Yes, we’re all obviously excited about Shai Bolton, we’re no doubt all pretty chuffed about a guy called Murphy Reid, we’re all in on future tall forward Charlie Nicholls, our love for rookie draftees ensures we’re immediate Aiden Riddle fans and we’re even nodding in appreciation of the depth adding selection of Quinton Narkle!
However, as keen as we are for all the above, we’re sounding the horn on the Jaren Carr show.
2008 was the last time we got to appreciate the Carr Bro duo playing days at Freo and there has been a couple of vacant but reserved purple parking spaces ever since. So, when the name Jaren Carr, the 63rd pick in the national draft, was read out, it opened the nostalgia floodgates for us long term Freo faithful. The vivid memories of the Carr crashes, the organised chaos, the planned provocations and the avenging agitations came streaming back, accompanied by the Mary Hopkin’s “Those were the days my friend, we thought they’d never end” soundtrack.
It was a purple tinged glorious golden age at Fremantle. It was deluxe entertainment; it was an identity. The Carr Brothers, Josh and Matt, were the original Uber Eats drivers, ever delivering an assortment of knuckle sandwiches. Yes Ok, maybe I am the one putting a fair bit of mayo on here, but there were definitely well-timed and disguised contributions to many a bread basket. Quite simply, their charitable food foundation philanthropy was Nobel laureate worthy.
For opponents, more so if your name ended in Cousins or Kerr, there was an on-field unwritten ‘look both ways before you cross the road’ adaptational safety message in place, due to the likelihood a Carr was coming. Those who failed to heed the advice often became a statistic. Worse still, if you were the pre-game appointed prime target, the sibling synchronicity ensured you'd be hit by both Carrs. And furthermore, there was no fleeing from the scene because, in an adherence to their philanthropic values, they'd often ask the turtled opponent gasping for air, "how'd you like them apples?"
Post-carnage, many a recipient no doubt felt they were about to Meet Joe "Heath" Black.
"Worse still, if you were the pre-game appointed prime target,
their synchronicity ensured you'd be hit by both Carrs"
Sure, it failed to result in the securing of any end of season external accolades or shiny silverware, but it mattered not. Awards were for the pretentious, craved by egotists and paraded by the pompous, or so we told ourselves.
It was a better time, a better experience, a better era, if you will. You could hand out a bit of team oriented legal grey area treatment, wear one for your troubles, exercise your free speech rights by getting into an unconditional verbal stoush, and, when all said and done, end up in no danger of being fined telephone numbers by overreaching, civil liberty crushing, hypocritical AFL authoritarians for enacting imbecilic, humourless and subjectively offensive mad Monday or Wacky Wednesday parodical skits.
Maybe society has gone too far down the self-righteous, social justice supporting, moral superiority street. Maybe the all-encompassing “good guy” policy has infiltrated and saturated our purple port to the point, God forbid, of no return. Am I clinging to the perishing picture of the past, the fading flashbacks of our Freo folklore faithful fiends?
No, I’m not! I can't accept it, I won’t accept it and I’m bringing it back! Yes, the blatant thuggery needed eradicating from the game, but, as we always do, we massively overcorrected. You’ll never convince me there isn’t room in the modern-day AFL entertainment production for the envelope pushers, the line straddlers and the grey area operators!
In the conspicuous absence of any rapscallion behaviour or incorrigible characters at our Cockburn camping club, we recruited the great Bob Murphy to re-lay the foundations, construct the felonious framework and reignite the scampy spirit. It was all predicated on the ‘if you build it, they will come’ philosophy.
But years later upon his departure, unsurprisingly to the ABC, the question lingers, did we get our two Bob's worth? We brought him in, gave him a lucrative contract to foster his rascal tendencies and revive the designated devil Docker tradition. Yet somehow, upon review, according to fictitious sources with third hand hearsay knowledge of the concocted situation, we ended up with plenty of pronoun policing, alphabet advocating and rainbow flag flying, along with back patting encouragement and injury bench and substitution condolent gestures. All good and well, but not a single rascal, nor a hint of any provocative niggle tactics did his tenure net.
But hey, say what you want about the universally loved legendary man, on the invaluable, albeit immeasurable, positive impact of the Bob factor, the science is settled. However, having said that, the only evidential revival he attempted to deliver at Fremantle, was the 1970s double denim fashion statement. And I'm not suggesting Bob isn't the counterculture pied piper, but he seems to have made the denim drenched devotees an extremely exclusive club.
Consequently, there is now a long list of colourful former Freo folk looking on and shaking their heads in disappointment. The above-mentioned Carr brothers, Nick Suban, Dean Solomon, Hayden Ballantyne, Dale Kickett, Brad Dodd and Ryan Crowley, just to name a few, would no doubt be appalled at how we’ve allowed the team galvanising selective scoundrel culture they selflessly built, to fall by the wayside.
We are massively over-weighted in straight laced line toers, ribbon and pin wearers and cause ambassadors and I only hope it hasn't done irreparable damage. Whether you care to admit it or not, for far too long we’ve been in severe loveable rogue deficit. But maybe, just maybe, some much needed supply might finally be on the way.
Now we don’t want to do Jaren a disserve and potentially overlook his purist footballing attributes, nor do we want to put too much pressure or expectation on him. He has to be his own man and be allowed to make his own way in the AFL world.
However, with that been said and taken into account, Matt and Josh could walk and chew cage rattling gum at the same time. So, it is difficult to suggest Jaren doesn’t have, at some stage in his career, an obligation to uphold the great Carr name and ensure the purple family’s famous exploits re-emerge and are returned to their former glory.
Are we about to wind the Carr culture clock back 16 years? Are we at the embryonic stage of another golden purple period? Are we bringing back to life and about to relive the classic Carr era?
The son and nephew of team oriented, antagonistic, hard nut guns would surely have been beneficially indoctrinated with endless “back in my day” lectures. And I can’t imagine the Carr clan hasn’t taken many a sentimental road trip back in time and exposed Jaren to regular slide / YouTube clip nights.
The Former US President Theodore Roosevelt apparently once said "Comparison is the thief of joy." It is a profound statement, one that is difficult to argue with. So, there is plenty of irony in calling for comparative individualism and, thinking about it, the term is actually oxymoronic. But even still, on some level, young Jaren would have to be a chip off the old engine block, wouldn’t he? And isn’t it said the apple never falls far from the uncle tree?
In these perilous, over politically correct times, when there is lack of freedom of character and expression, a feeling of suffocation under the weight of the oppressive AFL machine’s robotic intent, we need a gene-rich hero to restore the familiar order. We need someone to step in, take a stance and right the ship. Someone to bring back the identifiable hard edge, an agitator, a mentored provocateur to hone the craft, to honour the family name, the tradition, and most importantly, to Make Antagonists Great Again.
Buckle up Jaren Carr, it’s your turn to take the wheel and we’re all calling shotgun.
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