‘G, what happened Melbourne?

I used to love going to the ‘G.

Some of my favourite memories are of going to watch the mighty Hawks play there. My daughter and I had season tickets when she was in her early teens. Our seats were on the half forward flank, just back from the 50m line. We’d watch Buddy strut around when he was still in the brown and gold. Join in the chorus of ‘Brrreeeuuuuuust’ whenever Luke Breust touched the ball. Revel in the singing of ‘We’re a happy team at Hawthorn’ as we built one of our most dominant eras. It was our father and daughter thing we did.

We’d park up at the Epworth hospital car park above Fitzroy Gardens and walk – donned in brown and gold – down through Yarra Park to the game. After the game we would get hot jam donuts to keep us company on the walk back to the car.

Once the car park disappeared under a high rise development, it got too hard to find a park so we started catching the train. But an increasing abundance of evening games coupled with packed trains from Richmond station made the trip home to Torquay too long and arduous and took the gloss off the day. So we stopped going. 

 

 

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Of course the footy isn’t the only reason to go to the MCG: The ‘C’ does stand for cricket after all. 

I’ve been going to the secnd day of the Boxing Day on and off for the past 15 years. Before that we lived in Perth and I’d go to the second day of the WACA Test. The WACA was a fun place to watch the cricket. There was always a carnival atmosphere there and you never felt too far away from the action in the middle. Sure it was brutally hot on a Perth scorcher, but it was Perth after all and if you couldn’t handle the heat you shouldn’t have been in the kitchen. And anyway, the Fremantle Doctor usually swung in around 3pm, providing some breezy relief.

But you can’t beat the Boxing Day Test at the ‘G for sheer theatre and colosseum-like atmosphere. I’ve always picked the second day to attend because it still oozes atmosphere but you can get in and out of the ground reasonably easily. There’s usually plenty still at stake in the game and often some of the best action happens on the second day where the game can pivot. Andrew Symonds’ maiden test century and 279 run partnership with Matthew Hayden in 2006 springs to mind.

But something happened to change all that on December 27th, 2025.

In the morning we caught the 7:15am train from Waurn Ponds to ensure we had enough time for a visit to the Young & Jackson Hotel for our traditional pre-match warm up pint. We were excited for what lay ahead: Australia were in a strong position with a lead of 46 after the first day saw 20 wickets fall on a green top pitch, described as ‘fuzzy’ by stand-in Australian captain Steve Smith. Hero of the ‘G Scotty Boland was opening the batting after coming in as night-watchman for the final over the night before. Travis Head was yet to face a ball in the second innings and it somehow felt a little like an opening day full of potential all over again.

Boland – disappointingly yet unsurprisingly – went after only adding a couple more runs to his score. Weatherald played on or was bowled leaving; no-one was quite sure. Labuschagne failed to prove he is anywhere near his glory days, again. Head’s off stump was rattled by the best ball Carse has bowled all tour, and Khawaja dollied a short ball down the throat of fine leg. From there things just got worse: Smith seeming to avoid the strike like a Bay 13 toilet cubicle; and Carey, Neser and Starc unable to bail out the Aussie top order as we have become accustomed to. The writing for England’s first Test win in Australia in 15 years seemed to be on the wall.

Even the Barmy Army seemed surprised: They had been disappointingly quiet throughout the morning. They may have been hungover, or shell-shocked, or both. But if you are going to book out Bay 13 and steal the traditional home of the Aussie cricket larrikin, the least you could do is sing some songs and entertain us.

The final innings then kicked off in the fifth session of the match. Crawley and Duckett baz-balled Starc and Neser. Carse came in at first drop to the surprise of everyone at the ground including, it seemed, Carse himself. The new bloke with the fluffy bleached hair even made a few. The Barmy Army finally found its voice and then some. The inevitable drew nearer. 

On-field the day was a disaster. Off-field there was, as there always is, plenty of over-priced beers, great banter, and a chance for mates to get together for their annual catch-up. In the seats directly in front of us a young bloke and his family from Yorkshire were getting increasingly excited as the game looked more and more in England’s favour. We discovered that the young bloke was out here playing cricket for Newstead in the Castlemaine league and had recently taken a five-for against Maiden Gully, the club one of my mates Stu and I played juniors together for. Small world.

