“The game provides the same entertainment for a bloke who’s a million-dollar company director as it does for a bloke who shovelling dirt in a trench.” Billy Picken said that in 1981. He died on the weekend, aged 66. He was a magnificent, if unorthodox, footballer. A big-occasion performer, a beloved figure at Collingwood and a player who entertained suits and ditch diggers in equal measure.
Billy wouldn’t have had much time for duckers and shruggers, for midweek rule changes and sub-rule shifties. As a man who used to commentate his own play, he was probably more informative and erudite with a mouthguard and a gob full of mud than some of the folks calling the modern game.
