the long way back

*“I had to be a bit real with myself.”*

That thought arrived sometime before kick-off at Four Pines Park.

For years I’d explained my complicated relationship with the Manly Sea Eagles by pointing to Super League, changing ownership, coaching decisions, player departures and the gradual transformation of the old ARL into the modern NRL.

All of those things were true. But sitting there on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, wearing a Manly shirt, a newly purchased scarf wrapped around my neck and the club cap I’d bought only weeks earlier, I realised there was another truth.

Despite everything that had frustrated me over the past three decades, I still cared. Perhaps more than I wanted to admit.

A Familiar Journey

Getting to Brookvale has always felt like a commitment.

Coming from Hornsby, it isn’t a simple train ride. It takes planning, a change of transport and a bus across the Northern Beaches. For a long time I’d convinced myself that the trip was simply too much effort.

Maybe that wasn’t entirely true either.

The journey turned out to be surprisingly easy. The express bus from Chatswood made quick work of the trip and, like so many of my sporting adventures this year, public transport gave me something driving never could. Time to sit back, think, listen to a podcast and simply enjoy the anticipation of where I was headed.

The weather certainly helped.

Sydney had delivered another perfect winter afternoon. Clear blue skies, warm sunshine and just enough warmth that a T-shirt was comfortable as I wandered around the ground an hour before kick-off.

It felt like the sort of afternoon rugby league was made for.

Before the Crowd Arrives

Arriving early also reminded me how much the professional game has changed.

When I first came to Brookvale as a teenager, getting there early meant finding a good spot on the hill and watching reserve grade before first grade.

Those days are gone.

Instead, the hour before kick-off is almost a production in itself.

Television stages sit on the edge of the field. Dozens of broadcast staff move between cameras and lighting rigs. Electronic advertising boards now wrap the entire ground, replacing the old static signs I grew up with.

Even the playing surface tells a story.

I remember winters when Brookvale Oval barely survived the season. By July the grass had become patchy, the centre worn away and every wet week left another layer of mud.

Today’s surface looked immaculate.

Perhaps that’s one reason curtain-raisers have largely disappeared. Modern sport demands modern presentation, and preserving the field has become part of the spectacle.

Believing Again

The crowd of just under 17,000 was overwhelmingly dressed in maroon and white. If there were more than a few dozen Cowboys supporters nearby, I certainly didn’t notice them.

When North Queensland scored early, the mood dipped almost immediately. Then Manly responded. The crowd came alive. Every tackle drew encouragement. Every close decision drew predictable disagreement with the referee.

For a while, everything felt familiar in the best possible way. This wasn’t brilliant rugby league. But it was enough. Enough to believe.

The Same Old Feeling

Then the game slowly slipped away. North Queensland kept applying pressure. Manly answered. The Cowboys came again. By full-time, eighteen points apiece felt like a fair reflection of the contest. Neither side had completely earned victory, but neither really deserved defeat either.

Then came golden point. Even before the field goal was struck, you could feel what was unfolding. The Cowboys had created exactly the position they wanted. The crowd groaned in anticipation. The kick sailed through.

For a brief second there was almost disbelief. People looked around as though expecting someone to find a reason it wouldn’t count. Then reality arrived. The silence around my section said everything. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t outrage. It was disappointment.

Not simply because Manly had lost. Because they’d let another game slip from a position where they should have finished the job.

Ground Level

This visit also gave me another perspective on Four Pines Park. For the first time I was seated directly behind the goal line. It’s not where I’d choose to sit every week. When play is at the opposite end, you’re relying heavily on the big screen. But when the action comes towards you, the experience is remarkable. The collisions feel heavier. The speed is more obvious. The players suddenly seem much bigger than they do from halfway.

If I were choosing my perfect season, I’d probably mix it up. One game high in the grandstand. One behind the posts. Most somewhere around halfway. Experiencing the game from different angles has become one of the unexpected pleasures of this project.

Little Things

Not every observation needs to be about football.

A marriage proposal drifted across the afternoon sky, written in skywriting above the Northern Beaches. I genuinely hope the answer was yes because, by the time the pilot reached the initials and the love heart, the earlier words had already begun disappearing into the breeze.

Winter also returned with surprising speed. The moment the sun disappeared behind the western grandstand, jackets, scarves and beanies appeared almost in unison. Only an hour earlier I was comfortably sitting in a T-shirt. By full-time, everyone around me was reaching for another layer.

One moment also made me stop and think. Watching young girls excitedly interact with Manly’s cheer squad, asking for photos and hoping for autographs, I found myself wondering what role cheerleaders now play in modern professional sport. Are they entertainers? Role models for aspiring dancers? A tradition that has simply evolved with the game? I don’t really have an answer. The interaction was genuine, generous and clearly meant something to those young supporters. It simply made me realise there was more nuance to the question than I’d first assumed.

As I walked back towards the bus stop, I realised the trip home didn’t feel nearly as daunting as I’d convinced myself it would. Perhaps I’d been wrong about that. The game itself had been frustrating. The result even more so. But disappointment only exists when you care. For years I’d told myself it was rugby league that had changed.

And it had. The old ARL gave way to the NRL. Television transformed the game. Clubs changed. Administrators came and went. Decisions were made that I still don’t agree with. None of that changed on Sunday afternoon.

What changed was me. Somewhere along the way, without really noticing, I’d started caring again. Maybe that’s why losing hurt. And maybe that’s why, despite everything, I will be back.