Even as England got within 30 runs, that famous English pragmatism prevailed. ‘We could still lose this,’ the Yorkshire lad’s old man said with the slightest hint of a wry smile. We didn’t agree and so left before the death knell to beat the rush. 

A quick book-end pint at the Young & Jackson and we marched off to catch our respective trains home to Geelong and Ballarat. What we didn’t realise at the time was that the worst performance of the day was yet to come. This time it didn’t come from an ageing Australian batter. This time it was Melbourne’s fickle and failing public transport system.

Arriving at a grey and diesel fume choked Southern Cross station, Brian and I checked the departures board for the next Waurn Ponds train and headed dutifully to Platform 6 as the board instructed. We arrived there to a typically incomprehensible platform announcement: The 6:11pm Waurn Ponds train would be leaving in six minutes from Platform 16 instead. We made the dash to Platform 16 where a confused and chaotic scene was unfolding. A platform attendant was telling people boarding the train that there was an unknown track fault, that there would be a delay of an unknown period, and that there was no other option available to us at that time. We decided to board the train regardless as there seemed no viable alternative.

We found a seat as people continued to board. The seats and the aisles soon filled. The atmosphere quickly became stuffy and tense.

After around fifteen minutes another muffled announcement came over the train’s PA; ‘We are sorry but we have no further information for you regarding this delay. We will advise you as soon as we know more.’ At least they hadn’t forgotten we were there.

Twenty-five minutes passed and another announcement crackled; ‘We are sorry but as we are still unable to find out what the problem is or when it will be fixed, we ask that you depart the train and make your way to Platform 14. There you can catch the metro train to Werribee where there will be connecting coaches to Geelong and Waurn Ponds.’

Amid plenty of justified grumbling, thousands of tired and confused cricket lovers made their way to Platform 14 where they began jamming into the underprepared Werribee metro train. Brian and I waited for the second train. I barely made it on as I paused to help some kids who were at risk of getting cut off from their parents by the closing doors.

The fourty minute ride from Southern Cross to Werribee was excruciatingly slow. We stopped at every station even though no-one got off and no-one could possibly get on. I hoped no-one on that train suffered from claustrophobia, or anxiety attacks, or had a disability. What was awfully uncomfortable for me would have been unbearable for them.

After what seemed an eternity we arrived at Werribee, anticipating a line of coaches waiting to pick us up and take us to Geelong. With no instructions on where the coaches might be, we followed the crowd hoping they knew something we didn’t. We walked out of the station to the sight of at least a thousand confused people standing in the forecourt of the station. And not a bus in sight.

Thankfully Brian’s wife agreed to drive into Werribee to pick us up and I remembered that the Park Hotel was just over the road from the station where we waited over a calming pint of Guinness. I don’t know how long the people standing on the forecourt waited to be picked up. Our mates from Ballarat had a similar experience except that they got dumped at Caroline Springs with no explanation. I know they got home at 10:30pm but I haven’t found out how.

This was a fail of epic proportions. This was running out your captain while he’s on 99. This is shouldering up to an in-swinger on the first ball of an Ashes series. This is dropping an absolute sitter at cover when the opposition are nine-for and only need one run to win.

There is something wrong with Melbourne when this can happen during one of its most important events of the year. The city has out-grown its public transport system and there doesn’t seem to be any credible plans to fix it. 

 

 

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I have always been a country boy and visit Melbourne as sparingly as I can. Even that feels like too often now. It is a city that feels like it is descending into chaos. Into a place that doesn’t feel like it belongs in the Australian landscape. A place that is dark, grey and choked up with fumes like its marquee train station.

There is something incredibly special about visiting the MCG during a marquee sporting event. Especially as a Test cricket fan during the Boxing Day test. But as someone from a regional area, the negatives are starting to outweigh the positives. The risks starting to outweigh the rewards. It may be time to reassess my relationship with the venue and the city that hosts it.

Next year I think I will fly to Adelaide and go to a couple of days of the Test over there instead.

 

 

 

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