"One for True Believers: The Unflagging Saints"

[Sanctorum]

The following article was written by Greg Baum, a doyen AFL journalist, on eof the best ever, and published in Saturday's edition of 'The Age'.

It's one of the best reports I have ever read about our beloved footy club and captivates all the sentiments that I have experienced as an old lifelong Saints supporter, it's funny and so nostalgic, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did....

One for True Believers: The Unflagging Saints

St Kilda’s 150th anniversary is a celebration of a particular and perhaps unique form of saintliness.

In terms of what it’s all about, the Saints are a spectacularly unsuccessful club, with one premiership to show for their sesquicentennial labours. Hopefully their eyes were averted in round one as Geelong staff tried to work out how best to arrange four cups behind Joel Selwood on his retirement lap of honour at the MCG.

Yet St Kilda command the staunch loyalty of supporters and past players in a way that is nearly mystical. It’s not as if they have even relics to venerate. In the club’s small museum in the foyer at Moorabbin, the premiership artefacts consist of the 1966 cup, the ball and a goal umpire’s scorecard and ... that’s about it.

In lieu of virtually annual premiership reunions enjoyed by, say, Hawthorn – who have two this year alone – the Saints’ past players host a kind of all-purpose gettogether every November and in recent times have started to stage dinners by decades. This year, it’s the ’70s.

Yet still they come, and so do the fans. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet still believe. And they are a legion.

Eminent jurist Jack Rush, KC, comes from a family so steeped in Collingwood tradition that a grandstand at Victoria Park bears a great uncle’s name, but he is a lifelong Saint who for the past 10 years has sat on the club’s board.

Pondering Saintly stoicism, he says: ‘‘ I look at our history and see we are a bit raffish ! Maybe it’s from the old St Kilda, the Junction Oval, the bay, a different lifestyle, a bit mercurial.

‘‘Sometimes hardship forges special bonds and a togetherness that is different, stronger than for those who have not experienced it. That is the way it is for Saints supporters.’’

And always has been. In their 150 years, the Saints have rarely been a nose-to-the-winning-grindstone sort of outfit . ‘‘Two classes of men play football,’’ the Australasian reported in 1894. ‘‘With one, the pleasure of participating is more than sufficient recompense of defeat; the other class thinks the win is above everything else. To the first class, I think those happy, genial Saints belong’’

St Kilda lost their first 48 matches in the VFL and 99 of their first 101. One day against Geelong, they kicked 0.1, unsurprisingly still a record low. It’s a deadweight history that means that, to this day, the Saints have a better-thanbreakeven record against only one other Victorian club; the Bulldogs, which they extended last week.

But there’s always been something about them.

‘‘St Kilda fluctuated between mediocrity and abject incompetence,’’ a reporter wrote in 1924, ‘‘ a mix which paradoxically seemed to endear them to the public.’’ That year, they collected one of their 27 wooden spoons.

Allan Jeans straightened up the Saints in the ’60s, at last realising that fabled premiership. It was so long ago that although Bill Cannon was at the grand final, all he really remembers was that his grandfather kept producing chocolate bars.

‘‘We won the granny, but I don’t have any memories of the game, just eating chocolate,’’ he said, ‘‘and piling into the back of a VW Beetle to go to get the Sporting Globe, singing ‘Oh, when the Saints’. Cannon is from a long line of St Kilda followers. He grew up to play a senior game for the Saints and is now retired from a long career in sports media, all the while carrying a never-guttering candle for the Saints. There are many like him.

One son barracks for Geelong, after his mother, the other is a Saint. ‘‘Why?’’ he asks, as well he might. St Kilda’s drought is the longest in the competition again.

But despite many missteps, the Saints have almost never been threatened existentially as other clubs have. They’d pull games out of hats, sometimes whole seasons, too. This might be one.

Russell Holmesby can map it. Like his father before him, he bit his tongue through a near 20-year stretch without even a single finals appearance and did not waver. He’s St Kilda’s historian, also a past players committeeman, who has written many books on the Saints, including, as co-author, The Point Of It All on 1966, an inspired title (he also was responsible for naming The Animal Cage, a febrile area between the players’ races at Moorabbin).

‘‘Right through history, there’s this thread that St Kilda gets up to win games where you just don’t expect them to,’’ he said. ‘‘There’s always this thing that they can still get up out of nowhere. There’s always a sense that something will happen.’’

Midway through last year, they beat Geelong. After that, no one else did. Last week, with a skeleton team, St Kilda thrashed the Bulldogs.

‘‘There’s another thing,’’ said Holmesby. ‘‘We’ve had stars as good as any club in the competition. There’s always been a Baldock or a Barker or a Lockett or a Riewoldt.’’ It’s been disproportionately true since way back when. Early in the 20th century, Dave McNamara could verifiably kick the ball 80 metres, and later, Bill Mohr topped the club’s goalkicking 12 years in a row.

