September is the saddest month...
when the beloved Bluebaggers
have no finals to play;
no more the sun, the white monogram
catching the spring sunshine
bringing to mind
knights Templar in search of silver.

September is the saddest month...
when the numbers that roll off the tongue
do so with other supporters
but will not roll off mine;
those numbers have fallen silent -
some have even retired
to be redeemed in some future time.

September is the saddest month...
when Carlton does not make the eight
and I am forced to endure
other teams celebrations;
joyous cries mocking my own memories
of times when the lads stood tall
and conquored football's Everest.

If only all those heros of my youth
might somehow redress this imbalance,
might shove off the weight of time,
the miserly thieving of age
and take to the oval for one last shot
at the glories that inhabit
this, the first of all the Spring months.

I can still see Big Nick leaping in the sun,
Hunter running backwards with the flight,
Johnno hunting the packs and Deisal
setting the MCG alight, Kouta is young again
and runs the wing, the ball in one hand held aloft
while Jezza soars for the sun
and The Mosquito fleet has found its feet again.

But September is the saddest month...
when the spring sun parts the mists of time
and shows the failure this season,
what the mind remembers, the heart yearns for,
like that first kiss, that old teenage flame,
the blood grows thin even as the weather warms
when Carlton misses the finals again.

No chance to sing the song
no hope of dancing on the seats
no hunting for a ticket
or a drink spilling out on the street
in the last day when hope is as solid
and a new born babe
and anything is still possible.

September is the saddest of all the months...
this year it hurts to think
the mighty navy blue jumpers
are already gathering mothballs,
the boots and mouthguards already sleep
and the 1st of September
has yet to even roll around at all.

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This type of slight is alien in the more cultured part of the world - Walsh. Its up there with mad dogs, Englishmen and the midday sun!

And one is the loneliest number (Apologies to Johnny)

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And so while others miserably pledge themselves to the pursuit of ambition and brief power, I will be stretched out in the shade, singing.

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This type of slight is alien in the more cultured part of the world - Walsh. Its up there with mad dogs, Englishmen and the midday sun!

i think the new greenday song "wake me up when september ends" is quite appropriate.

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R A D I C A L B R O T H E R S

Inspired by the One-Minute Sculptures of Erwin Wurm

"All in all is all we are..."

We can still sing the song Dannyboy, just won't be dancing.
I can still raise a smile though. When my 3 year old walks past the telly and sees a game she screams "Go Blues".
I know one day she will see happier times than what we have now and September will once again be a happy time of year.
Regards Pedro.

Very poignant Danny.
Thank you - but the emotion stirred was not a pleasant experience.
God I love this game.....

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Princes Park - always was, always will be.