So long, Stinktown!

When I started South of the Border, blogs as a medium were already on the way out, and Blogger as a platform was looked down upon compared to things like Wordpress. I was slow to adapt to social media, and I wasn't into self-promotion; worse, the content on the blog was lousy, because I had no idea what I was doing. In time, I figured out what I was doing, how to do it well, and this project became worthwhile not only for me, but for other people as well. Eventually this blog and myself with it were set in stone as a niche Australian soccer cultural touchstone by Joe Gorman's Death and Life of Australian Soccer, which I consider an honour.

Sixteen years is a long time to be doing something like this. While running a blog on a once relatively important club often floundering for relevance and survival, I moved house, got a doctorate, lost my dad, survived a pandemic, and hosted over 90 episodes of an Australian soccer history podcast. I guested on other podcasts, wrote sleepy stream of consciousness World Cup match reports, and got to do a couple of stints as a special comments man on NPL live streams. So many opportunities opened up because of this blog to talk about South, and what it was like to be a follower of this club.

I wrote my posts mostly on whatever PC I had access to at uni, and at home on two woefully out of date laptops running various iterations of Linux. I did it for no money, and under no pretence that it would lead to something more lucrative. Materially, the best thing that came out of it was access to a media pass, which I was able to use to make going to soccer matches much more affordable. Occasionally someone would shout me a drink, or lunch, but more often than I assumed that's because they liked me enough in spite of the blog.

Psychologically, spiritually, emotionally, however you want to frame it, the rewards were numerous. I felt like I was doing my bit for the cause, in the only way that I really could. I met a lot of terrific people both at South and outside the club because of the blog; sometimes the reaction from people outside the club was more positive than that from within, which only served to nourish my writerly ego. Right from the start I attached my name to this project; for better or worse, the buck stopped with me. 

I always tried to maintain an arms length relationship to anything official with regards to the club. I had little interest in talking to current or even former players. Only one now former coach and his assistant ever stopped for a semi-regular chat, but I didn't resent any of the others for not talking to me, and I never sought them out. I didn't want to be anybody's mouthpiece, and I tried never to claim that my view was the view of a majority of the remaining South fans; often enough, my point of view was quite clearly a minority one. 

South of the Border has covered two senior men's championships and three grand final losses, a Dockerty Cup win, hundreds of South games, and I have no idea how many other matches not involving South. There were women's matches, and so many appearances at pre-season games, sometimes as far away as  Wodonga and Hobart. There were two formal A-League bids, and several failed takeover attempts of floundering A-League teams. South of the Border outlasted two other South blogs, and lived through two unofficial longstanding South supporter forums. Riots, pitch invasions, court cases, Northcote exile, countless crises we always somehow survived. The whole People's Champ saga. Public transport trips that no sane person would make, two interstate trips, and trips that I wish that I could've gone on. That damn social club clock.

And let's not forget, writing up reports on many AGMs; within some circles, they were the most anticipated posts of the year. Again, the goal there was never notoriety - it was primarily a way of trying to get South supporters to engage with the membership side of the club. We brag that we are not merely customers, and we brag that our club has no owners; rather, we belong to the club. Membership is a devalued term when members don't engage with actually being a member beyond match day attendance. I wanted people to engage more meaningfully with the club. Sometimes that took forms that I didn't agree with or approve of, but that wasn't the point.

I tried to cram in as much variety as I could on here. News, opinions, historical materials, even poetry. The history angle is something I've pottered about with on other sites, as I stretched myself thin; a flailing wiki, a promising library site, a YouTube channel that is always hoping for someone to send me new material to upload, and the many match programs I've been sent to put up online in order to try and keep our history alive.

But I am now 40 years old, with about as steady and normie a job as I'm ever likely to have, and more responsibility on my shoulders than when I was able to gallivant around Melbourne's soccer grounds almost at will, typing up reams of prose in my ample spare time. That's what it was like for me for a long time; a career student who didn't study as much he could or should have, with access to more recreational computer time than was healthy for anyone.

That era of free time is gone. As I studied and later taught in Victoria University's Working Class Writing class, writing requires leisure time, as well as time to think. It's one of the most undersold things about undertaking a PhD, that while you're expected to research and you're expected to write, you also find yourself with plenty of time to just sit and think. Within a humanities context, there is a monastic quality to the experience of writing a doctoral thesis that you just don't get as an undergraduate. It was a rewarding experience, but it also drained a good deal of my mental reserves, which I haven't been able to replenish in the ensuing five years.

Self-diagnostic digressions aside, there's no point in shying away from the fact that the blog has been on the slide for a long time. Thus, with some regret, I am wrapping up South of the Border as a regular news and opinion source. I will not be deleting the site, and I will perform maintenance on certain pages. I intend to pop up from time to time with commentary and observations if I feel I can add something worthwhile, but as far as regular updates go, I am done. I just don't have much more left to give, and creating content just for the sake of it doesn't appeal to me. Consider it a form of semi-retirement.

There were always things I could've done better (women's soccer, definitely), times where I could've been more tactful, and other moments where I should have been more fearless. My ethics when it came to moderating comments sometimes let not just me down, but the people who were the subject of those comments. Trust and goodwill is hard to develop, and easy to squander.

I am appreciative of those who chipped in with guest articles, whether regularly or otherwise. My proudest moment for this blog was when I had Steve from Broady, Manny, and the Kiss of Death contributing material regularly at the same time. I can point to many articles of my own that I still think are worthwhile, but I was always at my happiest when there were others in the South community that wanted to do something more creative and permanent than prattling away on social media. That was my loftiest goal, and for a short time circa 2013, I had achieved it. The fact that supporters of others teams started a couple of similar blogs I took as a compliment. 

I've thanked a lot of people in my annual thank you posts, and I'm reluctant to single anyone out now in case I leave anyone out. Suffice to say, if you wrote for South of the Border, left a comment, read, shared, or showed any degree of interest, I'm grateful to you. So, that's it for now. I will still be my sardonic self in Row H. Here's to the season ahead, and the ones after that. Thank you for sharing this journey with me on here, and whatever comes next.

Paul