Murchison-Toolamba stalwart Paul Harrison nominated for Bunnings’ Legend of the Tongs initiative

Harrison has been everything at Murchison-Toolamba: a thirds hopeful, senior stalwart, twos premiership captain, umpire, committee man and a father to the next generation of Hoppers.

And now, he's up for national recognition.

Harrison has been nominated for the Bunnings’ Legend of the Tongs initiative, a nod to the sausage-flipping heroes who keep the juniors fed and a fire burning in the club’s belly.

The barbecue, tool set and marquee he won have already been donated to the club’s goods and services auction by Harrison.

And if he becomes a finalist, winning a trip for two to the 2025 AFL grand final, what will happen then?

“I'm a Carlton man, so I won't be going to watch them,” Harrison said with a laugh.

A seat at the MCG would only be fitting for a guy like Harrison, who has devoted more than four decades of his life to grassroots footy.

But to be honest, he’s more at home at Murchison Recreation Reserve.

Harrison’s journey at Murchison-Toolamba began in the thirds in 1982 and, bar some twisted metal, a stint on the sidelines and a few years spent at Tatura, he has remained a true blue Hopper since.

“I played ’82, ’83, ’84 and then I went to Tatura for a bit and then I had a car accident; I couldn't play for a couple of years,” he said.

“I started my senior career in ’89; I played 200 senior games and dropped back into the twos about 2001 and was captain of the twos — we won a flag there.

“When I retired from footy, that was the time when umpires were short, so I started umpiring.”

Weekends are now equal parts juggling act and road tripping for the Harrison family.

All six of his kids have donned the Hoppers jersey or dress at one point and, with four currently stepping out on Saturday, it’s a nine-hour affair revolving around navigating venues, whistles and barbecues.

Would Harrison change it?

Not for the world.

“I’m a farmer, so that's a pretty lonely profession when you're doing that on your own, which I am,” he said.

“This is where I come to see people.

“I met my wife here and the footy club's been good to me and vice versa.”

Harrison has given everything to Murchison-Toolamba.

In its own way, the club has reciprocated.

And right now, the Hoppers are absolutely humming.

Off-field culture is at an all-time high and it’s beaming onto the oval and court with the Hoppers’ senior and reserves football sides sitting on top, while four of the club’s netball outfits are in with a sniff of playing finals.

Training nights now buzz with energy.

Where there were once empty seats, now there are kids, parents, volunteers and 150 sausages sizzling into the dusk.

But Harrison remembers when it wasn’t all so sweet.

There were many days when the scoreboard rarely smiled on Murchison-Toolamba.

That’s why his reserves premiership victory in 2001 sticks out so much.

“That one stands out for miles because we were a struggling club at that time,” he said.

“Up until that point, we were getting beaten quite easily, quite regularly and there was a group of us all over 30.

“There was about seven of us that went back and played twos and, as old blokes, we won the flag and that was pretty awesome.”

Harrison played during periods when success was scarce, but spirit never was.

Like the time he was stand-in captain of the twos and won the toss, only to send his team in the wrong direction.

“We had two full-forwards lining up on each other and it took us a while to work that out,” Harrison said with a chuckle.

“Everybody still gives me a bit of stick about that.”

Sure, Harrison’s had his fair share of faux pas and funny moments at Murchison-Toolamba.

But he’s also done the serious bit, too.

Ten years on the club committee had Harrison involved in some key decisions, the most important of which was the call to merge Murchison and Toolamba, driven by then-president Craig Thompson.

Nowadays, Harrison is happy to stand behind the barbie, cooking snags for the future of the club.

He’s also happy to deflect the spotlight from people insisting on shining a light on him.

“I feel like a bit of a fraud really, all this attention's about me and I didn't want it to be about me,” he said.

“I just stand in the background and do my little thing, but there's plenty of people doing a hell of a lot of work here.”

But what is a club if not built on the backs of men and women who never seek the spotlight?

Harrison is that.

He’s not just a legend of the tongs.

He’s a legend of the long-haul, the line-markers, the early starts and late finishes.

He wouldn’t tell you that. But we just did.