FOOTBALL wouldn’t be the same without the atmosphere. A swarming mass of humanity all devoted to the same thing – schadenfreude or, the complete and utter humiliation of the opposing team.

It saddens me to admit however, that Queensland Roar supporters seem loathe expressing this desire. Worse still, I am afraid they may not even possess it.

Please don’t get me wrong, I love my fellow fans in a completely healthy and purely masculine way. However, sometimes their lack of voice infuriates me no end.

Take Saturday night for example. It was a big game, with a big result and an even bigger performance by Sergio van Dijk. Beyond that, it was also against the closest thing Queensland has to a rival team until next season – Sydney FC. Yet those dedicated Sydney fans that based themselves at the away end outsupported us roaring faithful.

Do not misconstrue this as praise for Sydney, as it is not - after all they are Sydney. It is more a criticism of the orange horde that is supposedly the home team’s supporters.

Apart from a few spasmodic and altogether non-lyrical cheers and jeers there was no imagination, no wit and above all no orange-is-thicker-than-water passion from the crowd. The quiet during the minutes after Sydney’s equaliser was more akin to Armistice Day than a football match.

This could possibly be attributed to the youth of the league and the club. It has not escaped my attention that much of the crowd - to make up a percentage let’s say forfty percent - are families with young children. Their parents were perhaps raised on rugby or cricket where the participatory nature of a crowd is diluted to said cheers and jeers. This I can understand.

However, those who stand at the northern end of the stadium, the inhabitants of the home end, are the targets of my disappointment when it comes to Queensland fans. They are inaudible, uncreative and downright embarrassing to the team and to the city of Brisbane’s claims to be a football enclave.

This was not a one night phenomena either. My opinion has been formulated over several seasons as my purchased tickets have sent me to all corners of the stadium. I have been perched high and low, and near and far from section 332, rarely having been impressed by this self-proclaimed orange army (notice the lack of capitalisation).

Travelling fans have this season been resplendent with their home made banners and constant chanting. It saddens me to admit they have been dead right when they bellow, with full voice and fingers pointed toward the northern end, “We can’t hear you.”

I do not write this in malice or to cause offence to those dedicated persons that pay their money week-in, week-out. I do it to encourage, through the public parading of the guilty party, a determination to improve and to strive for excellence in the northern stand.

Some may be thinking I have no right to criticise what I am not part of, that I should join the orange army and lend my voice to their war cries. Perhaps that has a grain of truth, but the way things stand it is not exactly an enticing prospect to stand at the home end.

It would appear that several lads, whom it could be presumed would be likely candidates to enjoy the fraternity of the northern stand, agree with my point of view. I have heard some wonderfully witty, beer-fuelled comments yelled from different areas of the stadium over the years. Some of these may be a little too crass and derogatory for publication here, but they would be right at home being sung from a real orange army.

Instead, we are treated to the one-millionth rendition of, “You’re S---, haha!”

Well if you are talking about your own dismal efforts then my response would be, “I couldn’t agree more.”

Therefore to you, the orange army, consider this a challenge to earn the capital letters in your title. Rest your vocal chords and scratch your brains over the next couple of days. I want to hear your very best on Saturday against Perth Glory.

If my provocations aren’t enough for you, then at least do it for the sake of the team. You know, the one you supposedly support.