Early days, a personal reflection by Andrew Gee

La Trobe University opened in late 1966, with first students enrolled and admitted in early March 1967. I think the 'first day' was Monday 6 March. All 464 students were herded into various locations for course enrollments. There was an inexpert attempt at an Orientation Week and the first indications of clubs and societies that were contemplated, which did not indicate a football club.

The first inkling of a football club was a notice on one of the information pillars of the one and only Glenn College in March 1967. It called for a meeting to be held in the Glenn College Lecture Theatre at lunchtime. Come the day and the time, the theatre was full!

Ralph Gallagher, part of the university administration, presided, with various other admin staff in attendance, including Bob Segrave and John Pilbeam. The meeting certainly indicated interest in forming a football club, as evidenced by the numbers in attendance. But problems were many and varied, as immediately emerged.

Was there a football ground? Well no, not really, but we have been able to secure use of the La Trobe High School ground, adjacent to the university entrance on Waterdale Road. 'There are plans for a sports ground over the next couple of years,' we were advised.

What is the club called? 'How about the La Trobe University Football Club?' responded the erudite Ralph Gallagher. Young and green as we were, that sounded like a reasonable name. Certainly no one proposed any alternative!

Do we have any change rooms?
Do we have any footballs, a jumper, what colour is it?
What league are we playing in?
Do we have a coach?
Is there a committee?

The questions came thick and fast. Basically and simply put, there was nothing! 'But there will be if we can get some interested people to form a committee from today’s meeting,' proposed Gallagher.

As was to be expected, there was the usual stunned silence as people looked around the room waiting for the first volunteer. It didn’t take long to hear the voice for the first time of David Morgan, never to this day known as exactly a shrinking violet! 'I’m in,' he declared, and duly proceeded to chair the meeting thereafter.

'Do we have a club president?' Another stunned silence, but then Bob Segrave declared that the university was very keen to have a football club established and that the university would support the formation and establishment of the club. I believe that Ralph Gallagher then proposed that Bob be president, as with his position in the university and superior knowledge of the intricacies of a modern day football club, Bob was the man.

Other hands were timidly raised - Phil McDonough, Greg Sceney, Jim Buchecker, Rod Birchall, Jenny Goldsmith, Andrew Wheeler and Frank Wyatt and Tom Condon and myself. A rudimentary and initial committee was formed.

The La Trobe University Football Club was up and running.

The nascent committee met thereafter and David Morgan proclaimed himself vice-president, Phil McDonough was coerced into being secretary and Jenny Goldsmith ended up as treasurer. The remainder of us formed 'the committee'. There was much to be done. More notices went up on noticeboards and the first training session was declared to be on Tuesday 28 March 1967 at the Latrobe High School 'ground'.

So there we met. For the first time, a rag-tag collection of bodies assembled and kicked the dirt, hard as stone as it was with little or no grass cover. No one quite knew what to do. It was then that the inimitable Segrave appeared, in suit and tie and declared that he was to be the coach. This seemed quite reasonable as he was old, had a suit and tie, was from the administration and apparently knew all about football and coaching!

'OK, we’ll start with a few warm up laps and then some circle work', he commanded. This sounded good, like a real professional. He knew his stuff. We ran, we ran some more, we engaged in ‘circle work’, we shouted and yelled at each other, curious in itself as very few even knew that names of any others. Bob called us all in, 'OK, now we’re all new here so just call out 'Trober' if you don’t know the name. But then go and ask the other bloke’s name after you’ve kicked it to him'. This sounded really good, the coach knew his stuff.

So the circle work continued and the cooling autumn evening resounded to 'Here Trober', 'Trober', 'Mine Trober' until exhausted at trying to impress, we trudged from the ground. There were of course no rooms, no showers or even toilets, so it was a matter of getting changed behind the shelter sheds and walking back to the showers at Glenn College. Some of the lucky ones even had cars and loaded up with as many as they could fit and hit the showers.

It was all very new and strange as no one really knew anyone else still, all a bit forced and artificial. The pre-season training continued on Tuesdays and Thursdays, as it always did in those days.

A meeting was held after training and it was announced that the university had tried to get us into the Victorian Amateurs, but this was unsuccessful and so we had been accepted by the Panton Hill League! 'Where is that?' a chorus chanted. The Panton Hill league was described to us a country league that was based in Whittlesea, which was somewhere to the north of where we were at that point in time. It included the towns around Whittlesea such as Mernda, Panton Hill, Donnybrook, Kinglake, St Andrews and Research. To me, these towns or locations could just as well have been on another planet.