Tony Lockett kicked two-thirds of his league-record goal tally for St Kilda. Ian Stewart was in the AFL’s team of the 20th century, which did not have one Collingwood representative. St Kilda have won the most wooden spoons by far, but also the second most Brownlow medals. Therein lies their distinctive characterisation. In 1986, Lockett kicked 60 goals and St Kilda won their fourth wooden spoon in a row.

‘‘We have never lacked quality champions,’’ said Rush, ‘‘and St Kilda champions become cult figures .’’

That’s the half of it. The other is the born cult figures . Take your bows again Ditterich, Muir, Winmar, Gehrig, even much-loved ‘‘Wow" Jones, counterculturalists for football’s Bohemia. You will add your own favourites. Whatever St Kilda have lacked, it’s not characters. There’s always been someone to watch, and isn’t that the point? You see a premiership once a year, but you watch every week. ‘‘It’s never been dull, put it that way,’’ said Holmesby.

So for 150 years, the Saints have bonded in their own way. ‘‘Strength through loyalty’’ is their oft-quoted motto. It has to be; it’s not strength growing out of rampant success. Scoring their devotion always is a kind of wry self-awareness . Other clubs put out premiership videos. In 2004, St Kilda put out one to honour a 10-match winning streak.

The one thing St Kilda people of all descriptions won’t accept is to be patronised. Holmesby begs to be excused for an excursion into philosophy when he says that despite what the ledger may show, permanent subjugation is not St Kilda’s lot. That’s a construct willed onto the club by a cartel of bigger clubs to fortify their own standing.

‘‘I don’t want people saying St Kilda is the second team,’’ Holmesby said. ‘‘That’s bulls***. I reckon traditionally other teams have seen our place as down the bottom. That’s our destiny. But you don’t have to accept your destiny. Ditterich and Lockett didn’t.’’

Copyright © 2023 The Age
Copyright © 2020 Fairfax

[saynta]

Great article

[thejiggingsaint]

I came to Melbourne in 1990. Like most immigrants to this fine city, I viewed "footy" with a blend of curiosity and confusion! I'd truly never seen a code, and a culture connected with it, quite so unique. I watched televised matches without understanding the first thing about the game - other than the object of the contest appearing to be inflicting the maximum of physical brutality toward the opposition.... without being caught for it! I also noted some of the amazing skills required to play the game (and avoid being cleaned up! )
I started work on April 9th 1990 and was fortunate enough to strike up a firm friendship with a wonderful man named Les "Nipper" Griffith. Les was a tiny wee man in physical stature, but had the heart of a lion! He also was a committed Sainter. When opting to adopt a footy team to follow I had the entire array of Victorian Clubs to choose from. I loved Les, and loved the way in which he used to come into the plant on a monday morning, (perhaps after a Saints heavy defeat) and as a conga line of (mostly armchair) followers of other clubs came to heap crap on him, Les just smiled and said nothing. I liked that, he never EVER lowered his colours.
The Saints results became a wee bit more relevant to me the more time I spent working with Les.
In 1991, Les was diagnosed with cancer..... he faced up to this challenge in the same way that he supported his Saints: Without complaint, without asking for favour.
When my mate passed away, I was at the Chapel at Springvale, packed to the gunwhales with his family and friends.... I saw among the mourners Stewart Loew, Nathan Burke and other players, I thought to myself: "Dave, if this is how a club responds to one of their own passing on, then this is the club for YOU"
I've been St Kilda ever since, and will be a Sainter till they screw down the lid on me box!

How could I NOT be? If I walked away from this club, I'd be letting down my mate Les!

GO SAINTS!!! (To hell with the rest!)

[saynta]

I came to Melbourne in 1990. Like most immigrants to this fine city, I viewed "footy" with a blend of curiosity and confusion! I'd truly never seen a code, and a culture connected with it, quite so unique. I watched televised matches without understanding the first thing about the game - other than the object of the contest appearing to be inflicting the maximum of physical brutality toward the opposition.... without being caught for it! I also noted some of the amazing skills required to play the game (and avoid being cleaned up! )
I started work on April 9th 1990 and was fortunate enough to strike up a firm friendship with a wonderful man named Les "Nipper" Griffith. Les was a tiny wee man in physical stature, but had the heart of a lion! He also was a committed Sainter. When opting to adopt a footy team to follow I had the entire array of Victorian Clubs to choose from. I loved Les, and loved the way in which he used to come into the plant on a monday morning, (perhaps after a Saints heavy defeat) and as a conga line of (mostly armchair) followers of other clubs came to heap crap on him, Les just smiled and said nothing. I liked that, he never EVER lowered his colours.
The Saints results became a wee bit more relevant to me the more time I spent working with Les.
In 1991, Les was diagnosed with cancer..... he faced up to this challenge in the same way that he supported his Saints: Without complaint, without asking for favour.
When my mate passed away, I was at the Chapel at Springvale, packed to the gunwhales with his family and friends.... I saw among the mourners Stewart Loew, Nathan Burke and other players, I thought to myself: "Dave, if this is how a club responds to one of their own passing on, then this is the club for YOU"
I've been St Kilda ever since, and will be a Sainter till they screw down the lid on me box!

