21 years and Parramatta's still counting

THE year was 1986. The music charts were dominated by The Bangles and Bon Jovi, and Tom Cruise - who was then regarded as sane - was monopolising the box office in Top Gun.

And on the rugby league field the mighty Parramatta Eels reigned supreme.

I was there at the Sydney Cricket Ground on that glorious September day when the victorious Eels captured their fourth - and so far their last - premiership title.

I jubilantly scrambled over the Members' Stand fence and entered the Parramatta dressing room unchallenged to join in the celebrations.

As a 16-year-old schoolboy yet to discover the joys of sex, that day was one of the highlights of my life.

A lot has happened since then. I lost my virginity, entered the work force, married, bought a house and fathered a son who, like me, is also an Eels supporter - he just doesn't know it yet.
But as much as those momentous occasions have sustained me for 21 years, I am again ready.
I'm ready to savour the glow of knowing my team are the NRL premiers. I'm ready to embark on a week-long drinking binge.

I'm ready to walk into the TAB and hand over my ticket which, like every other year, I exchanged at the start of the season for a crisp $100 note and a prayer that this year would be our year.

But, deep down in my blue and gold heart, I'm also ready for the disappointment.

As a die-hard Parramatta fan for three decades, I've taken countless trips to watch my team.

I've flown to Auckland, Melbourne and Brisbane. I have driven to trial matches at Port Macquarie, Ballina and Maitland.

I've braved the Canberra cold and Friday night Bulldogs games at the Sydney Showground.
But there is one trip I take with Parramatta every year that I never look forward to - the journey to despair.

In 2001, I took my journey at the very last minute, when my flight was hijacked by a terrorist named Andrew Johns.

In 1998, my ticket was booked by a band of Bulldogs and the boot of Daryl Halligan.
This year, I've departed a little earlier.

Three straight losses and my hopes of an Eels premiership are fading as fast as the print on my uncollected "Grand Final Winner - Parramatta" TAB tickets.

But, come Sunday, I'll be there at Parramatta Stadium, high up in the Ken Thornett stand, where I've occupied the same seat for years.

I'll be cheering the tries and berating the ref and hoping against all hope that my journey to despair will be postponed for at least another week.