My practising Christian parents never had me baptised out of respect for my own choice. But when it came to the true religion, I was fully indoctrinated into the red, white and blue like my father and his father before him. I don't remember a time before I was a Bulldog because that time doesn't exist. If they could've printed it on my birth certificate they would have.
It hasn't been an easy birthright to bear. From the schoolyard mockery to the looks of pity or condescension as an adult that leave me in social situations feeling a need to go sit at the kiddie table. There were times we were asked to go quietly into the night but doggedly saw ourselves to a new day. Sometimes I wondered if life would've been different had I been a Hawk or a Cat or a Roo. How much do the colours you wear shape who you are? How much is nature or nurture or narrative responsible? Would it be better to be a football heathen?
I've questioned much of my beliefs but have never wavered from the 'Scray.' There is something to be said for tradition and knowing your roots. To have your pilgrimage to a wet and windy Western Oval with its broad church of supporters, decked out in their finery of beanies and scarves from bygone eras. To have your prophets, saints and sinners present in body or in myth. To get swept up in the fervour of the fans.
So there I was at Spotless Stadium last Saturday with the sun in my eyes amongst a throng of true believers, but did I believe? In true Aussie style, most of our glory had come hand in hand with failure. Losing many times in the dying stages of preliminary finals by small margins or questionable umpiring. But that was ok with me. We didn't belong in the big dance anyway and just playing finals was already rising above our station. But it felt different this time. We were still David going up against the Giants but we'd already overcome the Eagles and Hawks and there was something about this group and their 'why not us?' mantra.
The sun fell behind the western stand and its rust coloured light towers that illuminated a pristine playing surface. The Giants looked like running away with the win in the last quarter on their home turf. The Dogs played with daring, dash, heart and will and entered the last minute in front by 5 points. I looked at those around me, the diehards that had travelled up to outnumber the home fans. Heads were in hands, hands clasped over mouths, eyes wide at the scoreboard clock with trepidation that it would be taken from us again. Not today.
The siren sounded and we rose as one in cheers and many tears, all jubilantly hugging friends, family and strangers. We knew what it meant to each other. We were in joy and shock having not seen this before. The experience sweeter for being denied so long. My mother now won't leave her house without her Doggies scarf on. And I've felt ill all week with my insides being dragged willingly but unprepared into a rewritten culture of 'why not us?' I wish my Dad was here to see this, he was always a 'why not us?' type person.
