all over in the blink of an eye

Screaming Believers,

There is no other sound on the planet quite like that of a jam packed crowd at Leichhardt Oval going completely and utterly beserk at the sight of a late, match winning Balmain try.
The sheer deleriousness cannot be comprehended unless you are there.
Little wonder the fans keep flocking back to the joint "dripping with atmosphere" with its long held reputation as by far and away the best "seeing ground" in Sydney, if not the world.
They can build all the rectangular football stadiums they like, but Leichhardt takes the biscuit, being as it is, a brilliantly thought out combination of a natural/man-made ampitheatre carved out of the side of a very steep hill [which from the shores of Iron Cove to the main entrance on Mary St, is no easier to climb the older you get].
Got to the ground an hour before kick off in the company of the GLW, Balmain stalwart that she is, to snatch the customary spot on the low stone wall near the north-eastern corner flag.
The usual supects were in, including the three or month old child in the sling over the mother's breasts, dressed from head to toe in the hand knitted hand me down Balmain baby wear with a particularly nice little beanie on, to the wizened old blokes in historic Western Suburbs Magpies gear that always look straight out of ZZ Top, what with those beards and all.
In between were your Balmain fans, in all ages, shapes and sizes, including the obligatory apoplectic one sitting in front of us who spent the entire game screaming 'Effort! Effort!" while thrashing his poor hat across his knees at poor decisions, poor options, and poor performance.
Good to see that the long overdue four foot high cyclone safety fence now constructed along the back of the hill at the northern end to prevent drunks falling off the edge could still be scaled by exuberant teenagers for a roll down the steep drop on the other side.
And no amount of fencing was going to stop the older children climbing up in the Port Jackson figs trees for a magnificent birds eye view of the game.
After Canberra made a terrible mess of the opening kick off with the ball rolling out the back of the in-goal, and Balmain quickly scored a try off the back of the centre-line re-start, we thought were in for a picnic just two minutes into the thing.
But the game soon enough became a dire struggle in the old fashioned bash 'em up & drag 'em out style much loved by traditionalists, with the forwards cancelling each other out and good field position very hard to come by.
At 6-6 at half time it was, in the words of the prophet, "anyone's game".
As the GLW remarked at full time "truth be known, there was only eight minutes of good football in all that lot"
Things didn't get any better in the second half as the Raider's, playing some vey big and imposing units in the pack, started smacking the Balmain forwards something bad.
Nothing improved when Canberra was gifted a penalty goal by the Bamford for some imaginary indiscretion with ten minutes left, pushing the score out to 6-8.
Balmain looked like a done dinner with about eight minutes left when Benji bombed what for all the world looked like the match winner, failing to latch onto an admittedly wild pass, and knocking the pill a mile forward.
But he redeemed himself brilliantly with six minutes left on the scoreboard clock, when he'd busted a couple of tackles and found himself plain sailing to the try-line out on the right edge, but knew before anyone else that he would be tackled into touch, and called out to Beau Ryan "yours!"
Ryan, who was running through like the clappers found himself with the full back and a winger to beat, but had no room to move either on the right and no one on-side on the left, so dropped the pig-skin onto his toe, to put in the deftest grubber that you ever want to pay money to see, re-gathered, and scored himself...
Brilliant!
It was all over in the blink of an eye
It was then that the ground went crazy ape-shit.
Been a while since the full twirling dervish has been performed.
It involves leaping off the wall and jumping about like some lunatic doing the full 360' in banshee-like fashion, waving the arms about in a FRAP [frantic random activity pattern], while screaming "gimmee ten!".
The rather vocal Raiders fan standing behind us, who'd entered into an entertaining barracking battle with me, expressed no emotion and looked ashen faced, as if he had turned into a pillar of salt
Benji added the extras for 12-8.
Game over, just like that.
Minutes later, pretty much at the denoument, off the bench Fitzhenry found himself entirely unmarked at the play the ball, scooted clean through the advantage line and ran 60 metres to score under the black dot to put the fruit on the sideboard.
Tried to discern a smile on the face of SC Sheens, who by then was out of his chair in the dug out and stalking the sideline soccer manager-style, but couldn't see one.
"well take our wins".
Leichhardt is still the only football ground left in the country where they feel no need to serve warm beer in flimsy plastic cups, try a $6 ice cold can of Carlton Draught or Fosters Lager instead, the choice is yours.
Still the only football ground in the country where you can smoke your head off in the outer, and no one cares
But, why is it always me?
Within mintues of gaining admission to the ground, was already botted for a smoke by some wild-eyed subbie.
As he gasped hungrily on the cigarette he remarked loudly
"aaaugh! if we win today, we'll be ON FIRE!"
Yep, yr right there, mate.
"aaaugh! if we win today, reckon we''ll be right for the GRAND FINAL!"
Got it in one there, mate.
"aaaugh! we can't let TIM SHEENS down!"
He finished off the gasper, stamped it with his unsteady foot, and went on his merry way a happy man.
Standing in a beer line before kick off, The Great Paul "There is No Greater Fear, than the Fear of Fear Itself, except Sirro" Sironen barreled past with a retinue in his wake on his way to his private box.
Someone called out "Hey Sirro!! You've still got one good game left in you mate!!"
The Great Sirro [now retired 14 years with 246 games under the belt] could only roll his eyes and say "Joisus Christ, mate! you've gotta love Leichhardt Oval of a Sunday afternoon".

WESTS TIGERS 18. Tries: Ryan (2), Fitzhenry. Goals: Marshall (3).
CANBERRA RAIDERS 8. Tries: Monaghan. Goals: Croker (2).
At Leichhardt Oval.
Crowd: 19,428.

SYDNEY: AFL mid-season break.