The pain of being a sports fan: My 2015 Challenge Cup final

As a newbie to the sports writing game, I thought that I’d write an introductory article about my very first rugby league experience.

As a southern rugby league fan with no previous attachment to the game, and with no viable teams to support anywhere south of the row of burnt-down off-licences on Wakefield High Road, I had to pick a northern team to follow from afar for the 2015 Challenge Cup.

I decided to eliminate all sides that had a silly pseudo-nickname. Saint Helens were fobbed off for obvious reasons, and Hull FC got the same treatment for being too dull, so that left me with Hull KR. Imagine the surprise I received when I had the opportunity to watch them first hand, in my own metaphorical backyard, when they inexplicably managed to fight their way to the Challenge Cup final.

Wembley, the magnificent cauldron of sporting activity, the home of football, that rugby league every so often crashes at after being evicted from yet another flat.

I began the day in an optimistic mood, but that gradually eroded the more I thought of the overlying bias of the fixture against Rovers.

This was certified by ebbing closer towards the rugby league atmosphere; the nearer the train travelled to Wembley, the more empty beer cans were found, the more people on public transport actually wanting to talk, and the more ticket touts were out, confused by the lack of interest in last minute purchases that so often characterises England football fixtures against, how shall I put this, lesser teams.

I arrived at the stadium in a horrific mood, as I had to decline going to Reading Festival due to financing conflicts, the consequence of a lifestyle choice. So to put me in a good mood, Rovers would have to not only win, but Leeds would have to announce their subsequent closure due to humiliation. KR then go on to win the World Club Challenge and John Prescott be reinstated as Deputy Prime Minister.

I cannot bring myself to discuss the game, but all that needs describing is that Leeds scored more points than years I expect to live to.

Honestly, I wish that I had camped in a field in metropolitan Berkshire, although sitting there dejected 60 feet above the ground, angel dust seems more fitting than marijuana, because quite honestly the pain from that day would make me glad if I injured myself rather badly after falsely believing that I could fly.

Such is sport.