Nice. Yeah, I'm posting an F7's story of mine too....
Kids playing mini-footy has long been a staple of halftime entertainment - the simplest and often the most universal option. More egalitarian than scantily clad dancing cheergirls; the cuteness factor giving it the edge over sprint races; and, well, the less said about the notorious drum squad the better. But one of the wonderful elements of 'mini-footy-as-entertainment' is the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for those league-loving children to play on the same field as their heroes. Every single one of those kids will leave with a memory to keep, and a story to tell. This is mine.
Nowadays the entertainment is usually served in two doses - one game at each end. The beauty of this is more spectators have access to the fun, and it doubles the amount of starry-eyed kids. For my big moment, it was a little different. Firstly, as we were in under 11's, we were playing Mod League (a step up from mini, including a bigger field and rules more closely resembling the major version of the game), therefore we had the full field and the full audience to ourselves. Secondly, rather than the halftime fixture, we were the curtain-raiser, for... not a meagre afternoon match between cellar-dwellers, not even a prime-time Friday night top-of-the-table blockbuster... but the major semi-final between Penrith and Canberra, on a sunny afternoon in September 1990, inside a jam-packed Sydney Football Stadium. Finally, and most importantly (in our minds), our game was more than a mere exhibition, hastily cobbled together for cheap entertainment purposes. It was a showdown between the two best under 11's teams in NSW.
My team, Maroubra Lions, were pursuing our third consecutive undefeated premiership. That season we'd won all our games by an average margin of 50 points. Our closest rivals once bravely held us to 30, while twice against our weakest opponents we hit triple figures. In the years to come, none of us would reach great heights within the game - one player did spend time in the NRL with a few clubs; another switched codes and played a bit of Super 14. So, for most, this was to be our only encounter with the rugby league pantheon.
Our opponents were from Walgett in rural NSW. Being a blissfully ignorant child at the time, I don't recall their full story or exactly how the game came about - we were along for the ride, thrilled beyond our wildest dreams to be playing on such a grand stage. What I do remember is they were basically our equivalent, and league officialdom conspired to bring these two mini-giants of the mod code together, for no other reason than to witness what was bound to be an interesting clash.
Most of the day's preamble leading up to our big moment has vanished from memory. All I remember is my teammates and I sitting in the stadium, all dressed in our predominantly green uniforms, all trembling with excitement. As zero hour approached, we received word that the Walgett team were lost in transit - their bus had taken a wrong turn and would not arrive in time for the showdown. The utter devastation of not gracing that sacred turf was upgraded to slight disappointment, when we were permitted on the field to play a game of touch amongst ourselves.
Total sensory pleasure ensued. The feel of that spongy grass beneath my boots, that colossal pristine paddock flanked at all sides by an ocean of people, colour and best of all: SOUND. The noise was mostly idle chatter, but it was immense. And all for us. Until, suddenly, a mountainous explosion of noise enveloped the arena, rendering us all mute and completely frozen. The crowd had erupted and we all turned our heads to see why. At the vehicle entrance in the south-eastern corner, the Walgett team sheepishly shuffled into the stadium, their dark skin tone (all Aboriginal kids) juxtaposed by their bright yellow uniforms. We noticed, as did the 35,000 people attending, that they were all barefoot. Feeling immediately upstaged, our 11 year old egos bruised... it was 'game on'.
Unfortunately, they were near untouchable. Quicker, stronger, and far more skilful than any team we had met, they conquered us, four tries to one. However, I did create my own immortal moment on that immortal soil. A try-saving textbook covering tackle around the ankles of a lanky high-stepping winger. The crowd groaned (it would have been another brilliant try by these bush magicians), then applauded.
18 years later, I'm still telling that story.
Kids playing mini-footy has long been a staple of halftime entertainment - the simplest and often the most universal option. More egalitarian than scantily clad dancing cheergirls; the cuteness factor giving it the edge over sprint races; and, well, the less said about the notorious drum squad the better. But one of the wonderful elements of 'mini-footy-as-entertainment' is the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for those league-loving children to play on the same field as their heroes. Every single one of those kids will leave with a memory to keep, and a story to tell. This is mine.
Nowadays the entertainment is usually served in two doses - one game at each end. The beauty of this is more spectators have access to the fun, and it doubles the amount of starry-eyed kids. For my big moment, it was a little different. Firstly, as we were in under 11's, we were playing Mod League (a step up from mini, including a bigger field and rules more closely resembling the major version of the game), therefore we had the full field and the full audience to ourselves. Secondly, rather than the halftime fixture, we were the curtain-raiser, for... not a meagre afternoon match between cellar-dwellers, not even a prime-time Friday night top-of-the-table blockbuster... but the major semi-final between Penrith and Canberra, on a sunny afternoon in September 1990, inside a jam-packed Sydney Football Stadium. Finally, and most importantly (in our minds), our game was more than a mere exhibition, hastily cobbled together for cheap entertainment purposes. It was a showdown between the two best under 11's teams in NSW.
My team, Maroubra Lions, were pursuing our third consecutive undefeated premiership. That season we'd won all our games by an average margin of 50 points. Our closest rivals once bravely held us to 30, while twice against our weakest opponents we hit triple figures. In the years to come, none of us would reach great heights within the game - one player did spend time in the NRL with a few clubs; another switched codes and played a bit of Super 14. So, for most, this was to be our only encounter with the rugby league pantheon.
Our opponents were from Walgett in rural NSW. Being a blissfully ignorant child at the time, I don't recall their full story or exactly how the game came about - we were along for the ride, thrilled beyond our wildest dreams to be playing on such a grand stage. What I do remember is they were basically our equivalent, and league officialdom conspired to bring these two mini-giants of the mod code together, for no other reason than to witness what was bound to be an interesting clash.
Most of the day's preamble leading up to our big moment has vanished from memory. All I remember is my teammates and I sitting in the stadium, all dressed in our predominantly green uniforms, all trembling with excitement. As zero hour approached, we received word that the Walgett team were lost in transit - their bus had taken a wrong turn and would not arrive in time for the showdown. The utter devastation of not gracing that sacred turf was upgraded to slight disappointment, when we were permitted on the field to play a game of touch amongst ourselves.
Total sensory pleasure ensued. The feel of that spongy grass beneath my boots, that colossal pristine paddock flanked at all sides by an ocean of people, colour and best of all: SOUND. The noise was mostly idle chatter, but it was immense. And all for us. Until, suddenly, a mountainous explosion of noise enveloped the arena, rendering us all mute and completely frozen. The crowd had erupted and we all turned our heads to see why. At the vehicle entrance in the south-eastern corner, the Walgett team sheepishly shuffled into the stadium, their dark skin tone (all Aboriginal kids) juxtaposed by their bright yellow uniforms. We noticed, as did the 35,000 people attending, that they were all barefoot. Feeling immediately upstaged, our 11 year old egos bruised... it was 'game on'.
Unfortunately, they were near untouchable. Quicker, stronger, and far more skilful than any team we had met, they conquered us, four tries to one. However, I did create my own immortal moment on that immortal soil. A try-saving textbook covering tackle around the ankles of a lanky high-stepping winger. The crowd groaned (it would have been another brilliant try by these bush magicians), then applauded.
18 years later, I'm still telling that story.
