My eight-year-old has never seen his footy team win. I don’t want to lie to him

Age Opinion Editor

Walking out of the MCG,my son turned to me with a question that has haunted the walkway to Jolimont for a century. “Dad,does our teameverwin?”

As I weighed my response,a fan walking beside offered Melbourne’s perennial winter quip:“There’s always next week,son.” And so the cycle continues.

A young Hawthorn fan watches a match in Hobart last year.

A young Hawthorn fan watches a match in Hobart last year.Getty Images

That was three years ago,when my son was five. He’s now eight and yet to see a Hawks win.

Sunday’s floggingat the hands of the Bombers was his latest live game and I think we’d both admit it’s time a difficult discussion was had.

The conversation on the train ride in had mostly been variations on:“Ireallyhope they win,Dad. They have to win this time.” Me,managing expectations,rival fans pretending not to listen,other dads offering rueful smiles. “Well,they can’t always win.”

By the time I was 11,I’d witnessed five Hawks premierships,and I’ve seen four since. But there was a feeling on Sunday,playing a club I thought we had a chance against,that it will be a long time before the next one.

Being a Hawks fan can be character-building.

Being a Hawks fan can be character-building.Getty Images

And eight-year-olds are fickle. There’s only so long you can point to a flickering light at the end of the tunnel before they start asking pointed questions.

There had already been a flirtation with Richmond,fed by him clocking that his interest in another club got under my skin. Kids can sense unease in their parents,and needling dad is a fun game. It’s also hard to mount a case to a child that,as animals,hawks are cooler than tigers.

He was kept somewhat engaged by the fact our ruckman and captain,Ben McEvoy,was nicknamed “Big Boy”. That the crowd roared “Brooooooost” every timeLuke Breust kicked a goal,though,confusingly,it sounded like booing. But there’s little else to clutch onto at that age without being able to return to the schoolyard and profess that your team is the best ever. So far,I’d held the line.

My father was a South Melbourne fan born in 1928. He saw the Swans win a flag when he was five then waited the rest of his life for a next one that never came. The Bloods had deserted to Sydney when I was five,and,deeply disappointed,my father swore he’d never watch a footy game again,but still couldn’t help himself.

This treachery gave me justification for my switch from the Swans to the Hawks. My primary school had brown and gold school colours and the Hawks were raining flags at the time,so I felt I had a good case. Dad reluctantly let it slide.

A friend was born into a committed Demons family who went to every home game,sat four rows back and worked themselves into a frenzy of frustration,and ultimately misery,week after week. For years,he’d join us for most Hawks games just to experience success. Sometimes he’d even join in on the club song,his voice laced with guilt,like he was betraying himself for wanting to enjoy a footy game. It’s a misery that this city holds you to.

The Demons came good in 2021. It must have been some payoff after his 42 years of despair. I’m sure it felt like it was worth the wait,but can decades of frustration and torment be balanced out by one glorious day? In angsty Melbourne,we claim it can.

Before my son was born I’d never considered myself one of those men who’d make their child go for the same team,but when he came into this world there was no question about it. So he was born a Hawk,waddled around as a toddler in an $80 club guernsey that he grew out of in six months. I spent years drumming into him how the Hawks were simply the best team.

Yet here we were again,fleeing at three-quarter time,squashed into a carriage full of brown and gold. I told him that the Hawks won flags the year he was born and the year after. “Did I see them?” he wondered. Well,you were in the room.

Other fans helpfully chatted away about how it was a long road ahead,told him that losing was character-building. There was camaraderie in the misery,but these are difficult concepts for an eight-year-old.

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“Dad,why aren’t we allowed to go for another team?” There’s no rational answer. “We just can’t,mate.”

So I admitted the truth to him,that the Hawks aren’t going to be good for a while,but when he’s 11 or 12,I’m hoping they’ll be on the right side of the rebuild and stealing some wins. Could he hold out until then?

“OK,Dad. Can we go to the footy again next week?”

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Patrick O'Neil is The Age's Opinion Editor.

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