Lapsed Believer

Last night I watched an episode of The West Wing with my wife. It was a good one, but then again they all are. Sam is campaigning in California, and Will has picked up some slack in the communications department. He's helping Toby with the second inaugural speech. There are some questionable moral decisions the Bartlett administration have made that are scratching away below the surface, threatening to expose themselves. It's great TV.

There's nothing unusual about an evening like that. We watch The West Wing through once or twice a year, potentially more if it's an election year here or in the USA.

There was something a little different last night, though. At the same time that Will was poring over past speeches given by President Bartlett, Lachie Schultz was celebrating his first goal of the night at the MCG.

In the past, there have been several seasons where I haven't got to many games. It was an unfortunate by-product of filling my pub with Magpie fans every week. My attendance also dropped dramatically when each of my kids were born.

However, I always had television. At the pub, I had sixteen of them. At home, just one. But then I had my phone, my laptop, my radio. I could watch whilst I was working, or eating, or holding my kids. I've seen a lot of games from above my bulging kitchen sink, while my wife fights the bedtime battles for me. I'm not at my best during that part of the day. Or sometimes a friend has a birthday, or a wedding, or a dinner, and I'll be there instead.

Last night was the first time that I can remember that I chose not to watch a Collingwood game.

I don't know why. I didn't even think about it that much. I ate too much Caramello, and misjudged the cool-down period of my peppermint tea so badly it had become garnished table water.

I wasn't even following the scores that closely. I checked in maybe twice a quarter. At one stage, I only looked to see how much footy Nick had had. I didn't even see the score. It was several minutes after the siren before I looked to see the winning margin.

I don't know why. I have some theories. But I'm not sure any of them totally fit.

According to Roy Morgan, 1.3 million Australians are members of an AFL club. That's one in twenty, give or take. But nearly 10 million of us identify as supporters of a team. Just over 8 million people went to a live game of footy. Not individual people. That includes repeat visitors. The never-miss-a-gamers. The corporates. The tag-alongs. That's a huge chunk of people who call themselves a supporter of a team, but never make the journey to worship in person. The average TV audience was a touch over half a million. 6 million people watched the Grand Final, nearly 4 million less than those who have a team.

It's an interesting spiral. Far more people watch footy than go to footy, and far more people identify with a team than do either every week. Support is not one behaviour. It’s a spectrum: member, attendee, watcher, score-checker, lapsed believer, inherited tragic. I am most of those on any given weekend, as I'm sure some of you are too.

The last time Collingwood played Port at the MCG, I was lucky enough to toss the coin before the game. It was truly an excellent experience. I enjoyed it more than even I, a lifelong Magpie devotee, thought I would. No part of it let me down, especially the people I met. From the welcoming and helpful staff, to Jordan Roughead being so generous with his pre-game time, to Darcy Moore asking me if I was OK as he shook my hand in the centre circle, two minutes before he went into battle. And yes, at that moment, I fell deeper in love with him.

And yes, we won the toss, and the game. An embarrassingly large portion of me was thrilled that I had contributed to that. Part of the team, one of the boys.

Maybe that's part of the reason 10 million of us support an AFL club. There’s research around sporting fandom suggesting that the benefit of supporting a team often comes less from winning and more from the community around the team. Teams do not need to have a great win-loss record for fans to benefit, because the psychological value can come from the community formed around the team.

I've felt that. So have you. And then, last night, I chose to watch a show I'd seen a billion times instead of connecting with that community. Maybe I'm missing the nights at work. That's one of my theories. Collingwood games used to come with build-up. With noise. There was tips to enter, reservations to sort out, socials to post. The team I supported was as much a part of me and my working identity as my surname. This season is the first in twenty years I haven't had that buzz. Maybe I need it. Maybe it's the action that I craved. Maybe it's pointless to celebrate a victory or wallow in a loss when there is no one in the forest to hear it. The noise is gone, now it's just me, a Sherrin and the trees.

Perhaps it was as simple as being tired. I was very tired. I'm always very tired. A person only has so much emotional bandwidth, and I may have less than others. Before kids, before life was overrun by responsibilities and school and dishes and other parents, there was more room to breathe in, and so many places to breathe out. Collingwood had always been one of those places. But they do require energy. The way I do it does anyway. Maybe last night, for the first time, I couldn't do a Brayden Maynard. I couldn't get back up again.

Of course there is always the possibility that I am stricken by my previously discussed mental frailties. Depression comes with a decrease in enjoyment in the things you love. That's one of the earliest warning signs. But watching the Pies has historically been an untouchable, immovable part of my life. If it's not the first thing someone would say when describing me, it's certainly on the podium. And life is hard right now. For everyone. That's an easy answer, and while there is probably truth to it, it seems too easy. After all, I'm CJ Magpie. Does the team still run out to play if I'm not there?

Millions of people support a team, and only a fraction of them watch their team play regularly. I was never one of those people. Could I be transitioning from one community into another? Am I becoming one of them?

But hey, Nick had 40 plus, and the Pies got the win. The machine rolled right on without me. And if anyone wants me to celebrate in their direction, I'll be here.

I still don't know why I watched the West Wing last night, except it's a wonderful show, and if you haven't watched it, you should.