Some families just know how to instil values. Mine managed to instil a few but the footy team fanaticism just passed us by. I sort of barracked for Carlton as a teenager but only because I liked the colours blue and white together and I got tired of people asking me who I barracked for. It just seemed easier to lie and to feign an interest.
So, I managed to get through most of my adult life without a team and rarely went to a footy match. I recall one effort eons ago at the now defunct Waverley Park, sitting reading a newspaper while the match proceeded. Bad form indeed. I did feel alien to my own city and truly a let-down as a real fair dinkum Aussie.
But change can happen and I embraced a game the other day. Picture this – a near perfect Melbourne nearly spring day. The sun is shining. The prunus blossom is starting to peek pink around the parks, the forecast is for a near 20 degrees. What bliss as we hurry toward the train station with other Hawthorn and Carlton fans surrounding us. I can tell they are fans from the array of scarves and jumpers and beanies all proudly advertising their team and their passion. I just made sure I had a warm coat, never trustful of Melbourne’s weather.
We had somehow wangled tickets to the member’s section, but not the really snobby bit with the Long Bar and other indicators of wealth and lineage. We searched for a seat in the lower section but came away crestfallen as the majority were taken with scarves and jackets gracefully draped over areas marking someone’s territory. How quaint, I thought, and then queried whether anyone would steal other people’s stuff. A look of horror and disbelief answered me. That would be bad form indeed. So now I know it is okay to steal on the streets but not at a footy match.
The next move was to a seat higher up and now I know about the gods and the near heart attack-inducing climb that the battle-weary fans risk their lives to achieve. A near oxygen depriving moment came and went and we ensconced ourselves in row FF, closer to heaven than I have been in a long time. The view of the pristine green grassed MCG was magnificent and I consoled myself, justifying the dizzying experience, by realising we would have a stunning view of the entire field and manoeuvres of play. And we did.
But before the match, I hopped like a rabbit down the stairs in search of meat pies (with sauce) and hot chips, then bounded my way back up to my beloved, waiting patiently for his tucker. (He has a bung knee.) Food was munched and slurped and blown on while we watched the crowd pour into the ground. Before the pie had gone cold and the sauce had stained my shirt ( just a dribble), the ground was heaving with a sea of yellow and brown, or blue and white depending on where you looked.
I am sure to fans of Carlton it was not a great match. But to me, the novice footy goer, the game was fabulous to watch, the strategies fascinating and the behaviour of the crowd exemplary. One young guy behind us gave a running commentary of players and movements, his shouts of “He’s too old at 27! Keep on your mark! They’ve lost players to injury, that’s why they’re struggling, sit on him! And well done Wizard!”
In front of us was a young baby, proudly wearing a footy beanie, the tribal baton being passed to the next generation. I am sure this is happening across the nation, as fans come to watch their team, hoping for a grand final berth.
On the train ride home, we encountered good-natured banter and civility from disappointed Carlton fans that would put other countries to shame. No hooliganism. No anger, just a resignation and a hope that next year would be better. What a game indeed.
Are you a late life convert to AFL or another sport? Who are you cheering for in the finals? Let us know in the comments section below.
Also read: Fun, frivolity and the footy season
