Almost there

They say you can’t choose your family and that’s true for the most part. For many you can’t choose your football team either. I was born in Canberra and my Dad is a Raiders fan. He took me to my first game in 1996. I didn’t choose to be a Raiders fan but that’s my lot in life. It’s just the way things are.

It hasn’t been easy. There hasn’t been a lot to hang my hat on over the years. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy watching the Raiders play. I have adored so many great and not so great players over the years. But seeing your team fight valiantly to finish 7^th and then lose handsomely isn’t the same as winning it all.

Imagine that: winning it all. That thing that other teams do. That thing 12 other teams have done since the Raiders last won in 1994. I sit there every year and watch other teams do it. I try to imagine what it must feel like. To win it for the first time in forever like the Bunnies in 2014 or the first time ever like the Sharks in 2016. I imagine what it must feel like to be a Storm fan and greet another grand final win like an old friend you haven’t seen in a couple of years. A joy to see but still so familiar. So comfortable. But I can’t. Because I’ve never been there.

I have experienced them losing. I’ve watched the Raiders finish 9^th, 10^th, 14^th. I’ve watched them lose 0-40 at home in the driving rain. I’ve listened on the radio as they lost 44-2. I’ve sat through heartbreaking close game after heartbreaking close game. Watched club legends come and go without a trophy to their name. Seen talented juniors escape for the brighter lights of bigger cities. Leave for the chance of glory they knew they couldn’t get if they stayed.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought I might die without ever seeing them win it. I may have said it aloud once or twice too. I want it so bad. Not just for me but for all the other fans and the city. The people who’ve given this team so much. Have been there in the icy cold, the rain, and the literal snow. The people who’ve willed them to do what they haven’t done before.

And that brings us to Friday night. 26,500 people packing out the stadium and going completely troppo for 80 minutes. Plenty has been said about the performances on the field by people far better equipped to write about it than me. Not enough has been said about what was happening in the stands. It was bedlam. Passion like you’ve never felt. Noise like you’ve never heard. People hugging strangers. People crying. Many just standing there in stunned disbelief. Because they did it. We did it. All of us willing each other on. We made the grand final.

Are they going to win? I don’t know. Can they? You bet. This team is special. More than any Raiders side since the glory days, and perhaps even more so. This team plays for each other. They don’t have the brilliance of other sides. They don’t have the superstars. But they never give up and they never give in. 

Opposition fans can joke and taunt and put them down. It only makes them bolder. The refs can send off as many players as they want. It only makes them stronger. The media can discount them as making up the numbers. It only makes them wonder.

I didn’t choose to be a Raiders fan, but I chose to persist with being one. And in the madness of the final minutes on Friday night I can’t think of any better choice I’ve made. There was a moment this season that says it all. After a particularly tough night, battered and bruised, our fullback, Charnze Nicoll-Kolkstad was asked if there was any part of his body that wasn’t hurting. His answer was simple: my heart.