ozyear

It’s hardly surprising that a nation as competitive as Australia actually has an award for which its citizens compete for the honour of being crowned the most Australian-Aussie. The “winners” of each state’s awards (Queensland Australian of the Year, Tassie Aussie of the Year, etc) all meet at Canberra on Australia Day for the “grand final”. It’s true. Have you not seen Chris Lilley’s We Can Be Heroes? Awesome doco.

The Australian of the Year award, let’s face it, is pretty much the only reason we crawl out of bed morning after morning, year after year. There’s that hope that one day it’ll be us climbing the steps to the podium at the front of a lawn marquee and accepting the ultimate prize.

Deep down, though, we all know that most of us are mere mortals in the race for national service glory and heroism compared to the people on which our nation’s reputation as battlers is forged. Soldiers and humanitarians step aside, it’s our bloody sports legends I’m talking about. Only 14 sportspeople have been named Australian of the Year since the awards began in 1960 – 55 years ago. Just think about that for a second. For all the carrying on we do about Australia loving its sport ‒ that we’re the kings and queens of outdoor living, etc ‒ just a bit over a baker’s-dozen athletes have enjoyed the glory of being called this country’s greatest citizen.

It all started off so sensibly and honourably for these true heroes of Australia. Yachtsman Jock Sturrock claimed just the third award in 1962. In fact, between ’62 and ‘68, four sportspeople claimed it: Jock, Dawny, Jack Brabham and Lionel Rose. Brings a tear of pride to the eye, doesn’t it?

Then the wheels fell off.

In 1967, it wasn’t even an identity who won it, but a MUSIC BAND! The Seekers ... Yep, Australians of the Year. Now, we could understand if one year it went to an AKKA-DAKKA or the Chisels. But seriously, as lovely a lady as Judy Durham is, we’re still seeking for answers on that one.

Disgracefully, the sporting community has been left floundering on three hat-tricks, before being thwarted by a “deserving” winner the third year. In 1971 and ’72, tennis legend Evonne Goolagong (she wasn’t Cawley yet) and triple gold-medallist at the Munich Olympics Shane Gould set up what would’ve been a glorious three-peat of gongs for our sportspeople. But author Patrick White spoiled it all. He won the Nobel Prize for Literature or somefink the next year, and therefore Strayan of the Year. This happened again in the late ‘80s: Kay Cottee and Captain Grumpy took home the chocolates in ‘88-89, before ophthalmologist Fred Hollows thwarted the three-peat. (We’ll give Fred that one. Absolute Legend). Again, Cathy Freeman and Mark Taylor set it all up ten years later, before the judges had to go and award biologist Sir Gustav Nossal with the prize in 2000.

If you can stomach it, I’m about to share this nation’s greatest shame with you. You might not even be aware of this atrocity. I’ll leave you to enforce your own self-judgements if you’re ignorant to the fact that there have been two periods in Australia’s history where we’ve gone a decade or thereabouts without recognising our sporting prowess through the Australian of the Year award. Deek, the first sports winner since Shane Gould, brought an end the suffering in 1983. They say peoples don’t learn from history and that was proven correct again in the years between Steve Waugh’s crowning in 2004 and earlier this year, when Sydney Swans hero Adam Goodes finally claimed back what was rightfully the sporting world’s all along.

If Australia is serious about its sporting culture, if we want to be considered up there with the Indias and New Zealanders in the sports-worshipping stakes, more needs to be done to keep recognising our legends. Otherwise, these (la-di-da) scientists and community leaders are going to keep stealing the glory. And we all know how un-Australian that can be ...