Matty Johns: Nostalgia to nightmare – the real issue with playing games at Leichhardt Oval

Like most fans, MATTY JOHNS flocks to Leichhardt Oval fuelled by a feeling of nostalgia, but the reality induces a panic attack with fears of traffic chaos, missing the footy and adult diapers.

Tigers fans celebrate their teams win over the Sharks. Photo: Tom Parrish

If the Wests Tigers are forced to walk away from Leichhardt Oval, it won’t just be heartbreaking for the club’s fans, but every rugby league fan across Sydney.

Leichhardt Oval is the jewel of the suburban grounds. These types of venues were where most of us fell in love with the game.

As a kid standing in the crowd at Cessnock Sports Ground, Kurri Kurri Oval or Lyle Peacock Field Toronto, I remember the smell of nicotine in the air, the beer, the banter, the atmosphere, the tension of home and away fans standing shoulder to shoulder.

The proximity of the players when you’re able to push your way to the fence. And, of course, the patch of grass out the back of the grandstand, where all the local kids would gather, divide up and pummel each other until the last try wins.

There were always plenty of tears.

“Mum, look what Billy did to my face …”

“Go and see your father, Matthew …”

“Dad, look what Billy did to my face …”

“Stop whining Matthew, who hasn’t lost a few teeth?”

Tigers fans celebrate their teams win over the Sharks. Photo: Tom Parrish

MY DREAM LEICHHARDT DEBUT

As a nine-year-old, I ventured down to Leichhardt Oval for the first time, and it was an incredible experience for a football-obsessed child who’d never been to Sydney before.

The blokes walking through the crowd, selling chocolate hearts and sugar-coated peanuts. The hotdogs, the hopeful home supporters, the jumbo jets overhead, and, of course, Laurie Nichols.

Adding to it all was a victory on the bell for the Tigers over Easts.

Somehow, brother Andrew and I weaseled our way into the Balmain dressing room. There were players sitting with ice bags on knees and shoulders, an esky of beer in the centre of the room, and in the corner was the giant hot tub with players climbing in and recuperating. I mean, seriously, a jacuzzi, wow! It was like rugby league’s version of the Playboy mansion. But instead of an old bloke, wearing silk pyjamas, a cravat and smoking a briar pipe, There was Kerry Hemsley.

The late Laurie Nichols, regarded as the greatest fan in Balmain Tigers history.

NOSTALGIA TO NIGHTMARE

So, returning to Leichhardt Oval, as an adult gives me an enormous feeling of nostalgia. The dressing room no longer looks like the Playboy mansion. Let’s be honest, it looks probably closer to an opium den. Without the opium, of course.

But the smell is the pay-off. Liniment and Dencorub stained into the walls, the smell of ’70s contact sport.

Parking is a major bug bear for fans, but I have my system. My wife, Trish, and I park up on the main road and enjoy the 20-minute walk to the ground. The atmosphere and banter on the hill is first class, but there are obvious issues, safety being primary.

But, on a personal level, there’s a few things I need to truly enjoy a Saturday night at the football. Beer being one. You see, Trish and I have an agreement; when we go to games — I drive to the ground, she drives home.

Yes, I know this agreement is not very 2024, but when we attend the opera I do the same for her. Well, that’s the agreement anyway. We’ve never actually gone to the opera and almost certainly never will.

Lines or the bars stretched to extreme lengths at Leichhardt Oval during the Tigers’ round three clash with Cronulla. Picture: Tom Parrish

MIA — MISSING THE ACTION

My point is, I shouldn’t expect to miss 25 minutes or more of football because I want to wet my whistle.

God help me if I was inclined to buy a second round, which I never do. And then, invariably, being a man approaching my mid-50s, every beer equates to me needing to go to the toilet on at least two occasions.

It’s taking me 25 minutes to get a beer and now I’m in a huge line needing bladder relief.

“Hey, how long’s the wait, mate?”

“About 15 minutes, Joey …”

Just writing this gives me a panic attack. As men in their mid-50s know, from the moment you suspect you may need the toilet, to the moment you are calling for a spare pair of jeans, is about eight minutes.

At Leichhardt Oval, that’s cutting things very fine. Thank God for adult nappies.

So calculating, by the time I get a beer, consume my beer, flush out my beer and flush out my beer again, I’m praying for golden point, so I can at least watch a little bit of football.

But goddamn, even then, Trish wants to beat traffic.

So I go home, go to the fridge.

“Matt, do you really need another beer?”

“Yes, I do.”

What does the future hold for Leichhardt Oval? Picture: Tom Parrish

ONE LAST HOPE

I take my place on the lounge, turn on Fox League and watch a replay of the game I thought sounded exciting, as I was hunched over a urinal.

If Leichhardt Oval were to be given, even close to, the type of upgrade other grounds are about to enjoy, then it would be one of the game’s very best experiences.

But unfortunately, the historic venue sits in a safe political seat.

However, there’s a glimmer of hope in Peter V'landys. No sports administrator is as good at exerting pressure on government for the benefit of his sport.

The fight is far from over.

Originally published as Matty Johns: Nostalgia to nightmare – the real issue with playing games at Leichhardt Oval