State of Origin in Enemy Territory

Last week I was in NSW for the second State of Origin match, and being a loyal supporter, I put on my old Origin jersey and walked into a crowded pub where I stood out as a proud Queenslander, and prize winning idiot.

Certain people will tell you that NSW supporters are nowhere near as passionate about State of Origin as us Queenslanders.  Well, those people are idiots, because I’ve seen firsthand just how fiery those drunken Smurfs can get.  They’re every bit as fanatical, one eyed, and opinionated as Billy Slaters’ mother.

Fortunately I wasn’t alone.  My mate appeared in his Maroon shirt, and after plonking ourselves down in front of the big screen we were soon joined by several other Queensland refugees who clung to our little table like shipwrecked swimmers hanging off a life raft in shark infested waters.

Of course, we didn’t rub it in the NSW fans faces about how many series wins we’d chalked up; too much.  Plus we had the good grace not to spit on the floor when the Blues ran onto the field, and none of us threw a stubby at the tele when Paul Gallens’ blockhead appeared on the screen.  For we Queenslanders are a noble and mild-mannered sort of folk; particularly when we’re stuck a thousand kilometres behind enemy lines.

We even hid our amazement when the ref went to award Qld a try without consulting the video ref first!  But then he must have glanced over at the sideline and seen Ricky Stewart holding up photos of his wife with a gun pressed to her head, before quickly changing his mind and doing the ‘Big Screen’ wave, again.  Apparently not one Blues supporter in that pub could see this outrageous and blatant case of cheating?!  Whingers they called us!  Whingers?!

So while I was devastated that our team didn’t win, I was grateful to get out of that pub with all of the teeth in my head after the game.  And like the Queensland Team, I’m back on home turf looking to teach the Blues a lesson.  Which is why I’ll be carefully explaining to any lunatic wearing a NSW jersey at my pub during game three how we Queenslanders spell whingers; it’s W.I.N.N.E.R.S.

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