The Day I Became A True League Fanatic

I remember it like it was yesterday. There I was, a skinny twelve-year-old kid dressed in the robes of a choirboy, having practised lip-synching to a German opera singer all week, waiting for my cue. I was standing on the sideline of Ericsson Stadium, positioned at the fifty metre mark, while all hell was breaking loose around me: men and women in army fatigues were running across the field; gunshots were going off everywhere, along with numerous explosions; a couple of soldiers were running around on fire; smoke had flooded the field; and all to the theme of the song War by Edwin Starr. It was the opening ceremony preceding the Warriors' inaugural match, and it was all designed to commemorate the ANZAC nature between New Zealand and Australia. It all seemed very fitting, with a New Zealand-based team joining an Australian competition, and the atmosphere was electric.

All of a sudden, the music stopped. The soldiers fell to the ground as if dead. The crowd watched on in silence. The lights turned to focus on me. And I stepped forward.

Making my solitary journey along the halfway mark of the field, I soon found myself in the very position where each Warriors home game would have the ball kicked off from, and I waited for the next piece of music to begin. It was opera. And it was in German. I had no idea what it meant word for word, but I knew it had something to do with peace and companionship. I lip-synched every word just as I had in the practices of the previous fortnight, ever conscious of doing my part for the ANZAC spirit. I made my way across the field after my song had finished, followed closely by half a dozen ANZAC veterans who had served in World War Two and the Korean War. I was honoured to be fortunate enough to be in the midst of these men - real soldiers; real heroes.

I was quickly guided up to a corporate box to watch the match, courtesy of Warriors management. They had already given me a Warriors jersey before the match, and I quickly found myself looking down on the field as the teams came out onto the field, the home team led by a kapa haka group and making their way through a column of flaming torches. Pacific island drums were played throughout the match as the crowd cheered on their team. But something was missing. Despite the incredible view of the entire field, the television screens that showed a different perspective of the match as it was being played, and the waitresses handing out free drinks, I realised there was an essential ingredient that was noticeably vacant - atmosphere. The majority of the people in that corporate box had paid to be there. It was a different lifestyle to those who were outside in the crisp autumn air. These well-to-do businessmen weren't at the furnace, as it were. They may well have been supporters. They were undoubtedly prepared to dip into their pockets to pay for such a great view, but my biased young mind decided they weren't watching the match with their hearts. Perhaps that was a harsh judgment to make, but it rang true. After all, did they really need a glass of champagne in order to bring their team home? And, as filled with awe as I was with the whole experience, it irked me that I wasn't amongst the masses.

It was then that I resolved, albeit subconsciously, to find a seat in one of the stands and to make it my own. And it was in that very seat that I witnessed the ten year anniversary match against the Broncos earlier this year. The commemorative jerseys were there; the kapa haka group were there; the pacific island drums were there; the flaming torches were there. Only the result was different. And the memories came flooding back. As the Warriors entered the field, the roar of the crowd was deafening, as the next two hours were dedicated to the 'good old days' of 1995. And, with decided ease, the atmosphere had returned. I was not removed from it this time, however. No, I was now a part of it, and my regrets were nonexistent!