Not sure I should go too deep into reviewing Pissants by Brandon Jack because I’m quite certain that the demographic of readers of this blog is wildly different to that of Brandon Jack’s novel. Anyway…
First up – why did I pick up a book about a group of players at an unnamed (but high-level) AFL club? Curiosity. Because it’s written by an ex-Sydney Swans player and I thought, ‘Can he write?’ (yes, huge assumption and stereotyping thinking otherwise).
I was also interested in the formatting of the book – there are plenty of pages of straight text, but Jack throws in footnotes, WhatsApp chats, betting slips, and chapters of dual dialogue where a player is being interviewed and what he says runs alongside what he is actually thinking. Some readers will find this a little tricked-up – I probably wouldn’t want to repeat the reading experience too frequently but for Pissants, it was clever.
We are introduced to the Pissants in the opening chapter, knowing them only by their nicknames and how they earned those names. It immediately sets the tone for the rest of the book – a laugh is quickly replaced by an uncomfortable feeling when some of the nicknames cross the line from mates ribbing each other to being downright cruel.
What unfolds is a story told from multiple perspectives, and it’s dominated by locker room banter; pranks played on teammates; and an extraordinary amount of alcohol and drug use (and all the behaviour that goes with that). There are a couple of narrative threads that carry through to a resolution, however, the book does suffer a bit from shifting between too many perspectives.
For most of this book, I was terrified. It is fiction, however, I couldn’t help but think that a version of every single toxic thing that happened in this novel, has happened at a footy club. From the ‘Mystery Dick Stakes’ (the new recruits who won’t ‘reveal’ themselves in the showers) and the death of a teammate’s dog after a kidnapping-prank-gone-wrong, to the Pissants Open (‘pub golf’ where the scoring system is based on the number of beers consumed at each pub) and the drugs measures taken to get through club sponsor nights.
In the time between the group being kicked out of the first pub of the day and before arriving at the nightclub for the evening, they were to source a full-grown Atlantic salmon which would then be brought into the nightclub and placed in the centre of the dancefloor while all the surrounding players chanted, ‘PAUL SALMON! PAUL SALMON! PAUL SALMON!’ repeatedly.
But I had a few laughs, especially when the players are ticking off their bingo cards as the club’s psychologist gives their weekly lecture.
And there were pop culture references that also made me smile.
Woman: You came to my school the other week to talk to our students. You’re a footy player.
Me (fucking hell): Oh, yeah, that might’ve been me.
It undoubtedly was me, and that school was ill-equipped to handle two of the lesser-known players of the XXX Football Club. The Principal, some quasi-incarnation of Mr G and the manager from Flight of the Conchords, had me holed up explaining the full extent of his Uner-16s football career. ‘The Train’ he called himself, even being so kind as to show me the large green and white steam engine that he’d had inked on his lower back to mark the name.
Was I supposed to get a sense of camaraderie? That these guys were there for their teammates at all costs? What I got was a group of young men, fearful of things that they couldn’t or wouldn’t name.
Who should read this book? I have no idea. If you’re considering it, stand in a book shop and read the first few pages – that will give you a sense of what’s ahead.
4/5 (three stars for the writing and an extra star for the creativity).