All aboard! The Collingwood bandwagon is arriving at the station. Hop on, although it’s getting rather crowded. Yes, I know it’s the team you all love to hate. But we can all be Magpie fans this week. Until Saturday night. Then you can resume hating duties.
Peter Daicos in action.
Me? I’m the prodigal daughter. Returning sheepishly to the Collingwood fold. Oh, did I mention that a friend invited me to the grand final? And no, I most certainly don't feel worthy. I’ve been a bad fan. But two things redeem me somewhat.
1. The last time I went to the grand final was 1990, when the Pies beat Essendon. So I’m a good omen.
2. I did put in the hard yards as a supporter in the 1970s and 1980s. I actually grew up going to games. Had Peter Daicos’ number on my duffel coat. Would watch him twist and weave through the pack and snap goals, and was one of the supporters revering his genius, every week.
I watched the Pies lose grand finals, or lose a lot of games, for seasons on end. It was nothing for me, in the cold and rain, to take two trains and a bus to VFL Park to watch the Pies lose.
I got into the 1990 grand final on a ticket I bought (at face value) outside the MCG, from someone who couldn’t go. I watched, ecstatic, as the final siren went, and we won our first premiership in 32 years.
I was a loud, proud member of the out-of-control mob who gathered that night at Victoria Park, singing the club song about 500 times, alongside my equally fervent mother and sister.
Collingwood is in the family. My mum’s cousin played for Collingwood. She used to watch him play in the 1950s. Her own father, my late Pa, Wal, followed the Pies all his life, including the glory days of the 1920s and 1950s.
Well into his 70s, Pa would bring a little wooden stool and a flat cushion to watch home games from the concrete terrace at Victoria Park. He never barracked loudly. He would listen to his wireless and grumble darkly about the umpire. If Collingwood lost, the umpire was always blind. But Collingwood was part of his identity.
My mother still goes to games with my sister, even to the cold night games. But somewhere along the line, I lost the religion.
I no longer go to games. None of my friends were into football, so I let it go. I had no time for it. The politics of football made me dizzy. The marketing of football made me sick. As a supporter, I felt like a promotional object.
But at heart, I was never not a Magpie fan. That would be like renouncing my family. I’m stuck with them. Collingwood, I mean.
And now Collingwood are in the 2018 grand final. And I find that I still barrack for the Woods. Watching the preliminary final on TV was like the words to Mass coming back to me, having not gone to church for years.
I am admiring a new generation of players, from Brodie Grundy (born in 1994!) to Jordan De Goey, to Scott Pendlebury to Tyson Goldsack. And a very tall American called Mason Cox. I’d like to welcome Mason’s parents to Melbourne.
Things get a bit mad, at finals time. OK, OK, we’re mad at every match. I think they may have worked that out, by now. But if passion for our team could lift the Pies over the line to win, we’d win by a mile.
So who do people barrack for this weekend, if they’re a Hawthorn supporter, or a Bomber, or a Cat or …. you poor bastards, a Carlton supporter? I know there’s a bit of angst out there. But the answer is clear. Put aside that natural aversion to all things Collingwood. Jump on that bandwagon, even if it’s a steep leap to take. We’ll help you up (well maybe not the Carlton ones).
Remember you’re a Victorian. Your natural enemy is the West Coast Eagles. So join the Magpie Army. Raise your voice, and remember the premiership is a cakewalk. I’ll be fishing out my old black and white scarf from my wardrobe. And washing it – it will be dusty.
I will be there at the MCG, barracking my heart out on Saturday, back with my second family. And when we win, I’ll be singing the club song 500 times with the mad, merry legion of other Magpie maniacs. Go Pies.
Carolyn Webb is a senior writer.
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