#1 1Eyed Eel carts the ball forward for the Eels
Blood is thicker when its blue and gold
I want my son to grow up to be a Parramatta supporter. No, let me rephrase that. I really, really, really want my son grow up to be a Parramatta supporter.
The first outfit we bought Brayden, not longer after we found out he was going to be a boy was a Parramatta jump suit. He went to his first game at three months. Before age one, he already had his first signed Eels jersey. He has Parramatta pajamas he wears every other night and last week I couldn’t help myself but splash out $24.95 on a vintage 80’s jersey for him.
Just in case, the clothes doth not maketh the supporter, I’ve taken every precaution I could think of as well to stop him becoming enamoured by one of those other teams. By about 12 months of age, the child prodigy that is my son was able to rattle off every animal you could possibly find in a zoo. Even the stripey, orange lions. In Finding Nemo, Brayden took quite a liking to Bruce, the big, scary fish. No need to learn about tigers or sharks before is absolutely necessary, you never know what kind of creature one may take a liking too at this early age and how that in turn might affect future supporting decisions.
When we go to the beach, we definitely don’t go to Manly. We’ll have no happy memories associated with that particular word, thank you very much. We’re now learning to write and we’re starting with the letter ‘p’, which will of course be followed closely by the letters ‘a’ and ‘r’. Parra was after all, one of the first five words he learnt to say.
I’ve also successfully managed to convince Brayden his favourite colour is blue, closely followed by yellow. Red is a bad colour. I reckon that one alone rubs out about half the competition.
While other children, drift off to sleep as their father regales them with legends of mythical beasts and fantasies, Brayden hears bed-time stories about legends like Mr Perpetual Motion, Sterlo and Guru. He never seems to tire of the story about that Brett Kenny dummy that won Parramatta that first 1981 grand final.
OK, so only about half of those measures are true. My wife has vetoed the other half, but it is fair to say that my boy has been completely and utterly brain-washed into supporting one, and only one team, since the day he came into this world.
All of which is absolutely counter to everything I believe when it comes to how to raise your child. Bray can choose whatever religion he wants, whatever girlfriend/boyfriend he wants, whatever job he wants, in fact he can grow up to be whoever the hell he wants to be. AS LONG AS HE SUPPORTS PARRAMATTA.
Am I bad parent for so badly wanting my boy to follow my beloved Eels. Based on the heartbreak and pain that Parramatta has managed to dish up for the last 20 years, you might easily answer yes. In fact, on quite a few occasions I’ve asked myself, am I getting carried away? What is with this ridiculously deep-seated desire?
In the end, I think it comes down to a couple of visions I have in my head. Of me sitting in Parramatta Stadium decked out in Blue and Gold and having my young son leap off his seat next to me and into my arms as the Eels score that winning try. And then many years later, down the pub, sharing a not-so-quiet beer with my boy, who is now a man, watching the 2025 Eels go on an unbeaten march to Premiership glory.
I love my Eels. I’m seldom happier or more excited when I’m watching them play. In fact, one of the few things in this world I take more joy from is spending time with my boy, marvelling as I watch him grow and learn. Is it so bad that I have such a passionate desire to want so badly for those two great loves to come together?
Whatever the case, I’m taking the bank account that his grandparents set up for him at St George and moving it to Westpac. You never can be too sure.
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