We had nicknames for both. Victoria Park was Death Valley or Scum Park while Windy Hill was Windy Hell. We never really worried about travelling to Victoria Park. They tended to spit on their own players and where we stood at the Yarra Falls end was mainly filled with Carlton supporters, so there was pretty much a party atmosphere. Besides we did tend to give the Magpies hell on their own patch of Murray Creek mud. I once played there as a junior footballer and believe me the surface stank and its taste was vile having copped a gob full when hitting the deck after a spoil. The ground was more black dirt than grass which was somewhat befitting given whose “home” it was. Opposition sides – generally Collingwood – used to complain about the cold showers in the visitors change rooms at Princes Park, but it took days to get that acrid taste out of my mouth. But I never feared the place, nor did my one-eyed-hill colleagues. Windy Hell, however, was a different story.
There was a genuine mob atmosphere at the hellhole. Tattooed, skinheads were a feature and they were always spoiling for a fight. You had the feeling that this was riot territory and I don’t think it’s any coincidence that two of the most brutal and violent games in VFL/AFL history occurred at the hell hole – the Essendon-Richmond bloodbath of 1974 and the Essendon-Carlton war in 1975. That game still maintains the record for the most players reported – eight - in a VFL/AFL home and away match. It was an amazing quarter as despite fights breaking out like wildfire all over the ground, the Mighty Blues still managed to kick 14 goals in a quarter that lasted just over 40 minutes. Despite the mob atmosphere at Essendon, we rarely missed a game there. Sometimes there were 20 of us, sometimes no more than two or three.
In 1988, there were four of us, with three of my mates relatively new to watching the Mighties. I thought it was incumbent on me to warn them of what they may be in for. They’d been to Collingwood but they had not experienced Essendon. And it was always an experience. Still, despite being relatively new recruits, they were prepared to brave the wild ways of Windy Hell where boozing and fighting often took second place to what was happening on the field. I think my mates saw it as some sort of sociological experiment which is what I had briefed them to do. “You have to see these ‘people’ to believe them,” I told them. “They should be studied…and one other thing: keep your mouth shut...”
For the first half, it was a reasonably tight game with the Blues, the reigning premiers, not playing with any real fluency. Still, you always had the feeling they would win the game. Due to the tightness of the game, the Essendon faithful aka “the filth” were relatively quiet as they sensed an upset. My mates were a little bemused. I’d given them all these warnings and yet the atmosphere was quite calm. Then, in the third quarter, Carlton, and the mighty Sticks Kernahan aka the Godfather exploded and so did the crowd. As Carlton piled on 10 goals, with Sticks slotting a few, the atmosphere went from that of a calm sea to a raging storm. Cans and bottles were being hurled at Carlton supporters, streamers were set alight – an old Essendon trick – and my mates began to feel as comfortable as an African-American in the Governor’s box on Kentucky Derby Day. Naturally, they looked to me for guidance. Well, as is the Carlton way, I met fire with fire yelling louder and becoming more animated as the Blues put the sword to the pretenders from Windy Hell. “Don’t worry,” I told my mates. “I’ve been down this road many times before. Just barrack for the Blues.” So they did, as they were pretty well lubricated by that stage and they had to prove themselves as true Carlton supporters. It was great to witness these “recruits” rising to the next level, particularly in such a hostile environment as the Blues dominated and Sticks dragged down mark after mark. They simply had no match for him. He was taking three at a time and beating them easily – I know Sticks, modest man that he is, would never say it was easy but it sure looked like it. And the more Sticks dominated, the louder we sang the praises of captain of the century. And for all the skinheads and Essendon tough guys, they tried to ignore us. Oh, we might have copped a couple of filthy looks and some idiot might have wanted to belt us, but we went on our merry way.
As the Blues romped to a 12-goal win, I told my mates it was best to get out before the game finished so we could make a quick getaway to civilisation ie. Carlton. There was always a line for cabs outside Windy Hell and we were lucky enough to be second in line because as our cab was about to pull up, an Essendon idiot came outside from the rather inappropriately named Royal Hotel – a true bloodhouse in those days – and yelled: “If any Carlton supporter comes in here tonight, they will be killed.” He was about 30 metres away when I yelled back: “Mate, I wouldn’t be seen dead in that rat hole – TAXI!!!!” He just stood there dumbfounded as Carlton supporters applauded. A highly appropriate response on both parts.