Masters mateship helps soothe the battle pains, writes ANDREW PIVA

It looks like a premiership reunion.

The footballers lingering in front of the Watsons Oval clubhouse have that "I was pretty good in my day" vibe.

Pictures: AFL Masters National Carnival

Some hairlines have receded, a few bellies have swollen and muscles are not as taut as they used to be.

Not that you will find anyone who gives two stuffs.

Leave worries about appearances to the modern generation of footballers – those white boot-wearing, chest-waxing metrosexuals who think a hip ‘n’ shoulder is a dance move.

These blokes are a different breed.

Many started in an era where wearing a mouthguard made you soft.

Warm-ups were a five-minute stretch and a smoke behind the change room, while the warm down was another ciggy and a stroll to the club bar.

They revel in each other’s company, too. Stories are swapped and so are the jibes.

The time Jacko torped the ball 70m, the moment Macca bombed picking up the sheila who was eyeing him from the grandstand.

There has not been so much bulldust spread in one spot since half the outback blew through Sydney the week before.

Eventually, there is a break in the talking. A couple of players casually wander on the field with the Sherrin and line up opposite each other for a kick-to-kick.

The results are mixed.

Some kicks are straight and hit the chest while a couple are bad enough to make a Richmond fan wince.

But instead of scorn for the stuff-ups there is laughter.

Welcome to training masters style.

There should be at least a smidgeon of tension. It is only hours before the official opening of the AFL National Masters Carnival in Cairns.

For the first time in the tournament’s history, North Queensland is represented as a standalone entity.

It is a heady responsibility for the players selected. Nothing riles a North Queenslander more than a cocky southerner.

This is a chance to put everyone living south of Capricornia in their rightful place in the sporting pecking order – below.

The Stingers have entered teams in four of the carnival’s age groups with the eldest being the over-50s.

They are the ones on the field.

Their leader is Gary Hill – a compact, barrel-chested midfielder who sports a bushranger’s moustache.

His team plays its first game of the carnival against New South Wales the following day at 9am and this is the only chance for the entire squad to train together.

"All the boys are pumped," Hill says as he watches his side.

"I don’t know what it is. Maybe, a case of white-line fever, I suppose.

"They get here and smell the liniment and the boys get really keen."

Hill included. There is the same wash of excitement in his voice you would expect from a six-year-old child waiting for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.

"I love footy. All these blokes are my mates," he says.

"It’s been a part of my life since I started playing in the under-13s.

"Once it’s in your blood, it’s hard to get out."

Hill is right. Football is a virus – a soul-deep infection with no known cure.

It is contagious, consuming and makes you do things others find peculiar.

Ask Jack Lumby, who jumped in a car and drove two days with five other blokes from Airlie Beach to play for the Stingers over-50s.

Standing 193cm and weighing 110kg, Lumby has a body that makes opponents think twice about dropping their heads over the ball.

"I like to play a sport where you can be a bit aggressive, bump into people and this is the best way to do it," he says.

"I’m not much into single-person sports. I like the mateship of the team.

"It’s the love of the game, the love of mateship and having a drink together afterwards to remind your friends how fast you used to be."

But a chance to trade funny anecdotes is not enough to keep you active at an age where you can easily sit back and critique younger players with a gruff: "Back when I was playing, son …"

Lumby is proof the competitive instinct never dies in some.

"We’re here to have fun but we also intend to give the tree a bit of a shake," Lumby says.

"This is not just a kick and giggle."

T is 8.50am on game day and shade is already a sought-after commodity.

Smoke haze from the Tableland bushfires haunts Watsons Oval, which is baking in the kiln of an uncomfortably warm spring morning.

There are 10 minutes left before the first siren and the Stingers over-50s are on the oval running two lanes of drills to prepare for their match against the Blues.

Off the field, Hill is receiving a pre-game massage to loosen the muscles in his troublesome lower back.

"I felt like an under-15 kid this morning," he says.

"I guess you could say it’s a mix of both nerves and excitement."

The five-minute warning is delivered and the Stingers file into the dressing room for final instruction.

The air reeks of liniment. Clumps of strapping tape dot the benches, while footy studs rap the concrete floor.

Hill looks calm as he calls everyone closer for his pre-match address.

"If a guy gives a lead, have the confidence to give it to him," he says.

"Have that confidence. That’s what it’s all about. Have that confidence in each other and their ability.