To explain, I had just arrived in Melbourne from Tasmania in early 1967 and three months later was a new boy at the new university. I did not know one person at La Trobe. It was for me a very overwhelming experience as I was just a 17 year old from Hobart and Melbourne was like a foreign land. University was just as daunting. The idea of going to University anywhere was a mighty step for me and the new and distant lands of Mernda, Whittlesea et al was new directions and dimensions I had never seen before.

Somehow the time rolled by and someone had arranged a practice match with Monash University. Monash University was a legendary far away place somewhere south of la Trobe. I did not have a licence or a car of course and commuted by bus. I did not know anyone or anyway to get to this match, but inevitably, good things came to pass and I got a lift with Dane Huxley.

Let me tell you about Dan Huxley. He was about 19, but also about 150kg. His mother had kindly sown two pairs of footy shorts together to make one pair that Dane could ease himself into somehow. Dane was not a great sportsman and attended training or in fairness, in his case football practice with the greatest of effort and had sweat on the brow by the time he had got changed and got to the ground. Some wag, of whom many were emerging and developing in what was to become true La Trobe style, nick-named him Great Dane.

He was placed at full forward for the match and just once, somehow the ball got forward to his area, which was a defined area approximately the goal square, and by a miracle of the football Gods, the ball disappeared between his two ham-like hands and a mark was paid. He duly kicked one of the few goals scored by us that day and was never seen again.

Monash soundly beat us that day: it was like boys playing men, which was a fairly accurate description of the event. Nevertheless, we had played our first competitive game of football and we actually felt like a football club. There were showers with change rooms, hot water, and pies and beer in their clubrooms. Oh, this was living. Most got absolutely smashed on the free beer and of course drove, as one did, right across Melbourne back to La Trobe.

We did play another practice match before the start of the real season in the Panton Hill League, against a Salvation Army side from the north of Melbourne somewhere. Whilst improving or so it seemed, we were comprehensively beaten again. I do remember it was a wet and cold April day and we played at their ground, emerging covered in mud and dirt and grass only to experience, for the first of what was to be many, many times in the years ahead, the joys of cold showers only.

And so the season began. Our home ground was Latrobe High School. We fielded a First and Second Eighteen and there was always a problem getting two teams onto the ground. There were still no amenities but the Uni arranged two tents for the first few matches, which served as change rooms and shelters. Showers and lockers were still back at Glenn College for both teams. The ground had not improved and it was muddy, heavy and grass-less for most matches. It also had a not-so-gentle slope from wing to wing and from end to end. Talk about home ground advantage. 'Win the toss and kick downhill', was the mantra, hoping that by the final quarter we were far enough ahead to win. That didn’t happen for quite a few matches. I think the first ever win was against either St Andrews or Donnybrook, which were the weaker of the teams in the League. What a night that was as we gathered at the Summerhill Hotel for a grand celebration. We even knew some of each others’ names by then and we thought life was sweet.

A piece on the characters of the club in that first year.

The captain was David Morgan. David was one of the oldest players at a whole 20 years-of-age. He was supremely confident, articulate and totally self-assured. Apparently, David was well known to people 'on the mainland' as the child star in a TV series called 'Ten Town' which meant nothing to me as a hobbit from lowly Tasmania. We had only got television in 1962 just in time for Princess Margaret’s wedding, and Boystown certainly had not replaced Bonanza or Dobie Gilless by that stage. But David had the stage presence and style to carry off the captaincy and related diplomacy as well as being even then, a really good footballer. He had declared himself full forward, displaced Great Dane and proceeded to kick many, many goals every match. Arrogant and bumptious as he was, he was the greatest full forward the club has ever had.

We also had a long, gangly youth called Michael Mullins. Michael quickly became Mick and Mick quickly became one of the best ever ruckmen the Panton Hill League had seen. For all his youth, he could play football, could run fast and hard, could kick, tackle and mark with the skill and style of a player many years his senior. Mick was a true champion and absolutely dominated the League that year, winning the Best and Fairest for the League and the Club and gaining selection in the Inter-League side that played the annual match against the Riddell League.

