Before the round 19 match against North Melbourne, the Western Bulldogs hierarchy took the unusual step of dispatching the following letter to 16,000 member households:
 
Dear Member,
 
We write to you as a valued member of the Western Bulldogs Football Club. So far, we are sure you would agree it has been a tough year for the Red, White and Blue.
 
As leaders of the Club, we want you to know that while we share your disappointment, we are 100 per cent focussed on building a successful and sustainable football club. We are confident that we are on the right path and are committed to the challenges that will present themselves.
 
Over recent years we came close to achieving our on-field aims, but not close enough. In light of this, we have taken decisions and made the changes that were needed to give us the best chance of success.
 
We have started this journey, one which will require patience, perseverance and discipline for all of us to stay on track and to not deviate from our path.
 
Our new coaching panel is dedicated to educating, training and developing our players under a total football program that will give them the best opportunity to maximise their potential. This process has started and is on the way.
 
We are regularly fielding one of the youngest sides in the competition. On average, we have played 12 players per match with less than 50 games experience to date, while our competitors, outside of GWS and Gold Coast, have averaged just seven.
 
We will continue to give game experience to our younger players and to give others their opportunity before the season ends. Stick with us. Your continued support for the team is very important.
 
We are sure you will be excited by the likes of Luke Dahlhaus, Mitch Wallis, Clay Smith, Ayce Cordy and Tom Liberatore as they grow into the players we know they will be.
 
Off the field we have never been in a better place to support a period of development.
 
The club has posted five consecutive profits in recent years, wiped almost $1 million off our debt, completed the $31 million re-development of Whitten Oval and secured solid membership numbers in 2012 – reaching 30,000 for only the third time in our history.
 
We are also making significant in-roads into our strategy to 'Win the West' and stamp the Western Region of Melbourne as our own, while continuing to increase the Club's investment in our core business of football – growing our resources and importantly, football staff.
 
Now, more than ever, is the time to stick together to ensure we maximise the opportunity for us to taste success.
 
Thanks again for your continued support.
 
The letter – signed by Messrs Smorgon, McCartney, Grant, Garlick and Boyd – was dispatched against a backdrop of poor form and odds of $8.00 against North Melbourne, a team that not long ago we wiped the floor with constantly.
 
The Roos are one of the most watchable teams in the competition at the moment. They remind me so much of the 2005 Bulldogs. Some of the similarities include: the ability to move the ball with pace and sharp precision; aggression; high score tallies; making a late lunge for the finals after years of mediocrity; a driven coach at the helm; a smattering of experienced players on hand to steady the ship when needed.
 
North are an emerging side with unheralded players. They've won six of their last seven games and rank an impressive number 2 in Points For in the competition, behind only Hawthorn. Conversely, their defence is ranked number 15.
 
Once again Brendan McCartney made so many changes that I had no hope of memorising them without a notebook. In came Nathan Djerrkura, Tom Campbell, Zeph Skinner and Dylan Addison, as well as Michael Talia and Jason Johannisen – our 7th and 8th debutants for the season. Out went Luke Dahlhaus (rested), Daniel Cross, Lindsay Gilbee, Liam Jones, Patrick Veszpremi and Tom Williams. Some of those names have walked in and out of the revolving door so often this year that they’ll soon fall down with dizziness.
 
Weekly tinkering like this can't be good for continuity, but I don't think continuity matters right now. I read the constant changes as McCartney wanting to look at as many players as possible, as often as possible, so that the footy department makes the right decisions about who goes in the looming end-of-season cleanout.
 
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I was one of just a handful in red, white and blue to board the train at Footscray just 40 minutes before first bounce. I remember catching St Albans and Werribee line trains as a kid and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the Faithful. After stirring wins, a rendition the club song would be belted out in the carriages. Those were in the pre-iPhone days. Who needs strangers to sing with now?
 
