No, Bombers. James Hird will not ‘heal’ my beloved Essendon. Appoint him and I’m done

July 31, 2026 — 11:00am

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Like a unicorn, the Staggers jeans were hanging in a Hobart vintage shop, next to original wash 501s. Straight, lilac, 26-inch waist. I hadn’t seen a pair in, forever. And bang, I was back in 1973, when my big sister wore Staggers with a Miller shirt and Treads.

Back in the soft-top Datsun 180B, singing You’re So Vain with my brother and sisters, having Mum stop at the milk bar. I’d get back in the car feeling cool, pretend smoking my Big Boss cigar like I had a world to run.

What I wanted most in life was to be Sally Boyden on Young Talent Time. I was jealous of her pious yet knowing version of Sister Janet Mead’s The Lord’s Prayer and her long dress and her fringe and fame.

Other distractions stopped me making a Sally voodoo doll. Victoria’s first Maccas went up next to our school. We’d fang around on Dragsters with plastic flowers from cereal boxes clicking in the wheels, make Shaker Maker models, spend pocket money at Brashs.

The Staggers jeans had........

© The Sydney Morning Herald