More saints stuff
The below was read by an accquaintance (sp?) of mine on Saints Radio last night - it summarises how we are all feeling.
Good evening one and all,
In many ways it is very difficult to summarise the feeling and sensations of the last couple of days. It has been hard to sleep, even harder to contemplate next weekend without our Saints in it. It is an arduous task to sit here tonight and reflect on a season, when we, the club and the football world believed it was our time. My name is Josh Rynderman, I am 30 years old, and I am heart broken. Tonight, I speak on behalf of Ben and Cam, and I’m sure many of you.
We the St Kilda fans have had our share of defeat. We have had our share of heart break. We have watched our side over decades, and are unwavering in our belief. We are sick of listening to the naysayers, we are sicker of the bandwagon jumpers. We are the true supporters. The ones who continued to show up during the 80’s when we were a rabble, we were there in Thommo’s early years as coach when the side couldn’t steal a win. And we are still here now. St Kilda is not just a football club for us. It is a lifestyle, an attitude, and a sense of self. We revel in victory, and wallow in defeat.
And this is no different. On Friday night, we sat at the MCG, dumbfounded by what was transpiring around us. We were silent as the nightmare continued, until the final siren. We wanted the earth to open and swallow us up. We needed somewhere to hide, to escape the emotion, the bitter disappointment, and the shock. This was not a defeat we saw coming. Some might say the writing was on the wall at 3 quarter time. But we didn’t, such is our belief in Thommo and our brave charges. We have battled against injury all year. The names of those who weren’t there on Friday night could fill the top 6 spots in many of our opposition’s best and fairest awards. But still we have battled on, against the odds.
As I write this, it is Sunday morning. The sun is shining outside and a new day is breaking. I have woken up thinking about football. This is not a new thing. I sit here wondering if Friday was the last time I have seen the G-Train play. I wonder if Pecko will continue, and my body shakes with emotion, praying that Banger play on. That was not the ending for him so many of us envisaged. To all of us, Robert Harvey has encapsulated the St Kilda Football club. He is humble, courageous, sublimely skilled and inspirational. He will never understand the unbridled joy he has provided. The many highlights, each of us have stored in our minds. The visual imagery of him in Adelaide, last year, at the final siren, on his haunches, tears in his eyes, has plagued us this year. It was balanced to some small degree two weeks ago, again at the final siren, when we watched, tears in our eyes, as he celebrated one of the great wins in the club’s history. We allowed our minds to wander forward two weeks, when on the biggest stage our great warrior could receive his due. The only way to send off a champion of his ilk is with a Premiership medallion, and possibly the Norm Smith Medal. And now we may have lost our chance.
We must not forget this feeling. This feeling of utter desolation and sadness. Nor should we turn on the players or the coaching staff. There is nothing to be gained in seeking retribution. We must internalise the hollowness of this defeat. We must remember the shock, the feeling of numbness which has been all pervading since the final siren rang on Friday night. And spare a thought for the players, most of them young enough to be our siblings, or children, carrying the weight of our hopes and dreams. Spare a thought for them who were playing the most important game of their lives. Think of how we have avoided all forms of media this weekend, and looked away from the TV, or newspapers when we see Barry Hall’s smug face, and think how they must be feeling. The level of disappointment for us as supporters is enormous. Think of being Luke Ball, Lenny, Rooey or Dal, aged 22 and under, and playing for all of us. Ponder for one second, waking up on Saturday morning, tired and aching, with the realisation that their season is over. Think of the finality of it all.
I’m not here to preach. Nor am I here to sway us away from the salient fact. Which is this. We played in a Preliminary final, against a very good side and lost. I have pondered the what-ifs, but determined that largely it is a fruitless exercise. I will remember Friday night for a couple of moments. The times when watching sport is exhilarating. The roar of the crowd when Vossy soared and took that hanger. The explosion of belief when Rooey slammed that goal in the second quarter, and sense of destiny that overwhelmed me during the national anthem. These are the moments that shape one’s character. I remember being a little boy when my mum would tell me that barracking for St Kilda was character building. I remember being jealous of my mates who barracked for Carlton, when they were winning premierships, dreaming when success would arrive for me.
And now we are close. Friday night was a stepping stone towards greatness. We, the supporters, with the rest of the club are so close it is tangible. This year we came up short, but we have some very very good footballers who are hell bent on achieving the ultimate success. I am fervent in my belief of this club, its players and coach. To lose that faith now, would be a slight on my character.
