Walking between the sections of Subi oval I felt very Australian.
Tonight I joined the masses who marked the beginning of what becomes a weekly tradition,
a weekly migration for many Aussies, to the game, the great game.
it is tradition, full of Aussie culture and very close to a religious experience.
There is an intensity in the talk up, the rev up, the verbal display during the day
that my team will kick your team well into the ground.
There is an intensity in the walk towards the stadium, finding the "best seats"
and waiting for that first bounce.
There is an intensity as the 'away' side seems to dominate the play, gets the goals and
there is an intensity as you imagine being the minority and hearing your song play
at the end of the evening to thousands of locals, all hoping to have the victory.
There is a pride that wells up from deep within, and a ferral side is released on
your unsuspecting uni friends who havent seen that side of you before,
nor have they heard you refer to some interstate footy team as 'my boys' one minute
and 'a bunch of fairies who should be wearing tutus and dont deserve their guernsey' the next.
There is something in all of this competition, this very Aussie tradition and migration.
I like it.
I like the freedom to get excited and to be openly disappointed when things dont go your
teams way (and to share those feelings with complete strangers).
I like the atmosphere, the bringing together of people in a joint love of their team,
and a joint dislike of the 'other'.
I also like the traino on the way home, the buzz in the air - the excitement on the faces of children
and teens whose team tasted the win. And even in some odd way I like the train home knowing that your team didn't bring the other team down. Knowing that you lost, and feeling it - and turning into a 16 year old again, putting on Dashboard (who I havent listened to for years) and letting the melancholy fill you.
the footy.
the game.
the great game.
the great Aussie tradition.
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