How could I NOT be? If I walked away from this club, I'd be letting down my mate Les!

GO SAINTS!!! (To hell with the rest!)

A wonderful uplifting and at the same time sad story. Thanks for sharing jigster.

[The Fireman]

Lovely story jiggster
No finer way to induct yourself to an afl club…possibly a bit biased but I reckon you have chosen well


I’m guessing you immigrated from Scotland

[SaintPav]

I came to Melbourne in 1990. Like most immigrants to this fine city, I viewed "footy" with a blend of curiosity and confusion! I'd truly never seen a code, and a culture connected with it, quite so unique. I watched televised matches without understanding the first thing about the game - other than the object of the contest appearing to be inflicting the maximum of physical brutality toward the opposition.... without being caught for it! I also noted some of the amazing skills required to play the game (and avoid being cleaned up! )
I started work on April 9th 1990 and was fortunate enough to strike up a firm friendship with a wonderful man named Les "Nipper" Griffith. Les was a tiny wee man in physical stature, but had the heart of a lion! He also was a committed Sainter. When opting to adopt a footy team to follow I had the entire array of Victorian Clubs to choose from. I loved Les, and loved the way in which he used to come into the plant on a monday morning, (perhaps after a Saints heavy defeat) and as a conga line of (mostly armchair) followers of other clubs came to heap crap on him, Les just smiled and said nothing. I liked that, he never EVER lowered his colours.
The Saints results became a wee bit more relevant to me the more time I spent working with Les.
In 1991, Les was diagnosed with cancer..... he faced up to this challenge in the same way that he supported his Saints: Without complaint, without asking for favour.
When my mate passed away, I was at the Chapel at Springvale, packed to the gunwhales with his family and friends.... I saw among the mourners Stewart Loew, Nathan Burke and other players, I thought to myself: "Dave, if this is how a club responds to one of their own passing on, then this is the club for YOU"
I've been St Kilda ever since, and will be a Sainter till they screw down the lid on me box!

How could I NOT be? If I walked away from this club, I'd be letting down my mate Les!

GO SAINTS!!! (To hell with the rest!)

Great story.

[loris]

Oh Jigging One you have made my eyes leak. That is a beautiful story - yes how could you not carry on the passion for your mate Les.

[thejiggingsaint]

I came to Melbourne in 1990. Like most immigrants to this fine city, I viewed "footy" with a blend of curiosity and confusion! I'd truly never seen a code, and a culture connected with it, quite so unique. I watched televised matches without understanding the first thing about the game - other than the object of the contest appearing to be inflicting the maximum of physical brutality toward the opposition.... without being caught for it! I also noted some of the amazing skills required to play the game (and avoid being cleaned up! )
I started work on April 9th 1990 and was fortunate enough to strike up a firm friendship with a wonderful man named Les "Nipper" Griffith. Les was a tiny wee man in physical stature, but had the heart of a lion! He also was a committed Sainter. When opting to adopt a footy team to follow I had the entire array of Victorian Clubs to choose from. I loved Les, and loved the way in which he used to come into the plant on a monday morning, (perhaps after a Saints heavy defeat) and as a conga line of (mostly armchair) followers of other clubs came to heap crap on him, Les just smiled and said nothing. I liked that, he never EVER lowered his colours.
The Saints results became a wee bit more relevant to me the more time I spent working with Les.
In 1991, Les was diagnosed with cancer..... he faced up to this challenge in the same way that he supported his Saints: Without complaint, without asking for favour.
When my mate passed away, I was at the Chapel at Springvale, packed to the gunwhales with his family and friends.... I saw among the mourners Stewart Loew, Nathan Burke and other players, I thought to myself: "Dave, if this is how a club responds to one of their own passing on, then this is the club for YOU"
I've been St Kilda ever since, and will be a Sainter till they screw down the lid on me box!

How could I NOT be? If I walked away from this club, I'd be letting down my mate Les!

GO SAINTS!!! (To hell with the rest!)

A wonderful uplifting and at the same time sad story. Thanks for sharing jigster.

