A Decision I Didn’t Make
I had spent the last few weeks wondering whether I supported Manly United or NWS Spirit. There were reasonable arguments for both. Spirit are closer to home, easier to get to and have one of those logos I immediately liked. Manly had the family connection, the pull of the Northern Beaches and a sentimental attachment to the name that was harder to explain. I also liked Manly’s dark navy blue, with only a little red in the badge and trim.
I had been circling the question without really answering it. Then, somewhat accidentally, I ended up at Cromer Park while the two teams were playing each other.
That had not been the plan for Saturday. I had intended to watch some street hockey in the morning, then head to Sydney Dragway for the NSW Championship Series in the afternoon. Rain dealt with the first event before I arrived, and while I sat having a coffee I watched another band of rain moving towards the dragway.
While I was explaining my rapidly collapsing plans to the woman at the cafe, she told me that life opens up opportunities. I am usually suspicious of sentences that arrive that neatly, but as I sat there deciding what to do next, this one turned out to be fairly accurate.
Eventually I decided I was not going to spend several hours travelling to an event that seemed likely to be disrupted by the weather. That left me several hours from home, in the rain, without an event. I headed into the office instead, stayed warm and killed a few hours before deciding what to do that evening.
Looking through my options, there was really only one: Manly United versus NWS Spirit, the fixture between the two clubs I had been trying to choose between.
I got off the bus and walked towards Cromer Park. As I arrived at the ground, I started recognising people. There were familiar faces around the entrance and along the side of the ground, including people I had sat near a few weeks earlier. I gave a couple of them a nod. There was plenty of familiar Manly navy blue around me too.
None of this was particularly dramatic. It just felt familiar. Cromer Park looked less like somewhere I was visiting and more like somewhere I already knew.
I had expected Manly’s final home game of the regular season to be busier. Spirit are Manly’s northern neighbours, the only other NPL team in northern Sydney, and both clubs still had something to play for late in the season. I expected a decent crowd.
I arrived only a few minutes before kick-off expecting to have trouble finding somewhere to sit. Instead, I looked towards the grandstand and could almost count the people sitting in it on my hands. There were more people scattered around the ground, standing near the clubhouse and along the sidelines, and more eventually found their seats. But it was still noticeably quieter than I had expected.
There was another sign that this was late in the season. The ground announcer kept giving updates from other matches, and conversations around me drifted into what different results might mean, even down to goal difference. Now people were listening.
I grabbed a seat, and then the game started. My supposedly unresolved question lasted about ten minutes.
I was hoping Manly would score. I was responding when they created something. When Spirit attacked, I wanted Manly to stop them. There was no moment where I consciously chose a side. I simply noticed that I already had one.
That did not mean Spirit made things easy for me. From the opening stages they looked dangerous. Manly had plenty of the ball but struggled to turn possession into clear chances, while Spirit seemed much more capable of finding space and disrupting whatever Manly were trying to build.
Then Spirit scored. It was one of those goals that makes allegiance briefly inconvenient. The ball was struck cleanly from distance and flew into the top corner with the sort of finish that looks exactly like the version you imagine when somebody says they have scored a perfect goal.
I wanted Manly to win. I still appreciated it.
Spirit kept going and by half-time they were 3–0 ahead. Even then, I had not completely given up. Score first after the break, I thought. Turn one of these opportunities into something. Get it back to 3–1 and at least make the game uncomfortable.
Spirit scored again instead. At 4–0, the mood changed. The Manly supporters around the ground had been vocal when there was something to respond to, but gradually the noise disappeared. There was still the occasional shout after a foul or decision, but the hopeful reactions had largely gone. The mood around me suggested everyone knew what was coming.
Spirit, meanwhile, continued to give me reasons to admire them. Over the previous few weeks, I had watched players during warm-ups practising little touches that sometimes seemed almost decorative: kicks behind the body, sideways passes, chips and flicks that are easy enough when nobody is trying to stop you.
This time, Spirit actually used them in the game. There were short passes into gaps, little touches around defenders and moments where something I had previously thought of as warm-up skill suddenly had a practical purpose. One Spirit player scored three of their goals.
It was difficult to watch them and not appreciate how well they were playing. Apparently supporting Manly did not require me to dislike Spirit. I could enjoy what they were doing and still want the next goal to come from the other end.
When the senior game finished, the under-20s match was due to follow. For a while I seriously considered staying. Part of me wanted to support the club a little longer and hope the younger Manly side might give me a better result to finish the evening.
But I was cold and hungry, and the thought of another late trip home had lost its appeal. I had already spent the previous three nights leaving games around 10pm and not getting home until after 11pm. That made the decision considerably easier, and I headed back towards the bus.
The rain that had rearranged my entire day had largely disappeared. Perhaps the drag racing had eventually gone ahead. Perhaps I could have made it there after all. I did not particularly regret the choice.
I had spent weeks trying to decide whether Manly United or NWS Spirit was my team. In the end, all I really needed was to watch them play each other.
The answer had shown itself long before I left Cromer Park.