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As I sit in my backyard I can hear the music catching on the northerly wind from the western oval, a celebration in full flight. Last night cars paraded up and down my street in Yarraville honking their horns endlessly. Pedestrians sang themselves hoarse on the way home. The inner west was a cauldron of celebration and happiness, a community brought together by a football club and a collective dream realised. Having been born and bred in the west I couldn’t be happier for them and yet at the same time I can’t help but feel envious and a little sad. The bullies have always had a sense of place and represent their community with pride. Where do we stand? We have no real home, no place that is our and ours alone. This I believe holds us back in ways that are near impossible to measure, intangible if you will. I believe the most pressing off field issue we face is our lack of a true home. A place to gather and celebrate, to commiserate when we lose and to rub shoulders with our boys. A place where our supporters history and passion is embedded into the psyche of our players. For too long I have felt that a disconnect between the football club and the supporters exists and I believe this is due in part to our lack of a sense of place, our own turf.