I'm delighted to introduce our next guest writer, Jamie Grixti, perhaps better known by his alter ego, Silver Top Hurley.
Today he sheds his superhero guise to lead us on an enthralling journey, delving into his treasured memories and significant milestones that shape his unwavering commitment to the Essendon Football Club.
With a blend of nostalgic anecdotes and candid reflections, Jamie provides a peek into the profound impact that footy and fandom have had on his life and relationships.
I extend my heartfelt gratitude to Jamie for graciously sharing his story and enriching the Bombers Blog with his insights.
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A childhood well spent…………before I was Silver Top Hurley 🤪
Firstly, thanks Anthony for giving me the opportunity to contribute to your blog, I respect your passion and analysis and I am genuinely hoping this contribution adds value to your labour of love.
I enjoy hearing and reading about other Bomber fans and their stories, so even though we are all deep in hope about 2024, I hope others get some enjoyment out of reading my story of how I became a Bomber fan.
I’m going to focus on and indulge upon, what it was like growing up in the 80s with a couple of links to today, and in particular, how family and footy are woven together for me.
I’ve chosen this angle because it not only highlights what the Bombers mean, but also how it’s helped build a bond with my dad that is unbreakable.
I hope as you are reading it, you can either reminisce with me, if you are of similar vintage, or continue to dream of what it will be like when we finally get to no 17. Or even just forget the footy for a minute in a practical sense and think how the Bombers help you connect to a person, place or deeper meaning.
Before twitter and inventing the twitter handle Silver Top Hurley (a reference to the bear and his run in with a taxi driver after the footy show grand final in his early days), I was simply Jamie, a kid born in the western suburbs of Melbourne in the late 70s to parents of a mixed marriage, and no I am not referring to their nationality (although that was culturally diverse too), I’m referring to their football allegiance and the battle was on in earnest for their first kid to follow in their footsteps.
For the first few years, my mum was winning the race.
I would often be dressed in a yellow sash instead of a red one. My mums family were all Tiger tragic’s and mum would talk fondly of the successful Richmond era and of Billy Barrett, Royce Hart and Kevin Sheedy (the player).
We are talking early 1980s, mum had stopped going to games by then, I mean, I was about 4 years old and my sister was just born so she had other priorities. So her efforts were confined to buying merch in a way.
That would prove to be no where near enough of a carrot to win me over.
Dad was a Bomber, he would talk of the less successful Essendon of the 70s and players like Ken Fraser, Geoff Blethyn and Barry Davis.
He was a frustrated Bomber fan who hadn’t seen a flag for over a decade and could only talk up a young up and coming brigade of Tim Watson and Simon Madden and the same Kevin Sheedy, but this time the coach.
He would tell anyone who would listen about Neal Daniher, even had number 6 stitched on my way too big duffle coat at the time.
He still talks of him being the best Daniher and how tragic it was for him to never reach his potential. What a story of resilience Neale’s is in every way. Is there a more respected and loved figure in our sport, I can’t think of one.
Dad was initially losing the battle to have me Don the right coloured sash, but he saw and seized an opportunity……..I was about 5/6 years old (1982/3) and he started taking me to games, Windy Hill sealed the deal, I became a Bomber for life.
I spent most Saturday’s with dad, although I use that term loosely.
Him and his mates would take a slab or two and stand on the Hill, and I would roam the oval with 2-3 other kids a bit older than me who were the sons of my dads best mate.
I initially wasn’t fixated on the footy I must admit, some days it was just about collecting cans and fill some with rocks to try and suck the can recycling bloke in and make some extra cash so I could get a pass out to grab a chocolate milkshake from Jack and Jill’s. Maybe throw a coin at the peanut man for a bag of peanuts, it definitely wasn’t to buy a ticket in the raffle, I’m sure the Rank Arena tv that was supposedly drawn at 3/4 time was never actually won 🤷🏻♂️
Other days it was to try and sneak into the restricted areas we weren’t supposed to be, and then yep, there were definitely some days I would just sit on dad’s shoulders or stand on some empty beer cans to try and catch a glimpse of my first real hero, Timmy Watson.
After the games we’d go back to the Royal Hotel and wait for mum to come and pick us up, dad usually pretty plastered and happy when we won, and pretty plastered and pissed off when we lost. So I guess you could say mum lost the battle and had to be the taxi driver each week too. Seems harsh looking back but it just was what it was.
My only sister would go onto also follow the Bombers although not come to the footy with us for some reason, I will ask her why one day.
I think deep down mum ended up caring more about if the Bombers won each week than the Tigers. Having a happy husband and kids was more a priority than her own team, she was pretty ambivalent on Richmond by then and probably a good reason, they were just starting their drought and probably wasn’t much fun supporting them at that stage.