Much is known of the legend that is Tony Sheehan, Coach Emeritus of La Trobe University. Tony was there in 1967 and was part of the team from its inception. Known by various names, 'Carrots', 'Red' or simply 'Sheehan', Tony was at very best an honest, hard-working but average footballer. Perhaps my favourite football photo, taken in 1968 no doubt, as we were playing the match on our 'home ground', being the side of the hill that the university had kindly provided for us. It is now part of the vast university car park east of Glenn College.

It shows me doing all the work and about to take another spectacular mark. Julian Carr (No 26) is moving into position to snare the loose ball in the unlikely event that I didn’t complete the mark and who is standing totally flat-footed with hands on hips in the goal-square? No 6 Tony Sheehan. It was hard getting good support in those days. (Sorry photo unavailable - ed!)

Tony was and still is a club original and stalwart, having stayed with the club as player, coach, committeeman, mentor and general all-round inspiration to all who have had the pleasure of his experience and knowledge.

Brian Manison was also another character. Little was known of Brian, but he was the oldest member of the team, a whole 21 we think. He had a strong physique and was the only person who was mean and ugly enough to stand up to some of the thugs we encountered in that first year. We were just boys but he was a man. He played in the centre and played a hard, fearless game on and off the field. He had false teeth and we boys were all very impressed when he ran onto the field, gums and all and started mixing it with the big guys from the other side. I am glad he was on our side!

Tom Condon and Jim Phillips came as a pair. They seemed inseparable and appeared from nowhere in Jim’s red Citroen. Jim was into cars and was always mobile and good for a lift. Somehow we all managed get around and as the year progressed and we did actually get to know each other, transport was always available from someone. Of course the boys were getting to and past 18 years of age so they could own a car. They were absolutely hopeless footballers, but they were on more than one occasion required to make up numbers. They more than often played in the Seconds (none of this Reserves nonsense) but they appeared street-wise and worldly and seemed to know where the girls were or would be after the match.

Importantly, I should mention the girls of 1967. Even at the first meeting in the Lecture Theatre, there were a smattering of girls in attendance. One of them, little Jenny Goldsmith was a treasure and a gem. She somehow accepted the job as Treasurer and did a great job in those very early days of opening up a bank account and handling the funds, collecting the Saturday match fees, paying the bills which were apparently part of a football club, as the committee discovered. Jenny’s presence encouraged Jenny Weller, frustrated player if ever there was one, Glenys Hahn and Kathy McKenzie. These four formed the basis of our club and our supporter base and cheer squad. They were our first aid attendants with no knowledge, experience or skills other than a wet towel and a bottle of water, providing our three-quarter time sustenance with orange slices and gathering up the mess as we left the huddle.

They would join us on the bus to the various away games and became well known and appreciated by the opposition crowds. It was comical to look at the crowds at a Whittlesea home game and see all the cars that had come into the ground and parked right around the oval, full of the mums, dads, brothers and sisters, girlfriends and partners of our opposition, then to look to see our four and only supporters all standing by the entry race, complete with wet towel and packet of Band-Aids!

The girls stuck with us through thick and thin for the first three years in the Panton Hill League. They really were an important part of the club culture of those early days. There was little romantic involvement though many tried they were just there as our girl friends and supporters and the club was a better place for them.

Greg Sceney was another stalwart of the early years. Greg was also slightly older than the rest of us and at 19 had his own car, a green 1957 FJ Holden. Greg was a particular friend of mine and I valued his friendship greatly, partly because he was a non-drinker and he lived in Fairfield and had to come and go almost past my door on the way to Uni. So I could rely on Greg for a lift and he obliged unstintingly on many occasions. Greg was a more than capable footballer as well and developed into true club champion over the years, captaining and coaching teams in the later years.

A common friend of Greg and myself was Phil McDonough. As mentioned, Phil was one of the early volunteers onto the committee and took the role of secretary. As everyone knows, it is the secretary that actually does most of the work around any club and Phil was no exception. In that first year, he was particularly active and busy getting all the clearances for the various players from their various clubs. This meant frequent trips under the highway to the league secretary, an honest but characterless Eric Jemmison. I had sort of taken on a role of assistant secretary and would often accompany Phil up the Whittlesea Main Road to Eric’s place to get another transfer form signed so a new player could run out that week. Phil also had a car, a red-purple MGA and he too was a car buff. My enduring memory of the trips to Whittlesea was Phil absolutely thrashing the MG as he struggled to hold it on the road as it careered from its preferred straight-line course down the middle of the road, screaming out to me above the noise “Are we doing 100 yet?” and in those days, he meant a hundred miles per hour!

