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When I arrived squawking and howling into this world, my birthplace was quite firmly to the eastern side of the mythical line that divides the western part of Sydney from the rest.
I have lived on that side all my life. Up until now that is. Trying to juggle the hot potato that is the Sydney property market I have ended up well and truly on the western side of that line.
Over the years I had picked up some stereotypes about people from western Sydney and wondered if all the stories were really true.
So I grabbed my passport and western Sydney phrasebook and, Leopold Bloom-like, set out on a one-day journey across the greater west to discover the culture and sporting tastes of my new neighbours.
On the train I flicked through the phrasebook – ‘Livvo’ means Liverpool. ‘Yous’ means you and at least one other companion. ‘Have a feed’ means an all-you-can-eat buffet at one of the big clubs. (These buffets are not for the faint-hearted. One time when I momentarily lent on the buffet table some wag poured gravy over my thumb and prodded it with a fork.)
Ah, here was my first stop, Liverpool.
Would my worst fears be confirmed? Would I step off the train to be confronted by a gang of troubled youths in Greater Western Sydney Giants jerseys? Not really. Most people I spoke to in Liverpool were quite friendly. The homeless lad across from the station busking for his supper couldn’t be nicer. He’d had a hard life but never received a hand-out from the government he said. As I left I told him that with his Eddie Vedder-esque voice he should audition for Australian Idol. He said they wouldn’t like people like him, but I’m not so sure.
At Penrith I asked a lady in a Penrith NRL jumper who she supported and she said Penrith. It was a similar tale at Parramatta.
At this stage I still hadn’t been set upon by thugs or spat at, but when a bunch of teenage school kids boarded the bus to Blacktown that I was on, it was surely just a matter of time.
It proved to be a disappointment. Not only were the youngsters well behaved, but they were polite, quiet, respectful and for the most part seemed to be talking about their homework. Finding a stereotype was proving to be like finding a needle in a haystack. When the bus passed Parklea I toyed with the idea of finding my stereotype in the jail, but decided instead to ask some of the local families about their sporting allegiances.
I asked a bloke watering his garden “who is the local Super Rugby team?” He put down the hose, slowly walked backwards, then called in his kids and ran inside and bolted the door.
I changed tack and asked a woman with a car load of kids which AFL team they supported. “GWS”, she said “and they are playing at home on the weekend.”
“Is that within walking distance? Can you give me directions to the stadium?” I asked her.
“Sure – drive to Mascot airport and catch a plane.”
Football is the thing though. It had registered that on my travels from Liverpool to Baulkham Hills, the red and black hoops of the Western Sydney Wanderers were a constant. The enthusiastic support for the Wanderers among the local families is heartening. It’s almost addictive.
Now I can’t say that I was born and bred a Sydney FC fan – anyone over the age of 10 cannot in truth say this – but I have supported them since day one of the A-League, and most of my veins have a slight blueish tinge.
However, the change of location has presented me with a dilemma.
I thought it would be best to check with someone sharing my experience. So I asked my wife, “Now that we are in the new digs will you still support Sydney FC?”
Channelling Molly Bloom, as only she can, she said, “First I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.”
A bit over-dramatic but at least I knew where she stood. But where do I stand?
I do miss being near the coast. I love standing on one of the headlands of Sydney Harbour watching the ocean slowly and silently rolling into the sandstone cliffs. You get the sense of the geographical Australia, like a ship steering its course across the vast expanse of the South Pacific.
However, not far from my new place you can view the sunsets over the Great Dividing Range. In the distance you can’t see anything man made, and it appears now as it did before the Europeans came, all wild and rugged and silent and blue. Therein lies the dilemma.
So Roarers, should you support the team of your birth certificate or the team of your post code?
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