Win Prizes Feel Good Inc. (Essendon Edition) - WIN A BOOK

[Shane Hird]

we were such a pissant little school! like little as 300 kids in total, pretty good now i think about it though, better than being chockers and getting no attention.... did you play junors locally? i played at avondale, wonder if we crossed paths - i was in Lloyds team, i guess youd rememebr that.

Give us some Lloydy junior playing day stories!

 

[Runk]

we were such a pissant little school! like little as 300 kids in total, pretty good now i think about it though, better than being chockers and getting no attention.... did you play junors locally? i played at avondale, wonder if we crossed paths - i was in Lloyds team, i guess youd rememebr that.

Nah. Joe Misiti accidentally broke my hand during kick to kick at school and Mum wouldn't let me anywhere near a local footy club as a result.
Gave me a hockey stick instead!

Milleara got knocked down didn't it?

 

[Howard Moon]

Nah. Joe Misiti accidentally broke my hand during kick to kick at school and Mum wouldn't let me anywhere near a local footy club as a result.
Gave me a hockey stick instead!

Milleara got knocked down didn't it?

saw a facebook group saying it was shutting down the other year, id reckon its probably dust by now yeh, bit of a shame, lots of memories

 

[Shane Hird]

Runknisse and Howard....do you blokes remember Airport West FC back in the 80s.

My cousin used to play for them and I can remember back in the early 80s when they had the most crappiest clubrooms ever..virtually a tin shed.

Then years later on, they built the awesome new clubroom that stands today. I'll always remember walking in and seeing that giant photo of Bomber Thompson on the wall..many happy memories of that place.

 

[BOMBERS 4 LIFE!!!!]

Remember having kick to kick in primary school with Steve Allessio gave me a few tips on how to kick EFC players came all the time Long,Bewick,Olarenshaw my school was only 5 mins by car from Windy Hill.

 

[Howard Moon]

Give us some Lloydy junior playing day stories!

Gee its a long time ago now, i might dig up a couple of our team photos, good for a laugh! He was our captain, obviously. His old man coached us a few years but he also coached the year above us, i think his brother may have played there, we played the odd game up there as fill ins. Actually we were coached one year by John Lloyd then the next year by an olympian swimmer Steve Burns. Pretty good now i think about it. My dad still tells me now that all the parents knew he had something special, he was doing things ahead of his years. When most of us were following the ball around like lemmings i think he was genuinley taking marks and what not. In the pics i noted that he an i were the only guys with a short sleeved jumper, must be something in that.. maybe

One memory i have was in a grand final, in under tens, it ended a draw, then we played extra time and it was a tie again! then we played a further extra time, it was tight close to the end and the ground happened to be close to a train line. The train tooted its horn and half of us stopped thinking it was the siren... it wasnt, they ran the ball up and scored and we lost. Half of our team were crying and being all sooky, Lloyd gave us a team talk! in under tens.. early leadership! Rubbish way to lose it must be said.

wish i could actually remember more but it was under 10s and 12s, lots of water under the bridge since then but i deffinatley dont rememebr any velvet sledge hammer action just yet... no sewell type bumps.

 

[Runk]

saw a facebook group saying it was shutting down the other year, id reckon its probably dust by now yeh, bit of a shame, lots of memories

It was across the street from St Peters though wasn't it?

 

[Howard Moon]

It was across the street from St Peters though wasn't it?

nah was on north road, which was off milleara rd just past where that milleara mall is now, St Martins was the nearest church i remember on Milleara rd. Just houses on all sides of school

 

[Runk]

nah was on north road, which was off milleara rd just past where that milleara mall is now, St Martins was the nearest church i remember on Milleara rd. Just houses on all sides of school

Ok, I never ventured too far South west of Milleara Rd. If I wanted to see something or do something I'd go to the Centreway.

Most of those schools are long gone now. Keilor Heights Primary still stands and has upgraded big time. I'd say Keilor P.S. is still going. Not sure about the rest.

