Rabbitohs revival gives even rival fans hope

On Saturday night, black wrap still covered the fence surrounding Redfern Oval as a reminder of Michael Maguire’s intense grand final preparation.

By Monday lunchtime, the gates are thrown open and we’re all invited to join South Sydney’s party.

As a Redfern resident of four years, I hoped I’d be there on the night the Rabbitohs finally recaptured Australian rugby league’s top prize.

Sadly, I departed for slightly less green pastures six months before glory returned, and with a decidedly inglorious 5am start to contend with after grand final day, I could only observe the festivities from afar.

With Bunnies fans moved on from the Redfern Oval/Park precinct not long after time was called on their team’s historic 30-6 triumph, fans instead took to the streets. Cars lapped the Redfern/Chalmers/Cleveland/Elizabeth Street circuit with their horns on full tilt, interspersed with the overpowering Parrrrp of a recycling truck, which towered over the cars like a friendly uncle.

Instead of joining the mayhem I steered past it to the outer-inner west, missing what was by all reports a moment for the ages when the masses of fans who’d made the Olympic Park pilgrimage arrived back at Redfern Station to join the masses of fans who’d reclaimed the intersection of Regent and Redfern Streets for the night.

The following day, dual South Sydney flags flutter proudly from the sides of cars parked 500 metres away from Redfern Oval on Chalmers and Elizabeth, and around the block on McEvoy where Redfern has long since given way to Alexandria. The flags fly in Tempe, Sydenham, Marrickville, Dulwich Hill and beyond, as they (and those of their Bulldogs dance partners) have all week, and will for weeks to come.

The days of Rabbitohs flags flying at half-mast are long gone. (Photo: Kris Swales)

Cars are still lapping and horns are still honking, and 15 hours later that same recycling truck is still obnoxiously Parrrping away. A fan stands across from the club’s spiritual home holding up a sign to passing traffic: Worth the wait.

There’s a sense of unbridled joy on the sacred Redfern Oval turf. It feels like a music festival attended only by people who’ve never attended one before, high on life and the excitement of the unknown, safe in the knowledge that Slash and his backing track are nowhere near today’s run sheet.

Long after the players have come, held aloft the Provan-Summons to the 10,000 faithful filling the grandstand and playing field, and left, a line 50 metres long snakes from a merchandise truck touring commemorative stickers, pennants, and Reggie the rabbit toys. An entrepreneur not far from the Redfern Park entryway flogs knock-off premiership tees, and the local constabulary turns a blind eye. Punters decked out in cardinal and myrtle spill out of the Woolpack Hotel, which surely hasn’t seen a day like this since its 2010 refurb. Redfern is still rocking.

When Redfern sees gatherings of people like this, though, it’s rarely for a happy occasion – onlookers rubbernecking after a police shooting of a fugitive van driver outside the Railz hotel; a march to commemorate 10 years since the death of indigenous teen TJ Hickey after a 2004 police chase. But as I’ve written here before, Redfern Now and the Rabbitohs galvanise a community which handles the balancing act between old and new, blackfella and whitefella, with more aplomb than most (but not without the inevitable growing pains).

That feeling of unity spilled into the Stadium Australia stands on Sunday night. As a neutral observer two rows from the back of the nosebleeds, surrounded by an overwhelmingly red and green voiced crowd, the vibe was not so much one of nervous consternation as confident expectation. This was South Sydney’s time, and the party started from the instant Glory, glory to South Sydney was piped through the vast coliseum’s PA before the teams had even entered the arena.

Bulldogs fans were there merely as witnesses to history. They played their part politely and gave their charges what support they could, before quietly filing towards the exits once the Rabbitohs players had dropped all pretence of politeness after the floodgates opened.

Fulltime. Cheers. Tears. Relief. And all because a group of men and women with belief dragged an idea deemed dead by bean-counters who didn’t understand its meaning out of extinction, back into existence, into contention and ultimately to the grand finale of this tale of redemption.

They say the night is darkest before the dawn. Sometimes, though, you fear you’ll never see the light again. The South Sydney Rabbitohs haven proven you can, in football and in life, if you take the steps to right your course, take a deep breath, and believe.

I’ve never been more envious of a group of rival supporters. But if a premiership drought of this magnitude can be broken, after an unlikely 15-year crusade from rock bottom to the summit, there’s hope that all of us can bask in the reflected glory of our own chosen team once more.