By Vivien Owens

He stood there looking at the empty oval.  At the weeds and tall grass moving in the breeze.  The dilapidated grand-stand.  The remnants of a score-board.  The broken fence.


Closing his eyes, he saw it as it had been in its heyday – in his heyday.  He could hear the cheers, the final siren, and the umpire’s whistle.  He could smell the liniment, feel the dryness in his mouth.  The thirst.  The taste of the half-time oranges.  He could almost feel the soreness of the wounds after some of the more aggressive battles, and the coldness of the ice-packs.


All that was before the bank told them the money had gone.  Just disappeared into thin air, the bank’s manager had said.  That had been the end of the club.  Everything that he, and so many others, had played for, worked for, over more years than he cared to remember.


‘Bastards,’ he muttered.


Turning, he walked towards his car.  The gravel underfoot crunching with his every step.  As he opened the car door, he turned for one last look.  They did much more than take the club’s money, those bastards, he thought bitterly. They’d killed the club.




  1. Love it. A very evocative piece.

  2. “Fitzroy”. Her beautiful name carried away on the breeze. I miss her so.

  3. Adam Muyt says:

    Actually Jamie, she was carried away by corporate greed, cultural shifts and stupidity, in equal measure. I miss her too, just as I do anyone or anything that’s ever touched my heart deeply. Still, life knows no reverse gear…can’t go back…but I admit there are times, every few weeks or so, when she pops back into my thoughts. I’ll remember how special it was to have her near me, the laughs, joys, connections, beauty…oh yeah, and the despair! Ah well, that was royboydom..and I’ll never regret my decison to hitch my footy love to her.

    Hey Viv, more please!

  4. Is this a premonition about the Roosters?

  5. Tasman Hughes says:


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