In a city of grit and of glitter David Loughrey wanders the streets and finds his people at a rugby league game at Leichhardt Oval as he takes in a sporting weekend in Sydney.
At first there were just a few of us, eddies of orange and black floating down Balmain Rd before being drawn towards the strong current of the M4 that thunders to the Parramatta Rd.
Across that maelstrom and spat out the other side we now formed small brigades marked by our colours, our stripes or the ``V'' across our chests.
Bolstered by streams of people from tiny Leichardt streets, we poured into Lilyfield Rd, and by the time we got to Mary St we were legion; walking as one orange and black mass we flowed towards Leichhardt Oval past the desperate men asking if anyone had spare tickets to sell, past the women in head-scarfs and big smiles who scanned our barcodes at the gate, through the merchandise store with its Wests Tigers jerseys, clothing and flags and into the true field of dreams for the rugby league team's fans.
And there, a New Zealander who might meet a fellow fan just once in a blue moon is suddenly surrounded by 20,000 others who share their unusual passion for the local team of a bunch of Sydney suburbs.
Finally, in a foreign city with its strange smells and unusual quirks you feel at home.
You are with your people.
For 80 minutes you have 20,000 new friends.
Leichhardt Oval is one little legacy from league's past, a past rapidly fading as teams use far larger stadiums away from their home base that advertising makes more commercially viable.
There are others, of course; Manly fans can head to Brookvale Oval, and Cronulla fans to Shark Park, but suburban grounds are becoming the exception rather than the norm, something of a pity, as there is nothing quite like the experience.
For the final game of the NRL season early this month the Tigers were taking on the Canberra (pronounced Ken-bra) Raiders, the former desperate to win to finish in the top eight, the latter already close to the top of the ladder and assured of a semifinal spot.
It was that possibly forlorn hope of a win against a team more successful in 2016 that attracted a sell-out crowd to a Wests Tigers home game at a ground that would have burst if any more were let in, and from just inside the gates you could feel a frisson of excitement and the joy of a common dream of footballing success in the warmth of a sunny 20degC day.
The weather is always good in Sydney.
You file through the crowd to find one tiny spot of grass on a packed hill beneath the Wayne Pearce scoreboard (the scores are still changed by hand), past men straight from the 1970s with droopy moustaches, wrap-around sunglasses, shorts and singlets, and brassy blonde women in Tigers jerseys with gold chains on their wrists.
Awful band Survivor's terrible song Eye of the Tiger, beloved by the Tigers since the 1990s and strangely fitting in this environment, blares through the sound system:
It's the eye of the tiger
It's the thrill of the fight
Rising up to the challenge of our rival!
And we are rising up to the challenge of our rival as our heroes glide muscular and larger than life on to the ground, ready to take on a group of monsters from Australia's capital city who lie in wait exuding a disturbing confidence you can see from halfway up the hill where there is only room to stand and peek over the shoulders of those in front.
At kick-off the Tigers hoist the ball out on the full, giving a penalty to the opposition, a harbinger of things to come.
Our hero, our man-mountain, State of Origin and Australian forward Aaron Woods, is swamped by Canberra players and smashed to the ground every time he touches the ball.
Things aren't going well.
``Get off him,'' the crowd screams as the opposition take their time to clear away from the tackled player.
Meanwhile, on the hill, an argument starts between the seated and the standing, the latter with no room to sit, the former unable to see past them.
The sun is low and hot, and Qantas jets thunder low overhead.
The sit-down stand-up debate continues, with some sharp words from a painfully thin woman with a care-worn face sucking on a can of bourbon and cola.
``Hey ref - just remember you're in Leichhardt, and you still gotta get home,'' someone screams threateningly when a penalty goes against the home team, as fans deliver cans of Victoria Bitter to friends and family.
A friendly old man with a craggy face and checked shirt makes a wise observation about what the Tigers are doing wrong as the team gives the crowd hope with a brilliant try, then lets in three more to cruelly snuff it out.
