Not all games are created equal – the biggest ones feel more like events, in which the 80 minutes on the field are just part of some larger experience which goes beyond those lines on the pitch.
What happened in Brisbane on Friday night, as the Broncos toppled the Dolphins 18-12 in the first Brisbane derby, was very much in that mould.
When the sun rose that morning, there were just 71 tickets left for the match, all of which were restricted view – quite literally, the worst seats in the house.
Ten minutes before kick-off, 70 had been sold. The final tally was 51,047, the biggest crowd for a standalone regular season match in the stadium's history.
They flooded in late — most of them didn't settle in until roughly 15 minutes into the game because the spirit of the night, the vibe of the thing, could not be contained within Lang Park's four walls. This was something that happened across the entire city, so why not be part of the city while it was happening?
Everything felt new, exciting, different. Given this was designated as a Dolphins home game, the Broncos were strangers in their own city. Have there ever been so many opposition jerseys out on the cobbles before the game?
Have the Broncos ever been booed in their warm-up at Lang Park before? It wasn't a cascade of boos, more of a light drizzling, but they were real. You could hear them.
That's not to say Broncos jerseys were cast aside and trampled under the feet – or the flippers, if you like – of the newly minted Phin fanatics.
But it's difficult to escape the feeling that the former one-team town has truly been split down the centre and everyone must choose a side because neutrality will not be an option.
That tribalism was reflected through the match, even if the action in the centre wasn't perfect by any means. Kevin Walters and Wayne Bennett will both rue some simple errors from their sides, but the action was physical, willing and desperate when it needed to be. If the footy can't be good it may as well be close, and that was enough.
In hindsight, the intensity shouldn't have been a surprise. Like the best local derbies, both sides played as if they were defending their home from interlopers. This is our place, not yours, and you should not be here.
For the first 65 minutes, for all the Dolphins' courage and willingness to punch above their weight, it felt like the night would belong to the Broncos.
They just had a little more flash to back up the muscle, mainly in the form of Reece Walsh who glides across the field with such ease it makes everybody else look stuck in the mud. Few men in the league play with such electricity.
And the odds kept stacking against Bennett's side. Isaiya Katoa didn't make it to kick-off. Kodi Nikorima didn't make it to half-time.
When Sean O'Sullivan got in front of Payne Haas and paid the price, suffering a suspected torn pectoral muscle, it seemed like all they'd have to show for their willingness to fight was a loss for which they paid a heavy price.
But as they have done throughout their incredible debut month, the Dolphins dug deep into a well of resilience that some teams spend decades trying to find. Ray Stone, a prop playing hooker, set up a try.
The unfashionable Mark Nicholls saved a score off his back, reaching up from the dirt to dislodge the ball from Selwyn Cobbo as he flew to the heavens with the tryline on his mind. Don't get too high, there's still a fight to be had down here.
And then they were up the other end and Anthony Milford, the highest-paid and most maligned star the Broncos ever had, was kicking the ball and Hamiso Tabuai-Fidow was flashing through and it was happening, the Dolphins were leading.
For about five minutes, it felt like the heavy underdogs were again going to teach a lesson we who deemed them long outsiders yet again seem so unwilling to learn – that the Dolphins are built for the hard times.
It took another remarkable play to rip that reality away – in his day, Kurt Capewell was one of the most athletic backrowers in the NRL, but 50-metre tries have not been part of his arsenal for a while now.
Even then, it wasn't until Kotoni Staggs latched onto a Milford grubber and went the length of the field to score that the battle was over.
But still, the war is not won. It will never have an ending. After Staggs touched down he pointed to the hard-won ground and screamed this was the Broncos' house and he was right. For one night, he was right.
There will be other nights though. For years to come, there will be nights like these when Brisbane turns on itself as a city is split in two and their teams fight for the honour of local pride like two starving dogs after the same bone.
The first chapter of the league's newest derby is written, but this will be the best of those tales, the kind that has no ending.
The question isn't whether the Brisbane derby lived up to the hype, the question is how did the city ever get by without it?
