Almanac Footy: The curse of being good: why my team’s success is ruining my life.

 

 

 

 

“There’s no fun in my life.”

It might have been a throwaway line from Justin Longmuir at Fremantle’s season launch, but as a long-suffering Dockers fan, I knew exactly what he meant the moment he said it.

Even as we notched our tenth straight win against St Kilda, I couldn’t help but look ahead with dread.

It makes me long for a time when football didn’t feel like a life-or-death scenario. Back when my relationship with the game was entirely innocent.

The Fremantle Football Club somewhat fittingly played its first AFL game on April Fool’s Day in 1995, just a week after my eighth birthday. As a kid in country Victoria, I’d started life as a casual Geelong fan, mostly fascinated by Gary Ablett Snr. The Cats were good, if frustrating, but I was too young to truly understand what football frustration meant.

Yet, for reasons I still can’t explain, I was drawn to the purple haze. If I didn’t know anything about frustration then, I was about to become an expert.

Fast forward to 2026, and I feel more stress than enjoyment when watching Fremantle play. I should be loving the ride, but I can’t. I don’t speak for all fans, but for those of us who have been here since the formative years, the truth is simple: we’ve run out of patience.

In 2026, we know we’re good. We know we can be great. But until that premiership cup is lifted, anything less seems like a failure. For 31-and-a-half seasons, I’ve convinced myself that winning isn’t everything. This year, I’m done lying to myself.

Winning is the only thing.

We weren’t ready in 2013; I can concede that now. We blew it in 2015, cooking ourselves just to secure two home finals. But it feels like we’re ready now.

The problem is, Sydney fans feel the same way. Geelong and Hawthorn supporters – shame on those greedy bastards – are in the same boat. And now, living in Brisbane, I can assure you Lions fans fully believe they can claim another threepeat.

That is why there is no fun in my life. We are brilliant, yet we’ve achieved nothing. A club-record winning streak is great, but JL is right: it means zero without silverware at the end of September.

With expectations riding this high, every game feels like a pressure cooker. Injuries carry more weight. Role players face harsher scrutiny. Basic errors leave you questioning the catastrophic consequences if the same mistake is made in a cut-throat preliminary final.

Earlier this year, my wife and I travelled to Melbourne to watch us play the Western Bulldogs. We produced a gutsy, twelve-point win after having our backs against the wall for most of the night at Marvel Stadium. I left the ground with a fresh crop of grey hairs, convinced I’d wake up looking exactly like our coach. This is what expectation does to a 39-year-old who stupidly ties his mental well-being to the performance of 23 young men on any given weekend.

It didn’t used to be like this.

Being a Fremantle supporter used to feel like a wonderful, quirky gift. For three decades, I’ve copped grief from family, friends, and strangers on the internet.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

Some of my earliest memories are trips to the big smoke to watch us take on Carlton at Optus Oval or the Bulldogs at Whitten Oval. I was once interviewed on the big screen at Colonial Stadium during halftime of an Essendon match, solely because I was the only kid wearing purple in the entire Bombers section. Years later, two friends and I made a random trip to Launceston and ended up witnessing history. And yes, I heard the siren.

One of my favourite Freo moments was my first game at Subiaco Oval, watching the Dockers dismantle a Collingwood team in what the press later dubbed the “Mother’s Day Massacre”. We won by 112 points. It was so long ago that Scott Pendlebury was still months away from even being drafted.

But it’s not just the scorelines that defined my enjoyment. I still think back to our first finals appearance in 2003. Through tears as an upset 16-year-old, I watched our supporters stand and clap the players off the field after they were outclassed by an experienced Essendon side. We got mocked for that. “Experts” said we weren’t ruthless enough, that we accepted mediocrity. Yet, I was proud then, and I am proud now.

I still smile at the cult heroes who carried us through the dark years: Andrew Wills, Clive Waterhouse, Tony Modra, Kepler Bradley, Dale Kickett and Shaun McManus, to name just a few.

Then there is our history with First Nations players – perhaps the biggest reason to love this club. Since Round 1, 1995, the Dockers have been a shining light for Indigenous representation. No club has nurtured more Aboriginal talent than mine.

The great Gerard Neesham led the way, and it became part of our DNA. In our entire history, we have only ever played one single game without a First Nations player on the field. That is an incredible legacy.

My Scottish uncle, a lifelong Hibernian fan, has slowly taught me that football is about more than just the trophy cabinet.

Hibs haven’t won a Scottish Premiership since 1952, but when they won their first Scottish Cup since in 2016 – breaking a drought of more than a century – it brought a look of pure, unadulterated joy to a grown man’s face that I’ve never seen since.

He supports a middling club that realistically has no chance of winning most years, yet he still sits up in the wee hours of the morning to watch them week in, week out.

He’s right, of course. There is joy in just watching your team grow, seeing young players develop, and watching your side defy the odds.

But when you are finally good – when you are right on the cusp of doing something historic – that pure joy gets replaced by agonising anxiety. At least for me.

So while I’ll take every victory on offer, there will be no real peace, and certainly no fun, until Alex Pearce holds that cup high on the last Saturday in September.

 

 

To return to the www.footyalmanac.com.au home page click HERE.

Our writers are independent contributors. The opinions expressed in their articles are their own. They are not the views, nor do they reflect the views, of Malarkey Publications.

Do you enjoy the Almanac concept?

And want to ensure it continues in its current form, and better? To help keep things ticking over please consider making your own contribution.

Become an Almanac (annual) member – CLICK HERE