Jeanette54
30-09-2010, 09:41 AM
The recent defection of Jarrod Harbrow got me thinking about this particular thread. :(
I first started going to the games in the late 50's at age four; and I will always remember the walk from my great gran's house in Pickett Street to Western Oval. This Saturday ritual, in the company of my grand father, was never complete without the purchase of two cherryripes at the milkbar, one to be eaten between us at half time; the other at three quarter time.
The balance of our nutritional needs were taken care of by a man with a hessian bag, full of brown paper bags of peanuts. I am sure those who stood in the outer in those days still remember the cry, "Peanuts, shilling a bag, Peanuts". The Police horse would take its position, the Hyde Street School band would play "God Save the Queen" and the John Gent stand would always erupt with support; long before the last bars were played.
If it hadn't of been for Monday School assemblies I would have grown up thinking the last line of the national anthem was 'carna dogs! (Still think it should be).
Charlie Sutton, by then, retired, was (as now) God. Teddy Whitten was the current hero warrior defending Footscray's honour. Charlie and Ted were venerated not just because they were great players but because they were one of us. So too were most of the boys. Red, white and blue for life.
I also remember grounds like the Junction Oval, Brunswick Street, Arden Street, Punt Road, Glenferrie Oval, the Lake Oval, Princess Park, Essendon, Moorabin and Victoria Park. Each was distinct and was essential to the tribal ethos which pitted the urban precincts against one another in those far off days of the VFL. Going to some of these was akin to entering enemy territory, with their unfamiliar sights and smells they were each unique; as were the supporter groups. I always liked the lake ovals with their beautiful playing surfaces, and Victoria Park was just plain intimidating.
I don't think many teams were overjoyed to be playing at the Western Oval either. Any colourful language I have picked up along the way was probably learned from those wonderful old ladies who, rain or shine, arrived long before the first game of the day, to ensure their regular seats along the boundary fence. The stream of invective directed at opposition players was only exceeded by that directed at any child silly enough to try to squeeze into one of their treasured seats at half time. (Only once, never again).
Now those women were real Bulldog supporters. They watched their boys come through the ranks from under 19's to seniors and, I'll wager, that no coach has ever handed out a tongue lashing to a player they thought put in a short step like they could.
There were of course player defections in those days, but it was a much bigger step then. And until Ron Barassi moved to Carlton; not usually undertaken for monetary gain. The culture gap between clubs was an enormous void to cross.
Later we were to fare badly in the transfer stakes. Garry Dempsey, Bernie Quinlan and Barry Round immediately come to mind. Somehow we have never seemed to balance the standard of talent leaving with that coming in. I guess that Western Oval was never attractive to those seeking greener pastures paved with pounds/dollars. Not that we have ever had much to offer on that score.
I know times have changed, and the difference in team cultures is, by comparison, minimal. But all I can say is that Jarrod is very lucky he doesn't have to face the wrath of those little old ladies of the fifties on the fence line, when he returns to play against us.
But the rest of us are still there, just as we always will be.
Go 'Dogs.
ps. I realise that some outstanding long term players went to other clubs to maintain their careers after being told they were no longer wanted by Footscray. I don't think that, as a club, we were as kind to some of our own at the end of their time as we could have been.
I first started going to the games in the late 50's at age four; and I will always remember the walk from my great gran's house in Pickett Street to Western Oval. This Saturday ritual, in the company of my grand father, was never complete without the purchase of two cherryripes at the milkbar, one to be eaten between us at half time; the other at three quarter time.
The balance of our nutritional needs were taken care of by a man with a hessian bag, full of brown paper bags of peanuts. I am sure those who stood in the outer in those days still remember the cry, "Peanuts, shilling a bag, Peanuts". The Police horse would take its position, the Hyde Street School band would play "God Save the Queen" and the John Gent stand would always erupt with support; long before the last bars were played.
If it hadn't of been for Monday School assemblies I would have grown up thinking the last line of the national anthem was 'carna dogs! (Still think it should be).
Charlie Sutton, by then, retired, was (as now) God. Teddy Whitten was the current hero warrior defending Footscray's honour. Charlie and Ted were venerated not just because they were great players but because they were one of us. So too were most of the boys. Red, white and blue for life.
I also remember grounds like the Junction Oval, Brunswick Street, Arden Street, Punt Road, Glenferrie Oval, the Lake Oval, Princess Park, Essendon, Moorabin and Victoria Park. Each was distinct and was essential to the tribal ethos which pitted the urban precincts against one another in those far off days of the VFL. Going to some of these was akin to entering enemy territory, with their unfamiliar sights and smells they were each unique; as were the supporter groups. I always liked the lake ovals with their beautiful playing surfaces, and Victoria Park was just plain intimidating.
I don't think many teams were overjoyed to be playing at the Western Oval either. Any colourful language I have picked up along the way was probably learned from those wonderful old ladies who, rain or shine, arrived long before the first game of the day, to ensure their regular seats along the boundary fence. The stream of invective directed at opposition players was only exceeded by that directed at any child silly enough to try to squeeze into one of their treasured seats at half time. (Only once, never again).
Now those women were real Bulldog supporters. They watched their boys come through the ranks from under 19's to seniors and, I'll wager, that no coach has ever handed out a tongue lashing to a player they thought put in a short step like they could.
There were of course player defections in those days, but it was a much bigger step then. And until Ron Barassi moved to Carlton; not usually undertaken for monetary gain. The culture gap between clubs was an enormous void to cross.
Later we were to fare badly in the transfer stakes. Garry Dempsey, Bernie Quinlan and Barry Round immediately come to mind. Somehow we have never seemed to balance the standard of talent leaving with that coming in. I guess that Western Oval was never attractive to those seeking greener pastures paved with pounds/dollars. Not that we have ever had much to offer on that score.
I know times have changed, and the difference in team cultures is, by comparison, minimal. But all I can say is that Jarrod is very lucky he doesn't have to face the wrath of those little old ladies of the fifties on the fence line, when he returns to play against us.
But the rest of us are still there, just as we always will be.
Go 'Dogs.
ps. I realise that some outstanding long term players went to other clubs to maintain their careers after being told they were no longer wanted by Footscray. I don't think that, as a club, we were as kind to some of our own at the end of their time as we could have been.