Where has our support gone? Perhaps they've all given up for the year; melted memberships smouldering in microwaves throughout the region once known as the Land of Boulders.
 
It’s not as if Footscray was deserted. Groups of people were out – families, teens – enjoying their weekends and the precious few hours of mid-winter sun above. They were going about their lives – carrying bags of groceries from the bustling Footscray Market; heading to and from Highpoint; bouncing basketballs or cruising along on skateboards.
 
Mainly migrants, these groups seemed oblivious to the footy. Oblivious to the plight of “their” team. The team that supposedly represents all of us in the “fastest growing region of Australia” as David Smorgon would put it. Migrants from the horn of Africa, second generation Vietnamese, families in housing estates at Caroline Springs – these are the people the funky new 'Western Bulldogs' fishing net was supposed to catch.
 
Perhaps our appeal would be greater if we took one of those Premiership chances in 1997-2000 or 2008-2010. My partner’s housemate, a fella from India who works in IT, is into sport generally and enjoys watching the footy. He doesn't have a team yet. It was suggested to him that he should support the Dogs, his local team. I’m sad to report that he's still holding out for a better offer because we're “shit”. Did we give up our Footscray name in an attempt to lure people like that?

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The game's first goal came courtesy of the hard working Tory Dickson. It was the third time from 18 attempts this year I've guessed the Dogs first goal kicker, meaning I gain a point in the Peter Street Pocket’s 'Trent Bartlett Golden Ugg Boot' award. The leader, Waffs' old man 'Honest' Peter Egan, also selected Dickson and thus moved to a near unassailable five points in the competition. A large man of few carefully selected words, he smiled wryly and reclined back in his seat in celebration.
 
For me, our outstanding player of the first quarter was Clay Smith. Typically, teenagers can lack physicality and presence in their early AFL years but that's no problem for Smith. He won the contested ball and cracked in hard – traits which no doubt thrilled the coach. He hunted with enthusiasm and made tackles hurt.
 
The Dogs kicked the first two goals of the second term to establish an unexpected buffer. The boys moved the ball faster and played more attractively than in recent weeks. Dylan Addison, a man who has spent his entire career playing anywhere but the forward line, was thrown into attack. North weren't expecting this and didn't seem to have a match-up for him. 'DFA' ended the first half with 2.1 on the scoreboard to augment 10 disposals.
 
The Kangaroos were way below their best whilst we were somewhere near ours. Late goals gave them a slender 41-45 half time lead.
 
I enjoy fixtures against North Melbourne because the games have spice. The clubs are geographically close and have supporter bases of roughly the same size. Neither set of fans like one another and today, as usual, verbal arrows were shot back and forth in the stands.
 
North are the only decent side (the only side in the league's top 13, in fact) we've beaten to date this season. With the margin so slim, their fans might have been jittery about the prospect of a stinging 'doubling' at the hands of a poor Bulldogs side. If they’re to play in September, the only option for the Roos today is victory.
 
Gradually, North Melbourne took command of proceedings. Third quarter fade outs are the most depressing symptom of the overall malaise of our team. We've now lost seven of them in a row, this one by a relatively acceptable 20 points.
 
Both teams had more handballs than kicks up to three quarter time, an illustration of how many games in the AFL are now played.
 
Jason Tutt went off for substitute Djerrkura before North kicked three goals in the first seven minutes of the last quarter. This had the potential to get ugly, which would be an unfair outcome for the boys who were so valiant for a half.
 
The Roos finished with seven goals to one in the last term to run out 54 point winners. We lost every quarter of the match but most alarming was another second half fade-out. These are our last seven second halves:
​
Opponent             Points For    Points Against
Brisbane Lions         20                     61
Essendon                 33                     61
Fremantle                 29                    64
Hawthorn                  10                    63
Carlton                      32                   69
St Kilda                     14                   66
North Melbourne       20                  77
​ 
We endured the fade out alongside a group of painfully irritating North fans who became increasingly pissed as the Saturday afternoon passed by. As the margin increased, so did their alcohol-fuelled bravado and by full time I was eager to leave and get away from their sly goading and witless running commentary. That huge chip on their collective shoulder remains.
 
