The Trumpet

Coodabeens Awards Review - ©Tim Goddard tjgesq@hotmail.com

Billy Bell’s Hotel, Thursday September 13, 2001.

In what will go down in Australian entrainment annuls as the night the definition of entertainment was re-written, the Coodabeen Champions and their friends BNG (Broke New Ground). It was a Copernican Revolution of vaudeville if you will.

On this evening, whilst the World was in turmoil and a once great Australian airline was lying limp on the banks of the river We’re knackered, the Coodabeen Champions, along with many of their fans, stretched the boundaries of entertainment out beyond the breakers.

Gone were the fancy feather and dancing girls, gone was loud music, polyester, flashing lights and smoke machines, gone were chocolate coated almonds and ushers, gone were THX surround sound Dolby vision, gone were three-course-all-you-can-eat-including desert-cabaret-blockbuster-with-Jade-Hurley and gone were poetry readings in the park. Vanished. Kaput.

If you were one of the lucky few to be in that room (and not out the back where you could barely hear a thing), you were witness to a defining moment. The choreographed moves of many were outstanding, as were the acrobatic display’s undertaken by most. The synchronisation of syllables springing from the speakers had everyone going to the bar whilst the winners announced their ‘Player of the Year’.

What made the evening even more remarkable, was the fact that its host, a Scrooge like fellow with an acid tongue, did not reveal who in fact was the Player of the Year. It was akin to going to the Logies and turning the lights off after the Silvers, or counting the Brownlow votes up to Round 21, then packing up.

The evening’s highlights, as you could well imagine, were many, with each Coodabeen competition winner delivering a ‘one-hander’.

Cheryl ‘mum’ Critchley broke new ground and went for the sympathy vote by brining a cute little baby on stage as a prop. Matt ‘groover’ Laing displayed some devilish moves whilst delivering a speech aimed directly at Generation Y (who were rather thin on the ground). Mary Cahill, Peter Treseder, Craig Kipping and Peter Bagley ensured the laughter is in indeed the best medicine, whilst The Bush Battler, a wiry fellow from down Leitchville way, performed under the watchful eye of the FBI, CIA and Australia Post officials. Stuart ‘I was NOT Simon’s best man’ McArthur (the Jason Dunstall of the correspondents), kicked a lazy dozen from inside 35 whilst we were all delighted to see the famous Holly Craine in the audience.

In the nights only two-hander, the consistent if not a little erratic Paul Russo and John Clements, delivered a powerful rendition of Beckett’s ‘Faction 3366’. The beautifully written dialogue was performed with much zeal and thrust. A true work of art. Art and beauty, however, are not words that could describe Glenn ‘people’s choice’ From-Newport’s debacle. His work was beyond description. Not only did this charismatic and prostitute-like performer have the audience in raptures, he proceeded to incite a riot with hand clapping, foot stomping and chanting. ‘Will the Eagles Play you!’ blurted the crowd whilst a shadowy creature cleared the stage of bra’s and undies. It was during this defining moment in Australian entertainment that it was driven home to this correspondent that Queen are quite possibly the Worst Band Ever.

What made this gratuitous display of crowd-pleasing so sickening were the smiles and laughter emanating both from the audience and the Coodabeens themselves. The poor wretches who had to follow this act were delivered straight to the abattoir.

As the night rocked and rolled on the good ship Coodabeens, all those who performed showed glimpses of comedic talent and an intimate knowledge of the Richmond Football Club, and in particular, David Bourke, and his lineage.

Doug Long, the Maurice Fields of the performers, raped an orange and showed why he is regarded as the Doyen of Coodabeen correspondents. His masterful use of the English language, coupled with an intimate knowledge of the subject matter (and an orange) and the love of a frisky ferret, ensured a victory for those with a touch of the gout.

The night almost ended in disaster as Luke Gillies felt like an unwanted jellybean at a kiddie’s party. If it was not for the intervention of the buoyant Glenn From-Newport, the crowd would not have witnessed Luke’s Nureyev inspired ‘Dance of the Mongrel Punt’.

As the evening drew to a close and the audience tried to remember who said what (as I am doing here), the Coodabeens once again entered from Stage left and proceeded to tell Champs what to sing and when to sing it. Whilst all were given a collective reprieve by not having to hear Tony belt out Stairway to Heaven, everyone helped the Coodabeens sing their new signature song, ‘Pina Colada’ (if only an AFL club had it as their song!)

As the Coodabeens loosened their vocal chords and as their hips began to shake and thrust, the crowd joined in to end the night on a high. There were none higher than Doug Long, whose citrus infatuation earned him the right to live it up during Grand final week courtesy of a fellow carrying two bags wrapped in plastic.

In the end though, there was no doubting Glenn From-Newport’s victory in the popularity stakes, David Bourke’s win in the Coodabeens Player of the Year, and the fact that half of the speakers barracked for Richmond (a low light of the evening). To quote Shakespeare, ‘it was real bonza mate’.

I left content in the knowledge that while the outside world may be full of pain and agony, the world of the Coodabeens is a place where silliness is lauded. And you’ve gotta love that.