Amadean with 749 deeply rational and carefully considered words between the bars for the Titans
-----------------------
Bled Dry
All the pub’s screens were switched away from the Cowboys-Sharks match, and so I spent Saturday evening in front of the Wallabies. And whilst I was watching this Bledisloe match in Sydney, I was struck by a thought. I was also struck by a carelessly-flung potato wedge, but that is neither here nor there. Well, strictly speaking it was 'there' on my jacket - or at least the drops of sweet chilli sauce were, but I meant that being struck by a carelessly-flung potato wedge is not germane to this discussion. Just get over it already. I did, even though it left a mark and the girl didn't even apologise, ditzy bloody East Sydney blonde.
Anyway, the thought that struck me was this: there were lots and lots of people around, most of whom wouldn’t know a half from a hooker without gynaecological examination. Yet, despite the fact that these people couldn’t give three tenths of a rat's arse about the sport during the regular season, every person in the pub was deeply and emotionally committed to the match. They actually cared.
And that got me thinking: “what is the best way to explain away globs of sour cream on the front of your jeans?”. I mean, you don’t just want it hanging around there without an explanation, because then people draw their own conclusions and you don’t want that. You don’t want to rub it in either, because then you’re a man rubbing white stuff into his crotch whilst watching rugby players warm up, and that isn’t a good look.
Whilst thrust atwixt the horns of sour dilemma (“whether tis better to suffer the slings and lumps of outrageous wedges, or take up arms against errant sour cream”
, I went back to thinking about the League I wasn’t watching. I wasn’t watching the League because all these people, in the League heartland of Ashfield no less, wanted to watch the Wallabies. Worse still, they actually cared more about the Union than the League.
As me ole mate Julius Sumner Miller would say, “and I ask myself, why is it so?” Plainly it wasn’t a comparison of the quality of sport on offer, as the League is evidently better on moral grounds. Moreover, League is typically more popular in this particular suburb.
“Perhaps they just wanted to beat the Kiwis?” I hear no-one in particular ask. Fair enough creepily-disembodied-voice, that is possible. But the Dragons-Warriors match the following day didn’t draw one tenth of the pub crowds that were thronging on Saturday night – and that was a big game between two quality teams.
“Well, maybe it was that there was more advertising of the Wallabies game?” I hear a curious voice from somewhere behind my shoulder murmur. Well, worryingly-ephemeral-whisperer, I’m not so sure that argument bears out either. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a free couple of hours must be in want of a match. You would anticipate the majority of sports fans in the area knew about the Eels-Knights match that afternoon – another big one with Spoon Challengers vs. Finals Challengers – but far fewer of them were watching down the pub. Likewise with the massive Friday Eagles-Storm clash: well advertised, a cracker of a match and yet half-empty pubs.
“Look, you aren’t comparing apples with apples here, the Bledisloe was a representative game, and...” GODDAMMIT VOICE SHUT THE HELL UP OR SO HELP ME I WILL SODOMISE YOUR ETHEREAL BACKSIDE! Right. Well, yes the ‘rep’ point is true. But I think it explains more than just ‘this-was-a-big-game.’
It comes down to the atmosphere in the pub. It was pumping, lively and oddly supportive. People were asking the bloke standing next to them about the All Blacks’ front row, or talking up Quade Cooper, or simply trading hopes about the Brisvegas weather. There was a genuine sense of community that you normally only get in Leagues clubs during finals season: everyone was there for the same reason and feeling the same way.
And that’s the thought that struck me, all the way back up at the start of this piece. All these people came here because they could find people with whom they could have something in common. They were all behind one team. That’s what draws us to the clubs come finals time, and that what bought them all there on Saturday.
At its purest, that is what sport should be.
Just a shame they weren’t watching the Cowboys’ match.
--------------
Please note the image used bears no relevance to the piece. I just thought it was awesome.