I emigrated from Sydney to (far) East Gippsland in 1983.
A few days after I completed the relocation it was made clear to me that, although this wasn't mentioned on the induction paperwork, the choice of a Footy Team had now become mandatory.
At the time violence for non-conformance was colourfully implied (but not, fortunately, ever enforced).
Gotta love those Border Security bogans.
As I had no plans to seriously engage in lemming-like behaviour I chose the team-least-likely-to-ever-win-anything-again - just to shut these wankers up.
Yes, I went with the Saints.
Incidentally, this decision balanced nicely with my League team, St George, who had enjoyed many good years.
(John Howard and me on the same bandwagon: the symmetry is complete!
Moreover, the atheist in me relished the irony.)
Despite myself, over the years I started to engage in the fortunes of St Kilda.
For the remainder of the Twentieth Century, I became increasingly depressed with every thrashing 'WE' received.
I twitched when any of the boys 'got done' for anti-social behaviour. (I shuddered a lot.)
My eyes brimmed when Plugger Lockett, Big Bad Barry Hall and Spider Everett moved on.
Y'know, a fan can only take so much!
Then, at some stage (what? four or five years ago?) the bastards started winning more games than they lost.
It's amazing what a couple of decent coaches, bags of money and a newfound culture of maturity and accountability can do!
Despite myself, I was forced to flirt with the idea that St Kilda could actually become A CONTENDER.
This really messed with my mind for quite a while, especially when they actually 'contended' once or twice.
However, in my heart of hearts, I knew the Sainters wouldn't let me down.
They haven't and they won't. Feel free to bookmark this.
When push comes to shove, St Kilda lack the heart to win a premiership.
PS. Robert Harvey? ABSOLUTE LEGEND, mate.