Two cops saunter past, their pistols thrust in black holsters on their hips, followed by another with a huge gut and wraparound sunglasses.
The thin lady tilts her whole body towards the field, cups her bony fingers around her mouth and screams ``Deefence, boys!''.
At halftime, Tigers hero Robbie Farah, who is leaving the club, does a lap of honour looking sharp in a tailored suit.
A fan holds up a sign ``J T is a dog'', referring to coach Jason Taylor, who was behind Farah's exit.
The second half begins with a brilliant Tigers try to give the crowd some hope, before the team lets in two, three, four more to cruelly snuff it out.
And before you know it the day is done.
And it would have been nice to win, but there you go.
The crowd drifts out, again packing the Leichardt streets.
If you want a sporting experience, it's one of the best.
IN Foveaux St, Surry Hills, a construction worker leans nonchalantly on the front of his Holden ute, one foot on the front bumper, smoking a cigarette.
Across the road there is a pub that screams Australia, all tiled facade advertising KB Lager and Tooth's White Horse Ale.
And joy of joys, it's still a pub, packed with drinkers on Friday and Saturday nights.
From the top floor of the very nice 57 Hotel you can see the roofs of the terrace houses that line the streets of the inner city suburb, some tiny in back alleys, some three-storeyed and monolithic on wider tree-lined streets, some elegantly refurbished, some shabby and unkempt.
A five minute walk to Central Station finds an altogether grittier city, where every entrance on a Saturday morning is crammed with the detritus of the homeless, and those poor souls themselves asleep under filthy covers.
Further on to George St, the city's original high street, the smells of Asian food linger amid the noise of construction of light rail in an area strangely reminiscent of a scene from Blade Runner.
As the buildings rise higher and higher, some that would not stand out in Gotham City and others more modern with organic and artful shapes, the city becomes a strange netherworld of shadow and canyon.
That contrasts with a 20 minute drive to the eastern suburbs, where Bondi glitters in the morning sun, or further up the hill in Dover Heights where you can see past the multimillion-dollar homes to the glittering city and the harbour bridge - a stunning sight.
But everywhere you go in the central city is a sensory wonder of some sort - and just tops off an excellent sporting weekend.
David Loughrey was hosted in Sydney by Destination NSW.
While you’re there
Sporting events you may wish to attend:
NRL Grand Final, October 2
Grand final day always feels like a festival in Sydney. At ANZ Stadiumin Homebush there will be a full day of league, with finals in all grades. It will be terrific.
World Time Attack Challenge, October 14
This is all about cars. Cars that go fast. The three-day motorsport and automotive culture event takes place at the Sydney Motorsport Park at Eastern Creek. It includes the Outlaw Drift Shootout and Turbosmart Flying 500, and while we don’t know what those things are, they will no doubt be full of mullets, shaved heads, and wrap-around sunglasses.
Central Coast Sevens, October 21-23
Held at Wyong, between Sydney and Newcastle, the Central Coast Sevens includes international teams — last year New Zealand sent a development team — in a rugby sevens extravaganza in a lovely spot.
Emirates Australian Open of Golf Championships, November 17
In 2016, the Emirates Australian Open will return to the Royal Sydney Golf Club from November 17-20. Enjoy watching the sort of golf you will never be able to play.
Accommodation
Try the 57 Hotel in Foveaux St, Surry Hills. It has a glitter ball-thing in the lift, baked goods in the lobby for breakfast and a glass wall between the bedroom and the shower (with a curtain option for the more modest) The staff are nice, too.
Eating
The Firedoor restaurant is just around the corner in Mary St, Surry Hills, and the food is completely stunning. Firedoor uses wood-fired ovens and I can fully recommend the brussels sprouts with smoked ham hock, and the milk-fed lamb cutlets and spring vegetables. Stunning. Bill’s Surry Hills in Bourke St is a Bill Granger restaurant. The Surry Hills outlet has excellent pizzas, great service and a cocktail bar.