One last mention must be made of John Pilbeam. As a struggling young and new team, we were always hard pressed to get enough numbers to fill both the Seniors and the Reserves, especially over the term holidays when many students returned home to wherever that was, but generally in the country away from Melbourne. To overcome this problem, we registered a player called “Jonas Pilbeam” and would use this name for whomever we could purloin into playing that week. This could be someone’s brother, friend, cousin, crony, it didn’t matter as long we made up the numbers.

The trouble was that sometimes 'Jonas Pilbeam' played rather well and it was embarrassing when he actually ended up getting votes in the League Best and Fairest Awards!

The football club was well established by mid-year. In fact, it was one of the flourishing clubs on campus. Thursday training nights were followed by 'Pie Night', which was rapidly developing a reputation as a giant piss-up, with pies optional. We had won a few games and the morale was building. We had by this time acquired a club theme song and a bit of a standing in the university community as a functioning entity.

The community and grounds at which we played in that first year were a true reflection of the bucolic, layback life of a different era that was semi-rural Victoria in the late 1960s. The teams we played against were usually filled by locals from the immediate locale and indeed football was their escape and recreation. The exception was probably Mernda, as this was an emerging new fringe development just north of Mill Park and it was the mean team; a team of ex-Diamond Valley thugs and has-beens who enjoyed nothing more than a Saturday afternoon stoush on the football field and eagerly awaited each opportunity to whack the “uni poofs”, which apparently we all were! Mernda itself was a small rural town of no redeeming feature, save its football ground.

A common factor of all the grounds was the capacity to accommodate the local supporters’ cars around the ground itself. For many of these small, relatively isolated and self-contained communities, the Saturday afternoon ritual of football in the winter and cricket in the summer was a part of their existence. They lived for it and provided for it accordingly. Cup of tea from the aging Thermos, sandwiches with last week’s left over meat, blankets on the bonnet for the kids, it was an institution in itself.

Whittlesea was a larger town, being more of a service centre for the farmers of the surrounding area and hence there were more farmers and their sons in the team. They were a dedicated lot and whilst strong in body, solid in torso and tall, they were not particularly fast around the ground as I remember. The ground was a well developed ground as it also hosted the annual Whittlesea Show. It was the home ground of the Panton Hill Football League.

I am reminded by Bob Segrave that, 'One problem with the Whittlesea showgrounds was that, if the game occurred too soon after the annual show, you had to choose your spot to fall very carefully to avoid the large amount of animal dung on the oval'.

Further west was Donnybrook! What a name for a football club! However, they were the ‘easybeats’ of the competition as they always struggled to get 18 players together each week. Their ground was just east of the Hume Highway and it was always windy, with a howling south-westerly blowing in from the rolling and treeless plains to the west. The ground was well outside the town and stood isolated and barren, with a hard, grass-less surface.

To the east lay the towns and hamlets of Panton Hill, St Andrews, Kinglake and Research. Panton Hill was featureless and unmemorable, except for its pub, which was opposite the football ground. I think the pub has long gone, but it did serve its purpose before, during and after the game for some.

I must recount the first game we played there on the smallest ground in the league. We ran out and were amazed at its tiny size. It really was like one of those school football grounds, about 120 metres long and 80 metres wide. We were quite put off by its size and I do remember that 36 players all on there at the same time was a challenge.

The ground rested peacefully on a plateau with a steep, steep embankment that disappeared into bush on the southern side. If the ball went out over the fence there, as it did when the wind blew from the north west, the local cub troop were engaged for the afternoon to retrieve it. This may sound fanciful, but a good kick over the fence could provide a full ten minute or more delay as the troop went to work to recover the ball.

I was paying at full back and early in the match, we had scored a point. I was standing there at the other end of the ground, arms folded, waiting for the kick-in, when the full forward suddenly took off up the ground as on a lead and their full back proceeded to kick a perfect drop-kick pass into his arms!

Did I look a fool! He had only lead about 20 metres, but the kick, with the wind and downhill had travelled about 80 metres. He duly goaled and I duly learned to take this a bit more seriously! Needless to say, they only got away with it once.

St Andrews was almost as far as we went. It is towards the end of the Heidelberg-Kinglake Road. A bit like Panton Hill, it was a sleepy hollow, with general store, football ground, netball courts and a few houses. There was a pub there, most necessary for stocking up with essential supplies for the long journey back to the university. The enduring memory from this ground was that it was always cold, wet, windy and usually raining. Sometimes there was no rain, just fog!

