Football. To some it means more than just the word.
It is a culture of people who wear their heart on their sleeve.
The colours of the team unite them and bond a crowd although strangers.
The team song is music to their ears and they sing it with pride for the boys who wear their colours.
The whistle is blown and the first ball is bounced, the game unfolds.
The stadium hears the roars, the cheers and the groans.
The passion is deep seeded.
The traditions stand forth for yet another game.
Their are followers that talk to the umpire even though the message could never be heard.
Their are supporters who boo the offending colours.
Their are discussions about how the structure of the game should be this way or that.
Their are the few that are watching the airplanes overhead because they follow their men (oops that's me).
The supporters are standing the elements rugged up with hats, coats and salves.
Some dress up for the occasion in healed shoes (where their is men, one must look her best). That isn't me by the way!!
In all honesty, i felt the atmosphere. I felt the passion when the crowd cheered an injured player off the ground for giving his all. I sensed the importance of the passion for these folk. The ball that is a weird shape means so much. The colours and the players equate to a real purpose, giving people a sense of ownership, as if they were watching their own son play for the ball.
Maybe i understood it because my son had just played on the ground that some would think was an honour to play on. Or maybe it was because i was a little proud of seeing my boys face on the big screen. Whatever it was i got the whole footy thing and i will share quietly with you that i might just want to go and watch another game. SHhhhhh.