A Moment in Time

[josh@saintsradio]

I came home two weeks ago and deleted the entire finals series off my Foxtel. I got rid of the home and away games too. The Geelong game from the G that wet and windy Friday night, the Hawthorn draw aswell. Why keep them, I thought. I could still hear the echo of the Collingwood theme song in my mind as I hit the yellow button. I could taste the remnants of last night’s beer. It was an unnecessary drink. Nothing could wash away the acceptance of defeat. The feeling was familiar. I’d felt it last year, I could still remember ’97. It still sits in my gut. It doesn’t go away. I’m a Saint, I think sometimes. It’s our lot.

My mind tried to ignore the day before. It played through missed opportunities, the noise, the colour, the disappointment. It replayed the fortnight previous. A confusing two week period; the hope, the anticipation, the miraculous, the history of what had occurred, the shame of it all, and it stopped on one passage of play.

A moment in time.
And it passed in a flash.

The moment when I saw him, at full speed, running towards the back of the pack. He sat in mid air (and then on Harry O’s shoulders) for what felt like the most euphoric eternity, and then crashed to the ground, ball in hands. Scores were level. It was as close to football utopia as I have felt. I am 35 years old. I have never experienced the soul enriching sensation of a premiership victory, but I have that moment. The minute of my life when BJ took that mark, went back, put it though, and put us a goal in front, in a Grand Final.

I’ve never felt a sense of destiny as strong as that. I genuinely believed that our time had arrived. That we’d (all of us), fought so hard, back from the 4 goal deficit at half time. The sense of hope was palpable in the third quarter. We wanted to believe it was possible, we really did. And then it started to happen. Kosi into the ruck, Gilbert forward, Collingwood fumbling. Lenny, Joey, BJ, Sammy Fish, the great Nick Reiwoldt. They were finding the ball. The backline, the no-names, were dominating. We were surging.

We wanted it more.

Goals from Lenny (who so appropriately wears 7), and the little Milnedog, after three quarter time had tightened the scores to less than a kick.

Then his moment arrived.

I don’t remember much. I remember my feet hitting the ground. I remember the guttural growl when he took it. I remember hugging my brother, and cousin. And rubbing my pregnant sister’s belly, as if for luck. I needn’t have, he was always going to kick the goal. And then he did, and the noise was deafening. The ground seemed a haze of red, white and black. The grass in the afternoon shade an iconic green. The breeze warm. Complete strangers high fived, and hugged, united. A Collingwood army which had been so arrogant and intimidating in the first half was dissolving, silent, worried, disbelieving. The noise continued as the ball made its way back to the centre square, we roared as we watched the replay on the big screen. We had just witnessed something truly memorable.

We needed one more to finish it. We needed a centre clearance.
It never came, they goaled, we equalised. It finished drawn.

I watched the draw three times in the week following. I knew that if we lost I’d have to press the little yellow button. I knew that if we lost that it’d be tainted by sadness, and it is. And I knew that I needed to savor the heroics, the deeds of ordinary men, younger than me, who grew up the same, little boys commentating themselves in the back garden, dreaming.

My little boy is five months old. He wakes up at 5.15 every morning. I go in to settle him. Sometimes he sleeps in my arms. I’ve spent considerable time contemplating the what-ifs, daydreaming about the cruel bounce of an oval shaped ball, pondering our reactions and how we might feel, and celebrate. Imagining the role call of players onto the dias, the presentation of the cup, the lap of honour and concluded as such. We didn’t win it, we just didn’t. And no amount of daydreaming and willing, two weeks after the fact in a semi-conscious state can change that. But we came closer than any other time in my life. We got to enjoy, just once, re-watching a Grand Final. I’m sure we will win one, I have to be. Otherwise following football, and the seasonal distraction that ensues would be futile.

The next week, the replay, was a write-off. Simple as that. We just didn’t fire a shot. 1.8 at halftime sealed our fate. It’s almost an irrelevancy now. Because the Grand Final wasn’t that day, it was a week earlier, etched into one minute out of one twenty. From one man’s herculian deed to almost will us to a most famous victory. Perhaps in defeat, again, we can find hope. We will return next year, and not remark upon that game. We will look forward.

But for one glorious minute, one spectacular mark, we believed.



Josh Rynderman

[saintbrat]

welcome back Josh

as usual your way with words are amazing

will you regret deleting the games?>



PS:
and do you have that speech from 2004 still on file somewhere? many of us remember it well

[Mr Magic]

Welcome back Josh!
Beautifully crafted and worded post.

One question for you though - is Jess' baby going to be a Sainter or does your brother-in law get his way?

[jonesy]

Superbly written.

That BJ moment was the most euphoric moment of my life,without a doubt. It created such a high that I was depressed the following week,before the replay. I was coming down

I have to put it out of my mind, stewing on it will cause to much prolonged heartache. It's not easy following this club,we carry a lot of baggage...

[Sainterman]

Just summed it up so perfectly with that post.

