A full house, a farewell and a flogging: Strange days at Leichhardt Oval

It was a weird afternoon at Leichhardt Oval on Sunday. The first hint of something unusual was the ‘sold out’ sign above the gates. In the old days they would cram as many people onto the hill as possible, but now a full house means only 18,000 people are let in.

Getting from the Mary St entry to the seats was impossible. The Keith Barnes stand faces more towards the hill than the field – a relic from when the ground ran in the other direction – which is handy when you need to avert your eyes from the game, but it juts out at a weird angle that creates a bottleneck that’s a nightmare in a sell-out.

While lamenting the diminishing probability of being able to get to the bar before kick-off, I realised the reason for the blockage.

There was Robbie Farah, hair freshly cut, suit recently laundered, shaking hands and accepting well wishes from the Tigers fans. There he stood, only 15 metres from the players warming up on the field to his left.

Premiership-winning player, long-time captain, current Origin hooker, and presumably highest paid player on the roster, but he was there to say goodbye, not to play. Weird indeed.

As he fought his way clear of the handshakes and encouraging words, the crowd was able to get moving again. I got my beer (okay, it was two) and sat down in time to see the teams complete their warm-up. My mate and I told ourselves that it was only an optical illusion that made the men in green looked so much bigger than the Tigers players.

The crowd was positive and primed for a big game, as a win would get their boys into finals for the first time in years. Unfortunately, Tim Simona’s kick-off was even higher than the expectations of the crowd and it sailed over the dead ball line on the full. Things went downhill from there.

At halftime it was Canberra up 30-4 and the game was over, but the show had not yet begun. Then Robbie Farah came out to say goodbye.

As he walked out of the tunnel and turned to face the crowd, his hand went immediately to his face in a bid to push the emotions back down. He failed and the crowd sensed how much meaning this had for him.

When Wayne Pearce did his lap of honour, he cried too, but they were very different circumstances, and those were tears of a different flavour.

Someone in the crowd started a ‘Robbie’ chant, and when 18,000 people joined in, it would have provided a very awkward soundtrack to the address Jason Taylor was attempting in the dressing room.

Social media has taken a very binary view of the situation: a line has been drawn between Farah and Taylor, and the only fans you hear from are the ones who have chosen a side. What’s been missed is that humans are rarely that simple and it is possible to be a great player, a club legend and a difficult guy to coach, all at the same time.

Fans were delivered Benji Marshall and Robbie Farah in 2004, and with the benefit of hindsight, the premiership of 2005 may have come too soon. Sunday afternoon was an end to that era, and now that Mitch Moses and James Tedesco have the baton, fans can only hope that their rise is not as dizzyingly fast, so that any success can be sustained.

But at least Robbie had a chance to say goodbye to the home ground that he loves. He may not have got to do it from the field, but long after the score of the game is forgotten, the iconic image of him sitting alone on the scoreboard looking back over Leichhardt Oval will be remembered, fittingly covered in a gentle orange glow as the sun set in the west.