2006 can not come quick enough.
Thank You.
Good evening one and all,
In many ways it is very difficult to summarise the feeling and sensations of the last couple of days. It has been hard to sleep, even harder to contemplate next weekend without our Saints in it. It is an arduous task to sit here tonight and reflect on a season, when we, the club and the football world believed it was our time. My name is Josh Rynderman, I am 30 years old, and I am heart broken. Tonight, I speak on behalf of Ben and Cam, and I’m sure many of you.
We the St Kilda fans have had our share of defeat. We have had our share of heart break. We have watched our side over decades, and are unwavering in our belief. We are sick of listening to the naysayers, we are sicker of the bandwagon jumpers. We are the true supporters. The ones who continued to show up during the 80’s when we were a rabble, we were there in Thommo’s early years as coach when the side couldn’t steal a win. And we are still here now. St Kilda is not just a football club for us. It is a lifestyle, an attitude, and a sense of self. We revel in victory, and wallow in defeat.
And this is no different. On Friday night, we sat at the MCG, dumbfounded by what was transpiring around us. We were silent as the nightmare continued, until the final siren. We wanted the earth to open and swallow us up. We needed somewhere to hide, to escape the emotion, the bitter disappointment, and the shock. This was not a defeat we saw coming. Some might say the writing was on the wall at 3 quarter time. But we didn’t, such is our belief in Thommo and our brave charges. We have battled against injury all year. The names of those who weren’t there on Friday night could fill the top 6 spots in many of our opposition’s best and fairest awards. But still we have battled on, against the odds.
As I write this, it is Sunday morning. The sun is shining outside and a new day is breaking. I have woken up thinking about football. This is not a new thing. I sit here wondering if Friday was the last time I have seen the G-Train play. I wonder if Pecko will continue, and my body shakes with emotion, praying that Banger play on. That was not the ending for him so many of us envisaged. To all of us, Robert Harvey has encapsulated the St Kilda Football club. He is humble, courageous, sublimely skilled and inspirational. He will never understand the unbridled joy he has provided. The many highlights, each of us have stored in our minds. The visual imagery of him in Adelaide, last year, at the final siren, on his haunches, tears in his eyes, has plagued us this year. It was balanced to some small degree two weeks ago, again at the final siren, when we watched, tears in our eyes, as he celebrated one of the great wins in the club’s history. We allowed our minds to wander forward two weeks, when on the biggest stage our great warrior could receive his due. The only way to send off a champion of his ilk is with a Premiership medallion, and possibly the Norm Smith Medal. And now we may have lost our chance.
We must not forget this feeling. This feeling of utter desolation and sadness. Nor should we turn on the players or the coaching staff. There is nothing to be gained in seeking retribution. We must internalise the hollowness of this defeat. We must remember the shock, the feeling of numbness which has been all pervading since the final siren rang on Friday night. And spare a thought for the players, most of them young enough to be our siblings, or children, carrying the weight of our hopes and dreams. Spare a thought for them who were playing the most important game of their lives. Think of how we have avoided all forms of media this weekend, and looked away from the TV, or newspapers when we see Barry Hall’s smug face, and think how they must be feeling. The level of disappointment for us as supporters is enormous. Think of being Luke Ball, Lenny, Rooey or Dal, aged 22 and under, and playing for all of us. Ponder for one second, waking up on Saturday morning, tired and aching, with the realisation that their season is over. Think of the finality of it all.
I’m not here to preach. Nor am I here to sway us away from the salient fact. Which is this. We played in a Preliminary final, against a very good side and lost. I have pondered the what-ifs, but determined that largely it is a fruitless exercise. I will remember Friday night for a couple of moments. The times when watching sport is exhilarating. The roar of the crowd when Vossy soared and took that hanger. The explosion of belief when Rooey slammed that goal in the second quarter, and sense of destiny that overwhelmed me during the national anthem. These are the moments that shape one’s character. I remember being a little boy when my mum would tell me that barracking for St Kilda was character building. I remember being jealous of my mates who barracked for Carlton, when they were winning premierships, dreaming when success would arrive for me.
And now we are close. Friday night was a stepping stone towards greatness. We, the supporters, with the rest of the club are so close it is tangible. This year we came up short, but we have some very very good footballers who are hell bent on achieving the ultimate success. I am fervent in my belief of this club, its players and coach. To lose that faith now, would be a slight on my character.
2006 can not come quick enough.
Thank You.