 

[Harlequin]

In much the same vein as Jade my youngest son the autograph whore walked up to Alex Brown at a Bombers game and asked for his autograph.
(My son is an obsessive when it comes to sport and sportsmen. He knows all the Bombers players and can reel off their stats.)
Alex Browne said yes and then proceeded to sign Dyson Heppell. My son was so pissed off

 

[Squeaky]

We used to always head down to Windy hill to watch training most weeks, the first part was ok, would normally just chat and have a laugh but then came goal kicking time! That was our cue to quickly run out on to napier street to try and nab any balls that would get kicked out of the ground... Waiting waiting waiting, not much action today, they must be on to us.. so we headed back in and waited on the fence as they started goal kicking, then slowly we edged onto the boundary, then onto the goal line expecting to be kicked off at any moment. But no, they let us stay on! So we are marking the balls and kicking them back out to the players! "hey mate, over ere!" yells Michael Symonds, i hit him lace out with a drop punt. Man how good is this!!! Balls are coming in and im trying to catch Sheedys eye with my soft marking hands. Bewick with a lazy arm in the air is beckoning for the ball ..sorry boris, Mercs wins this one, I load up a torp to try and reach him on the 50... got the thumbs up for Mercs.. can hardly contain my excitment.

It only lasted all of 5 minutes til some old guy ushered us off the ground but it was one of the best 5 minutes of my teens! it felt like the players trested us as equals... we were passing the footy to the players and they were calling for them like we were mates kicking in the park .. i loved that day, think about it now, would NEVER happen again.

This one is brilliant!
(liking it wasn't enough!)

 

[BomberTime]

One day at Windy Hill training during the 90's. We were watching the boys do their thing and this big man broke from the pack and walked our way. We thought wow thats Peter Somerville, he's coming our way. He walked right up the fence we were, said "gday boys" and proceeded to whip out his old fella and urinate right in front of us, still looking at us. He then went back to training.

Disgusting. Funny. Sick. Peter Somerville.

 

[Howard Moon]

Ok, I never ventured too far South west of Milleara Rd. If I wanted to see something or do something I'd go to the Centreway.

Most of those schools are long gone now. Keilor Heights Primary still stands and has upgraded big time. I'd say Keilor P.S. is still going. Not sure about the rest.

i rememeber once we ventured on our bikes all the way to brimbank park - now i think about it thats a huge way for a little kid, we used to hang in those caves over the river. On the way back some bullies got us near the cnr of milleara rd where the centerway goes in. One guy called my pie head and threw a pie at my stack hat the crazy things you remember ay! The times when mum would say seeya, be home before dark and you were gone for 8 hours

 

[Howard Moon]

One day at Windy Hill training during the 90's. We were watching the boys do their thing and this big man broke from the pack and walked our way. We thought wow thats Peter Somerville, he's coming our way. He walked right up the fence we were, said "gday boys" and proceeded to whip out his old fella and urinate right in front of us, still looking at us. He then went back to training.

Disgusting. Funny. Sick. Peter Somerville.

Hilarious!!

He was so not made for it. We had a footy training night in under 16s or 18s, where a player comes out.. we scored somer, he was late, rocked up in blue overalls and a beanie and goes; if you wanna make it in footy you have to be dedicated, you cant just go down the f**kin pinnies all day long.... somer pls.

 

[Shane Hird]

One day at Windy Hill training during the 90's. We were watching the boys do their thing and this big man broke from the pack and walked our way. We thought wow thats Peter Somerville, he's coming our way. He walked right up the fence we were, said "gday boys" and proceeded to whip out his old fella and urinate right in front of us, still looking at us. He then went back to training.

Disgusting. Funny. Sick. Peter Somerville.

Gold!

 

[Doss]

My first ever day at the footy was as a three year old, and I didn't actually have a team at the young point of my life.

Anyway, it was at Windy Hill, in 1991. We were playing North Melbourne. I have not the foggiest memory of the actual game, but I do remember sitting on my father's shoulders as he was standing in the outer rather than seated. The record books show that we won 123-49, but I have no recollection of it. Anyway, that was our third last game at Windy Hill, and the last one that was televised, as it turned out.

Glad I got to see it. Sort of.

 

[The Speaker]

I saw the team collecting their luggage at Melbourne Airport in 2000.

 

[Jab]

I saw the team collecting their luggage at Melbourne Airport in 2000.