Was a great moment in time, and always will be though. Don't let the end result sully that one moment. The scenes at the G when he took that mark were premiership worthy, and in the absence of that premiership (for now) I will try and savior that grab and the scenes that followed. Loved how he ran off pumping his fist against his chest...we all though we had it at that moment.

[3rd generation saint]

Actually for me the moment ws when that ball bounced the wrong way, instead of end over end into Milne's hand into an open goal.
But it bounced at right angles for a point.
That was as devastating in hindsight as Scarlett's toe poke.
Another GF lost by blind dumb filthy luck!!!!
I am certain there has to be a curse on this side, what has to be done to have it lifted.

[Brisvegas saint]

I came home two weeks ago and deleted the entire finals series off my Foxtel. I got rid of the home and away games too. The Geelong game from the G that wet and windy Friday night, the Hawthorn draw aswell. Why keep them, I thought. I could still hear the echo of the Collingwood theme song in my mind as I hit the yellow button. I could taste the remnants of last night’s beer. It was an unnecessary drink. Nothing could wash away the acceptance of defeat. The feeling was familiar. I’d felt it last year, I could still remember ’97. It still sits in my gut. It doesn’t go away. I’m a Saint, I think sometimes. It’s our lot.

My mind tried to ignore the day before. It played through missed opportunities, the noise, the colour, the disappointment. It replayed the fortnight previous. A confusing two week period; the hope, the anticipation, the miraculous, the history of what had occurred, the shame of it all, and it stopped on one passage of play.

A moment in time.
And it passed in a flash.

The moment when I saw him, at full speed, running towards the back of the pack. He sat in mid air (and then on Harry O’s shoulders) for what felt like the most euphoric eternity, and then crashed to the ground, ball in hands. Scores were level. It was as close to football utopia as I have felt. I am 35 years old. I have never experienced the soul enriching sensation of a premiership victory, but I have that moment. The minute of my life when BJ took that mark, went back, put it though, and put us a goal in front, in a Grand Final.

I’ve never felt a sense of destiny as strong as that. I genuinely believed that our time had arrived. That we’d (all of us), fought so hard, back from the 4 goal deficit at half time. The sense of hope was palpable in the third quarter. We wanted to believe it was possible, we really did. And then it started to happen. Kosi into the ruck, Gilbert forward, Collingwood fumbling. Lenny, Joey, BJ, Sammy Fish, the great Nick Reiwoldt. They were finding the ball. The backline, the no-names, were dominating. We were surging.

We wanted it more.

Goals from Lenny (who so appropriately wears 7), and the little Milnedog, after three quarter time had tightened the scores to less than a kick.

Then his moment arrived.

I don’t remember much. I remember my feet hitting the ground. I remember the guttural growl when he took it. I remember hugging my brother, and cousin. And rubbing my pregnant sister’s belly, as if for luck. I needn’t have, he was always going to kick the goal. And then he did, and the noise was deafening. The ground seemed a haze of red, white and black. The grass in the afternoon shade an iconic green. The breeze warm. Complete strangers high fived, and hugged, united. A Collingwood army which had been so arrogant and intimidating in the first half was dissolving, silent, worried, disbelieving. The noise continued as the ball made its way back to the centre square, we roared as we watched the replay on the big screen. We had just witnessed something truly memorable.

We needed one more to finish it. We needed a centre clearance.
It never came, they goaled, we equalised. It finished drawn.

I watched the draw three times in the week following. I knew that if we lost I’d have to press the little yellow button. I knew that if we lost that it’d be tainted by sadness, and it is. And I knew that I needed to savor the heroics, the deeds of ordinary men, younger than me, who grew up the same, little boys commentating themselves in the back garden, dreaming.

My little boy is five months old. He wakes up at 5.15 every morning. I go in to settle him. Sometimes he sleeps in my arms. I’ve spent considerable time contemplating the what-ifs, daydreaming about the cruel bounce of an oval shaped ball, pondering our reactions and how we might feel, and celebrate. Imagining the role call of players onto the dias, the presentation of the cup, the lap of honour and concluded as such. We didn’t win it, we just didn’t. And no amount of daydreaming and willing, two weeks after the fact in a semi-conscious state can change that. But we came closer than any other time in my life. We got to enjoy, just once, re-watching a Grand Final. I’m sure we will win one, I have to be. Otherwise following football, and the seasonal distraction that ensues would be futile.

The next week, the replay, was a write-off. Simple as that. We just didn’t fire a shot. 1.8 at halftime sealed our fate. It’s almost an irrelevancy now. Because the Grand Final wasn’t that day, it was a week earlier, etched into one minute out of one twenty. From one man’s herculian deed to almost will us to a most famous victory. Perhaps in defeat, again, we can find hope. We will return next year, and not remark upon that game. We will look forward.

But for one glorious minute, one spectacular mark, we believed.



Josh Rynderman

Well spoken, that man.

[Sobraz]

Brilliant post...

