Tuesday night saw the commencement of Essendon's documentary series dedicated to charting the Bombers' strives for glory and fame prior to their 150th anniversary.
Made in partnership with the football club, Fox Sports, and Kayo, the brilliant opening episodes provided a rich tapestry of stills, stories, and snippets of the many names that made up the club's magnificent sides throughout the 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s.
While the series has offered us all a way to scratch our off-season itches, the fact that tales from more than 80 living and deceased Dons have been collated has also allowed for our imaginations to run wild.
Over the course of watching the opening pair of half-hour-length instalments, a series of questions sprung into the forefront of my mind.
So, before parts three and four are released next week, I set about trying to answer queries that range from stalking, sobriety, tractors, and, of course, John Coleman.
How would a team of teetotalers go in today’s competition?
Across the many seasons of ‘King Richard’s reign at Windy Hill, their routine success was reportedly punctuated with singing and dancing without the aid of alcohol.
While four flags were gained across his 320 game stint in studded boots, according to the son of Reynolds’ great midfield mate, Bill Hutchison, the red-sashed champions of the 40s and 50s were said to have spent more on soft drink than champagne following their September triumphs.
Given the club’s storied protestant links, this lack of imbibing is hardly surprising, but would the players of today be able to survive without letting their hair down beyond the boundary line?
As the drinking habits of players currently plying their trade across the competition isn’t something I’m privy to, I don’t think I’ll be able to provide a conclusive answer.
However, as each of Melbourne’s latest premiership players were seen sucking on stubbies in the moments after their victory lap in Perth last month, enjoying a cold drink can’t be a complete toxin to success.
With so many clubs across the competition benefitting from brewer’s dollars each year, the act of celebrating with a can or twelve is one that looks like to be set in stone.
And with players content to partake in cocktail walks while in lockdown and drown their sorrows after grand final defeats, late September sobriety appears to be a course of action that died with Dick and his Dons.