"Let’s have a really good day, fellas. We back each other up. That’s what footy is about."

Back slaps and bum taps accompany Hill’s words before the huddle breaks and the players run on for the start of the game.

The seconds before the first siren are congenial. Instead of shoving, shouldering and jumper grabs, there are handshakes as the Stingers find their Blues opponents.

But any thoughts of an easy morning quickly disappear.

The Blues score the first goal of the game within 30 seconds of the start after winning the centre clearance.

The Stingers struggle in the opening 10 minutes. Locked into their defensive end, they look like a side that has not played much football together.

In contrast, the Blues appear fit, full of run and well drilled. They are not in Cairns for a holiday.

At quarter time, the Stingers trail by almost three goals.

It has been a tough initiation for the North Queenslanders. They stay in the middle of the field, panting and trying to suck fresh oxygen into their empty lungs.

Water bottles are passed between players, while damp towels wipe their sweaty
foreheads.

Hill appeals for his team’s attention.

"When we had possession of the footy, we did good things," he says. "Let’s get more of it and start winning it out of the middle.

"No negatives and don’t crowd the forward line. We’ll work our way into this."

Hill’s prediction comes true when the game restarts.

The Stingers are more cohesive. The odd kick is still shanked and not every handpass finds its mark but the football moves encouragingly through the centre for most of the quarter.

Stingers captain Peter Brosnan is proving why he won All Australian honours in 2007 and is doing his best to inspire his side.

But the Blues remain disciplined and take a comfortable 14-point lead into halftime.

During the major break, the Stingers retreat to the shade of the trees at the southern end of the ground.

Hill has his say before giant ruckman Paul Tuckett asks to speak.

The Port Douglas reserve grade player has, undoubtedly, been the Stingers’ best contributor in the opening two quarters.

If anyone has earned the right to talk, it is Tuckett.

"We’re really letting ourselves down not getting into the stoppages," he says.

"Just get in there and we’ll get the ball, I’ll guarantee. I’ll work my arse off to get it but you guys have to be there.

"These blokes should be running out of puff but they’re not. We are going to have to step it up and chase them down."

Like bloodhounds tracking a scent, the Stingers eagerly set about their task in the third quarter.

While the match is still played in good spirits, the intensity of the contest has been ramped up.

Worries about how sore they will be the next morning are disregarded with every collision.

Tuckett keeps true to his word, busting his arse and every other orifice in his body for his teammates.

At the last change of ends, the Stingers are within sight of the lead.

"We were better in the middle, better in the backline and better over the whole ground," Hill says during his final address.

"It’s taken us three quarters but we’re finally sparking.

"We’re doing it, fellas. This is it."

It is nearly 10am and the sun is bearing its teeth. The heat is chewing through footballer and spectator alike.

The Stingers are feeling every bite, but the Blues are suffering more.

The sun is not a saviour for the Stingers but it is proving an unlikely ally as the mercury tiptoes towards 30C.

The Stingers’ play is not pretty.

Third-quarter exuberance has been replaced by final-quarter doggedness. It is a time for second efforts, one-percenters and every other cliche in the Australian rules lexicon.

On the back of two quick goals, the Stingers loom within four points of the lead.

The ball is camped down the Blues’ end.

The Stingers threaten their opponents’ goal, but are denied by scrambling defence and rushed kicks.

Just when it looks like the goal will not come, Stingers forward Ian Hodge connects sweetly with the Sherrin.

He splits the big sticks from directly in front and puts his side in front for the first time with three minutes left to play.

It proves to be the last goal of the match.

When the final siren sounds, the Stingers are in front 5.9 (39) to 5.6 (36). The relief and excitement on their faces matches anything seen at the MCG in September.

The Stingers come together in the middle of the field, link arms and form a tight circle.

"Who are we?" someone asks.

"Stinnngggeeerrrsss," is the shouted reply.

The team breaks.

Hill shakes the hands of his players and coaching staff for nearly a minute before trailing them into the dressing room.

He has a slight limp and looks buggered.

"That was hot, hard and tough," he says.

"I thought we showed a lot of character.

"It took us a while to get going but these guys haven’t played a lot of football together.

"We’ll rest up a bit tomorrow, have a few beers and have a bit of a recovery swim at the Esplanade.

"Then we’ll come back and do it all again on Monday."

AFL Masters results

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