Fuck the blue team!

Well if that don't beat all...

Yesterday was Round 1 of the NRL competition, and as always, we play the filthy Roosters at this time.
This was their home game.
I hate giving the pricks my money, but I love being part of a non-fragmented Souths crowd who sits together, sings together and completely invades their ground and dominates the crowd numbers.

I knew it was on when we got to Fox Studios for lunch at the German Bier Hall, 3 hours before the game, and saw 4:1 Souths to Rorters fans stalking around.

It was a hot day and the Burrow sits in Bay 38 which is on the eastern side, this making it in full sun.
We managed to get under cover and happily managed to dodge the sun until the final minutes of the game when I felt it hit my legs.
How much good luck is that?

We arrived at the ground 20 minutes into the first game - Toyota Cup which is for players aged about 17-19 I think.

The noise coming from the half-full Burrow even for this early game felt like a first grade grand final atmosphere might for most other clubs.
I love this about Souths fans. They support the club and not just the first grade team.
OK, so this young side was smashing the junior Roosters (is there such a thing?) and went on to hammer them by around 40 points, but still...big effort from the crowd. Full credit even.

My favourite moment of a football game is, and always will be, that very first cohesive moment the crowd experiences when they all look up in unison and cheer some unexpecting young player, half scaring him to death with their sudden attention.
I love it.

That moment yesterday was glorious. One of the best.

It sparked a burst of singing and chanting from The Burrow so loud and so passionate that I did the only thing a girl can do at such a time, I rang my brother in India so that he might hear it too.

And hear it he did.

He copped a whole round of "Still hate the Roosters" and "South Sydney clap clap clap" before the noise died down a bit so I could ask him what he was doing.

He was naked in an ashram somewhere in the north of India, he tells me.
Did he find it strange that I would place an international call on my mobile and hold my phone up so that strangers might sing into it?
No.
He sang along.
Naked by the Ghanges though he may have been.

Hooray for Yoga Boy.

And as if this call wasn't costing me enough, he went on to ask me about the rest of the round's results and demanded statistics so he could get an idea as to how his fantasy team were doing.
After telling him what I knew, I excused myself by saying, "I gotta go, Dad's here now."

Which he was.

I had invited my 15 yo step-niece, Emily to come along to this game, knowing how good the atmosphere always is.
She had previously told me that she thought she was a Roosters supporter.
I had asked her why this would be, considering she wasn't a cheat herself.
Didn't make sense to me.

After explaining to her that Souths own Xmas (red and green) as well as Easter (bunnies) she decided that she would like to support Souths with me and that the Rorters could go to hell... And they will too - but I think on an earthly plane it's called the Central Coast.
How more people haven't seen the similarities yet is beyond me.

So, Dad brought Emily along despite the fact that he is a low-grade Parramatta supporter.
Actually, he arrived in full Arsenal kit and sporadically stood up and bellowed "Arsenal!!!" loud and proud, making me rather suspect I inherited my tribal behaviours from his side of the family after all.

They arrived just as Kieren's gigantic Souths banner was being unravelled and stretched down to cover the entire bay of supporters.
This banner lists all of our premiership wins and has a message on it directed at the Rorters fans, "Forever in our shadow."

Being under that massive banner reminded me of being in primary school when you'd play under a parachute, except that it was stinking hot, red and green and much more wonderful.

Dad was enchanted with the atmosphere from the start, and I sat him between Greg and Jeff in order that he might enjoy the experience to it's fullest.

He had a ball. Each time I looked over, he was either standing and shouting his own words to songs that were happening or yelling out, "Fuck the blue team!!!"

When we left, Souths having destroyed our arch enemy by 52-12, his eyes were spinning in his head.
Much like mine, only his mascara wasn't running.

My voice is shot - my thyroid and the nodules near my voice box are now doing God knows what in there, my forearms are sore from all the clapping and I have small bluish areas appearing on my hands... and I couldn't be happier.

Well, maybe if we'd held them to nil... ;O)

Any road, FUCK THE BLUE TEAM!!!