My old man had always been a great life-long football fan and taught me most of what I know today about football.
Like me, he was a Sydney Football Club foundation member and took up the new club and the new A-League venture with his usual passion and exuberance.
He was diagnosed with lung cancer a couple of years ago and so every remaining faithful journey out to the Sydney Football Stadium to watch our beloved Sky Blues took on a greater significance with every passing month.
Each pilgrimage became more difficult and he often stumbled on his way down the concrete steps to his seat blaming his failing walking stick and later on his walking frame.
The last couple of occasions transported in a wheelchair, oxygen bottle neatly stowed away in the undercarriage.
I caught up with a great old pal of mine at his funeral a couple of weeks ago.
The big C had got the better of dad and even though it was expected and of course inevitable, it was a sad ending to his truly remarkable life.
At the same time, his passing had given me time to catch up with some equally unforgettable people from my past.
James and I had been the best of friends from before primary school. It was the classic story of two best mates whose lives had taken them in different directions only to be re-united years later to reminisce about the good old days.
He’d heard that my father was dying and made a point to come along to the funeral.
He hadn’t changed much, still has that infectious smile and laugh and that happy optimism that made us dare to do things that you knew would only end in trouble, but what fun we had.
James was now a successful builder and businessman and had established a good life for himself and his family.
He regretted that we hadn’t spent more time together over the years.
He had tried to get in touch on several occasions but each time was told by my dad that I was overseas.
It was true, I was fortunate enough to have had a career that allowed me to work in some of the greatest cities around the world, but it meant that I was often away from Australia for long periods.
There and then he invited me over to his house to meet his wife and children and in particular his oldest son. “You’ve got to come over and meet my family, I’m really proud of them, especially my first born. He’s got the same name as you. In fact, I named him after you.”
I was dumbfounded. I’ve never felt more honoured in my whole life.
At the same time though, embarrassed and ashamed that I hadn’t caught up with James or his family in all these years.
The emotions of the day were truly welling up inside me.
It turns out that James and his son are foundation members of the Western Sydney Wanderers Football Club and his son is one of the founding and very active members of the Red and Black Bloc.
Even a true football fan like me would never have imagined how that chance meeting for the passing of my father would have turned out. Of course we agreed to catch up again at the Sydney derby a few days later.
There’s no need to go into detail about that fantastic night, the atmosphere and no need to remind me that Sydney FC lost. It’s brought two great mates back together again.
I’d been to many Sydney FC games before, but the whole experience was very emotional for me and filled me with great pride and enormous gratitude.
Pride in what we had both achieved in our lives and as football fans and how Australian football has matured.
Eternal gratitude to my dad for what he had given to us and in particular for a lifelong love and passion for the beautiful game that created nights like that, which will live on forever in me.
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