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Way back in 1967 I lived in a little place called East Corrimal. I was ten years old and had no idea how idyllic my life was.
You could walk to the beach, and ride bikes around the streets without fear of strangers. Our primary School had cows in the back paddock. My Dad used to give me 50 cents to walk down the street and buy him a pack of Rothmans – the three cents change allowed me to buy a mixed bag of lollies in a white paper bag.
They were very random, and the biggest buzz for me was to score a couple of caramel buds among the milk bottled and snakes and freckles.
That was all well and good but the biggest thing that happened to me in 1967 was rugby league. My dad was mad on it, but more importantly my best friend was.
He convinced me to join the Towradgi Rosellas. I did, and loved it. Let me be clear, I was crap at it, and never made the run-on team. I am pretty sure I was shoved on the wing, quite deservedly. But whatever.
More importantly, the feeling of walking home with your footy gear on and your boots click-clacking on the footpath made you feel like a hero.
Then, one magical day, my father told me about grown-ups playing rugby league on Television.
I vaguely remember that you could watch the second half of a game live every Sunday. It was black and white, so I asked him who wore the colours of Towradgi.
Now Bulldogs fans, it is time to look away. They wore red and green so I became a South Sydney fan.
As history tells us, Souths beat the Berries from Canterbury-Bankstown in the grand final after the Berries knocked St George out in the final, ending their eleven year run.
I rejoiced in my team winning the completion, but something bigger was tugging at my soul.
A little blonde-haired fullback for the Berries was just sensational. He could catch the ball in mid-air, could chip and chase, and he could tackle any speedster over the touchline.
His name was Les Johns and I fell in love with him, in the fan sense. It also inspired me to become a better player because I was also the smallest kid in my team.
How is it that we make so many lifelong decisions when we are just babes. I don’t care, this was a good one.
Les Johns turned me into a Berries fan. Souths won the next three out of four years and the Berries went pretty crap, but I didn’t care. Les Johns really didn’t play much more, but I didn’t care.
He made me a Berry and I couldn’t forget what I saw of his play. True genius.
The next few years were fairly ordinary for the Berries. We had moved to Campbelltown because of my father’s work and I was soon playing for the Campbelltown Kangaroos under 12s.
I had become a bit better at footy, I could tackle anyone now and could pass and throw a dummy at five eighth.
We even went to a couple of games, although unfortunately my father was a Magpies fan.
The following year, 1970, had me old enough to go and watch games with mates and this became a ritual. We would catch the train into Central and watch the Sunday match of the day at the old Sydney Sports Ground.
This meant we would watch a cross section of all teams, but occasionally my Berries were on show. That year, they had changed to the horizontal hoops and to be honest I didn’t like it much.
I went to their semi-final against St George that year and watched them from the old Brewongle Stand. We lost 12-7 scoring the only try but Keith Page and Graeme Langlands beat us with goals.
A new magazine had come out that year as well. It was called Rugby League Week and I loved it.
There were lots of articles and even team ratings. I used to boil inside if our players were given low scores, but it was the bible and very useful if I hadn’t been to the game.
I got into the habit of going to Belmore every second week. I would catch the train to Belmore Station, walk down to the ground and park myself on the old bitumen hill between the halfway and quarter line, and watch all three grades.
Bliss! The old home-and-away system was so good. On the Sunday you would be watching the game, but when the PA crackled into life everyone shut up to listen to the progress scores in the other games.
If Manly or Souths were losing a huge roar would go up. Golden days. These were the days of Johnny Greaves, Neville Hornery and Billy Noonan. Our team competed, but were no chance of winning a competition.
In 1973 the team went back to the ‘V’ style jumper and soon picked up form. Garry Dowling was the new exciting fullback, there was Henry Tatana, the goal-kicking prop and Bernie Lowther, the intercept king.
I specifically remember watching the Berries play Manly at Belmore with my elder brother, who was a Manly fan. We led 9-nil with fifteen minutes to go, then Bob Fulton switched on and we were beaten 15-9.
I was so upset I couldn’t speak. I would have burst into tears if I did, and that would have been kind of embarrassing. I swore to myself that the day we won the comp, I would drink to all of the bad times before.
Almost unbelievably, we made the grand final in 1974. We had beaten the Roosters in the major semi to be first in. I was there, on the hill for the grand final.
Our team was full of babies in the backline and were eventually overrun 19-4, but only in the last ten minutes. I was disappointed but enthusiastic about the future.
It was now so good to be able to watch the team and expect to be able to win any game. Of course, there were ups and downs but it was as if a Berries fan could hold their head high in any company. Even better was to come.
In 1976 I went to Leichhardt Oval for Round 1 against the Tigers. I was with two friends and their father, all nutty Tigers fans. I told them to watch out for this skinny halfback who had played against us in the Amco Cup the previous year – the scoffed of course.
The Tigers led all game and were up 24-12 with less than ten minute to go. Then this skinny halfback combined with and old ex-South Sydney second rower to surge us to victory 25-24.
I had been copping it all day on the hill from my mates and all the other Tigers fans shouting “what’s the score, what’s the score?”
At fulltime I turned around to the hill and pointed to the scoreboard “That’s the f***ing score!” Oh yes, the skinny halfback was Steve Mortimer and the second rower was Bob McCarthy.
These were fun times, but we were still not premiers. The team had morphed into the family club and the late seventies were definitely my favourite era. I loved the Hughes boys and the Mortimers.
Geoff Robinson is still my favourite front rower. Chris Anderson could turn a game with an attack from dummy half and Peter Cassilles tackled anything that moved. All this culminated in another surprise grand final in 1979.
Of course, one other significant thing had happened. The Berries had now become the Bulldogs. At last, my team had a mascot.
I have to confess to be a little off the wall in 1979. My brother and I shared a house, which was a halfway house for a myriad of other tenants. Every day was a holiday and every night was party time.
We played sub district rugby (pub rugby) and work was just a means to support our decadence. When the Dogs scraped into the finals I thought, oh well, don’t get stressed – just enjoy whatever they do.
I think the players, now under Ted Glossop, may have thought the same. Their footy was an amazing sequence of daring attack and counter attack. They creamed their way to the grand final.
I swore on grand final day that I would have a bong if the Dragons scored and a tinny if the Doggies scored. Let’s just say that I was stoned and half time and drunk at full time, but the Doggies were still not the premiers.
In 1980 I had settled into a meaningful relationship with my now wife, and the party life drifted away.
The Bulldogs had now become the ‘Entertainers’ but they were more than that.
They had the skill, but they were also very tough. This time they went straight to the grand final and went up against Easts, who thought their s**t didn’t stink.
I watched the match at my girlfriend’s unit, just the two of us. I was nervous, but confident. Early in the match, Royce Ayliffe tried to put the biff on to unsettle the smaller Bulldog pack.
Graeme Hughes let rip into him with a flurry of punches and I knew then the game was won. We scored soon after and were never in danger.
For once, Steve Mortimer did not flash everywhere in attack, but he made two magnificent cover tackles to save possible tires. Everybody knows about Steve Gearin’s super try, but the match was already won by then.
At last we had done it! I celebrated very quietly on the inside, for my hunger had been satisfied.
The Bulldogs have gone on since to win several comps, and now it feels so different. If we miss out like last year, no drama. I know we will win again one day, and our team will always compete on the field.
I still go stir crazy during games, pretty much always on telly these days, but my love for the Bulldogs has kept me sane in crazy times and kept me crazy in sane times.
That is why I love the Bulldogs.
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