There were some positives worth noting. Teenaged Jason Johannisen was solid on debut and Liberatore and Wallis played very well.
 
Zeph Skinner was well off the pace but deserves more chances. Reading the Bulldogs Big Footy forum, I was surprised by how many people are ready to write him off. Fans called on the club to cut their losses, or perhaps “delist and re-rookie him”. “I made a point of watching Skinner today as I haven't seen much of him,” posted tassiedog. “I’ve watched the bulldogs for over 40 years and would find it hard to recall someone who looked so lost in a game. He had no clue today.”

This match report was contributed by Simon McInerney (follow him @simmo_melb89)

I don’t mind winter. Some people love it, others hate it and I put myself somewhere in the middle. Aspects and features of winter I like:

• footy
  
• Friday night footy
  
• foggy morning
  
• beanies and scarves
  
• soup
  
• blankets having a whole lot more use than in summer
  
• tea and coffee is tastier
  
• intensely cold weather
  
• fashion 

I don’t like Melbourne’s winter enough to stay in its midst for too long, however, and when spring comes around I’m grateful. Fremantle Away was my excuse for a mid-winter get away.

I’ve done two interstate trips before, to Canberra (vs Sydney) in 2009 and Gold Coast in 2011. We won both times. Fremantle was chosen as the trip of 2011 and so for the first time I trekked (read: flew) west of Adelaide on Australian shores.

The chances of extending my personal unbeaten interstate were low. Waiting at Tullamarine, 5:30 Friday morning, I opened the Herald Sun and saw that just a single tipster – our number one ticket holder, Julia Gillard – out of 28 predicted us to win. On the flight over I was handed a complimentary copy of The Australian, and found their expert tipping ledger was also in Freo’s favour, 6-0. 
Given those figures, you might be surprised to know that Fremantle sat just one spot above us (in 13th) heading into the round. The Dogs’ form had been terrible though, and our last trip to Subiaco was the 123 point pummelling handed out by West Coast last year.


Again, there is a lot to report on from the selection table. Heading out of the revolving door was the Brownlow Medallist Cooney, All-Australian Murphy, the experienced Hargrave, the maligned Jones, the injured Addison and the inconsistent Roughead.

In came Lindsay Gilbee and Jason Tutt for the first time this year, along with Djerrkura, Wallis, Austin and Cordy – all players by now familiar with the revolving door.

The 22 was an uninspiring mixed bag of war horses, youngsters, recyclees and Ryan Griffen. 13 of the side hadn’t yet reached 40 AFL games. Counting Cordy as one, the line-up included three ruckmen.

Take a look at the Dogs’ ‘Points For’ averages under Eade and McCartney:

• 2005:  108.4
• 2006   103.0
• 2007   96.0
• 2008   109.7
• 2009  104.8
• 2010   95.1
• 2011    93.6
• 2012    68.2

What a sharp nose dive. So used to high scoring and free flowing footy, the Dogs have become arguably the most dour team in the AFL. We’re missing Barry Hall for sure, and perhaps even the derided Jason Akermanis. Other departures and falls from grace have amounted to a forward-line crisis.

Of the six forwards named on the team sheet – not that team sheet positions matter much in 2012, with rotations and enormous ball-following clusters – Luke Dahlhaus was the most experienced with 25 games, a crazy stat. The highest career goal kicker in our side (and second highest on the whole ground) would be Lindsay Gilbee, a half back who hasn’t played all year. Ross Lyon-coached sides are renowned for miserly defence, especially on their home patch. The facts don’t add up to much. Would Footscray manage to kick a goal?

