west

Football is the backdrop to my life. As a boy it’s the whole play, the only thing. By the time I reach double figures I can name every VFL premier and every Brownlow medallist. I know the number of every player in the twelve VFL teams. I’ve been to every ground with my father and his football crony, Reg.

Fitzroy play at Brunswick Street, Footscray at the Western Oval. The train belts along behind the narrow Glenferrie terraces. My father asks a yob to curb his language at Punt Road. Windy Hill and Vic Park are no places for Carlton supporters but we go there anyway.

If not at the ground, I’m absorbing footy on the radio, ABC radio. The voice of the West is George Grljusich. George brings me the scores from the WAFL. I know the teams: Subiaco, Claremont, East and West Perth, South and East Fremantle. George played 12 games for South Fremantle. When the Vics play the Sandgropers George doesn’t hide his bias the way the east coast commentators do.

This morning the Lizard and I stand on the warm concrete footpath outside the warm concrete hotel where we’ve spent a pretty much sleepless night after the transcontinental flight from Melbourne to Perth. The place is airless, stuffy, insufferable.

Joanne, our driver and Perth contact woman, picks us up, chauffeurs us. Our gig for the next two days is at Subiaco. I picture myself working a room with a view over what naming rights deem these days to be Patersons Stadium, the home of the Eagles and Dockers.

In fact we’re presenting at the home of the Subiaco Football Club, Leederville Oval. The space is upstairs in the main grandstand overlooking the greensward. The goalposts remain in place over summer here, the terraces arc around the outer side of the ground. Two grassed hills remain in opposing forward pockets.

This is how footy was in my youth: terraces, standing room only, walk up early or miss out. No online ticketing and booking fees. To me this a better view than the harbour from the Swansea RSL when we did Newcastle. I peer through the glass, wonder if a young George Grljusich played a game here. Must have.

A rangy bloke in his fifties, Kevin, sets up the room for us. He’s a former coach here, six years, life member. Now he runs the place, does everything, even fills the dishwasher after us. This is a real footy club and it feels good to be here.

Rock on.