So, as it usually does, jumping on the Bandwagon has paid off. But the real question, as posed to me last night by editor-in-chief Dave Edwards, is how do I feel now?
I feel good. Not ecstatic, mind you, but satisfied.
If the Newcastle Knights or Essendon Bombers had won the premiership, or indeed the Wallabies ever won the Bledisloe Cup, it might be a different story. I might still be in the midst of some wild drunken celebrations, as if I had actually something to do with the side’s march to glory. As if, by drinking beer and screaming at the television while watching the odd game, I am an intrinsic part of the club’s success.
And I suppose in a way I am. Without us foolhardy supporters these multi-million dollar sporting empires don’t exist, do they? Still, I am sure that more than one footballer has looked up at the crowd, as bile is thrown at him from a bloke he has never seen before, and wondered, ‘why do these people care so much?’
But I digress. The Brisbane Roar. Good.
There is something quite incredible about this team I must say. They remind me of the current Queensland State of Origin side, the New Zealand All Blacks, and Rod McQueen’s all conquering Wallabies under John Eales – you just know they are going to win.
Even when they’ve fallen behind (as has been the case in all of their Grand Final victories) and time seems to be against them, there is an underlying sense that they will still pull that delightful little rabbit out of the hat and let him bounce around Suncorp Stadium with glee. His name is usually Besart Berisha.
It must play on their opposition’s minds as well. Despite every sportsperson’s mantra that history counts for nothing, it does, and will continue to do so. The Roar know they can win from the apparently impossible, they’ve done it before and have in fact made a habit of it. Their opposition also know this and it’s got to add to those final minute jitters, ultimately playing into the hands of the men in orange as they pounce once again.
Interestingly, after the Roar fell behind on Sunday, I understandably found myself desperately wanting them to equalise and go on to win, but not for the reason you might expect. I realised I wanted Western Sydney to lose, more than I wanted the Roar to win.
This wasn’t because I have some sort of vendetta against those in the west, or wish a pox upon Tony Popovic and his coaching endeavours, but because I wholeheartedly despise the way the Western Sydney Wanderers’ fans – or the Red and Black Bloc – carry on. The way they turn their backs on the play, bouncing up and down, at once trying to intimidate and show no respect, grates particularly strongly with me, a bloke who still thinks everyone should be quiet when the opposition is taking a penalty kick.
Still, I am very happy the Roar won, and am glad to have secured my place on the Bandwagon. I might do it more often.
By Alasdair McClintock