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Opinion
A few weeks ago, I took my family to a Sydney FC game at Leichhardt Oval, a boutique ground in Sydney’s inner west.
We sat on the green hill, behind the proud Wellington supporters, who were scattered in a corner. Dressed in makeshift yellow attire, our chanting troupe was happily outnumbered by the home team.
During the match, an announcement was made about the Sky Blue’s new, multi-million dollar stadium at Moore Park.
As I balanced a cup of hot chips on my paunch, I suddenly realised, maybe I wouldn’t be relaxing on a quaint picnic blanket in the near future.
Instead, I imagined a glimmering venue, opened for business, bursting with A-League fans.
Alas, no longer would I be able to mimic Jabba the Hutt, sprawled horizontally in his sluggish glory.
Artists impression of the refurbishment of Allianz Stadium. (Source: Supplied)
I pictured more Sydney FC members, a bustling atmosphere, fireworks, and a vocal Cove. Each fan barracking their beloved team, as the noise reverberated skyward, from within Moore Park’s expensive metal box.
Total and utter sensory overload, I thought, especially for a nostalgic introvert such as myself.
Nursing a can of suds, I heard nearby kids chasing each other, mirroring their favourite players, as the occasional rouge ball got belted over the crowd. Here, it was a simpler world, void of pomp.
This was a place where people mingled freely. It’s also the spot I felt an alarming thud on my back, followed by a chorus of apologetic giggles.
Thankfully, the random boys eventually collected their lost ball. Leichhardt Oval was still alive, I pondered, arching my sore spine.
“Serves you right for wearing a Pokémon cap,” murmured my wife. I silently nodded, reserving judgment on her bright banana t-shirt.
I promised myself to take a mental photo, capturing an image of old school soccer, including the hotchpotch collection of plastic chairs and chipped wooden benches.
Nearing the end of the game, as the overhead clouds darkened, my daughter confidently wandered down to a nearby cinder block wall, shooing away my parental request to chaperone her.
Joining a group of other kids, they all sat comfortably, dangling their small legs over the edge, not an umbrella in sight.
Indeed, it was apparent my three-year-old had outgrown her stroller. Finally, I started to understand why Sydney FC needed larger digs.
This was the evolution of football in Australia. The premier team of NSW had constructed a beacon of hope. It was also a potential roof over my head, even though I enjoyed the elements.
Fair enough, I figured. In a few months from now, we’ll all be sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, protecting our amber ale, under a shared awning.
Although, no longer will the planes skim the air above, slicing the open, hanging firmament.
I shall miss you, Leichhardt Oval.
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