Thirty years ago, the doyen of VFL football journalists Alf Brown paid a glowing tribute to Richmond ‘Immortal’ Francis Bourke in the following fine feature article that appeared in ‘The Herald’ newspaper under the above heading . . .
“Francis Bourke, one of the greats of football, started as a rover and ended as a full-back.
He was superb on a wing and a half-back flank, handy as a rover and adequate as a full-back, although injuries were pulling him up.
Bourke was tough and durable and, for most of his career, fast. Two of the most courageous players I have seen were Bob Skilton and Ian Stewart. Imagine a player just as game, but tough, stronger, heavier and aggressive.
That was Francis Bourke.
Bourke was fair, but could be frightening if you got between him and the ball. He saw only the football. There were some heavy collisions.
Bourke either did not notice them, was immune to pain, or just shrugged them off. He made no attempt to avoid them.
There was nothing umpires could complain about. It was just that his superb courage, strength and ability made him such a feared opponent.
Bourke always gave everything he had to Richmond. He set an example to teammates, and was in five premiership sides.
He was what football-minded fathers would have loved their sons to be. He epitomised all that ‘Tiger’ means without the snarl.
At the height of his career Richmond supporters canonised Bourke. Until he retired he was known as St Francis.
In a game, Bourke was humorless. Like his coach, Tom Hafey, he thought there was no humor in football. In 302 games he saw nothing on the field to make him laugh. But after a game . . .
Off the field Francis had a charming smile and a ready laugh. He still has. And he does have a sense of humor. He has plenty of anecdotes which send him into roars of laughter. You have to join in.
Young Bourke played his first game in 1967 – a premiership year – in a forward pocket. He was supposed to be second rover to Kevin Bartlett, who was not nicknamed “Hungry” for nothing.
He hated coming off the ball. Anyway, there was no need to. He had tremendous stamina, which amazed teammates who claimed he was a poor track horse. Kevin, now coach of Richmond, does not endorse his observation.
Because he was not kicking enough goals in a forward pocket, Bourke was switched to a wing in the second half, and did well.
But Richmond wanted a big rover – selectors recalled the brilliance of tall South Australian Jack Broadstock two decades earlier – and persisted with him.
After six games Richmond decided Francis was being wasted and he was switched to a wing. Immediately he began to attract notice, which surprised Francis because he says it is the easiest position to play. He still does.
Acknowledging his physical advantage over most wingmen, he says wingmen have nothing to lose. The ball generally is kicked to them from the centre, hurriedly and ill-directed. It is then a matter of anticipation and pace.
Bourke was loaded with both.
Bourke preferred to play the wing. And not because of his physical advantage. “Good small men always gave me a hard time,” he says.
“Gary Crane of Carlton was a great player. He was tough, tremendously game and had a big spring. I was delighted when he was selected in Carlton’s best side in the 50 years between 1938-88.
“After 100 games on the wing, circumstances caused me to be switched to half-back.
“I thought I was still playing well on the wing and was not slow.
“I subsequently became slow because of injuries, but played 150 games there. My last gasp was at full-back, where I had 50 games.
“Talking about full-back reminds me of one of the best wingmen I saw – teammate Dick Clay. Ironically he finished at full-back, too, but he was in better shape and played there in the 1973-74 premiership teams.
“On a half-back flank, David McKay of Carlton caused me a lot of problems. He moved well and marked strongly.
“When I first started Jack Dyer told me: ‘Beat a bloke, but never humiliate him because there is always another day’. I remembered that and it was a big help to me in reverse, too.
“If someone was giving me a hiding, good luck to him; it just wasn’t my day. But if my opponent started yap, yap, yapping at me, that was humiliation.
“Maybe I was down in form that day, but that yapping, that humiliation, was the spur to lift my game when we met again. Generally it worked.”
Full-back was not Bourke’s happiest period. His meetings with Terry Daniher (Essendon), Michael Moncrieff (Hawthorn), Kelvin Templeton (Footscray) and Malcolm Blight (North Melbourne) were sometimes nightmares. But there was a tremendous bonus; something he put into practice when he coached Richmond.
Although he was a greatly experienced player, Bourke had to adjust his thinking to a new set of circumstances. There was pressure, nerves and the fight against dropping confidence when the full-forward kicked a couple of quick goals.
“Blight was a pest. He had the pace to beat me to the ball, get round me in a tight circle, because of his great balance and have a shot for goal.
“Back to my bonus. At full-back I saw things I did not see from the flank.
“When I coached I was tempted to sit behind the goals. But it was not practical.
“But I had a camera set up behind the goals. As well as seeing the opposing plan, it showed you what your players were doing at this critical time. Too often it was nothing.”
Football training was fun. Between laughter he tells of the time Malcolm Brown “borrowed” property steward Charlie Callander’s bike and propped it against the wall of a brothel opposite the ground in Punt Road.
Everyone knew Charlie’s bike. It was an heirloom, believed to be the first off the production line after they ceased manufacturing the penny-farthing.
And there’s another night that Bartlett may not care to be reminded about. Tom Hafey was his mate, but Tom’s unrelenting grimness wore him down.
One night Kevin wore a T-shirt under his guernsey. When Tom called players into the centre of the ground Bartlett displayed his shirt.
One side demanded “Bartlett for coach”. The other promised “Fun, fun, fun”. Even Tom laughed.
