How the Footy Has Influenced My Queerness

By Matilda Douglas-Henry

My interest in AFL started when I was ten years old. My mum’s friends were diehard Sydney Swans fans, and we would go to one of their houses in Rozelle to watch the games. I’d eat sausages and potato salads as I watched the elegant players leap across the oval. One guy in particular got my attention. His name was Barry Hall.

Unbeknownst to me, I was already queer, and thereby deeply disinterested in the opposite sex – but there was something about Barry. Looking back on it, I think I was drawn by his unstoppable and commanding presence – the way he could lead a team, and oscillate seamlessly between impeccable goal scorer and rough tackler. At the time I interpreted this admiration as sexual attraction, and proceeded to change my email address to bazzas_chick@hotmail.com.

“Do you know what they’re yelling about?” A family friend asked me as Hall and another player were pushing each other around, spitting in each other’s faces. I shook my head.

“My mum’s meat pie is better than your mum’s meat pie – no, your mum’s meat pie is bullshit, my mum makes the best meat pie.” She chuckled, and I did too. Growing up with my two mums and sister, I didn’t have many men in my life. The burly players hurtling up and down the oval provided me with an intermittent, yet constant, masculine presence.

“HOW BIG’S YOUR DICK!” we hollered when, after every goal, the man in all white would hold out his two hands. In a room of mainly lesbians, I came to think of this phrase as an empowering one – a way for women to reclaim the objectification of their own bodies. It also was my first experience of understanding how bloody homoerotic the sport is.

I took a bit of a break from the footy after primary school. I was spending a lot of time trying to convince everyone (but most profoundly myself) that I was a straight, petite girl who wanted nothing more than a boyfriend. I promptly deleted my Barry Hall-inspired email address, opting for a chic replacement – orange_county36. When a year 10 girl told me they were the hottest team my allegiance shifted from the Swans to the Geelong Cats. They were also the premiers that year, so I chose to adopt the mantra that I would only go for whoever was winning.

It wasn’t until my brother – a devoted Fremantle Dockers supporter – moved to Melbourne that I truly invested myself in the sport. I had always made fun of him for loving the lowly yet charming Dockers – a team that never made the top four, let alone the premiership. But I fell in love with them too.

Backing the underdog suddenly made way more sense to me than being in for the win, largely because 2013, the year I fell for the Fremantle Dockers, was the year I was having my much-belated realisation that I was, indeed, queer. As I grappled with gaining confidence, and working out how I fitted into the world, I was also channelling all of that into my darling Dockers. I understood, for the first time, what it was like to proudly acknowledge one’s existence within a marginalised group. I resonated with how the Dockers fought for acceptance in a premier league, but nobody thought they would succeed. Then, that same year, the unthinkable occurred – the Dockers were battling it out for their first ever grand final title.

Of course, the Dockers did not win. They played a disappointing game and were the first team on the receiving end of the Hawthorn Hawks’ three-peat premiership-winning streak. It was disappointing, but I couldn’t help but take it personally, thinking my newfound emotional investment in the Dockers had somewhat contributed to this near-victory. It made more sense to me at the time, too, that they lost. It was a bittersweet moment that was congruous with my own life experience. I was going through a period of severe highs and lows – figuring out what it meant to be queer, as well as dealing with the death of my beloved grandmother. The Dockers and I were on the same page, and I didn’t feel so alone.

Ever since, we have been on a pretty similar emotional trajectory. In 2014, when I first met my partner, the Dockers had a remarkably strong start to their season – bursting onto the field as if they too were reeling from the ecstasy of falling in love. In 2015, when I realised that I needed to pursue my dream of being a writer, they finished the season on top of the ladder.

This year, our lives took divergent paths, but that doesn’t mean I love them any less. They barely got a look-in, winning only a handful of games, while 2016 may just be my best year yet. But this weekend – watching the Western Bulldogs win their first premiership since 1954 with my beloved queer friends – there remained that unrivalled beauty of seeing an unlikely hero pull through, and get treated with the respect they deserve. The AFL and queerness may seem like an unlikely combination, but trust me – once your heart is in it, it makes a hell of a lot of sense. I cannot express how keen I am for the women’s league to officially kick off.

 

Are you looking for footy commentary that isn’t dominated by straight, white men? Check out this fabulous Melbourne-based podcast by Bella Miller and Brit Griffiths, Up The Guts: https://soundcloud.com/up-the-guts