My family was never really in to footy, no one ever really paid any interest in the sport. It was always a time of year when television and newspapers were bombarded with barbaric headlines about idiotic football players hurting themselves, or getting caught up in pub brawls. I thought very little of football, until the day dad came home with two free tickets to see St. Kilda take on Sydney. At first I was reluctant to go, however as soon as I got there my attitude changed.

Masses of people who had been lining up for hours were settled in the front row of the cheering area, with their blankets draped over their legs, to keep out the chilly evening breeze. Their thermos and triangular cut sandwiches in the coles bag positioned next to their feet. The silent assurance that their team would win lingered around them. These people took support to the next level. They would have given their first born for St. Kilda to win. They wore jerseys, scarf’s, caps, jackets, socks, badges, and gloves all decorated in the white, red and black colours of St. Kilda. These people were the St. Kilda army. They carried flags and banners and clappers, ready at any moment to cheer with their hearts and congratulate St. Kilda for a goal, a good mark, a point. At any point, these people were ready to stand up and fight. Fight for the team they loved and cherished if they thought the umpire called an unfair call, or if a player on the opposing team harmed a St. Kilda player in any way. These people were worriers.

Half time came and there was an urgent dash to the food stands to stock up on beer, pies and chicko rolls. St. Kilda was winning. This meant that every single St. Kilda supporter stood a little taller, laughed a little louder and smiled a little longer. It wasn’t going to be an easy second half, but St. Kilda’s 20 point advantage would surely be a great help. Fans went back to their seats, and prepared themselves for the second half. There was a certain buzz in the air. A united feeling which would surely carry the team to victory. The siren sounded and carried through the MGC, lingering in everybody’s minds. This was it. It was now or never.

The second half was tense. The advantage for St. Kilda helped, although Sydney was now showing signs of pulling through, and stealing the glory from St. Kilda. The crowds were constantly kept on the edge of their seats, as the ball was effortlessly tossed between players. With every false move the crowd gasped in horror, they knew it could be their last.

With the seconds counting down, it felt like a time bomb was about to go off. Everyone held their breath as Nick Dal Santo lined up a goal. This goal would decide the match. It carried with it the hopes and dreams of thousands of onlookers, all crossing their fingers and hoping for the best. As he raised his leg to kick the goal you could have heard a pin drop, silence filled the stadium. He had done it! He kicked the winning goal! The crowd exploded into celebration as the St. Kilda club song echoed through the stadium. People were jumping on seats, giving each other ‘hi-fives’ and hugging anyone they could get their hands on.

I left that night feeling as though I had witnessed something truly unique. I had never seen such a united group of fans, all wanting the best for their team. St. Kilda was their life, they lived and breathed to see their team succeed. The black, red and white army colours were literally imprinted in their brains as their passionate support led their team to victory.