The 6 most terrifying away game experiences
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- White Winmar
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The 6 most terrifying away game experiences
A writer I admire, Russell Jackson of The Guardian, posted this recently in his blog. It was titled the 6 most terrifying away games and I'm pleased to note we ranked second, behind only Manly in the NRL. The filth at Victoria Park only ranked 4th! Cop that! Enjoy!
2) St Kilda at Moorabbin
In Fever Pitch, his memorable ode to the obsessive condition that is football fandom, Nick Hornby proffered the theory that when you’re looking back on sporting days past, it pays to remember that roughly half of everything was much better and the other half was far worse.
With that in mind, I’ll always take delight in recalling the thrilling and formative winter days I spent in the outer at Moorabbin, St Kilda’s idiosyncratic base from 1965 until 1992 and still the club’s true spiritual home. Yes, this is a captain’s pick. No one genuinely feared facing the Saints at the ground but most of them hated going there, so that counts for something.
At Moorabbin you’d weave your way through the turnstiles, inhale the waft of Camel cigarettes and laugh along with the antics of the home crowd as Plugger pulled the Saints towards a stirring home victory.
Translation: you’d weave your way through pools of vomit, struggle past a bunch of incomprehensible drunks to find a terrible, uncomfortable seat (“A seat? You’re lucky you even got one!” I hear the old-timers saying) and crane your neck past a giant to watch the home team get pummeled as a bunch of encaged cretins did just about everything short of throw their own excrement at opposition players.
OK, it wasn’t that bad in the infamous ‘Animal Enclosure’, so called because it literally was a cage system to keep the most feral of the lot from plunging St Kilda into a state of national shame, but it wasn’t pretty. It probably wasn’t even that unique in the annals of spectator sport either, but the unhinged behaviour of some fans, the mud-heap surface that was often watered to bring the opposition down to St Kilda’s level and the promise of a cold shower after the game meant that Moorabbin remained a hated journey for opposition players.
Like so many of the suburban grounds that died out in the late 80s and early 90s, St Kilda’s old home proved that dilapidation can also be an asset. The grandstand stood quite awkwardly among the rows of houses around Linton Street, a boisterous an messy venue stationed misleadingly close to picturesque Port Phillip Bay. The beach views lulled the city slickers who journeyed down into a false sense of security, or so we thought.
Moorabbin should have been a fortress and in its dying days when St Kilda finally shook off close to two decades of misery it sort of was, but for interminably long periods of time the Saints lost nearly every game there. At Moorabbin you had to have your wits about you, but when the Saints were on fire the ground rocked and swayed and the home side fed off the energy in the cramped outer. At times it bordered on terrifying.
Grounds like Moorabbin went by the wayside for a reason. They were cramped, uncomfortable and a logistical nightmare as far as getting in and out of in reasonable time. That won’t stop us pining for their ramshackle charm. When the Saints went marching in, there was no happier place to be.
2) St Kilda at Moorabbin
In Fever Pitch, his memorable ode to the obsessive condition that is football fandom, Nick Hornby proffered the theory that when you’re looking back on sporting days past, it pays to remember that roughly half of everything was much better and the other half was far worse.
With that in mind, I’ll always take delight in recalling the thrilling and formative winter days I spent in the outer at Moorabbin, St Kilda’s idiosyncratic base from 1965 until 1992 and still the club’s true spiritual home. Yes, this is a captain’s pick. No one genuinely feared facing the Saints at the ground but most of them hated going there, so that counts for something.
At Moorabbin you’d weave your way through the turnstiles, inhale the waft of Camel cigarettes and laugh along with the antics of the home crowd as Plugger pulled the Saints towards a stirring home victory.
Translation: you’d weave your way through pools of vomit, struggle past a bunch of incomprehensible drunks to find a terrible, uncomfortable seat (“A seat? You’re lucky you even got one!” I hear the old-timers saying) and crane your neck past a giant to watch the home team get pummeled as a bunch of encaged cretins did just about everything short of throw their own excrement at opposition players.
OK, it wasn’t that bad in the infamous ‘Animal Enclosure’, so called because it literally was a cage system to keep the most feral of the lot from plunging St Kilda into a state of national shame, but it wasn’t pretty. It probably wasn’t even that unique in the annals of spectator sport either, but the unhinged behaviour of some fans, the mud-heap surface that was often watered to bring the opposition down to St Kilda’s level and the promise of a cold shower after the game meant that Moorabbin remained a hated journey for opposition players.
Like so many of the suburban grounds that died out in the late 80s and early 90s, St Kilda’s old home proved that dilapidation can also be an asset. The grandstand stood quite awkwardly among the rows of houses around Linton Street, a boisterous an messy venue stationed misleadingly close to picturesque Port Phillip Bay. The beach views lulled the city slickers who journeyed down into a false sense of security, or so we thought.
Moorabbin should have been a fortress and in its dying days when St Kilda finally shook off close to two decades of misery it sort of was, but for interminably long periods of time the Saints lost nearly every game there. At Moorabbin you had to have your wits about you, but when the Saints were on fire the ground rocked and swayed and the home side fed off the energy in the cramped outer. At times it bordered on terrifying.
Grounds like Moorabbin went by the wayside for a reason. They were cramped, uncomfortable and a logistical nightmare as far as getting in and out of in reasonable time. That won’t stop us pining for their ramshackle charm. When the Saints went marching in, there was no happier place to be.
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- kosifantutti
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Re: The 6 most terrifying away game experiences
The video about Vic Park is also worth watching, because it's made by a couple of the faithful.
http://www.theguardian.com/sport/blog/2 ... away-trips
http://www.theguardian.com/sport/blog/2 ... away-trips
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Re: The 6 most terrifying away game experiences
I used to go and watch games down at Cardinia and it was pretty frightening and the last of the old world grounds but Vic Park felt dangerous when ever you went there.
Re: The 6 most terrifying away game experiences
and it was....not having teeth is no impediment to spitting....gringo wrote:I used to go and watch games down at Cardinia and it was pretty frightening and the last of the old world grounds but Vic Park felt dangerous when ever you went there.
.everybody still loves lenny....and we always will
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Re: The 6 most terrifying away game experiences
Windy hill was not far behind Vic park. The crowd was always feral.gringo wrote:I used to go and watch games down at Cardinia and it was pretty frightening and the last of the old world grounds but Vic Park felt dangerous when ever you went there.
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Re: The 6 most terrifying away game experiences
Nostalgia is a thing of the past. Gee Moorabbin sounded a welcoming and homely wee spot
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- saintbrat
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Re: The 6 most terrifying away game experiences
I still remember being 'escorted' out of AAMI Stadium after an Adelaide game
and not because of anything I had done but just because of the colours I wore .. happened to every opposition cheersquad-
and not because of anything I had done but just because of the colours I wore .. happened to every opposition cheersquad-
StReNgTh ThRoUgH LoYaLtY
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Re: The 6 most terrifying away game experiences
I remember as a schoolboy in 1970 standing in the season ticket area at Moorabbin (was that the animal enclosure?) and nothing since has had the same vibe. Not even close. I reminisce to my work colleagues in Perth and they have no comprehension of what I am talking about. As one goes through life, experiences like that are collected and they form the fabric of who you are.