I have never been a fan of sport.
I watch the obligatory AFL Grand Final with a party pie in hand. There is a lot of kicking, jumping, catching, and running.
My attitude: meh.
Everything changed when my step-daughter started playing women’s AFL.
I became a super fan.
Game by game, I slowly picked up the rules. I got to know the players, the positions, and the skill required to play such a harsh game.
I learnt about player strengths, the umpires’* challenges, and the quiet joy of AFL.
Sunday mornings became my favourite time of the week.
I loved listening to the winning team sing their song and hearing my step-daughter’s post-game commentary — little snippets of on-field shenanigans I was clearly not meant to hear.
Heading into the semi-finals, the team sat fourth on the ladder and had some strong, skilled players.
Nanna and Grandad joined us for the game, and I warned Nanna that I was now a footy fan.
She asked,
“You’re not one of those shouty people, are you?”
I nodded shamefully.
I was.
Her eyes rolled. She shook her head and smiled knowingly.
As a novice, I tried to limit myself to a handful of generic, informative comments such as:
“Ah — come on!”
“You’re kidding me!”
and
“BALL! BALL!”
(with the appropriate hand gestures)
I can’t recall how many times I asked my husband, under my breath, “Why did that happen?”
He patiently explained the rules to me again.
And again.
The game is just so quick.
We lost by two points.
Two points.
No preliminary final. No chance at the Grand Final.
I was devastated.
In that moment, I understood why people become addicted to the sport — committed to the players and fiercely passionate about their teams.
AFL is a beautiful, brutal game.
Next Sunday I’ll be doing something else, wishing I was at the footy.
* Umpires receive a dreadful amount of abuse. If you know an umpire, buy them a beer. They go to work and get yelled at by hundreds of people while running backwards. Don’t make it a light beer.