I too let myself believe at the time BJ took that mark and put it through that we would win...

I felt that it had all had come to this, and that the mark would replace Barry Breens point as the image that IS St.Kilda Premierships...

It wasn't to be... And it now seems further away than ever... If BJ's performance, and that mark/goal in particular still can't win us the flag, it feels like nothing can...

[asaint]

Thankyou. I need to know there are others out there feeling and acting as I do..well said.

[Brisvegas saint]

Brilliant post...

I too let myself believe at the time BJ took that mark and put it through that we would win...

I felt that it had all had come to this, and that the mark would replace Barry Breens point as the image that IS St.Kilda Premierships...

It wasn't to be... And it now seems further away than ever... If BJ's performance, and that mark/goal in particular still can't win us the flag, it feels like nothing can...

Sorta tragic that instead of that mark being a toyota moment (which it would have been, assuming they're still doing those adds in ten years time) and endlessly played on GF marathons etc, it will be Shaw's smother on Roo.

[St Lenny]

I doubt deleting this years wins will matter, just like last years. They all add up to nothng How much pain does a Saints supporter have to bear................................

[hungry for a premiership]

Great post, really stirred up the feelings that I know we all felt/feel.

I remember after the '09 GF, after I left the ground and walked to Collingwood station and got in my car, a wave of emotion hit me. I thought to myself, "well, it is possible that you may never come that close to experiencing a premiership again." How devastantingly wrong I was.

When BJ took that grab and kicked that goal, it was like all that emotion came back in the thrill of avengment. But alas, it wasnt to be.

[saintspremiers]

brilliantly written.....I love the bit how the replay was irrelevant, that the GF was a week earlier.

[Legendary]

Exactly, EXACTLY how I felt.

[Enrico_Misso]

Yes it's a moment we will never forget.
I let my guard down.
I was jumping up and down and hugging people.
Was finally sure it was going to be our day.

Now the pain of missing out is made so much worse because for that brief moment we thought we had it and then, eventually, after one hundred and sixty eight agonising hours - it was GONE.

And now left wondering when the next chance might come.
So close - yet now so far.

[Sainternist]

That moment has been replayed in my mind over and over again, every day since. Those arrogant pricks should have been kept in their place. It was our moment. All that euphoria turned to despair. It tears me up inside. UGHHHHH... it's just not fair

[Beno88]

Brilliant post.

That moment was the greatest of my St.Kilda supporting life, and such a far cry from the 1980s Moorabbin days I grew up through.

When Goddard marked and goaled, I didn't clap, cheer or even move, I was frozen. I thought we had it.

[yipper]

It was a telling moment - no doubt. we all dared to dream, the tears were welling up, my son grabbed my hand and we just looked at each other thinking this was it. For 3 minutes we seemed destined to be premiers. Then the ball came down their end, eventually, and they bloody well scored a goal!!! damn damn. then that long lenny kick, why the hell did it bounce like that!!! why?? for the next umpteen seconds we just attacked and attacked the ball was permanently in our forward line - we just needed to get the thing thru for a score - any bloody score!!! It hurt, it really hurt!! But for that special few moments, where we were all flying high - we were in front with just minutes left on the clock in the Grand Final - it was magic. Remember the roar when Goddard flew, and took that hanger and again when he kicked it - it was A roar never heard before at the G' - WE WERE IN FRONT!!! damn damn.

[AdelaideSainter]

Great post.

[Nick - Saints Man]

It is foolish to erase the past without drawing lessons from it. We were nearly beaten by the better team on the day (GF1) and to squeeze out a draw playing so far above our limits was nothing short of miraculous. Lyon and his crew need to pull out the tapes and study, study, study because GF1 will tell us how to win the 2011 flag. Alas I think the only way that will happen will be if something 'accidental' were to blow up at the Lexus centre 'accidentally' wiping out the Pies

[Thinline]

It is foolish to erase the past without drawing lessons from it. We were nearly beaten by the better team on the day (GF1) and to squeeze out a draw playing so far above our limits was nothing short of miraculous. Lyon and his crew need to pull out the tapes and study, study, study because GF1 will tell us how to win the 2011 flag. Alas I think the only way that will happen will be if something 'accidental' were to blow up at the Lexus centre 'accidentally' wiping out the Pies

They were the better team for the second quarter.

We broke even in the first (six points at the change). We dominated the second half.

[Nick - Saints Man]

Let's pretend that is true for a minute. Where is our second premiership?

[Thinline]

Let's pretend that is true for a minute. Where is our second premiership?

Neatly ensconced in the void left by the two unfortunate bounces we were forced to rely upon on account of our abysmal second term.

Oh. And the flukish fall of the ball that resulted in the Cloke goal at the death.

[jonesy]

It would appear a human filth troll has worked it's way through the filters

[Nick - Saints Man]

Luck huh.

Rather than blaming things that are out of our control hopefully the boys will knuckle down and become better than the best next year.