I DID not see a game at Moorabbin, but I feel I know the place. Through my father, I have come to realise the significance Moorabbin holds for the St Kilda Football Club community.

Living four hours away, journeys to Melbourne to watch games are few and far between. More often than not, the planned trips never eventuate. But I have been to Moorabbin many times to watch the Saints train.

Some of those times have been with Mum, but it's the times I go with Dad that mean the most. When we're there, Dad and I join the fans, young and old, who gather to watch the players.

Although he is just Dad to me, he's still "Big Carl" to other supporters, and I see the way they look at him. It's the same way I look at the current players.

As a football recluse, and somewhat of a social introvert, my father rarely speaks of his football days but, when he does, it's of a brand of football I've never seen, what he calls "the real football" — the football that was once played at Moorabbin.

It's there, in the old grandstand, with all its wear and tear, that I see more than a football ground, rather something that takes me back to a time when players could interact closely with their supporters.

A time when football was played on Saturday, rain, hail or shine, with every seat and standing position taken. A time when umpires wore white and the game was about "the game" and nothing else.

More importantly, I can begin to imagine the way Moorabbin came to life when my Dad was playing.

And although that's what most of this is — imagination — with the help of old videos, along with my talks with Dad, I can begin to appreciate the sentimental value of the old ground and create images of game-day at Moorabbin.

Although he started his career at the Junction Oval, Moorabbin was home to dad for 11 years; a time in which he made lifelong friendships with players.

But, he said, more importantly, he was embraced by wonderful supporters who, all these years later, he still remembers.

These days, off the field, not much has changed; many of the same supporters are still there. Some of them are involved in the St Kilda Hall of Memorabilia, where they have spent countless hours collating and presenting every piece of the Saints' history they can find.

That dedication helps me see the larger picture, helps me see differently the ground where so many legends have played, and to appreciate the stories Dad tells me about champions such as Darrel Baldock, Ian Stewart, Bob Murray and Trevor Barker.

Then I think about Jack Barker, a man well known to everyone associated with the St Kilda Football Club. Jack is the spirit of the Saints.

Like many others, he has missed only a few training sessions at Moorabbin since the days his son played.

That's because he can get to Moorabbin — unlike a suggested base such as Port Melbourne — and because it's the home of the Saints.

And although supporters will follow the team wherever it may go, Moorabbin always will be something special, at least among the supporters like me.

And among the players like my Dad.