Smirking Disrespect Makes Life Hell For Demon Faithful

The Age

Tuesday July 24, 2007

Mark Freeman

NEALE Daniher's recent exit after a decade at the helm set in stone yet another bleak year for Melbourne. And consecutive capitulations - to the Lions in a Demons' "home" game played in Brisbane, and on Sunday night, against the Kangaroos - turned bleak to black.

For Dees' fans who have endured dark times throughout the 1970s and most of the '80s, enjoyed a brief flourish in the late '80s and then held on for the rollercoaster ride through the '90s and noughties, this is very familiar territory.

None of it has yielded the ultimate prize in my lifetime. The same can be said for 40-something Geelong, St Kilda and Western Bulldogs fans. But while their yearning for success would be just as great, these clubs bring with them their own minor consolations.

Cats fans always have revelled in the style and flair displayed by their sides, Saints fans enjoy a rocker street-cred culture, while the Bulldogs' working-class roots allow fans to maintain an us-against-the-world vibe.

Demons fans have a heavier burden to shoulder. Because of the club's links with the top end of town, they must endure the smirking disrespect of all. The stereotype reads that at the business end of the season, Demons fans will pack up the tartan rug and coffee thermos and head to the ski fields.

Radio stalwarts the Coodabeen Champions have run a relentless campaign for many seasons, with chief antagonist Greg Champion howling myriad ditties lampooning Dees fans for their supposed love of the snow. The campaign has been a success - newspaper match reports begin with skiing sledges aimed at the fans, while Mercedes-driving commentators snigger about the Range Rovers in the MCG car park.

There is no denying it - the club's own membership demographics show a strong trend towards the leafier suburbs, while a new Demons' coterie group held its first meeting this year at (you guessed it) the Melbourne Club.

But what if you don't belong to the Audi-driving apres-ski set?

It's enough to test a supporter's faith. Back in the '80s, when your correspondent was a drummer in a rock 'n' roll band, the Saints seemed so much more attractive. They were outlaws. They had "Plugger" Lockett, "Mad Dog" Muir, the Animal Enclosure. They were wayward, they were cool.

I went to some games with Saints-supporting muso mates. It was fun, we'd laugh and drink, but I couldn't actually bring myself to barrack.

Why was this so? It was because after following my brother into the Dees as a kid, I had bled with Gary Hardeman, Ray Biffin, Greg Parke and Greg Wells. I had slapped their backs as they shuffled off the 'G after yet another loss.

In the end, supporting a club is about the players, the coach and the mates with whom you follow the club. It's about Dinger and Flash, Neiter, Wheels and Brocky, and about mates such as PC, Demon Den, brother Eric and Langers.

It's about supporting blokes such as Ricky Petterd, who almost died while wearing the red and blue. And about supporting a player, Troy Broadbridge, who did die - a hero saving his wife on their honeymoon.

It's about sharing the pain of losing and the joy of winning with them all.

The effect might be heightened if all supporters sang from the same hymn sheet, but not all Carlton fans agree with John Elliott, Hawthorn fans Jeff Kennett or Essendon fans (gulp) Peter Costello. Poor Dons.

When it comes to footy clubs, allegiance is blind.