Getting Old - The 40+ Brigade


I used to fancy myself as a bit of a tennis player back in the day. Was one of those kids that was really good at 12-13 and then just stayed at that level. Fast forward to last year when I had dreams of introducing my then 5yo to tennis. Bought the rackets, the training tennis balls (24 to be exact) and the fancy ball-picker-upper basket thingy. Rock up to the court. Decide that the child needs to see her dad loosen up with some old-school serves straight down the middle. First serve, throw my back out, get uber grumpy to the point that my daughter chucks her racket and heads off to start throwing ball after ball to the dog.

The dog was in HEAVEN, I tell you. We haven’t stepped on the court since and he (the dog) has gone through half a dozen of the f’ing pristine training balls.


That’s gold (except for the back part). :rofl:


My first was 1962…so 6






You blokes must have attended in your nappies!
Turned 59 this year - most things working fine. Just took my 24 year old around the block for a shuffle.
Started following the family addiction in 1969. The dark times harden you beautifully.


84 for me, if we’re talking wins. 83 remains a stark and painful memory. Left the house at 3/4 time and went out back to shatter ice puddles with my gumboots and pretend stabbing Hawthorn players with the shards. Deep trauma for a 9 year old only assuaged by two consecutive GF wins. Probably a great experience on reflection, as far as footy goes.



I listened to both 62 and 65 on the radio. I think in those days there was no direct telecast, but there was a full replay at about 6 or 7 pm. And from memory it was on all channels, except maybe for the ABC.


I attended the 1962 GF…Southern Stand wing, lowest level

1965 in front of the scoreboard, ground level, view somewhat obscured. I remember not being able see one, maybe two, of Ted Fordham’s goals.


And people don’t believe in global warming…

I do remember 84 being a pleasant day, except some nuffy friend decided to hold their birthday party that day. Half of us inside watching the game ignoring the rest of the party, but got home in time for dad to condescendingly say the immortal line “there’s always next year” at three-quarter-time. I still say “Leon Baker” to him at regular intervals, just to see him twitch. Stupid Dawks.


Watched the 84 GF last night. Who the hell was our goal kicking coach? :joy:


Someone by the name of Vic Bitter I believe.


Tangential but the skill level improvement comparing footy from the 80s to now (by and large) is pretty f’ing crazy.


Yep, bitter, grey, freezing day in country vic


It sounds like some of them might be old enough to be attending in nappies again now too.


Which goes some way to describing the purgatory of middle age come to think


You’re doing it wrong then.
Middle age was great.


Oh I know I’m doing it wrong.


Hey, don’t we already have a Mid-Life Crisis thread?

This is like that bloke who told the same story twice.


I remember 83 the old man sent me to the milk bar with a letter asking old mate to allow me to buy smokes on his behalf because he was a suffering Essendon supporter, and he did.

I left at 3/4 time to do my paper round in 84 thinking we were stuffed. One of my deliveries let me watch the presentation.

85 was great…