DOES a bull rider know what he's doing when things get wild?
Rodeo is not my cup of tea at all, tying up a bull by the bollocks, hopping on his back and hanging on for as long as you can seems cruel to me, but I just love the look on the face of the cowboy when he's bucked off.
He has two emotions to choose from: 1) How did I manage to hold on for that long? Yeeeee-haaaa! 2) What happened? Where am I? Something feels broken …
Playing football can be a bit like riding a bull - even when you're doing it well you're not quite sure how or why, and when things go bad you land with a thud. Sometimes it's worse than that.
This has been a confusing year, I have to say. The ground underfoot has seemed a little wobbly ever since the Bombers put us on the canvas in round one. That wasn't supposed to happen.
Two 10-goal wins followed against the sides from Queensland, but our form was perhaps flattered by those scorelines. Suffice to say we weren't blowing our own trumpet. It's funny - we'd probably cut off our thumbs for two wins in a row now.
The trip to Subiaco after the bye loomed as pivotal and, despite a gallant effort for most of the night, we let it slip late and the loudest of home-town roars left us with a bitter aftertaste. A few of us in particular will rue those dying minutes for a while yet.
A fade-out against the reigning premier and a lapse against the Swans made it three ''Ls'' in a row, and heads that had been scratched were by then being clawed at by our own hands, fidgety with anxiety. This wasn't meant to happen either.
The high-scoring win against the Tigers quickly came and went, and there was a sniff of redemption as we flew over to meet the new and improved Eagles. It turned out to be our season's 'Nam.
I've endured some bad defeats but that one was harrowing and felt like a swift kick in the bollocks. Some days you're the high-riding cowboy, some days you're the bull.
The overwhelming emotion after that game was shock, and again that little voice whispered, ''This wasn't meant to happen.'' Three more methodical defeats from the Hawks, Cats and old rival the Saints just added to the pain below the belt, and that hapless voice has grown a little louder with each loss. I've a theory that this little voice comes from the child within, and this child is you. I suspect most footballers have this voice with them. How many of you had big dreams or ambitions as children? Most of you, I assume.
You may have had your sights set on being an astronaut, maybe a fireman. No doubt some of you just wanted to follow in mum and dad's footsteps.
Some dreams we have as kids seem pretty silly when we grow up, and others just don't seem that appealing now. Like joining the circus, for one. I wanted to join the circus. I also wanted to be a cowboy (not the rodeo kind, mind). But what I really wanted to do was play league football.
In the words of Richard Ashcroft, I'm a lucky man. I guess it's testament to our great game that the desires of a seven-year-old boy still ring true for a 29-year-old with a wife, two kids and a short attention span.
Yet I still have regular ''what the hell am I doing here?!'' moments. These bouts of bewilderment usually hit me in the dead of winter when I'm on my own, stretching, in a pair of tights. But in the grander scale of life, they don't nag me too often.
Things clearly haven't gone well for the Dogs this year but we have to get on with the job at hand, and that starts tomorrow night against the Crows.
This week marks a personal milestone - 200 games has snuck up on me. I can appreciate that for others this is just another stat in the endless numbers game, but it is a special one for me largely because there have been times in the past couple of years when I wasn't sure I would get there. Bloody knee.
This game confuses its brethren constantly - you start out your career wanting the same kind of success as James Hird, but along the way you realise you can only be yourself and try to make the best of it.
Football confuses me as much as anyone, and so does my place in it. But a milestone like 200 games shows that I kept fronting up, and a little voice in my head is proud of that at least.
More importantly, my Dogs have a chance to hop back on that horse tomorrow night.
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