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“Barracking for the Bulldogs has always demanded a certain unique perspective,” says Roger Franklin in Sons of the ’Scray, an essay about place and identity, and a football club in Melbourne’s west. “A good clubman will look into a room packed with manure and know, just know, that there must be a lovely pony in there somewhere.”
Early Saturday morning I caught a train to the west. A Sudanese woman sat opposite – barefoot, hair braided – as we passed railway yards, grain silos at North Melbourne; the broad shoulders of cranes at the docks. We crossed the Maribyrnong, we left the city behind.
I was off to see a game at Whitten Oval – the first-round match between new stand-alone VFL teams Richmond and Footscray – and under bright skies it felt like a return to something cherished that’s long since gone. Football was back at the old Western Oval. The Tiges were playing. I had to be there.
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A great blog post from a Tigers fan that wandered down to Whitten oval on Saturday.
Early Saturday morning I caught a train to the west. A Sudanese woman sat opposite – barefoot, hair braided – as we passed railway yards, grain silos at North Melbourne; the broad shoulders of cranes at the docks. We crossed the Maribyrnong, we left the city behind.
I was off to see a game at Whitten Oval – the first-round match between new stand-alone VFL teams Richmond and Footscray – and under bright skies it felt like a return to something cherished that’s long since gone. Football was back at the old Western Oval. The Tiges were playing. I had to be there.
More:
A great blog post from a Tigers fan that wandered down to Whitten oval on Saturday.
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