This blog piece is football-inspired, since this city is going crazy over football at the moment. Even non-football fans like me are interested in this year’s AFL grand final, because it’s going to bring barracking for the underdog to a whole new level. Facing up against the Sydney Swans tomorrow are the Western Bulldogs – ‘Doggies’ by name and ‘under-Doggies’ by nature. Their one and only premiership win was in 1954, and they haven’t played in a grand final since 1961. Their fans have endured heartbreak after heartbreak, with the team getting oh-so-close to a grand final many times over the years, but not close enough. Until now!
Somewhere in this city, there’s a man called Steve, and I just know that tomorrow he’ll be watching the game and cheering for the Bulldogs, and hoping and wishing and praying for a win with everything that he has.
I encountered Steve when I was travelling home from work a couple of months ago. I got onto the train and found a spare seat, and was surprised when I noticed that the middle-aged man opposite was staring straight at me. You don’t get a lot of sustained eye contact on the trains, and this guy looked pretty rough. I think he’s had a really tough life. So, for a second I didn’t know what to make of it, until I realised that he was smiling at me, with the frank, open gaze of a child. He was wearing a football scarf, and he looked really happy. I smiled back, no longer feeling threatened, and he seemed pleased about that. Then he swung his gaze to a smartly dressed young woman sitting towards the back of the carriage.
“You’re real nice,” he said to her. I flinched a bit, thinking he might be ignored or get a curt reply, but I needn’t have worried.
“Thanks!” She smiled back at him. “You’re nice too.”
Then the man beside me – a businessman in an expensive suit – spoke up. “You going to the footy, Steve?”
“Yes! Going to watch the Doggies play,” was the enthusiastic reply, and it was then I realised that while these three didn’t know each other, they’d already been having a chat together on the train before I got on. People don’t normally talk to strangers on the train, either, so this was turning out to be an unusual journey.
“You’ve just reminded me – I need to finish my footy tips,” suit guy said, and he whipped his phone out to do his tips online, consulting Steve about who he should pick for every game, which is a topic of utmost seriousness for most men in this city. The conversation finished and he put the phone away, and there was silence for just a moment.
“It’s my birthday next week,” Steve said with a big grin. “And my friend’s going to make me a cake.”
The other two wished him a happy birthday as the train drew closer to the station near the big football ground. “Is this Southern Cross?” Steve asked, seeming a bit anxious as he twisted in his seat to look out the window.
“Yes,” suit guy said. “This is where you need to get off to watch the Bulldogs play. Do you have enough money?”
“Yeah! I’m right. I’ve got a $20 note.”
“Are you sure that’ll be enough, mate?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a concession. Twenty’s heaps,” he grinned, but then the anxiety was back on his face. “Is this Southern Cross?” he asked again.
“Yep, this is it,” the other man repeated as we drew into the station. “You’ll need to get off the train here.”
“I’m going to the footy too,” the well-dressed young woman said. “You can come with me if you like. I’ll show you where you have to go.”
The train stopped and we all got to our feet. “See you, Steve. Have a great night at the footy and a happy birthday,” the businessman said as the doors swung open.
We all stepped out onto the busy platform, with people heading in all directions. “Come on, Steve, we have to go over this way,” the young woman said, and I stood and watched the unlikely pair go off together until I couldn’t see them any more in the milling crowd.
I rode the escalator up from the station platform feeling like I could cry. You read in the newspapers about all the terrible, cruel things going on in the world, and then something like this happens – you chance upon some ordinary people being extraordinarily kind. Sometimes I love this city.
I scribbled a few notes about the conversation in my journal that night, but then forgot about it, until I watched the final quarter of the Bulldogs’ truly nail-biting preliminary final last weekend. That game was so close and so exciting to watch that even I was on the edge of my seat, and I felt elated when the Doggies triumphed by just six points to win a place in a grand final at last. The TV cameras showed the spectators in the stands celebrating, some looking catatonic – hardly able to believe it – and others jumping and shouting and hugging each other, and grown men weeping openly. The whole stadium was in an uproar. That was when I remembered Steve, and his red, white and blue scarf and the joy on his face when he said he was going to see the Doggies play.
I’m sure he’ll be watching every second of that game tomorrow, and I have a feeling that – if the Western Bulldogs can win – tomorrow may be the very best day of his life. So for Steve, and all the other long-suffering Western Bulldogs fans out there, I’m hoping the gods of football can come up with a fairytale ending to this story. Go, Doggies!