Ivan Roberts was goal umpiring one day and I can see to this day as he backed back to judge a high ball overhead and across the goal-line, he slipped back over the edge of yet another ground perched on a plateau and all that was visible were two fingers attached to his wrists and nothing else.

The end of the road was Kinglake. This was in the heart of the Kinglake forest area, so terribly devastated by the 2009 bushfires. Another pretty but also isolated hamlet, a football ground suspended on the side of a hill above the town, a pub, a general store and nothing much else. It has moved into the folklore of the club with the memorable game played there in a thick, heavy, wet fog. Why the umpire allowed the game to proceed I will never know.

The locals, as usual, encircled as much of the ground as they could access and would turn on their car lights at the end the home team was kicking towards so through the gloom there was something for them to aim at as the lights cast some definition at their end. For us, it was chaos, as we had to play the game by sound, listening for the dull thud of heavy football off boot and the noise of a match, but no vision. It was a most eerie sensation. I should mention that of course when we changed ends, they turned off the lights at our end and turned them on at the other end!

I still believe that at one stage they had two footballs on the ground at the same time and were kicking goals with both balls! Needless to say, the goal umpires had great difficulty in agreeing the scores at the end of each quarter. A memorable game was capped off by trudging from the ground to the dismal, cold changerooms to be told that there was no hot water for the showers.

Research was the last of the grounds. It was a very pretty ground in the local park. It was and still is a bit of an alternative town for the not so straight and conventional. The football team reflected the local environment, with a motley collection of young, truly long-haired lads, who much more deserved the 'long-haired poofs' epithet than we poor, clean-cut boys from the uni did!

So we played our first year in these pristine rural habitats, winning some, losing some but thoroughly enjoying ourselves in the process.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, we also managed to get ourselves to Tasmania for our first Intervarsity football tournament in about April 1967. These were legendary booze ups and the word we had was that we just had to be there. I don’t quite know how we pulled it off, but because I had just arrived from Tasmania about four months earlier, it fell to me to organise the whole logistical nightmare. Somehow I managed to get student concessions for all, arrange accommodation at The Astor in Macquarie Street, a dry hotel (as the legal drinking age was 21 years) and suddenly we were there.

It did prove all that it was cracked up to be. It was monumental booze up, with no issues about these young, under age youths roaming the streets at all hours. The only small issue was getting beer, as the hotels closed at 6 pm. Unless we had stocked up, we were in trouble. Being a dry hotel, we also were not permitted to have alcohol on the premises, yeah right! I think we reached accommodation with the manager that as long as we cleaned up our detritus, he would turn a blind eye. Bob Segrave, our esteemed coach was pressed into constant service to purchase box after box of beer, being 12 long necks at a time. And that was for the first night!

We also played some pretty ordinary football, but that was mainly because we were feeling pretty ordinary. We did run perilously close to running dry before Bob saved the night by accosting a lonely pedestrian in Macquarie Street at about 11pm, well after closing time. It turned out he was the local MP, half- pissed himself and bouncing home wall to wall. “Where can we get some beer at this time of night?” Bob pleaded. A long rambling conversation then followed, ending with Bob persuading him to lead us to a backstreet hotel where the publican was duly roused and another two dozen bottles obtained. The night was saved.

The 1967 season ended with the First Annual Dinner, held at the Preston RSL on 5 October. It was memorable night. Tony Sheehan, Mick Mullins and myself were given a ride by Steve Paynter, who had a blue Mini Minor. We had hired dinner suits for the event, why I don’t quite know. What a wonderful guest list! What an exciting Menu! (Image unavailable-ed)

The guest list was headed by one Tom Hafey, who had agreed to attend what I am sure he must have thought was to be a professional, academic and well presented event in the style of perhaps the Melbourne University Blues or similar. Sorry to disappoint, Tom.

A personal low light was being saved from drowning in the men’s urinal by persons unknown as for some strange reason, well explained by my state of total inebriation, it was where I was found. And all I remember was one of the RSL members advising me, 'Drink through it son, drink through it!'

So I missed the highlight of the night which was Noddy Baker vomiting all over the official table. It would certainly have received a dark stare from the Vice Chancellor and other distinguished guests.

