Beating the curse – part two

Russell Owens believes he has cursed North Melbourne.  He can’t be swayed, despite the evidence that suggests otherwise.  It is his curse, after all, and there are limitations.  The Owens Curse only exists in Queensland and is limited to North Melbourne playing Brisbane at the Gabba.

 

In the past seventeen years, Russ has been to the Gabba four times and has never seen North win.  Each trip has ended in agony.  He claims it is all because of the Owens Curse.

 

When I picked him up from the airport last Thursday, Russ quickly mentioned his fear.  

 

‘I think North could lose because I came up for the game,’ he said. 

 

I waved that off.  North were clear favourites after coming off a big win against Richmond.

 

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Russ said.  ‘I’m here so we’re going to lose.’

 

‘I’m still picking North,’ I said.

 

Later that night, while watching cricket and playing pool, we talked about the Kennett Curse.  Russ questioned my status as a non-believer. 

 

‘Some teams match up better than others,’ I said.  ‘Geelong has just been better than Hawthorn.’

 

‘I think there’s something more than that,’ Russ said.  ‘Kennett mouthed off after the grand final.  No one does that.  Hawthorn deserves this.’

 

We stayed up beyond midnight, eyes on the cricket, watching Ashton Agar give Australia the lead in the first Test.

 

When Agar was on 98, we stood in front of the television.  Russ lifted his North Melbourne t-shirt and covered up the anxiety on his face.  When he looked at the TV, Agar played and missed.

 

He picked up a DVD case and looked at the pictures.

 

‘Put it down Russ,’ I said.  ‘Now is not the time for porn.’

 

As Broad ran in to bowl, I felt a sense of dread.

 

‘Whatever happens here he has done well.’

 

Agar got out.  Russ and I were devastated.  We went to bed.

 

*****

Back in 1996, the first time Russ watched a game of football at the Gabba, North went in favourites.  The Roos led by eighteen-points midway through the second quarter but conceded two late goals.

 

Brisbane led at three quarter time by five points and ran out winners by five goals.  North didn’t kick a goal in the last term.  Carey missed fifteen metres out, directly in front.

 

The Owens Curse, according to Russ, was born that night. 

 

It would lay dormant for thirteen years, until 2009, when Russ came to Brisbane for the round 17 clash.  It was a horror game.  The Lions led by 16-points at half time and turned that into a 39-point lead at the last change. 

 

Two Brisbane fans in the crowd, men who called the umpire Ref, turned on me and my brother Nick.  Their spiteful heckling lasted until they discovered that Adam and Russ were our mates.  Adam, who is 6’5”, made one of the men quiver with fright.  Understandably, the sledging stopped.

 

The final margin was 41-points.  Me, Nick, Russ and Adam would’ve won the fight, if there was one…

 

When Russ came back in May, 2011, his curse featured two games spread across fifteen years. 

 

After nine rounds, North and Brisbane had won just two games.  The game was marred by rain, it poured all night.  North were favourites, but gave up a 22-point lead in the third-quarter and lost by 14-points.

 

After the game, over beers at the pub, Russ said he wasn’t coming back.  ‘It’s the Owens Curse,’ he said.  ‘I’ve come here three times and North has lost each one.’

 

*****

 

Before the weekend’s game, Russ picked North to win in his tips, despite his trepidation.  In picking with his heart and not his head, Russ sacrificed a perfect round, as a lot of others who picked North did.

 

The match was predictable.  North, as they’ve done all year, gave up a big lead, 33-points midway through the third quarter.  Brisbane kicked seven goals in the last term.  Watching another capitulation was humiliating.

 

Afterwards, Russ was unequivocal.  ‘We lost because I’m here,’ he said.  ‘It’s my fault.’

 

When we got home, Russ sat inside watching the cricket and playing poker on the Ipad.  Five of us were drinking and playing pool in the Arden Street Bar.  Russ didn’t want to join in.  He was hurting.  Adam G didn’t come home with us either.  As Russ said, there was nothing to celebrate.

 

Perhaps Russ blamed himself for the loss.  Maybe he was thinking if he’d stayed home, then North would’ve won and our season would still be alive.  It was obvious the loss had settled heavily on his blue and white heart.

 

Later he came out to the Arden Street Bar and won a game of ASB Rules in two shots.  He went on to win the night by a game.  It was a good win, but not the type he’d come to Brisbane for.

 

*****

 

Like all curses, there is no totem pole or voodoo to the Owens Curse.  There is only Russ, but more people, perhaps fifteen, are learning about his curse.  He chatted to Simon, a Broncos fan, about the Owens Curse.

 

Simon hasn’t been to Lang Park for a State of Origin game for years, because when he did Queensland kept losing.  Since he has abstained, the Maroons can’t lose.  Simon may have a claim on his own curse.

 

I’ve seen North beat Brisbane at the Gabba, but our last win was back in 2005.  There have been a lot of losses since.  Had Russ’s trips to Brisbane been timed differently, the curse may feature more than four games.

 

Unsurprisingly, Russ is an advocate for the Kennett Curse.  He also believes in the Footy Gods, another mythical entity that seems to provide few miracles.  I admit to having asked the Footy Gods for assistance more than once, generally without luck.

 

Faith can only be placed in reality.

 

Twice I sat next to Russ when North won premierships, in 1996 and 1999.  In 1998, when Adelaide killed us in the second half, Russ and I sat apart.

 

Does that mean Russ and I need to sit next to each other the next time North play a grand final?  I’d like to sit next to him, but it doesn’t mean North will win.

 

Football fans tend to be a superstitious bunch.  For years I wore a pair of North Melbourne business socks to work on Friday, a ritual I started in 1999.  Because we won the premiership, I wore those socks every Friday until they developed holes and ended up rags.

 

Adhering to my faith didn’t produce another premiership.  When the socks were thrown out I didn’t buy another pair.

 

Have I cursed North by not buying another pair of socks emblazoned with a cartoon Kangaroo?  It could be argued not. 

 

When I dropped Russ off at the airport on Sunday night, the last thing he said before he slammed the door was an affirmation. 

 

‘I believe in the curse,’ he said.

 

I didn’t say anything.  Russ was walking to the airport, so he couldn’t have heard me, but I wouldn’t have argued with him anyway.  Russ has been carrying his curse for eighteen years.  It’s a heavy burden. 

 

Reality suggests if Russ didn’t come to Brisbane, he would have watched North lose from the comfort of his lounge.  His presence might not have anything to do with North Melbourne losing.

 

I don’t blame him for defeat.  If he didn’t come up, I would’ve missed out on three great nights filled with footy and cricket, and those nights were worth the loss and the heartache.

 

So Russ can keep coming to Brisbane.  He can bring the Owens Curse.  I love footy, but I love my mates too.

 

 

 

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