No book for you

 

[Ashton Agar]

Not my story but my father used to work at the club during the 80s and 90s and said that he used to play table tennis with a very young Jobe Watson whenever Jobe was around the club with Tim. Thought that was pretty cool, he must never have suspected that he was playing with a future Brownlow Medalist!

Also told me during the brawl in the 1990 Grand Final he had the chance to belt Leigh Matthews, he could have made a name for himself! Part of me wishes he did it just for a story but probably best he didn't.

 

[Alfred E Neuman]

No book for you

Harsh.

 

[InsertPhraseHere]

Thought I’d come out of lurking to tell my true story. This turned out a lot longer than I thought it would. Apologies.

Here’s the TL; DR – A young lad, his brother and their uncle (by some mischievous means) manage to talk their way into EFC rooms after a big loss to North. Meet many players and get their signatures.

9 July 1993 - Round 15 (Versus North Melbourne)

Like most nine-year old lads; footy was my LIFE. I remember my brother [let’s call him Marcus for anonymity’s sake] and I caught the two-hour people chariot down from Bendigo that Friday afternoon. Marcus is a Hawker: four years older than I, but being a great older brother, agreed to take me to down to Melbourne for the game. Even more impressive was that our folks allowed a nine-year old me and a 13-year old - who was on crutches and only one leg (due to a skiing accident a couple of weeks earlier) – to travel to Melbourne, alone. Anyhow I digress, but this point is important for later….

When we arrived at Spencer Street Station, my uncle [let’s call him Richard] picked us up and took us to our grandparents’ place in Brunswick to prepare for the game. I then unpacked my bag and pulled-out a blank autograph book that I won alongside a signed Mark Graham football (of Hawthorn fame) that I had recently won in a school handballing tournament. Uncle Richard, who was taking Marcus and I to the game, told me ‘that it was pointless bringing the autograph book to the game because the players won’t have any time to sign it.’ However, I pleaded that we take it ‘just in case’, to which he begrudgingly agreed, and we then made our way to the ‘G in a cab.

Uncle Richard, being an AFL Member, was able to snag us some great seats: right on the wing at the bottom of the 4th tier of the new Great Southern Stand. It was a Baltic night, but I remember thinking that ‘all my birthdays had come at once’ as I sat back eating a pie, sipping on a coke…. and waited for the first bounce.

North jumped out of the blocks early (with John Longmire and Adrian McAdam leading the way), which saw them lead by three goals at quarter-time. Knowing that there were still three-quarters to go I wasn’t too worried, yet. Just as I had hoped, The Dons came storming back in the second-quarter (with Brad Plain particularly dominant), to only be down by a couple of points at half-time. We continued our domination in the 3rd and managed to gain the ascendency to lead by a couple of kicks at the break…. and I was on cloud nine! What happened in the last-quarter was burned into my brain 21 years ago, and remains there now: The Dons stopped….dead. Akin to being hit by a lightning bolt (which had threatened earlier on a miserable July day) we had completely ran out of legs, and the North vultures feasted on our carcasses to win by a staggering 10 goals. Understandably, the crowd was in shock. I was even worse: inconsolable. I remember my head falling between my knees and bawling my eyes out until there was hardly anyone else left in the stands.

After copping a little spray from Uncle Richard, I control myself enough to get onto my feet and start to slowly slink out of the ground; Marcus and his crutches were already waiting patiently at the lift by the time Uncle Richard and I get there. Feeling sorry for me, it was here that Uncle Richard came up with a cunning plan: to try and get us into the Essendon rooms. After telling Marcus and I of this grand scheme, we made our way down to the entry of the rooms.

Uncle Richard, a salesman, is blessed with the gift of the gab and easily brushes off the first security guard check when we approach. Our second security check was not so easy, however. Eerily similar to an East Berliner trying to trapeze their way through Checkpoint Charlie; we were greeted with a resounding “sorry, you cannot come in here” by the waiting security guard. Unperturbed, though, Uncle Richard then took to showcasing my (seemingly) disabled brother to the security guard – a desperate last ditch effort to play on the guard’s heart-strings. Incredibly, with our dignity well and truly gone now, the security guard… lets us in!

