Before you go judging me, and I know you’re going to, keep in mind that I am genetically titled towards this level of vagueness. My Mum, so the story goes, left my sister Pippa in a greengrocer’s shop when she was five weeks old. Five minutes into the drive home, she made her frantic realisation and returned to see a large Greek man on the footpath, staring bewilderedly into the middle distance, nursing a baby against his apron. ‘I wasn’t used to having four’ is how Mum always explains it. Fortunately, she’d been a long term customer.

Last Friday week (16^th November) I made my A-League sidelines commentary debut. The ABC Grandstand coverage of the Melbourne Victory versus Central Coast Mariners game was to commence at 7.30pm, and I spent the train trip to Southern Cross swotting up on jersey numbers, goal tallies, average crowds, pronunciations and likely formations. Although I’ve followed the league since its inception, and had my Victory membership from the outset, there’s a knowledge chasm that exists for converts who come to a sport in adulthood, rather than having it stitched into one’s DNA. I was stressed. I’d even made a pre-match arrangement with my soccer watching pals, Rita Zammit, Joe Marscio and John Vallese to text through their observations on the action as it unfolded. Naturally, that meant leaving my phone silenced, but on.

In sidelines commentary terms, the pre-match exploded with action. ‘Archie’s out!’ I exclaimed into my handheld microphone, as a disconsolate Archie Thompson slouched out of the warm up, across the pitch, and down the tunnel.  Francis turned me into his star reporter. ‘You say he didn’t look happy?’ he asked. I described the slouch, as well as the downturned eyes. Within five minutes, they’d crossed back to me, to repeat some of the stuff I’d said about the slouch. And by now I’d heard from Fox Sports’ sidelines reporter, Andy Maher, that Archie had a stomach bug he picked up in Korea.

‘Apparently Archie has a stomach bug he picked up in Korea’ I parroted, wondering if the ‘apparently’ was being asked to work a fraction hard given the level of fact checking that had gone on. Still, Andy Maher had heard from the Victory’s Football Manager, and I’d gone to Andy and Emma’s wedding. Surely he wouldn’t throw me a sidelines furphy on debut. Not on my first night as part of the bench brotherhood.

Soon, the whole sideline was buzzing with news of the stomach bug. Did I break Andy’s story before he did? Yes I did. Will I win a Walkley for this? Well that remains to be seen.

My plan to receive SMS observations from Rita, Joe and John proceeded apace. As an end-to-end football extravanganza unfolded, the texts started to roll in:

“Defence having trouble containing the speed of McBreen.”

“Lots of Central Coast’s attacking play coming from Ferrera’s side. He needs to improve his positioning.”

‘Running onto the field before the substitution occurs? Isn’t that a yellow card?’

Apparently it is a yellow card, but not if the fourth official has made a mistake and allowed it to happen. I know this because John texted the question from Aisle 45 row R, I said it on the sidelines, Steve Horvat pondered it in central commentary, and a listener tweeted the answer.

It was a wonderful match. On the field, Daniel McBreen gunned another brace, Marco Rojas danced up a storm, and the Thompsonless Victory found equalisers from Nabbout and Milligan.

Off the field, I achieved my pre match goal of becoming the first A-League commentator to identify that Andrew Nabbout’s surname recalled the planet of Naboo in Star Wars. ‘According to the Wookieepedia,’ I spouted just after half time, ‘Naboo was a planet that was the sector capital of the Chommell sector near the Outer Rim territories.’

I was getting confident. Steve Horvat joked that I was down on the sidelines in a Sith helmet. My debut was going as well as I could have hoped.

Tony Wilson – MVFC v Central Coast by byTonyWilson

Until my phone vibrated up a storm. Instead of bleacher fodder from my football family, it was my actual family —specifically, wife Tamsin:

‘Weird question I know but Charley Dog not here – Did you take him…?’

Did I take the dog to the sidelines of Etihad Stadium? My stomach lurched with panic.

‘No!’ I texted back, as the game changing drama of Patrick Zwaanswijk’s red card occurred on the pitch in front of me. Francis crossed down to me, and I reported on the Dutchman’s slow bandy-legged exit.  ‘It’s a shame,’ I said, pretending I was something other than the absurdly biased fan that I am. ‘It’s a shame for the game, because it’s been such an even, attacking contest.’

I had half an ear open for Francis and Steve, but was now consumed by Charley’s disappearance. Where could he be?  The last time I’d seen him was when I’d taken him to the park, three kids in tow, at 5.30pm. But he would have come home with us. Charley Dog, abandoned as a puppy, never strayed further than fifty or so metres.  Surely he came home with us. Unless … unless  …

‘Oh my god, Tam,’ I said, attempting to speak into the phone with one side of my face as I listened for Francis’s crosses with the other. ‘Charley’s at the park! I tied him up to a park bench! I can’t talk because I’m on air. But he’s tied to a bench at the park!’

This is the bit where you’re starting to judge me. You’re picturing him watching us leave, attempting to follow, but being tugged back by the lead. You’re hearing one or two soft plaintive whines, not barks because Charley would have figured he didn’t need to bark. ‘It’s not like they’re going to leave me here,’ he would have thought. ‘I’m one of the pack. They love me.’ You’re thinking about the three hours he spent next to that bench, as day became evening, as ‘they’ll be back soon’ became, ‘they’ll be back soon surely? Won’t they?’

At home, Tam started ringing around to find someone to watch the kids while she ran to the park. At the stadium, I remembered that my mobile number dangled around Charley’s neck. I checked for missed calls. There was an unknown number. Again, I did the trick of phoning with one ear, and attending to the football action with the other. Oh, shit. Leigh Broxham was warming up. Please don’t cross to me now, Francis.

I called the unknown number. Hallelujah, it was a man at the park. Double hallelujah, he was still there with Charley. I whispered that I was live on radio so couldn’t chat, but could he hang there for another couple of minutes because my wife was on her way. He said that he could see a woman running towards the dog now. I thanked him, restored my headset to position, took a deep breath, and did a bang up job of enthusing about a Marco Rojas 360 degree turn that nearly produced goal of the season.

‘Got him’ Tam texted.

‘Thank god. So sorry’ I texted back.

‘He’s furious. Hasn’t wagged at all. Has sprinted straight for home.’

Should I attempt to justify how it happened? How we rarely tie him up. How it was a perfect storm of a packed playground demanding an unusual tethering, followed by a one year old crying, and a three year old scooting towards the road, and a five year old who wouldn’t get off the monkey bars, and a printout full of Mariners’ season stats that hadn’t been read yet, and that if we didn’t hurry home I’d miss the 6.13 and then —possibly, certainly perhaps —someone else would be the first to make that Nabbout/Naboo Wookiepedia reference.

Are you willing to cut me some slack?

Because Charley was. He was wagging at the gate when I got home.

I told this story on ABC Evenings to Lindy Burns, John Origlasso and Heath Francis.

Lindy Burns – Dog Day Afternoon into Evening by byTonyWilson