Thank you for those kind words colleague You're most welcome (re me sharing my tale) Les was a great buddy and still much missed by me

[thejiggingsaint]

Lovely story jiggster
No finer way to induct yourself to an afl club…possibly a bit biased but I reckon you have chosen well


I’m guessing you immigrated from Scotland

Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr that would be "the bonny bonny banks of loch Mersey" Colleague!!

(AND Thank you!)

[thejiggingsaint]

Oh Jigging One you have made my eyes leak. That is a beautiful story - yes how could you not carry on the passion for your mate Les.

Awwww sorry if it upset you Loris, it wasn't meant to. I reckon one of the greatest rewards I've had from hitching my star to the the Saints has been the amount of warm and lasting friendships I've made with folk over the journey. It still blows me away, when someone at the game, will come up to me and shake hands and say "Hey Jiggster! How'ya goin?" VERY humbling, ....BUT very very nice to feel such an affinity with fellow barrackers! D'you know folks, there still are things in life that absolutely transcend mere football results!

[The Fireman]

Lovely story jiggster
No finer way to induct yourself to an afl club…possibly a bit biased but I reckon you have chosen well


I’m guessing you immigrated from Scotland

Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr that would be "the bonny bonny banks of loch Mersey" Colleague!!

(AND Thank you!)

loch mersey

[Long Term Injury]

Post of the year Jiggster, and what a year it is turning out to be

[Sanctorum]

Wonderful story Jigster, a lot of us have had similar experiences.

Like your good mate Les I too copped a lot of flak over the years, especially in the early 1970s when I was living and working in the Eastern Highlands town of Goroka in Papua New Guinea.

Every Friday morning during the season all of us VFL supporters would gather under the trees outisde our offices to chat about the upcoming round of footy and I was the sole Saints fan, never once conceding that my team would lose.

Again on Monday mornings we would meet up and discuss the game and invariably they would mock me mercilessly whenever St Kilda, more often than not, got done.

Water on a duck's back!

One of the senior officers of my department was a war veteran, Max Orken, a crusty old Irish character and staunch Tiger - he played golf, I was a keen squash player, so every time our teams met we would have either a golf or squash ball on the result. In the five years we were both in Goroka in 10 matches between our teams Richmond won 8, St Kilda a lousy 2. If he happened to be away he never failed to ring to ask when I was going to buy him the golf ball I owed him!

At his funeral in 1999 I placed a golf ball with tiger stripes on his casket.

The good old days......

[saynta]

Wonderful story Jigster, a lot of us have had similar experiences.

Like your good mate Les I too copped a lot of flak over the years, especially in the early 1970s when I was living and working in the Eastern Highlands town of Goroka in Papua New Guinea.

Every Friday morning during the season all of us VFL supporters would gather under the trees outisde our offices to chat about the upcoming round of footy and I was the sole Saints fan, never once conceding that my team would lose.

Again on Monday mornings we would meet up and discuss the game and invariably they would mock me mercilessly whenever St Kilda, more often than not, got done.

Water on a duck's back!

One of the senior officers of my department was a war veteran, Max Orken, a crusty old Irish character and staunch Tiger - he played golf, I was a keen squash player, so every time our teams met we would have either a golf or squash ball on the result. In the five years we were both in Goroka in 10 matches between our teams Richmond won 8, St Kilda a lousy 2. If he happened to be away he never failed to ring to ask when I was going to buy him the golf ball I owed him!

At his funeral in 1999 I placed a golf ball with tiger stripes on his casket.

The good old days......

Another good story. I have to thank you guys for sharing. I love these stories.

[thejiggingsaint]

Wonderful story Jigster, a lot of us have had similar experiences.

Like your good mate Les I too copped a lot of flak over the years, especially in the early 1970s when I was living and working in the Eastern Highlands town of Goroka in Papua New Guinea.

Every Friday morning during the season all of us VFL supporters would gather under the trees outisde our offices to chat about the upcoming round of footy and I was the sole Saints fan, never once conceding that my team would lose.

Again on Monday mornings we would meet up and discuss the game and invariably they would mock me mercilessly whenever St Kilda, more often than not, got done.

Water on a duck's back!

One of the senior officers of my department was a war veteran, Max Orken, a crusty old Irish character and staunch Tiger - he played golf, I was a keen squash player, so every time our teams met we would have either a golf or squash ball on the result. In the five years we were both in Goroka in 10 matches between our teams Richmond won 8, St Kilda a lousy 2. If he happened to be away he never failed to ring to ask when I was going to buy him the golf ball I owed him!

At his funeral in 1999 I placed a golf ball with tiger stripes on his casket.

The good old days......

Wonderful tale of friendship and camaraderie transcending mere sporting results. Thank you for sharing this with us Colleague.