Marcus and I walked around seemingly given free rein in the Essendon players’ rooms. Fletch had just finished his shower when I walked up to him, and he happily signed my autograph book wearing nothing but a towel. Mark Harvey, too. Everywhere I looked there were players and staff at my disposal - I felt like Homer Simpson in the Land of Chocolate. Tim Watson, Gary O’Donnell, Michael Long, Sean Denham… absolutely everyone was happy to shake the hand, and chat to a star struck nine-year old (and his Hawk supporting brother). They could have been forgiven for shrugging anyone-off after such a result; but no, they were incredible. The Big Fish and David Grenvold were getting their rubdowns, and I remember Grenvold spending what seemed like an hour – granted, was probably only 5 minutes - talking to me about how I can better my game. I remember telling him, “I need to improve handballing with my left-hand”, and he told me to just keep practising, and it will get better. Sheeds and Ken Fletcher came in towards the end, and although I didn’t get to meet Sheeds, Uncle Richard (who appeared to be talking the poor ear-off Ken), introduced me to Ken and I was able to get his autograph just before we made our way out of the ground, and back to Brunswick.

I ended up taking Grenvold’s advice on-board; yet still turned into a rubbish footballer. Nonetheless, it was the best day of my life then, and still pretty unreal 21 years later.

 

[Whispering_Jack]

Well that's clearly going to win a book.

 

[The Speaker]

Well that's clearly going to win a book.

I still think I'm a chance.

 

[rines]

Thought I’d come out of lurking to tell my true story. This turned out a lot longer than I thought it would. Apologies.

Here’s the TL; DR – A young lad, his brother and their uncle (by some mischievous means) manage to talk their way into EFC rooms after a big loss to North. Meet many players and get their signatures.

9 July 1993 - Round 15 (Versus North Melbourne)

Like most nine-year old lads; footy was my LIFE. I remember my brother [let’s call him Marcus for anonymity’s sake] and I caught the two-hour people chariot down from Bendigo that Friday afternoon. Marcus is a Hawker: four years older than I, but being a great older brother, agreed to take me to down to Melbourne for the game. Even more impressive was that our folks allowed a nine-year old me and a 13-year old - who was on crutches and only one leg (due to a skiing accident a couple of weeks earlier) – to travel to Melbourne, alone. Anyhow I digress, but this point is important for later….

When we arrived at Spencer Street Station, my uncle [let’s call him Richard] picked us up and took us to our grandparents’ place in Brunswick to prepare for the game. I then unpacked my bag and pulled-out a blank autograph book that I won alongside a signed Mark Graham football (of Hawthorn fame) that I had recently won in a school handballing tournament. Uncle Richard, who was taking Marcus and I to the game, told me ‘that it was pointless bringing the autograph book to the game because the players won’t have any time to sign it.’ However, I pleaded that we take it ‘just in case’, to which he begrudgingly agreed, and we then made our way to the ‘G in a cab.

Uncle Richard, being an AFL Member, was able to snag us some great seats: right on the wing at the bottom of the 4th tier of the new Great Southern Stand. It was a Baltic night, but I remember thinking that ‘all my birthdays had come at once’ as I sat back eating a pie, sipping on a coke…. and waited for the first bounce.

North jumped out of the blocks early (with John Longmire and Adrian McAdam leading the way), which saw them lead by three goals at quarter-time. Knowing that there were still three-quarters to go I wasn’t too worried, yet. Just as I had hoped, The Dons came storming back in the second-quarter (with Brad Plain particularly dominant), to only be down by a couple of points at half-time. We continued our domination in the 3rd and managed to gain the ascendency to lead by a couple of kicks at the break…. and I was on cloud nine! What happened in the last-quarter was burned into my brain 21 years ago, and remains there now: The Dons stopped….dead. Akin to being hit by a lightning bolt (which had threatened earlier on a miserable July day) we had completely ran out of legs, and the North vultures feasted on our carcasses to win by a staggering 10 goals. Understandably, the crowd was in shock. I was even worse: inconsolable. I remember my head falling between my knees and bawling my eyes out until there was hardly anyone else left in the stands.

After copping a little spray from Uncle Richard, I control myself enough to get onto my feet and start to slowly slink out of the ground; Marcus and his crutches were already waiting patiently at the lift by the time Uncle Richard and I get there. Feeling sorry for me, it was here that Uncle Richard came up with a cunning plan: to try and get us into the Essendon rooms. After telling Marcus and I of this grand scheme, we made our way down to the entry of the rooms.