The words to the club song were printed on the menu, heavily revised to present a 'nice' version for the Vice Chancellor and distinguished guests. That’s not our song (see separate entry).

I don’t think we finished in the four that year, but come the end of 1967, La Trobe University Football Club was established, settled, functional and successful.

A letter to team mates

LTUFC Women’s Team,

You have been the best thing about coming to Melbourne. Nothing else has made me crawl out from a nice cosy spot on the couch to go and run around on a cold, wet winter night. The people I’ve met have been - um - you became an instant family in some ways; when no ‘blood’ family was within 300km. I questioned how a group of 20+ girls could be put together and just ‘fit’. Such a friendly, caring, enthusiastic, hilarious bunch of girls. I constantly tell mum how awesome you all are.

I’m not sure where I’ll be next year, and as much as I don’t like to think about it, tomorrow could be my last game of footy with you all. I’m pretty sure there are others thinking the same. Let’s make this count. We deserve this; for ourselves, for each other. I don’t want footy to end, but if it’s going to, it might as well end with a premiership.

Friendships don’t always last forever, but I feel like the friendships I’ve made through this club really will. I can’t wait for football reunions when we can talk about the famous finals come-back of 2010 vs Ballarat, Teaghan’s 10 metre out point, that time I wore a horse-cow suit (which might I add, I don’t just put on for anybody), and hopefully the 2011 Premiership.

Life changes, but footy has always been a constant. I love you guys and I really just want to say thank-you. Let’s go out there tomorrow, heads held high, proud to be part of such a great team and club, confident in ourselves and each other. No matter what happens, we want to be walking off that field, arm in arm, knowing that we gave it our all.

I’m sorry that I can’t make the dinner tonight, so I guess I’ll just catch you in Coburg.

Footy yeah.

Sheilas snare flag

Yer Trober's women's team snared their first flag on Sunday 14 August 2011, defeating North Ballarat 8.0.48 to 4.3.27 at Coburg City Oval.
In only their third year in the Victorian Women's Football League North West Conference, yer sheilas went one better than their preliminary final appearance last year.
Bolting from the blocks, the ladies led 2.0 to zilch at the first break.
North Ballarat hammered back with 4.2 to lead by 14 points at half-time.
The girls then applied the screws and held the opposition scoreless in the premiership quarter, while bagging 4.0 themselves.
The defence lagged slightly in the last stanza, allowing the opposition 0.1, but yer heroes helped themselves to 2.0 to complete a flawless scoreline.
Samantha Greene slotted four majors, while Laura Herben, Jess Meiver, Hannah Kennedy, Caite Mitchell, Imogen Mckee and Alyse Johns were among yer Trober's best. Alyse was voted best-on-ground.
A great new chapter in Trober history.

A Red to Black Fish tale by Graeme Anyon

I arrived at uni in 1969 and played five games with the Reds under an assumed name, as did a lot of country kids in those days.
The people I got to know early in first year said that the Blacks were a pack of toffs, so they urged me to play for the Reds.
I played four games in the seconds and due to me getting a power of kicks off the back flank three games in a row, and dashing off half-back bouncing and weaving and kicking goals, I was promoted to the seniors just before the end of term one.
We played at Kinglake in the fog. The ground was under water and mud. You couldn't see more than 20m and knew the ball was coming by the splashing sounds.
I found out years later that several players went off at three-quarter time not to return.
After the game, I threw all my gear away never to be used again.
I went home to Stawell for the break and started playing there and returned home every second week to play. We made the finals and got beat in the grannie.
By this time I became friendly with a few Blacks players and found out that they weren't up themselves and seemed half human.
I went to the grand final in the Panton Hill League with Dave Carland and Terry Twomey. Stood next to Russell Badham and had the best lesson in footy sledging that I ever heard.
The game was a beauty and La Trobe won by over 10 goals.
I then recognised blokes that I had been walking past all year, plus the quality of the footy was extremely good. So, when I managed to scrape back into uni for 1970, I went over to the Blacks.
Unfortunately for the team, a new coach was appointed and insisted that everyone had to train twice a week. That meant the Trober's super-star, Dave Morgan, who later in life became one of La Trobe's greatest exports (he kicked 150 goals in 1969) couldn't play in the first year in the VAFA.
I was able to get a game in the seniors mainly on the back of who I knew, not my ability.
Played back pocket ruck. Just went for five games and was on the verge of being dropped when we played the top side, Brunswick.
I think that we were about third or fourth on the ladder.
Greedy Greg Sceney had replaced Morgan at full-forward and was going alright, but on this day was getting flogged.
We were only three goals down at three-quarter time and I had only two kicks, so Sceney was moved to the centre and I went to full forward.
At home I had played a lot of footy in the forward line, plus I could kick straight, so, in the first 10 minutes of that quarter I got three marks and one kick off the ground to have two goals two behinds.
In the next ten minutes I was able to kick two more goals and we had turned a three goal deficit into a two goal advantage.
We ended up winning and everyone was ecstatic, none more than me.
So, in a way, I thank the three or four blokes who threw me into the mud in the middle of the ground, so the rest of the year I ended up at full-forward and kicked about 50, I think, in the last half of the year.
And I got to see why Morgan got so many goals. John 'Fish' Condon at centre-half-forward was an absolute gem of a footballer. A great talent, both feet, beautiful pass.

