You can never go home again.

[The original post was in The Roar, July 3rd American, July 4th Australian!]

I watched with interest the (second) build-up to the 300th AFL game of Gary Ablett junior.

Ablett has long been one of my favorite players, not just for his magical skill set but also for his stance as a Christian man in a world where we devout Christians are generally scoffed at. (The easiest thing to be in most of the world is vaguely Christian. The hardest thing to be is devoutly Christian.} 

But something else stands out about both Ablett and another of my all-time favorites, Lance Franklin. They had safety in team and legacy: Ablett at Geelong, Franklin at Hawthorn.

Both men had won premierships, both had won major awards and multiple All-Australian guernseys, both were beloved by their constituencies at home and respected by the rest of the league and other fan bases for their prowess.

The safe thing for Gazza to have done in 2010, and for Buddy to have done in 2012, would have been to re-sign with their clubs and been that one-team legend that so many players dream of becoming, like Nick Riewoldt or Brent Harvey were (or, not insignificantly, Gary Ablett senior).

Offers were out there, sure: for stars of their caliber, offers will alays be out there, and a bit more money could be made elsewhere.

But neither man was hurting for cash, from all reports (I’ll confess to not having met either superstar in person), and there’s only so much money you can spend.

Besides, both are handsome, well-spoken men with positive reputations who’ll be able to write their own tickets in the media or endorsement fields upon retirement (or before). Money should never be an issue for either of them.

The easy choice was to stay, and the harder choice was to go.

In my career as a band instructor here in the US, I developed a reputation for building and maintaining strong and innovative secondary music programs, and without being falsely humble, I was in a similar position to Ablett or Franklin in my small niche of the world in that I could pick and choose from any available such job as I pleased.

And for three very different reasons, I did change school districts in my career: once when the education system in California was undergoing incredible financial struggles in the early 1990s (I moved to Idaho and immediately had four offers to choose from), once when the rural town I taught in was too quickly becoming part of the neighboring city for my taste (I was offered the sun and moon to come take over a small town dynasty of a program an hour outside the city), and once when that small town dynasty’s school district began collapsing under its own corruption (I moved here to the town I’ve taught in and loved for the last 11 years, though the last four haven’t been teaching band).

There are many reasons to change jobs at the top of your game, and no two situations are the same.

Gary Ablett had more to leave behind than Lance Franklin did, although choosing Hawthorn’s primary competitive rival at the time to switch also created its own baggage and challenges.

Remember, Gazza not only had legacy and beyond in Geelong, but heritage as well. The “Son of God” was a second-gen Cat whose father was still an active part of the Cattery environment; to leave all that must have almost felt like a violation of a tribal trust, not just a personal issue.

But the opportunity to be “The Man”, not just the son of The Man, not just one of a group of The Men on a premiership team, was part of the draw of the expansion Gold Coast Suns.

There was the chance to be the reason for a team’s success: there was no history to build on, no superstar teammates to rely on when you struggled, no clouding of whatever success you achieved there.

The “Son of God” became the Saviour for the Suns of the Gold Coast.

And do not question that Gary Ablett succeeded there. Champion Data analyst Karl Jackson, in a thesis he compiled last year, noted that in Ablett’s first four-and-a-half years as a Sun, his worst 40-game stretch was better than anyone else’s best 40-game stretch.

He was so demonstrably superior that it became a test of the validity of any evaluative tools Champion developed at the time: if Ablett didn’t finish on top of your proposed tool’s list of players, your tool was a failure.

He won his second Brownlow medal for a 2013 team that only won eight games. In 2014, he missed a third of the season and still placed third; he led by 50 per cent more votes than any other player when he was injured in Round 15.

When his shoulder went kaput against Collingwood at home three years ago this week, the team bravely held it together and won a famous victory against the Magpies, 80-75… and then lost six of their last seven and fell out of the race for finals.

With Gazza playing fewer than half the team’s games, his Suns went just 11 and 39 with one draw over the next two and a bit years.

But a funny thing happened while he was no longer the Suns’ Hans Solo. The rest of the Suns were forced to depend on each other. When Ablett returned to the lineup, he didn’t have to do everything and be the saviour every time out.

On Saturday, for example, in his team’s 19-point victory over the Kangaroos, he had another superb game – his 114th game with at least 30 disposals, in addition to five marks and four tackles.

But Tom Lynch kicked five goals, Jarryd Lyons had 39 disposals and six tackles (as did Touk Miller and Jack Martin), Jarrod Witts out-hit-out Todd Goldstein 45-42, Steven May took eight marks and had nine one-percenters. Even young Ben Ainsworth had four goals!

The team isn’t particularly consistent yet – it’s had more than its share of cultural problems and “bad apples”, and drawing fans to footy on the Gold Coast is challenging in the best of times.

But Ablett has done what I presume he was hoping to accomplish at a minimum: see the novice club through to where it has become a viable, competitive AFL team.

It’s true that they haven’t reached finals yet, his most oft-stated goal, and odds are that they won’t make it this year either.

But with his wonky shoulder, he’ll probably retire before the Suns win a title: should he feel obligated to stay until they at least make finals?

Then again, perhaps “obligated” is an inappropriate choice of words: he may prefer to stay there, despite the return-of-the-king narrative often floated around Geelong.

Again, I wish I could say I have the privilege to know the man; I don’t, so I can’t venture to say what he’s thinking or feeling about this.

But he’s had his share of being The Man at Gold Coast for seven years, and he had his share of being one of a team of stars at Geelong for the previous nine.

Wouldn’t you think he’d enjoy the “in-between” state of being Leader Among Equals with several up-and-coming stars like Lynch and May, Lyons and Harbrow?

I’ve been back to the school where I first taught, in northern California, and the entire school district is now gone, swallowed up by a neighboring district.

The rural town in Idaho I left has indeed been completely citified now; and there’s no break between the brand new high school campus and the big city encroaching from the north.

The beautiful home I owned in the third town had been painted a strange color the last I saw it, and was unrecognizable.

Even the band program I built here, the one I had to turn over to a young successor when I got too sick to run it any more, is just a third of its former size.

Sometimes I fantasize about being healthy enough to take the reins again, to re-build the hundred-person marching band and the 150-student middle school concert band we had.

But I get over it. Because you really can never go home again, because “home” always changes.

Gazza, I hope you stay with the Suns for the remainder of your illustrious career. The Geelong of 2018 is not what it was in 2010 when you last saw it (no, that’s not entirely bad, I understand).

Feel free to retire to Geelong after you’re done playing, if you’d like. But what you’re supposedly searching for are memories, and those are fleeting and not re-creatable.

And speaking of memories, Mr Ablett, thank you for three hundred games of amazing memories that you’ve provided for me and every fan of brilliant, creative footy.

May you get whatever your masterful heart desires out of the rest of your career, and beyond.