Uncle Richard, a salesman, is blessed with the gift of the gab and easily brushes off the first security guard check when we approach. Our second security check was not so easy, however. Eerily similar to an East Berliner trying to trapeze their way through Checkpoint Charlie; we were greeted with a resounding “sorry, you cannot come in here” by the waiting security guard. Unperturbed, though, Uncle Richard then took to showcasing my (seemingly) disabled brother to the security guard – a desperate last ditch effort to play on the guard’s heart-strings. Incredibly, with our dignity well and truly gone now, the security guard… lets us in!

Marcus and I walked around seemingly given free rein in the Essendon players’ rooms. Fletch had just finished his shower when I walked up to him, and he happily signed my autograph book wearing nothing but a towel. Mark Harvey, too. Everywhere I looked there were players and staff at my disposal - I felt like Homer Simpson in the Land of Chocolate. Tim Watson, Gary O’Donnell, Michael Long, Sean Denham… absolutely everyone was happy to shake the hand, and chat to a star struck nine-year old (and his Hawk supporting brother). They could have been forgiven for shrugging anyone-off after such a result; but no, they were incredible. The Big Fish and David Grenvold were getting their rubdowns, and I remember Grenvold spending what seemed like an hour – granted, was probably only 5 minutes - talking to me about how I can better my game. I remember telling him, “I need to improve handballing with my left-hand”, and he told me to just keep practising, and it will get better. Sheeds and Ken Fletcher came in towards the end, and although I didn’t get to meet Sheeds, Uncle Richard (who appeared to be talking the poor ear-off Ken), introduced me to Ken and I was able to get his autograph just before we made our way out of the ground, and back to Brunswick.

I ended up taking Grenvold’s advice on-board; yet still turned into a rubbish footballer. Nonetheless, it was the best day of my life then, and still pretty unreal 21 years later.

Far out.. what a fantastic idea for a thread.. what a great read mate!

* I love this club.. how much joy can it bring? How many memories so easily float to the surface? Good stuff.. and something about being a kid.. just makes it all feel that bit more 'magical'..

Great read! Do you still have the Mark Graham footy?

 

[Howard Moon]

Far out.. what a fantastic idea for a thread.. what a great read mate!

* I love this club.. how much joy can it bring? How many memories so easily float to the surface? Good stuff.. and something about being a kid.. just makes it all feel that bit more 'magical'..

Great read! Do you still have the Mark Graham footy?

its funny you mention this, i had a spirited debate about it with mates the other week.

I dont think its possible to keep your passion alive for football through certain years. Well its hard to keep your passion alive for a lot of things once you become old and jaded but football for a few certain reasons.

When you are a kid those players are your absolute heros, they are giants amongst men, they seem super human. Your passion for football is unparelleled, you know all the players, all the numbers, the stats, EVERYTHING! Football is your life. Then as you become a little older and start playing the game your passion probably even increases a little more, you live and breathe football, the players are still your idols. Then you reach the 18-24 type age, are still playing the game and even though you realise the players are only human now you feel some kind of kindred respect for them, they are doing what you are doing but at a much higher level so you can appreciate it, and you still love football with passion.

But then something happens, at around 30 you feel a little older and wiser, possibly a bit crotchety, you refuse to idolise anybody ten years your junior! Im not idolising pimple faced kids! Not to mention the fact they became what i wanted to be... Not only this but when you really think about it they are 18! would you place a large amount of your emotuional wellbeing in the hands of a bunch of 18 year olds? Because thats what you are doing, your football club means that much to you that it affects your moods and emotions... its hard to let kids hold that power. So slowly you grow up and get other priorities and detach yourself from the full on passion of your football team. You still love them, and support them.. but its not the same, you may not know all the numbers anymore, may not watch every game but it still hurts to lose. Its gone.. until...

You have your own kids, and its time to drum it into them to get them on the bomber wagon, back comes the passion!

this is the place i now find myself in, teaching my ltitle ones how to be bombers (hard right now it must be said) but i deffinatley think its hard to keep the passion alive across those non child years.