Helen Garner came late to football. In her new book, The Season, she reflects on how she only started to appreciate it in recent years, as Melbourne bounced in and out of lockdowns. She writes, ‘I saw it as a kind of poetry, an ancient common language between strangers, a set of shared hopes and rules and images, of arcane rites played out at regular intervals before the citizenry. It revives us. It sustains us.’

In this book, she follows her grandson, Amby, a dedicated young footballer, as he plays out a season in the under 16s. Aware of her own mortality, she wants to get to know him better, ‘… to see what he’s like when he’s out in the world.’ Helen diligently joins Amby at his training sessions and games, riding the boundary while he jostles on the turf. She deftly sketches out the rest of the team and their personalities, and the young coach with his boundless enthusiasm.

As Amby’s season progresses, Garner examines their relationship in her typical forthright manner, not afraid to dive headfirst into their family dynamics, or those within and among the teams. Time itself, and the changes it brings, is a theme Garner returns to and handles as only she can.

Garner comes at football with a naïve perspective and a poet’s eye for detail. She’s just opened the door to this new world and voraciously eats it up: the courage of the young players, the language of its commentators, the commitment of its supporters. Her insights into the game were illuminating and, for me, cast it in a new light. I must admit that I have done the reverse to Garner: after being a football fanatic, I had fallen out of football’s thrall in recent times. After reading this book, I watched my first full game in years.

The Season will be appreciated by football fans, of course, but it contains multitudes. Just like the game itself.