What a childhood, I wouldn’t swap it for anything even though it wouldn’t be possible these days.
The access to footy was so scarce, we would either listen to games on the wireless, or wait for Seven's big league where we would see an hour or 90 minute package of all of the games, hoping the Bombers were the match of the day so we got extended highlights and even one full quarter of footage. We’d set the VHS recorder and hope we didn’t bugger it up.
Trips that seemed to take a whole day to get to Waverley Park were horrible. If it wasn’t the uncomfortable wooden seats, it was the icy cold weather, or the fact I couldn’t see the other side of the field because it was like a bloody hill that would drop off on the other side. Then after the game you’d wait in the car park for hours to make the huge trip home, thank goodness they bulldozed the joint.
Most games were played at the same time on a
Saturday arvo and so you really only watched your own team live and then caught some of the other stars in highlights packages on TV. The live scores of other games on the scoreboards were great though and analysis was centred around goal kickers and that’s about it. It was very different but I must say as a quite analytical thinker, I am very grateful for todays access people like Anthony, Humey and Jono provide. They help me not just hold footy as entertainment but also as a strategic analytical hobby, which I love and I learn so much all the time, anyway I digress, back to the story.
By now I was obsessed with footy and my idol, like many, was Timmy Watson.
I named everything after him, toys, pets whatever needed naming was Tim, Timmy, Watto, Watson or some other variation in between.
He just seemed bigger and stronger than anyone else I watched, he’d grab the ball in the guts and run and bounce and kick goals and I was just in awe of him.
My photo with him on the Family day after the 1985 Premiership is still one of my favourite photos ever.
Like most Bomber fans of my vintage, the 1984 Premiership was the pinnacle.
I was 7 and it was my first ever live Grand Final, I vividly remember my dad telling me at half time and again at three quarter time “we’re still in this, we have kicked poorly but we are still a chance” I would hang onto that hope, my cynicism and pessimism hadn’t kicked in yet. I saved them up for my twitter rants in the present day.
The day is a blur other than dad’s words and being dropped at my grandparents place after so dad could celebrate without a 7 year old hanging around.
I am sure my memories of the drought breaking flag are more due to the wearing out of the VHS last quarter than actually being there to be honest.
Then followed back to back in 85 with what I thought at the time was the best ever team assembled on a footy field. Maybe it was, although it’s great that we have another nominee (our 2000 premiership team) in that conversation.
From then on it’s fair to say I was cemented as a fully obsessed Bomber tragic and until 2001, I thought I was a lucky charm. I wasn’t in the stands for 83 or 90, but saw all of 84,85,93 and 2000 live. Unfortunately I was in there for 2001 so that buggered that theory.
4 flags in 23 years (coincidentally exactly the halfway point of my life so far) I certainly was blessed.
I have a million stories I could tell.
The 2000 Premiership and celebration was the other angle I was thinking of writing about, but I thought this one might have a bit more depth than the ridiculous drinking and getting thrown out of the Windy Hill social club on Sunday night while still singing the song in the tiny elevator, it was rocking at some stupid hour (best day ever Muzz)
Ironically the mixed marriage I mentioned way back at the start would repeat for the next generation.
My partner, Danni (who will read this and say hey, where’s the ring buddy, it ain’t a mixed marriage yet) is a Collingwood die hard, but I love her anyway, my sister is even worse, she’s married to a Carlscum tragic. Can’t aim for perfection I guess.
I wonder if any of the 6 kids between both couples will tell a story similar when they are old, probably not.
I’ll finish on this note, the Essendon Football club is part of me, it transcends footy and entertainment, it established family connections and particularly the bond I have with my dad.
I can directly link to our love and our passion for this club, it’s more than footy, it’s part of who we are.
At the risk of ending on a slightly somber note, my relationship with dad is also now my biggest challenge as a dad myself.
Having a son who is now 8, and who doesn’t live with me full time because of a broken marriage, I yearn for that connection my dad and I have to also be with Jackson.
He isn’t footy obsessed and doesn’t even follow or care about the Bombers at this stage.
I must admit, it is a little bit sad for me.
This doesn’t obviously define me or our relationship which is amazing, but deep down I still hold a small little glimmer one day he will share my love of the Bombers, until then I will hold this pic dear to my heart as it’s the first and one and only ever game my dad, my son and I watched the Bombers live together.
We beat Adelaide at Marvel in a shootout about 2-3 years ago.
If nothing else, i will have that memory when he grows older.
And so my task of recruiting a new generation of Bombers continues…maybe I have a better chance with the step daughter.
Thank you for reading my story, and thanks again Anthony for allowing me to tell it.
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