Brownlow in desperate need of another Brynne moment

The boorish behaviour from the infamous “Fevola Brownlow” has been replaced with sanitised speeches and wide-eyed sobriety – but that hasn’t made it any less cringeworthy.

As Brownlow fever ramps up, it’s hard not to hark back to the moment the Oscars of Aussie Rules changed forever.

No, it wasn’t THAT red dress.

It was the night we first saw Brynne “Flash” Gordon bounce onto the blue carpet and watched aghast as Brendan Fevola disgraced himself royally in front of the cameras.

Yes, it was the 2009 Brownlow, AFL’s night of nights, 14 years on it has never been the same.

Rebecca Twigley on the red carpet at the 2004 Brownlow Medal in THAT red dress.

Gone is the jock vulgarity, the buffoonery, the ill-advised and ill-fitting frocks. Cancelled, with nary a diamond-encrusted G-string gown to be seen.

The boorish behaviour from the infamous “Fevola Brownlow” have been replaced with sanitised speeches, wide-eyed sobriety and stylists checking every inch from wet slicked back hair to doughnut-glazed manicured toes.

No one wants to be on a worst-dressed list. Scrap that, worst-dressed lists have also been cancelled.

We can no longer describe a wife, partner or girlfriend as a WAG, it is demeaning.

Sure the label is outdated, but whatever human resources, marketing, or content creator job title you might have in real life, let’s cut to the cut-out dress chase, you’re only getting photographed and talked about because you are on the arm of a footballer.

Sorry, but not sorry.

Brynne Edelsten first turned heads on the Brownlow blue carpet in 2009.

The Brownlow carpet is now inundated with podcasters wanting to prank footballers with gotcha moments and don’t-call-me-WAGs wearing gowns more suited for a trip down the aisle.

Media moments are created in hotel suites with an A4-sized list of branded hashtags.

Dare I say it, has the Brownlow become boring?

Let me take you back to the night when the Wild West AFL days were in full swing.

As a Brownlow ingenue, it was some night to be deflowered.

Somewhat nervous to hit the ruby rug for the first time, I hitched up my black-tie dress and shuffled into the scrum. Dictaphone and notebook in hand.

The Crown casino carpet was awash with fake tans, bling and nude dresses and there always seemed to be a theme. One year it was all about the baby bump and another had everyone rocking up in wedding white.

2009 was the year of the flesh-coloured dress. Cue safe and on the dullish side.

An audible sigh swept across the hyped-up journalists and the snappers hoping for a bit of leg, or the holy grail, a nip-slip.

“It’s all so dull dah-ling” one red carpet veteran exclaimed.

Who could forget Tanya Buckley’s diamante encrusted G-string at the 2001 Brownlow? Picture: Julian Smith

Then in sashayed Brynne. The media scrum scrambled into action. Who was this buxom smiling, Vegas-style girl on the, now late, Doc Geofrrey Edelsten’s arm?

Brynne and her bejewelled bra was a gift from the Brownlow heavens, all of a sudden there was something to talk about.

That was until Brendan Fevola started sinking Crownies.

As the medal count ground on, Fevola was the one to watch as he haw-hawed with his Carlton crew.

As AFL boss Andrew Demetriou droned on (and on) the Carlton superstar made it look like the party of the year.

Following the count, Fevola could barely contain his worst-on-ground excitement.

Outside Crown, Fevola was given the task of hosting the The Footy Show’s Street Talk segment.

He should have been dragged. The big fella did not hold back with Crownies in each hand (thankfully the beverage was the major sponsor for the night).

Fev hammed it up for his terrified cameraman and sound assistant, simulating sex moves and puckering up to some equally terrified WAGs and swearing black and blue while interviewing players.

At one stage he had the previous year’s winner Adam Cooney in a headlock before knocking a full bottle of beer (yes a Crownie) out of the Bulldog’s hand and into a bevy of female onlookers.

Brendan Fevola slurred his way through Channel 9’s Street Talk segment at the 2009 ‘Boozelow’.

Not long after, holding a fistful of cash, Fev tried to pay a waiter $500 to keep the Crownies coming.

“Just keep it,” a then Rebecca Twigley told the confused looking waiter as she tried to steady the toppling spearhead.

Even Fevola’s heavily pregnant wife couldn’t calm down the big blue.

“Brendan, I’m telling you, stop drinking,” Alex said.

“But I just did Street Talk,” he slurred.

“Oh yeah and that went really well,” she snapped.

At one point I saw Fevola on the balcony at the River Room where the afterparty was held.

He was smoking a cigarette in one hand, holding a Crownie in the other and vomiting on his shoes in the rain.

Crown security kept a strict eye on him as he slapped players in the face, only to then passionately hug and kiss them.

“I love you man,’’ Fevola said while embracing teammate Marc Murphy.

“I really, really love you.’’

As the party wound up and the music died down, Fevola took to the stage to sing the Dirty Dancing anthem I’ve had the Time of My Life to an amused crowd.

At 3:15am, security asked him to leave, but he tussled with the guards before his Carlton teammates ushered him out the door.

He then turned to me with the wobbly boot on and asked to bum a smoke.

I obliged and watched as Fev stumbled down the city’s unsuspecting dark streets like Charlie Chaplin at the end of a silent movie.

If the Brownlow were to be dubbed the Boozelow, the former Carlton great was the sure-fire winner.

Do we want to go back to those binge boozed Brownlow nights? Aghh that’s a firm no. But this sanitised marketed version is also cringeworthy in a different way.

Maybe we just need a new Brynne.