If asked, I would have described myself as a pretty casual rugby league fan. Someone who grew up watching it but whose interest had gradually waned over ensuing decades. So it came as something of a shock last week to find myself standing barefoot in the street screaming over a game of football. Clearly dormant passions ran deeper than I’d thought.
My fate was predetermined. At age two, my room was painted in garish blue and gold by dad, the colours of his beloved Parramatta Eels. Baptism by Dulux. Dad grew up near Parramatta, at least. I did not. Although I suspect many Australians know what it’s like to have their football allegiances brainwashed into them at a young age.
