Dennis Cometti has been remembered for his genius wit, professionalism, kindness and his questionable fashion choices during a moving State Memorial Service for the legendary broadcaster.
Long-time colleague Bruce McAvaney was among the guest speakers in Perth as football fans got to say goodbye to the golden voice of Australian Rules football.
Cometti, whose career spanned five decades, died at the age of 76 in March.
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Fittingly, Monday’s memorial was held at Optus Stadium, where the media centre was named in Cometti’s honour.
Former colleague Mark Readings fought back tears as he stood on stage preparing to begin the afternoon’s proceedings.
Basil Zempilas, former West Perth captain Les Fong and WA Premier Roger Cook also spoke.
But it was left to McAvaney to finish proceedings on an afternoon where the anecdotes flowed freely.
FAREWELL DENNIS Watch the entire memorial service on 7plus
“I reckon he is in the make-up chair right now thinking, ‘Yeah, the fuss is pretty good’,” McAvaney quipped about his good friend.
“He inspired us. And every time someone’s spoken to me about Dennis, they’ve had that reflective smile.
“It is the measure of what he’s given so many Australians over the years, and that enduring gift does elevate him beyond the confines of a heaving football stadium or a television set.
“He has certainly entered our vernacular.
“His passing has had a profound effect on me.”
McAvaney marvelled at Cometti’s brilliance to match the rhythm of the moment.
And of course, there were the Cometti-isms.
“Often during a piece of commentary magic from Cometti, he would pivot slightly to the right and look me in the eye, just to give me that look, so that I knew that he knew how damn good that was,” McAvaney said.
In front of Cometti’s wife Velia, his daughter Ricki and son Mark, there were plenty of amusing and insightful stories about the great man.
Like the time Cometti’s mother was left upset when he left his “secure” post office job to take up a role as a DJ at 6KY.
Another memorable Cometti story was his iconic call of Kieren Perkins winning gold from lane eight in the 1500m final at the 1996 Olympics.
“This is rare gold, the best type of gold,” Cometti said during his famous call.
Afterwards, Cometti went up to Perkins, looked him in the eye and said, “Kieren, I couldn’t have done it without you”.
Cometti’s quick wit and dulcet tones were a feature of his commentary and made him a household name.
‘Cometti-isms’ featured prominently during Monday’s memorial.
His “like a cork in the ocean, over his head” call to describe Peter Wilson’s snap-over-the-head goal in the 1992 grand final is part of West Coast folklore.
“Centimetre perfect” was echoed by schoolkids all over the country.
And who could forget the “he came up behind him like a librarian, he never heard him” to describe Heath Shaw’s desperate goal-line smother to deny Nick Riewoldt in the 2010 grand final replay.
But before that, Cometti was a player at WAFL club West Perth, and he later coached the Falcons for three seasons.
Ex-West Perth captain Les Fong remembered his former coach for his empathy, wisdom, and understanding of the game.
“And of course, Dennis had his style,” Fong said.
“He introduced fashion no coach before and since quite matched – the famous vest.
“Among the player group, there was always curiosity about what the coach would be wearing that day.”
Cook lauded Cometti as one of the most quoted Western Australians of all time, describing him as the Shakespeare of the AFL community.
And it was fitting McAvaney, who shared the microphone with Cometti for almost 450 matches, had the final word at Monday’s memorial.
“His legacy is permanent. He will always be with us. That’ll do. Thank you.”
Bruce McAvaney’s full speech
How many times have I been asked about Dennis, or someone has grabbed me in the street in the last eight weeks and wanted to talk to me about him? The commentator, the bloke, what was he like? But they always wanted to tell me what he did for them. We’ve talked about that already today, haven’t we? About the joy. The fact that he made us laugh. He inspired us. Every time someone has spoken to me about Dennis they have had that reflective smile.
It is the measure of what he’s given so many Australians, all of us in this room and everyone that might be watching right now, over the years. And that enduring gift, it does elevate him beyond the confines of a heaving football stadium or a television set. He has certainly entered our vernacular. How often we’ve laughed today at the Cometti-isms. How lucky was I standing alongside of him? They emerged without any hesitation at the most appropriate moment. And I’d think, how did he do it? I’d still be asking my question as he cemented yet another line into footy folklore.
We’ve said it before; he made footballers famous. We pride ourselves here in Australia at the quality of our sports broadcasters, there are many of them in the room today sitting right over there and I’m sure there’s many of them watching around Australia. Dennis unquestionably one of our finest and without doubt, the benchmark when it comes to Australian Rules Football.
He did have the perfect cocktail – and we’ve heard about that today. A player, a coach and that golden voice, that curiosity, a sense of fun, ego and generosity.
A few years ago, in a conversation I had with another truly great commentator in Tim Lane, we shared our admiration for Dennis’ ability to rise in sync with the match as it reached that crucial point. I can visualise it now. A prolonged, pivotal contest for ascendency on the wing of the MCG and Dennis’ voice quickening. His body was in rhythm with the action, the tone, the accuracy, the cadence. Sorry Dennis, it was centimetre perfect. It really was. And here I was, standing alongside of him.
His passing has had a profound effect on me. We shared a journey and for me, that was singularly the most extraordinary I’ve had in partnership with anybody else in my broadcasting career. Those Friday nights, we went about it very differently. Dennis would prepare by writing copious sentences as I was jotting down numbers. We never compared notes. We didn’t have a game plan. But I sort of knew, when he walked through the door of the studio with that carnival knee, that ungainly gait of his, that everything would be alright. That smile of this. That ability to say a lot without really saying too much. He had such a presence. In a funny way, he calmed us all. And yet as I got to know him, I realised he was going through exactly what I was.
He would sit to my left and call mainly off the monitor. I’m too small to do that, so I had to stand and use my binoculars. And often, during a piece of commentary magic from Cometti, he would pivot slightly to the right and look me in the eye. Just to give me that look so that I knew, that he knew, how darn good that was.
We were a similar age in our lives, similar stage. Both privately in the work that we did, we were so anxious both of us, in not delivering the right line at the right moment.
Once or twice a season, usually a few weeks after the Finals, we would meet for breakfast at a little café adjacent to the hotel. It was our time to check up on one another. Share our doubts, our desires, our ambitions. It was an opportunity to take a breath. It was at one of those meetings that Dennis gently suggested that I never look at social media chat. I sorely had to say, I took him for his word. It was a message well received.
In that final season that we worked together in 2016 at one of our summits, he lamented advising the Seven Network that this would be his last. He told me, don’t let them know. There’s only so many farewell laps you can do. It was a long, long season. In a funny way, he was a show-off, we all know that, but he wasn’t an attention seeker.
That grand final, the Bulldogs and the Swans will always be my favourite game of football. We knew that was the final time. A couple of years later we caught up in Perth and we did that reasonably regularly. We discussed exit strategies. I was still pretty much full-time and Dennis was still working but based here in WA. He talked to me about the importance of a soft landing. After the intensity of national commentary, it was important that he didn’t just stop completely. And then he paused and he looked me in the eye and he said, I may have retired, but I haven’t retired my ego. None of us ever do. It’s the hard trick for all of us. How do we stay relevant after you’ve been so important?
Right until the end, he had my back. I hope he knows I had his as well. We were colleagues, we became lifelong friends.
And finally to you V, I can speak with experience with Annie by my side today, how your judgment, intuition, unwavering support and understanding of the industry allowed Dennis to fulfill his potential.
We have been so lucky, all of us, to have heard the voice and to have met the man. His legacy is permanent; he will always be with us.
