We have no feuds, anymore. We have no rivalries. We have no fighting words. Our lives this winter look to be filled only with curses.
Tell me it could be some other way? Tell me there’s hope.
I write this on my way to Canberra, from where I will catch a bus to the game with the good people of the Capital Tigers supporter group, but I tell them not that I come with luggage. My bags, they are heavy and weighted not with expectation, but with boots.
Boots to take from mouths, boots to remove from backsides. Boots to brandish. Boots to wear to the football.
I mean not to kick a club when it is down but, really, what has happened here?
We beat these confected Giants by a cricket score last we played, but I am no so sure anymore. I cannot think what might happen if we were to lose on Saturday. I live in fear. Our team look to be playing in fear. It is a sad state of affairs, dear Tigers. But it is our state, and these are our affairs.
In the past off season, Dusty strayed and was seen wandering somewhere around western Sydney – do they really call it Spotless Stadium? – but he returned to the fold. And last Saturday it could be said he was one of our few to play with the spirit of our dearly beloved Tommy. He was a Tiger, Dusty was a Tiger.
Maybe there is hope.
Maybe the team will heal on a trip away. Maybe there will be a volcanic eruption somewhere, a plume of ash – an act of god – and the team will be forced to return on a bus, on which like us Capital Tigers we will get to know each other, and they again will be a football team who we make arrangements to watch.
We live in hope. We dare not upset all the GWS high draft picks. We pity their supporters. We have no idea of their song lyrics. We wonder if ever we’ll play them in Melbourne. And if we lose on Saturday, we will…
This chapter in the Book of non-Feuds is now closed.
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