Every Origin match is an event of biblical proportions

Expert

2nd May, 2012

2262 Reads

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Kris Swales

Expert

2nd May, 2012

2262 Reads

The world was a different place when I moved to Sydney in April 2010. Barack Obama was President of the United States of America, One Direction were just a bulge in the pants of a record company executive, and Queensland had only won four State Of Origin series in a row.

Now, Obama is a singer and comedian who only occasionally dabbles in running the US of A, One Direction are the money shot of the entire music industry, and us Queenslanders look like we’ve finally got a reason to learn to count past six.

Ahhh, State of Origin time.

There really is no better time of the year to be a Queenslander, and getting to enjoy it in the New South Wales capital is sweeter than I’d ever hoped and dreamed. If Queensland players become ten foot tall and bulletproof once they pull on the maroon jersey and run onto the hallowed turf of Lang Park or Melbourne’s Docklands stadium, Sydney-based Queensland fans become gods among mere mortals.

Girls want us, guys want to be us, small children tug on their mothers’ dresses and ask why that strange man looks so different to everyone else around. “That’s a winner, son,” the mother replies, conveniently ignoring my Jason Bulgarelli signature edition Canberra Raiders 2003 membership cap as she hands me her phone number and mouths “call me”.

I remember the glory days of the mid-to-late ‘80s just as well as I remember that horror run which saw the Blues dish out ritual smashings of Queensland through most of the ‘90s. It didn’t matter if Adrian Lam or Adrian Vowles or even (heaven help us) Adrian Brunker was on the field, the whole state would have their back 100 percent.

And if we did happen to jag a win, like the night Alfie kicked the field goal with minutes to go in the pouring rain, complete strangers would be hugging each other on the Lang Park terraces, children would be conceived. Hell, we’d even temporarily concede that Adrian Brunker was the best player to ever pull on the Maroon Five and had moves like Jagger (yep, I went there).

Down here, however… man, who would want to pull on a blue jersey in this day and age? The selection trial by media is so fierce, you’d be less chance of having your character assassinated if you were a female leading an Australian political party (okay, that’s a slight exaggeration – women with power are quite obviously a scourge who need to be wiped out immediately).

Your coach now has a weekly newspaper column, the sole purpose of which is either justifying his annual salary or completely undermining the confidence of anyone whose name is mentioned in relation to Origin 2012.

You’re now getting Kiwi props to declare their allegiance for you, completely ignoring the fact that Queensland tried that in 1997 and it didn’t really work for us either (but we know Craig Smith bled maroon, so we’re okay with that).

And to top it all off, the best centre you’ve produced since the Origin concept began would much rather play for the other team (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

You’re getting there though.

The build-up to Origin II in 2011 in the Sydney metropolitan dailies was both well intentioned and unintentionally hilarious, the hyperbole laid on so thick by the morning after the (admittedly awesome) match that the (almost) sold out stadium had been declared a sign of the second coming and Paul Gallen had been upgraded from very naughty boy to the messiah himself.

The King of the Blues, if you will.

But until you lot realise that every Origin match is an event of biblical proportions, that losing is a borderline extinction level event, and that even that guy who sucks at club level is one of your 12 chosen once he pulls on the sky blue and runs into battle behind Paul of Cronulla-Sutherland.

Then you’ll know why the New South Wales sore of State Of Origin negativity will continue to fester like the annual general meeting of the Parramatta board of directors.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to learn what comes after six.

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