Fremantle don’t exactly play like the Harlem Globetrotters either. They used to be a fun side; a joke for the state of Victoria with their flamboyant colours and inconsistent performances. They were the only team Fitzroy managed to beat in their last season. They’ve never been a threat to the competition but was once fun to have around, perhaps like a harmless young cousin who shows promise performing circus skills.

The Dockers had players with funny names, like the Dickensian Clive Waterhouse and Antoni Grover, a moniker belonging in Sesame Street. The Dogs took so much of a shining to some of their characters that they were recruited – Bandy, Koops, Wira and the brilliantly named Kingsley Hunter all moved from Fremantle to Footscray. Ross Lyon now has them playing boring, incredibly dour but increasingly effective football.

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I walked out of my backpackers accommodation into glorious Perth sunshine; bright weather completely at odds with my worst hangover for a long time. A night out clubbing meant I didn’t get to sleep until 6:30 on match day morning.

Surrounded by purple, I took the Football Special train two stops to Subiaco and went for a stroll in the sunshine when there. I discovered that even when the Dockers are playing, the company who run the stadium pizza van is called ‘Eagle Boys’: They’re forever in West Coast’s shadow.

Needless to say, I was out numbered roughly 100-1. A thing I love about interstate games is the closeness felt between Bulldog fans. Winks, thumbs ups and nods of approval are exchanged with complete strangers walking by.

I had a superb seat at the front of the second level behind a set of goals, although staring into the blazing, low sunshine made viewing difficult. Luckily I’d been warned and brought sunglasses to mitigate the damage.

The banners went up. Footscray ran through an advertisement for the Victoria University Open Day – as if people at the ground would actually consider flying across the Nullarbor and attending – whilst Fremantle’s banner disintegrated in the wind. It’s hard to decide what was worse. I’m all for tradition in sport but of them are quaint verging on ridiculous. Perhaps except for Grand Finals, run-through banners have had their day. Lame, corporate and embarrassing is now the norm.

The game began with Jason Tutt wearing the green vest for the Doggies. The opening was, as expected, cagey. Neither side played an attacking brand and short passing seemed the flavour of the afternoon. The players on both sides combined for two goals in the first 26 minutes, as if sharing my hangover.

Chris Mayne won a lucky free kick right on quarter time and scored to give Fremantle a 7 point lead.

The relatively experienced Luke Dahlhaus was looking our most dangerous forward and put through two goals right in front of me early in the second. Tory Dickson then snapped one which gave us the lead. At least the boys were giving a yelp this week!

Despite perfect weather, the game was punctuated by many stoppages: Just how Ross Lyon likes it. He would have also enjoyed numerous ‘home-town’ decisions which led to Fremantle goals. It was frustrating to be undone like that after the defence held out so well. At half time the Dockers were ahead 31-28.

Something I noticed at the ground was how young Fremantle’s support is. Entire families clad in purple filled the ground. That colour was dominant, in a similar way to how South Korea’s fresh red illuminated stadiums and cities at the World Cup in 2002.

For obvious reasons Victorian clubs have a much larger quota of elderly fans and grey hair was a rare sight at Patersons Stadium. Despite the Dockers’ miserable lack of success since inception in 1995, their membership is strong and crowds are decent.

Several factors lead me to think that Fremantle will, in time, become a powerful club. Firstly, West Australia is booming and Perth is a two-team town. Freo’s support is so young that all of those purple-clad kids, teens and young adults have breeding ahead of them. Dockers to beget more Dockers. Those who are fans at present will stick around, indoctrinate their kids and their grandchildren will wear purple also.

All it will take is success and Fremantle will soon outgrow Subiaco.

Matthew Pavlich, an imposing presence who threatened to explode during the first half, started the second with two goals in four minutes.

The aforementioned Grover and Easton Wood collided heavily when contesting a mark in the Dockers’ forward line. Grover came off worse and was given a free kick - an awful decision. The local crowd, now ‘up and about’, had got into the umpires’ ears. The goal was nailed and for the first time Fremantle had breathing space.

