By Paul (PK) Kennedy ©2021
Given I don’t have a sporting bone in my body, I applaud PK
for his beautiful memoir which allows people like me to finally understand what
the ruckus is all about. ‘Funky Town’ gets to the core of Aussie Rules by
imbibing an intensely personal and, at times, vulnerable insight into how it
feels to live and breathe footy. Kennedy dreamt of playing for the big league
from childhood. His story reveals the highs and very lows without a sniff of the
usual clichés. Sure, I skimmed over the cast of famous names and clubs, but the
attention to detail in the writing had me mesmerized despite my ignorance. The fight
for sporting fitness, the pre-match butterflies, the need to adhere to ‘superstitious’
rituals, the worship of brilliant players, the pithy and inspirational words
measured out by the coach, the injuries, the timely reprimands… Most engaging,
the rich descriptions of what it feels like to play at one’s peak:
The ball was finally
mine. I ran my hands over it, turning it around and around. I looked down at
its taut laces and little rubber valve. The familiarity of touch felt like an
antidote to my self-doubt… The next twenty minutes surpassed all my previous
feats in football, modest as they were to that point. Under a grey sky, with a
breeze at my back, I forgot about my opponent and chased the ball, like a dog
after a frisbee. Luck ran my way and I started to take marks, receive
handballs, and even shout directions to other Saints. Most importantly, I
stopped overthinking. The flow of the game, which had seemed hectic and foreign
to me before, was now as familiar as kicking drop punts at the lightpost
outside our house at Emmanuel Drive. I felt fresh and new and dynamic… With
every possession my confidence surged. Words of encouragement from teammates
were extra fuel. At one point I snatched up a loose ball in the back pocket and
took off. My opponent came close to catching me. I heard him straining with
effort. The boundary line was close, but I wasn’t about to surrender to it. I veered
away, back into space. There were teammates on the wing, but they seemed miles
away. Now I heard voices from the crowd. Carlton supporters. ‘Get him.’ ‘How
far!?’ I hoped the Blues player chasing me wasn’t quick enough. I sidestepped
one last time, swerving back toward the boundary. Without time to straighten up
again, I guided the ball with my left hand onto my left foot. It wasn’t my
natural side, but it felt natural now. I lowered it on an angle, the way you do
when you want to kick a torpedo. This was almost arrogant. It’s hard enough to
kick a torpedo on the run with your preferred foot. Luck winked at me. The ball
landed in the perfect spot – to the side of my laces – and the ball covered the
distance to my target at head height. I soaked up the clapping from Saints
supporters. (excerpt from Chapter 28 ‘Another Chance’)
Believe it or not, the memoir is only in part about PK’s
love of football. There is another important thread woven through his memories
which spotlights the chilling truth of living in the same community as a serial
killer. If you’re like me, you have the iPad handy to investigate further. (I
had left Victoria by the time these murders occurred, so this was news to me.)
No spoilers here. You’ll have to read the book to find out what ensued.
Another important inclusion outlines PK’s shyness and perceived
awkward behavior around girls, and the culture of binge drinking to overcome
this. His honesty here will be a huge encouragement and support to many teenagers.
I guess my final word on this would be how moving PK’s ‘functional’
family was/is. In this fatherless generation (such as were both his parents) it
is rewarding to read about a stable, loving and imperfect family. This aspect
of the text is very uplifting.
I recommend this text for older youth. Or PG recommended if
being read by younger teens. A brilliant ‘coming of age’ read.