Our first medicos by Glenis Sheldrick

I have lots of memories of good times from 1967-70, and even more over the past 12 years that Dean has been involved.
Jenny Goldsmith, Jenny Wheller and myself were the original 'orange girls/medicos'.
The medical kit for the first game included one bottle of mercurachrome, 1 roll of cotton wool, a packet of bandaids and a knife to cut the oranges!
As the team ran out, Brian Mannison passed his false teeth to Jenny G - yuck and horror. Next week, a soap container was added to the first aid box.
As medicos we were useless, but we loved those first couple of years. I remember the first bus trip to Kinglake. Jenny G's mother supplied endless packets of Tim Tams. It was on this trip that Bob Segrave and Andrew Gee composed the beginnings of a memorable La Trobe song which, believe it or not, was sung at Dean and Tracy's wedding!
I also recall Kinglake when the fog lifted and a goal post fell down. True. I did have a photo somewhere but misplaced it.
Will try to think of some more stories.

Tarmac sickness by Brendan O'Brien

Stories printable and unprintable come flooding back.

Dave Carland reminds me of the Trobers fateful return from Inter-Varsity in Perth (1972 - ed), where the airline informed us that anybody who was pissed would not be allowed on the plane home - something to do with our behaviour on the way over to Perth the previous Saturday night!

A certain Craig Nelson was clearly in that inebriated state, along with the rest of us, and we all breathed a sigh of relief, with us all on board, as the plane began to taxi towards the runway

It was at that moment when young Craig emptied his beer intake over the back of the seat in front and the hostess ran shrieking to address the situation and inform the pilot to stop the plane.

Whilst clearly under some pressure, Craig was ever quick on his feet and exclaimed - no problems love, must have eaten a bad piece of fish at the farewell reception.

We all made it back alive.

Bob Segrave recalls

I remember a thug named Danby who used to play for Mernda in the Panton Hill League. In one game against La Trobe he distinguished himself by being reported for throwing mud at David Morgan as he was about to take a free kick in front of goal. It gave me great satisfaction when, as president of the league a year later, I headed up a tribunal which disqualified Danby for life for hitting an umpire. Knocked him out cold.

In those early years we always registered a few extra names so we would have some to spare when new players turned up for a game unannounced. One of these was university Administration Manager John Pilbeam who was in his forties and had nothing to do with the club.
We were rather embarrassed when a "John Pilbeam" was named by an umpire as the victim of a reportable offence and had to front the tribunal. We had to confess and were rather surprised when the league took no action. I think it was an example of the high regard in which the league held the club.

Recruitment drive

Wow. This blog nearly doubled its followers (from 4 to 7) after our latest plea.
Admittedly, we used a two year-old mailing list from which there were 159 'undeliverables'. Such is the transience of uni.
Nevertheless, this quantum leap augers well as we gather a band of the historically minded and hysterically amused.
You know how it works - if each of you seven link to another seven etc - but I feel a poem coming on: 'First there were four, then there were seven ........

Late for training

Maybe this blog started some history, it certainly hasn't recorded much.
Since our humble portal opened nearly two years ago, yer mighty 'Trobers have won two flags and are off to a flyer in 2011.
We can't expect those creating history to write their memoirs just yet, but we expect a few more of yer older codgers to record some memories, highlights, disappointments, resentments, avengements and the great life lessons learnt at LTUFC. Not to mention the laughs.
The responses we have had are fantastic - check 'em out - then add your own.
Viva La Trobe.