Ryan Crowley added another and Matthew Pavlich booted his fifth to make the margin 31. With Pavlich destroying us, why isn’t Brian Lake moved to him, I thought? Something had to be done.

Lukas Markovic turned over a kick-in – the ball went straight to Fremantle’s Nick Lower – resulting in another goal. All of the honest toil shown in the first half went out the window as Freo took command. The dam wall had burst.

Tory Dickson kicked the quarter’s final two goals, including one after the siren, to provide a glimmer of hope. The last change margin was 22. The boys were kicking our way in the final term. Could they do it? Could they keep my unbeaten interstate record alive?

After eight tough, goalless minutes Chris Mayne broke the deadlock. If Rex Hunt was in the stadium that would have been the Fat Lady’s moment. There’s no way a side as impotent as the Dogs would be able to muster five goals in 20 minutes on the road. Notching seven in 100 minutes has been an exhausting grind.

Home-town decisions continued to irritate. Even more frustrating was the Dogs, with 25 minutes elapsed and time running out, attacking out wide and down the flanks. They refused to take Fremantle on. The boys seemed to be playing with fear. With our team so inexperienced it was time for the likes of Gilbee, Boyd, Lake and Cross to stand up and make the difference but no one took command and led; we seemingly had 22 followers.

The final margin was 38 points. Without the precise, reliable kicking of Bob Murphy we just couldn’t mount enough decent attacks to kick a winning score. Matthew Pavlich, with 6 goals and 2 behinds, was literally the difference.

After the siren I sat in my seat for 10 minutes and pondered. Simultaneously, the players trudged off at the opposite end of the expansive stadium without acknowledging our small but passionate block of Bulldog support. I’d spent $1000 I spent on the trip to see them play, to see them struggle to grind out eight goals and eventually lose. For 10 minutes, I pondered: where is our season at?

I’d been warned about hostile Fremantle fans – a lot of rough dock workers, apparently – but didn’t cop a single jibe all day. The atmosphere was flat, perhaps because of the Sunday afternoon timeslot or low quality of opposition. Not even at the Subiaco Hotel, where I met up with my not-interested-in-football partner and enjoyed dinner and a sombre post-match drink, was I on the receiving end of any baiting.

We arrived back at the hostel drained around 7 o’clock. I got some necessary shut-eye after a day spent sitting in the sun watching a mediocre footy match with a hangover. I crawled out of bed at 9 to watch the Wimbledon final with my partner and whoever else was in the common room.

I don’t usually care much for tennis – I’m apathetic towards individual sports in general – but the Wimbledon final is one of sport’s truly great events, so we settled in to watch with glasses of milk and blankets dragged from our dorm. 
There were about a dozen weary backpackers in the common room for the tennis; a male-only crowd. There were old, restless travellers; Irishmen who’d journeyed halfway around the world to look for work in mines; exiled Victorians; a token Englishmen. Nobody said much and the book I was reading was my friend between games and during the inevitable rain delay.

The 2012 decider was an unmissable event pitting Roger Federer, perhaps the greatest player there’s ever been and this time searching for a 7th Wimbledon title, against local hope Andy Murray – a player who’s been near the top of the tree for a few years now and a name the people of Great Britain desperately want engraved on that Men’s Singles trophy. No Brit has won Wimbledon since Hitler was in power and Queen Elizabeth was in Primary School.

Despite strong form and winning the first set, it was almost inevitable that Murray was defeated. Federer is a born winner; Murray a perennial bridesmaid. At the time of writing, nine Grand Slam semi-final appearances have yielded no titles for Murray.

As the clock ticked past 1:30 in the morning, I couldn’t help but equate the two players to Geelong and Footscray – especially given their respective records in finals. Like the Dogs, Murray is stoic and endearing. Anyone with a functional heart would have sympathised with him as he broke down in tears – again – during the presentation. The lack of British success since 1936 is a massive burden on his shoulders, just like several generations of Bulldogs players have been made wary of failures past.

The commentators mused over whether Murray will ever get there. I wondered the same thing about my footy team.

I grew up in Essendon with a father who barracked for Essendon and a brother who barracked for Footscray.
It never occurred to me to question why I too barracked for Footscray, it was just the way it was.

It was only after reading the Bulldog Tragician articles that I asked my 68 yo brother how come we barrack for the doggies and he said Dad had taken him to his first footy match Essendon Vs Bulldogs and the doggies won. Henceforth we were Doggies supporters much to our father's displeasure. As you would know the sister does not argue with the older brother if that's the decision made if she knows what is good for her.
We reckoned we had it in our blood as  our Great Uncle Tom Grimshaw played for South Melbourne and Footscray in the VFA. 

I would  meet up with a girl in my class and her boyfriend. She lived in Ballarat Road and we would meet behind the Barkly St goals every home game.   I used to catch the tram from North Essendon to Moonee Ponds junction and catch the red bus to the top of Williamstown Road near the Rising Sun Hotel and walk to the ground. I was aged 12 -1 4 years old and thought nothing of getting myself there and back on my own and nor it seems did my parents.

We would stand on empty cans to see the games and cheer our hearts out win or lose. It was always: 'we kept them to a reasonable score, we stayed with them until the last quarter, if only we hadn't missed all those chances.' There we were, week after week, in the howling wind and  rain that was typical of footy weather in the 60's and 70's. 
 
Saturday night would be waiting for the Herald and the Sporting Globe to be delivered to our home on to read all about it win or lose.

After church on Sunday we would watch World of Sport  at 12 o'clock hoping to see some footage which was seldom shown.

I clearly remember watching Teddy Whitten, Bobby Spargo, John Schultz, John Jillard et al. The 3 Brownlow Medallists who departed the club  Barry Round, Bernie Quinlan and later on Brian Wilson,  where they enjoyed their success at other clubs.

Later it was Scott Wynd,  Dougie on the wing , Kelvin Templeton kicking 18 goals against St Kilda  (not sure if I have got that right) and more recently Johnno, Chris Grant , Libba, and all the others  who  were the goods  leading up to our  97 thrust.

I was there in 1997 at the preliminary final - i flew down from Newcastle full of expectation and I really thought we had it at 3 quarter time together with every other doggie supporter that day. 
 
I can still remember those sad and forlorn faces of our supporters,  old and young openly weeping a sa result of our loss.

Subsequently I have been to the footy a few times - not as many as I would have like and seen them in the latter noughties thumping the Pies and many other teams which always brought a smile to my face.

At the end of every season   it always brings such promise.  I think I can say with certainty that I have no regrets for following the Doggies for the best part of 60 years.  Occasionally  I dared to think it would have been nice to see us in a Grand final since 1961.Generally  this  occurs when I talk footy to my cousins who all barrack for Collingwood: "Well there is aways next year" .

Thanks for the opportunity to remember the good old days.

Many thanks to Neil for allowing me to reprint this wonderful story of his which was initially published in The Footy Alamanac:

How do you begin to describe what it’s like being a Bulldog supporter 58 years* after their one and only premiership? The answer is you don’t. Not if you’re talking to fans of other clubs who have gorged on Dunstall-led premierships for example, or to Carlton supporters who want a return to the heady days of cheque book-led premierships.

What you do is simply wish for an end to another horrid season, look forward to some decent draft picks (they owe us big-time for Callan Ward) and pray that Jarrad Grant can stack on 30kgs in a hurry.

If I do attempt to explain why I have been a Bulldog supporter for over half a century, I would begin by saying it involves a sort of religious faith and the best way to describe that faith is in biblical terms.

So this is my story…

Cue the Charlton Heston or Morgan Freeman voice-over…

In the beginning was the word and word was that twelve tribes  contested games in the mighty metropolis of Melbourne.

One such tribe was from the village of Footscray. A village of largely peasant stock which boasted the greatest production of carbon in the land.  This was achieved despite the governor placing a tax on all cubits of carbon produced  while still denying them their carbon credits.

In one such rude but comfortable dwelling within the walls of Footscray lived a skilled artisan known as Ronald The Pessimist. A practical man with little tolerance for dreamers and mystics who used the stars and Footy Gods to predict their lives and results of sporting contests.

Following the end of the Germanic and Asiatic wars, Ronald did begat a son who became known as Neil The Naïve. The father was struck down with grief when he realized his first born son was one of those idle dreamers who had no wish to be a hewer of wood.  The son was more likely to be found with other callow youth discussing  the merits of graffiti on the village walls.

Neil The Naïve was convinced his sporting heroes from Footscray would triumph against the enemy in the upcoming final of the competition between tribes.

His father could no longer bear to see the son so disillusioned and under the spell of false prophets. Following the feast of Sunday where the family gathered to enjoy the fatted lamb, Ronald made a decision to teach his son a lesson that would forever change his life.

He would take young Neil to the centre of the city to witness the final contest between the   Demon tribe and the Footscray peasants. Such was his confidence in a Demon victory, he knew he could rid his son of impossible dreams and allow him to enter adulthood as a more rational man. After all, was not this Demon tribe  led by a brute known as Ronald Dale  Barrabus and sponsored by wealthy merchants?  The sons of masons and slaughtermen would surely make no contest.

And so it came to pass in the year of Our Lord 1954 Ronald and his son Neil travelled the road of Dynon to see the mighty clash of Titans. Ronald believed he should have gone via the Damascas Road to ensure his son’s enlightenment, but alas he had no shekel to pay the toll.

On reaching the arena, Neil searched for local heroes and was not disappointed. The youthful Edward Whitten marked by the number 3 symbol as Neil had copied on his own garment. There  was the fair-haired Nordic Prince known as Jack-O –Collins who began to roost the air-conveyance through the largest of sticks. They were led by a mighty general  who was built in the image of a sturdy oxen and was known as Charles of Seddon. It became part of folklore that Charles did instruct his troops that they should be the earliest to barter and he would take care of any tumult that may occur.

The Demon warriors were also skilled along with brute force provided by  Barrabus, but they were no match for the men of Footscray on this day. Neil now believed in the soothsayers of Barkly Street who foretold  the victory and his father Ronald succumbed to deep melancholy knowing he had failed to teach him a lesson in realism. He feared his son would become vainglorious and boast of predicting the future.

But the father need not have worried for that would be the only grand victory his son would see in his lifetime of three score and ten. The father had been mistaken in the year of 1954 but he had left a curse of failure for his son to live with for nearly 60 years as he waited for a second victory to occur. Just once in the year 1961 was there a possibility of victory. The son listened for news of victory but the father turned away with Costello smirk and secret knowing. He could only advise the distraught son with words of wisdom such as,”Bad kicking doth maketh bad football”, and “ One giant leap and mark by Mervyn Hobbs  does not victory make”.

The son was further cursed when he married Sharyn of Kew and begat two children. As the decades passed and victories were barren, Neil The Disillusioned turned to his wife to be consoled.  Unfortunately she had no knowledge of sports and could only offer a suggestion that perhaps he should changeth teams, further throwing him into deeper melancholy.

As the barbarians inflict their pain upon his team year after year, the son has often reflected on that one victory many years ago. Were the stars aligned just that once to give false hope? And why was he forever doomed to search in vain for a second coming of victory? He had indeed   become the central character of a tragic play written by ancient Greeks.

*Okay, Neil, you won't feel better to know that it is now closer to 60 years.
Neil also shared with us his memories of the 54 premiership. Read on...