THE BULLDOG TRAGICIAN BLOG
  • The Bulldog Tragician Blog
  • Blog posts
    • 2016 finals collection
  • The Bulldog Tragician Blog
  • Blog posts
    • 2016 finals collection

Home: it's where the Bulldogs are playing

3/6/2013

0 Comments

 
Picture
My mother promised me I could start coming to ‘home’ games when I turned four years old. In my child’s imagination, a home game would mean that the footballers played, much like my brother and I, kick-to-kick in a player's backyard. I expected this to be with the only player I could name. Naturally this was Ted Whitten. I can still recall my amazement when the eagerly awaited day arrived and I walked in for the first time to the Western Oval (not yet christened in the legend’s name), to be greeted by what seemed like a vast expanse of emerald green grass.

There was a unique smell of wet duffel coats, donut vans, and something indefinably Western Oval. (It may have been the plumbing). The players were remote and tiny specks far off in the distance. They wore dressing gowns and ate oranges while they listened to Ted rev them up in the breaks. We walked up to our seats in the John Gent stand - it was rickety even then. The Hyde Street band marched around the oval, coins whizzing dangerously past their heads. 

I was entranced. So began my journey as a fan.

Every home game, we would park near Olympic Tyres in Cross Street. My grandfather was the gateman and would wave at us from his little booth, wearing a long grey dustcoat.  He wasn’t allowed to go to games himself, as he had a heart condition which it was feared would not stand the suspense of Footscray's performances.

There were mysterious events on alternate Saturdays called ‘away’ matches. I wasn’t old enough to go to these as they would involve standing all day and, most likely, uncouth language. The adults in the family – my mother, uncles and aunts  - headed off to destinations that sounded picturesque – Lakeside Oval or Victoria Park. The sorts of places, I thought, that the Famous Five might have shared a simply ripping picnic, with ginger ale.

We children stayed home with my grandmother. She was Irish and would listen to the game on the radio, cooking up a storm for when the adults returned home. We’d run inside at what we thought must be half time. ‘How are we going Nanna?’ Her face would darken. ‘ Five goals down.’ Knowing this was insufficient, she would attempt some spite in her lilting brogue. ’The bloomin’ umpires are killing us!’ My grandmother never saw a game in her lifetime.

Though cold hard facts tell me that, this being the 1960s, we didn’t win many games at the Western Oval, surprisingly enough, that’s not my recollection. It was our fortress, and we went there expecting to win. I don't remember all the dis-spiriting losses that must have happened; instead I recall Georgie Bissett charging into goals as we made stirring last quarter rallies, pinching games from more favoured teams, who hated coming to our ground with its narrow flanks, howling wind and parochial fans. But my memories are probably  faulty as I also recall my mother and I returning home from the last game of the season and my father, in an ill-judged attempt at humour, coming out onto the front porch waving a wooden spoon.

This week our ‘home’ game was in Darwin. All hail the Truly National Competition, where football executives now refer to the fans as stakeholders. The unoccupied John Gent Stand is undoubtedly still rickety, but underneath it, a groovy café sells lattes. (As Marj Simpson would probably say: Do you kids still say ‘groovy’ these days?).

I tuned into the match on Foxtel. Diabolical camerawork, aimless direction, and annoying, droning commentators stood between me and the smells, sights and atmosphere of the game. Even so, I could sense the humidity of the airless night. It seemed like a foreign country, not just another state. Instead of braving the biting wind coming off Mount Mistake, the players retreated to refrigerated cool rooms for carefully managed rehydration. No dressing gowns or oranges were in sight.

Though Port Adelaide have been in the competition for 16 years I can barely recall any of our matches against them. It’s like that with many of the interstate clubs – an absence of that intense rivalry, that tribal loyalty that builds layers of memories, disappointment, joy or resentment into matches. Playing them every year in Darwin of late has still further eroded any investment in the matches - they feel about as interesting as an early pre season trial match. They’re always sloppy, error-riddled games because of the humidity and, perhaps, the lack of occasion. Games you just want to be over without an injury and with a routine four points banked.

This year any complacency about four points is a luxury. Despite myself, I desperately want the Dogs to win what would be just their third victory of the year. The signs aren’t good — they look fatigued from the opening bounce and then Tom Williams, unluckiest of the unlucky, pops his shoulder. I don’t think it’s going to be our night. I try to be philosophical. Again.

The Dogs don’t yield, though. There’s a veritable avalanche of goals in the third quarter, at least by recent Bulldog standards. We hold them off in an agonisingly tense last quarter that seems to go forever. Ted Whitten would have said: Oh what a bloody relief!

When the boys are singing the song my mind drifts to a wonderful article in The Age that morning. One of our supporters, a man called Gary Hincks, was travelling to Darwin to watch his 888th consecutive game. I’m not much of a mathematician, but he must have started this amazing run some 40 years ago. I’m imagining him celebrating among the sparse Darwin crowd, the most dedicated stakeholder of them all.

 

Picture
Gary Hincks before game number 888.
0 Comments

Your comment will be posted after it is approved.


Leave a Reply.

    subscribe to

    ​this blog

    About the Bulldog Tragician

    The Tragician blog began in 2013 as a way of recording what it is like to barrack for a perennially unsuccessful team - the AFL team, the Western Bulldogs.

    The team, based in Melbourne's west, had only won one premiership, back in 1954, and had only made one grand final since then.

    The Tragician blog explored all the other reasons - family, belonging, history and a
    sense of place - that makes even unsuccessful clubs dear to the hearts of their fans.

    ​However, an unexpected twist awaited the long-suffering Tragician: the Bulldogs pulled off an extraordinary fairytale premiership in 2016.

    The story of the unexpected and emotional triumph was captured in weekly blogs and later collated in the book: 'The Mighty West' by the Tragician Blog author Kerrie Soraghan.


    ​Go to BlackInc books to order


    Picture
    subscribe now

    Categories

    All
    2016 Finals
    2016 Season
    2017
    2018
    2019
    2020
    2020 Season
    2021
    2022
    Adam Treloar
    Bob Murphy
    Clay Smith
    Cody Weightman
    Cordy
    Daniel Cross
    Easton Wood
    Jackson Macrae
    Jake 'The Lair' Stringer
    Jamarrah
    Liam Picken
    Libba Sisters
    Luke Beveridge
    Marcus Bontempelli
    Mitch Wallis
    Season 2013
    Tom Boyd
    Tom Liberatore
    Vs Adelaide Crows
    Vs Collingwood
    Vs Essendon
    Vs Fremantle
    Vs Geelong
    Vs GWS
    Vs Hawthorn
    Vs North Melb
    Vs St Kilda
    Vs Sydney
    Vs West Coast Eagles

    Tweets by @Bulldogstragic

    Archives

    September 2022
    August 2022
    June 2022
    May 2022
    March 2022
    September 2021
    August 2021
    June 2021
    April 2021
    March 2021
    December 2020
    August 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    November 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    October 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    January 2015
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.