MAN WITH A MAGIC UPPERCUT
[from a 1967 series in The Truth entitled “Jack Dyer on the best of a lifetime”]
[from a 1967 series in The Truth entitled “Jack Dyer on the best of a lifetime”]
If ever a man carved his niche in the tree of football fame it was Richmond’s greatest wing player – Alan Geddes. He was a two-way champion – a champion team man and a champion player.
His only thought was to win, and he didn’t care how. He once remarked to me: “I’d take a razor out if I thought it would help.” Not that he needed a razor. He wasn’t big but he was courage plus and he didn’t mind handing out a knock.
There wasn’t a trick in the game he didn’t know or use. And in football ability he was fantastic.
His stab passes were the best I have seen. They ripped to you so fast and low that they would sap your wind if you didn’t take them properly.
Pace was his to burn although he was deceptive and moved with such ease that his pace was seldom appreciated.
Forward work was a pleasure when Geddes delivered the ball. Make a lead and that was that. He delivered the ball so that no backman could block you.
His advice to me in my first match was: “Have a go and we don’t mind if you don’t get a kick. Dog it and you play alone.”
He had the courage and aggression of a bulldog pup, perfect balance, and an uncanny ability to read the mind of the opposing player. Many times when tackled from the front, he soccered the ball through the opponent’s legs, ran around him and took the ball, with the other player floundering behind.
He came to the Tigers from Williamstown. Great players abounded in the Richmond side of the ‘30s, yet he was the player I respected most. As a rookie I was walking round the training track when a bullet-like Geddes stab kick ripped into my back. It nearly killed me.
I complained and he snarled: “ You’re supposed to be training, and you’re supposed to be looking.”
Geddes followed the footballers’ code of never putting anybody in, no matter what they did. One day a Tiger player had a nasty head wound after being trampled by an opponent. He was wild and declared: “I’ll put him in at the Tribunal if it’s the last thing I do.”
Geddes said in a quiet voice: “You don’t do those things, son.” The kid was surprised, “Why?”
Geddes replied: “Next week it might be me, and I wouldn’t like anybody to put me in. And if you squeal, everybody will be after you, including your own men.” The offender got the stretch but the kid obeyed the footballers’ code.
For a little man [173cm] he was a great protector. At Geelong big Bull Coghlan softened me up a bit so that Fritz Hefner had to deal with him and send him off to get stitches in his face. When he returned a Geelong winger kept calling: “It was Dyer, Bull.” Suddenly the calls stopped. The magic was a beautiful Geddes uppercut.
Geddes would have put the statisticians out of business. Ten kicks by Geddes from the wing would achieve eight goals. Some wingers today get 30 kicks but they don’t do as much with them as Geddes did with five. Yet he could get his 30 kicks with the best of them.
Geddes was respected at Richmond. They were frightened of him. One night a player was selected to play with the Seniors and Geddes, who was not a selector, captain or even vice-captain, snarled: “If you play that squib, we won’t play.” The Richmond committee cleared the player that night.
Geddes carried a broken rib in a semi-final and bandaged it so tight that he could hardly breathe, yet he was one of the best on the ground.
He would ask an opponent: “How do you want to play it?” Too bad if the player said: “All in.”
