud.