In my adult life it has been my pleasure to go to the football every weekend.
When I started going regularly by myself all games were on a saturday afternoon. In time games started to be held on friday nights. Then Sydney games started on TV on sunday afternoons. In time games were held on friday night, saturday afternoon, saturday night, sunday afternoon and sunday evening. Sometimes even monday nights. I think the enjoyment was more intense when all games were on saturday afternoon. When I was young my father used to take me to the local games at Moyhu but I didn't really enjoy it because we always had to come home to milk the cows. And it meant we were always late in milking. And I was always tired. Indeed there was one player who played with Moyhu who used to come off the ground in the middle of the third quarter and go straight home because he had to milk his cows. He didnt even have a shower. Seriously. He only played when Moyhu played at home. He was the only player who did this and in a way he was admired for it. He was seen as a hard worker who put his family farm first. My father always waited until the game was over and consequently we were late in milking. My mother disapproved of this behavior. She felt my father should not be frivolous and going to the football was a waste of time and money. And cows should be milked at the same time each day. She particularly admired the man who came off the ground early and went home to milk his cows. She felt he was showing what was really important. When I had the opportunity to go to the football every week without having to go home to milk the cows I was determined to take advantage and to enjoy myself. I would go to the football and then come home tired to have tea and relax. And hopefully watch the replay on TV. In my adult life and after I moved to Melbourne I went to the football regularly every week. Early on I became a member of Collingwood Football Club. I started barracking for Collingwood because they always lost the Grand Final to Melbourne except for one fantastic time. My father more or less followed the strongest team and Collingwood were always the second or third strongest team. I felt sorry for them and exulted when they won. Like in 1958. At the time I did not know that historically they had been the most successful team up to that time and in time I was to learn that seemingly every other person in the world knew this and consequently always wanted Collingwood to lose. Collingwood were the most hated club. I loved the winters in Melbourne. I always knew that Melbourne had different weather than Moyhu. You could feel the water vapour in the air on your cheeks for a start. In the summer it was sometimes hot but soon there would be a cool change. There were often clouds hovering over the Dandenongs. The weather was mostly overcast in the winter without any real heavy rain. And it was never really cold. No frosts. Going to the football was not always thought a good thing by everyone. In my circle many people expressed the view I was wasting my time. They looked down on football followers as being of a lower class. It could even be somewhat shameful according to some of the intellectual middle class. This was something you should not dedicate your life to. I had one acquaintance who always expressed the belief to me that going to the football was a waste of good time. He was an ex private schoolboy who claimed he had more important things to do with his time. But one day I caught him at the football. He was naturally a Melbourne follower and in this particular year Melbourne had lifted themselves from the bottom of the ladder and threatened to make the finals. It was a classic case of me finding someone in the wrong place. I saw him first and when he saw me he tried to hide but I had already caught him. The thing was he didn't come to the whole game - he organised his life so he went past the MCG late every saturday afternoon and he would secretly sneak in and watch the last quarter. He didn't let on anyone he was doing this. He could still claim he wasn't going to the football - he was going somewhere else. No one knew he was sneaking into the football. Not even his wife. But in secret he was going to the football. Even if it was for only one quarter and I caught him out. His words casting aspersions on me were proved hollow. I had sprung him. I didn't immediately take on the persona of a dedicated fan. I started off paying to go when I went through the turnstiles. I was always unsure about justifying the cost so I tried to keep it as cheap as possible. But soon I purchased a yearly match day membership. This let me into the game every game played at home. Later on I became a Social Club Member. This was more expensive but it gave me the privilege of entering the Social Club and attending the annual general meeting and to vote at elections. Later on I became an AFL member which allowed me to go to any game. I ended up having the highest priced membership available. But I always wondered if the pleasure I got justified the expense. I had my own routine. I loved Saturdays. I would sleep in slightly and get up normally after 9 o'clock. I would listen to Lou Richards at 10 o'clock when I had a late breakfast. I would turn over to The Couldabeens at 11 o'clock. I would leave for the game at about 11.30 and keep listening when driving to the football. I would take a thermos of tea and a transistor. This was before earphones and Walkman's. During the game I would put the transistor up to my ear and listen to Harry Bietzel calling the game. I would get to the ground early so I could watch the second half of the reserves. Sometimes I would also get to see the under 19's play. People took an interest in all 3 teams in those days. I would enter Victoria Park at the entrance near Johnson Street because it meant I would then have to walk around more than half the ground inside Victoria Park. This was quite a walk but I loved it. My favourite standing room spot was right at the end of the members stand. As I always got there early I always got my favorite spot. When you enter at the Johnson Street entrance you get to walk through large crowds all the way around to your spot. People milling. People talking. People young and old in a state of excitement. I found the feeling infectious. It was exciting. I could get into my place and watch the reserves and keep an eye on the members stand filling up. Just behind where I used to stand was the entry to a special supporters group that had their own premises. This group had strict membership and dress rules. The entrance reminded me a little of a concrete pillbox in East Germany and had much the same security arrangements. Security was all important. No riff raff were ever going to get in. Strict dress rules applied. I always amused myself by trying to apply Marxist theory to this example of the working class at play. There were all types in the Grandstand. Sometimes there were celebrities. Sometimes there were Politicians. A lot of times there were models. Sometimes there were TV stars. Footballers girlfriends. I saw them all. You could do it in those days. Now there would be no chance. Football is no longer played at Victoria Park and now every model would be safely ensconced in a corporate box. Some celebrities do sit with the public at the MCG but not many. They also are normally guests in corporate boxes. From my spot I could also keep an eye on the Collingwood coaching squad. I would sometimes listen through the wall of the nearest toilet to what the coach was saying to the team. He spoke to them in a room which was on the opposite side of the wall to the public toilet nearest me. He must have thought that this was a good place to talk in private. Mostly he was getting the team to rev themselves up. Some of them always watched the seconds game and I always watched for their reactions. Most people took their football seriously. But I was the only one in my circle of friends who actually went. This was the same as my working colleagues. We always had a tipping competition at work. Nearly everyone I worked with had a passionate interest in some team. But I was the only person I knew who went to the football every week. I have always considered it a privilege to be actually able to go each week. And indeed it was enjoyable. During the game I would lose track of the world. I would lose track of time. I was completely taken up with the game. Time would simply enter another dimension. I always drove rather than take public transport. I always had a special parking spot which allowed me a fair walk to Victoria Park. Collingwood Council had an exclusion zone around the ground. The council charged for parking but I has happy not to pay and to walk. I would listen on my transistor radio when walking. When I say transistor I mean quite a bulky radio that also weighed quite a bit. People did this type of thing then. I carried the radio on my shoulder blaring into my ear. After the Couldabeens finished at 12.30 the coming games would be discussed by the commentators and special comments men. I was a big fan of Harry Beitzel and always hoped he would be calling my game. At the end of each game at Victoria Park I would go onto the ground and walk across to the Johnson Street entrance. The public was allowed onto the ground after each game to have a kick of the football and I took advantage to both have a shortcut across the ground and to experience something of the game. I was always struck by how far it was across the ground when you had to walk across it. How big the ground was. Also the ground was always spongy. How did the players move across the ground quickly? And how did they run from one end of the ground to the other bouncing the ball at the same time? Later on Collingwood played a lot of games at Waverley. I paid the members parking fee because members had a special parking section which gave easy access and egress from the carpark. Parking at Waverley was always a nightmare. But after one or two years they did away with the special members parking section so I had to work out how to manipulate the parking system in order to not get trapped in the carpark. I learned to arrive a certain time and to park in a certain area. If I was directed away from my special area I would re park my car at half time. In this way I learned to dodge the pitfalls of parking. One would often hear horror stories of people trapped in the parking area. It only happened to me the first and second time I went to Waverley. After that I worked out my system which allowed me to leave the ground within 10 minutes of the game finishing. As I lived in Ferntree Gully I was always home in half an hour. Because of this I didn't mind going to the Football at Waverley. Amongst the football fraternity I was in a minority. People hated Waverley. When the league got the chance they built Docklands and knocked down Waverley. Its nickname was Arctic Park because it was always so cold. When I started taking my children to the football the most convenient place to take them was Waverley. Trouble was none of them wanted to stay seated. Tom especially always wanted to walk around. Waverley was split into two sections. One third for members and two thirds for the public. Whilst I was a member I couldn't take Tom into the members area without paying for an guest ticket but I could take him into the public section for free. That meant he had two thirds of this large arena to walk around in. For a few weeks I made him wear his bike helmet so I could keep an eye on him as he moved around the ground. But whatever I tried he was mostly out of my sight for long periods of time. He enjoyed his moments of freedom. James got lost often also and once he was found by an attendant and I had my name called out over the loud speaker system. James got an ice cream to eat while he was waiting for me to come and get him. I consider the most enjoyable time was in the 70's when Tom Hafey came to the club. We played in several Grand Finals but of course did not win one. Hafey was a super coach who took the team from bottom to top in one year. We were always on top during his time except for his last year when when we lost a lot of games in a row and he was sacked. The players played with an abandonment that was a pleasure to watch. I found Tom Hafey to be an inspiration and I was fortunate to hear him addressing the team on several occasions. He was super positive. I often wondered if he was ever negative. He must have been sometimes but I never heard him. Later on when Leigh Matthews came to the club we did win a premiership. The world changed on this day. It really did. Nothing would be the same again. It was enjoyable to be premiers and it removed some of the negative feelings that had come with always losing grand finals. We had lost about a dozen I believe. And I saw them all. I don't know if winning just one made up for all that we had lost but it was something to savor. The sunday after losing a grand final can be a very empty day. The most empty day of the year imaginable. Later on Mick Malthouse came to the club and he was a pragmatist who made the players play to a plan. Lots of people said he wanted them to be robots. We also won a Premiership under him. During this time Nathan Buckley came to the club and has not left since. Nathan was a genuine champ. It was a pleasure to watch him play. Privilege even. As I have got old football has lost its importance. I have become detached. The players are all so young for a start. I no longer feel I identify with them. In my young days I knew how they felt physically. I felt the bumps with them. I anticipated how they were going to feel when they knew another body was going to impact with them. I don't feel I am missing anything by not going each week. I am quite happy to only go once or twice a year. Of course I watch it on TV. Postscript: A few years ago a documentary was released about the Formula 1 racing driver Anton Senna. This is quite a good documentary by any standard. Senna was Brazilian and of course always wanted to win the Brazilian Grand Prix. He made quite a number of attempts. At this time he was the number 1 driver in the world. Every year he would race with his countries expectation he would win. Every year something would happen and he would either not finish or lose to his rival Alain Prost. His car would more than likely break down. Finally in what was to be his last year of racing he won. He had to nurse his car for the last few laps as he had wrecked a number of gears and only had a few gears left to use. Of course everyone watching seemed to know this and the atmosphere was quite tense even for a Formula 1 race. It was very tense. When Anton Senna crossed the line and won the Brazilian Grand Prix he had much the same reaction as I had when Collingwood won the Grand Final in 1990. Please watch this film to see what I mean.
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