You know how in Peter Pan, he shakes Tinkerbelle over someone so that her magic fairy dust sprinkles onto them, and then they come away being able to fly?
A little of that sparkley magic stays with them and they're not entirely mortal as a result of the encounter?
Well, in my own fashion, that's how I've been all day. Sort of.
But it's not been quite so glamorous or saccharin as Walt Disney would have liked, still it's been entertaining for both Hell Boy and Yoga Boy as we shopped and what not.
Last night, after months of planning not to go to the Souths /Roosters match due to emotional instability concerns, I gave in due to a last minute (surprise me) SMS from Hell Boy himself.
I told him it would be OK to go, but only if we sat with the Burrow.
No way could I sit with scum supporters. No way.
Besides, at these away games, the two warring factions (how quintessentially South Sydney) of fans, actually get together and sing the house down.
Most of their ditties are hilarious too.
I'd been telling Yoga Boy for years that he would love sitting with these people, but with little impact.
But I got him there, and very soon after he heard a song about Willie Mason being a cunt, his eyes shone with all the divine light of a freshly indoctrinated Hare Krishna disciple.
I spent far more of the game than I would have liked, with my head turned sharply to my left, pissing myself laughing at their songs, paying precious little attention to the game.
Oh well, at least I wasn't handing muffins around as well.
I have bruised hands from clapping.
My voice is in tatters.
My head is honestly still pounding 24 hours later.
And I'm still smiling.
Yet we lost and I don't care.
That felt like a win.
WTF? :O)
Well, I'll walk you through it.
Firstly, our boys played over those pretenders in the second half, we won the half time entertainment despite the fact that even their fans cheat at that, we outnumbered them, we out sang them, and best of all, we didn't have Siemens on our jersey. ;O)
Sitting in a packed bay at an aggro game, where people are constantly pushing past you due to beer going in or out of their bodies, stepping on your feet, knocking your jacket off the seat, yelling in your ear, imagining refereeing problems and burping hot dogs near you, and all the while, the fact that regardless that you've never met, you're instantly and irrevocably friends with them all, and that's a wonderful feeling.
If just one of them had those fucking filthy rags on instead of the majestic red and green, each and every one of these things would have caused untold agony.
But no.
To sit amongst a Souths crowd that large and be part of it as it functions as a noisy and powerful unit in a bid to protect and inspire the representatives of what it holds dear, is something I cannot describe to you.
You have to be a supporter of something to know this.
I'm sorry for people who never get to share in this with a large group at some stage.
My uncle told me once of a study he'd read that explained how people at football matches gradually and significantly increased their serum testosterone throughout a game.
Worse during close, aggressive games too.
Apparently it takes a while for this to return to normal, kinda like that fairy dust.
Well, my testosterone levels are at record highs and showing no real signs of backing off.
Seriously, I swear I scratched my balls a couple of times today already.
Felt pretty good too, I don't mind telling you.
But the fun doesn't stop there.
My attitude to shopping today gave me an insight into what it might be like for a man to enter a mall.
I am no longer surprised that they hate shopping.
I took offense at each and every person who walked in my path, wore something ugly, had too much perfume, I hated the lights, the noise, the smells - even the products.
I honestly wanted to confront the woman ahead of me at the fruit shop for individually bagging a capsicum.
I mean, come on!
It's a fucking capsicum you dumb whore.
And the bananas.
And the avocado.
Look, that shit upsets me anyway, but I usually don't want to take it outside.
I almost never visualise myself beating someone to death with an artichoke.
But then, they say that men are very visual.
And I was very visual today.
It's not good.
I take full responsibility for inflaming the situation by ordering a very large soy cappuccino right when I knew for a certain that what I needed was chamomile tea instead.
But I didn't want to look like a pussy in front of the boys, OK?
Got a problem with that?
BTW...
Still hate the Roosters
You know we still hate the Roosters
Still hate the Roosters
You know we still hate the Roosterrrrrs
They cannot win without cheating
They cannot win without cheating
Win without cheating
They cannot win without cheatinggggg...
Braith is a wanker
We know that Braith is a wanker
Braith is a wanker
We know that Braith is a wanker...
Epilogue:
After writing that, we went out for laksa and ended up having steak instead.
I really, really felt like steak too....
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