August 24, 2003

JACK DYER

Strange thing about last night’s Collingwood-Swans game in Sydney: no mention was made of Jack Dyer's death. No mention that I heard, anyway. (Also strange: the Sydney players entered the arena to the hypergay beat of “It’s Raining Men”.)

Dyer was a great man from football’s toughest era. Consider just the spectators:

Once, after he knocked out an opposition player, 200 angry fans waited outside the ground to get at him. At that time Dyer was a policeman.

Emerging in his uniform he drew his revolver, made a break for his car and got away, although he was showered with stones and bottles.

Dyer’s whimsical, untutored commentary increased his fame in the decades following his retirement although, even by the standards of the 60s and 70s, he wasn’t exactly a polished media personality. On one edition of League Teams, the Thursday night football program he co-hosted with Bob Davis and Lou Richards, Dyer said nothing for the opening 15 minutes or so. He’d forgotten his false teeth.

A fearsome, bone-breaking player, off the field Dyer was as mild as could be. Well, usually. I met him a couple of times. Charming storyteller.

Lou Richards is right. Jack deserves a state funeral. I bet he gets one, too.

Posted by Tim Blair at August 24, 2003 11:28 PM
Comments

Jack is a legend. I loved his malapropisms such as:
" spaghetti marijuana" and " the french riverina"

An member of a slowly diminishing tribe.

Posted by: Nic (RWDB) at August 25, 2003 at 12:51 AM

Two stories to give you an idea of how tough Jack was. He played football barefoot until well into his teens. In one midweek game as a youngster, a brawl began in which not only every player but also every spectator participated.

They don't make them like Jack anymore.

Posted by: The Mongrel Dog at August 25, 2003 at 12:58 AM

Vale Jack.

Tyger Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

Posted by: Bryan at August 25, 2003 at 04:21 PM

Vale Jack.
Tyger Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

Posted by: Bryan at August 25, 2003 at 04:24 PM