SO Queensland Roar finished in third place and in doing so I have once again missed out.
Not on the Premier's Plate and not on that guaranteed Champions League spot, but I have missed out again on the chance to experience another Brisbane grand final. I have been awaiting another grand final day since that glorious Sunday afternoon in 1997 when a Frank Farina led Brisbane Strikers outfit claimed the National Soccer League title against Sydney United.
It remains to this day one of the fondest football memories of my reasonably short life. The stadium was sold out and the passion that the crowd displayed in cheering on the home side was unlike anything I had witnessed at an NSL game before. If my memory still serves me, I am even sure that one of the local radio stations covered the game live - a rarity for Brisbane both then and now.
The stadium, as it was then, was a far cry from the superb, world-class structure the fans are treated to in 2009. It had its charms though; perhaps best recalled to me by the faint odour of malt and hops that wafted through the exposed stadium corners and into the stands from the nearby Milton Brewery.
I remember thinking to myself that if ever the opportunity for another grand final at Lang Park (as it was then called) arose, I would do whatever it took to once again soak it all in. I would lie, cheat, steal and even knock down my own mother for tickets as close to halfway and the front row as possible. I even made provisions for a fake ID so that I could purchase a cold beer were we to host it again the following year.
Of course, the fake ID had other invaluable uses beyond grand final days that never arrived. My youthful, scallywag behaviour however, is not the point of this blog.
Alas, no matter how desperately I hoped and I wished it just was not to be. The grand final never came back to sleepy ol' Brisbane town. The fake ID was consigned to history the day I turned eighteen. The old grandstands were torn down and replaced with a big beautiful arena that has amenities aplenty but none of the memories of the bubbling cauldron of May 25th, 1997.
Even the smell of brewing beer seems to elude my nostrils when I arrive ridiculously early to Queensland Roar games, hoping against hope for just one more sniff of that bittersweet odour.
Yet, there is still cause to be optimistic. Brisbane may not host the grand final this year but next year our chances will double thanks to the admission of Gold Coast United.
This is not set in stone of course, but the A-League administrators have already demonstrated their policy in regards to smaller stadiums hosting grand finals - i.e. smaller stadiums do not host grand finals, end of story.
Last season, Central Coast had every right to host the match in Gosford. They won the major semi final against Newcastle and hence, like Sydney and Melbourne before them should have been hosts to the big day. Alas no, the match was instead moved to Sydney Football Stadium with its superior 40,000 plus capacity and distinct lack of palm trees.
Hence, if Gold Coast were to earn the right to host a grand final in the coming seasons it would surely follow that the game would be moved to Suncorp Stadium. It is barely 45 minutes up the road from the glitter strip and has twice the capacity of that cute little playpen they call Skilled Park.
In fact, I dare say it would be like that day back in good old 1997. The "home" team would be wearing yellow and blue, the stadium would be sold out and I hazard a guess that Clive Palmer's big sweaty frame may exude a body odour not dissimilar to malted barley and hops.
I am not sure that it would be the same as if my beloved Roar were to be hosting the grand final. Who am I kidding, it certainly would not. I will however make do by trying to replicate that fantastic afternoon in 1997 that no doubt cemented my footballing fixation for the rest of my days.
I have already found an online store that sells replicas of that season's Brisbane Strikers jersey. I will do my utmost to combat a gradually receding hairline and replicate my long swooping fringe that I wore so handsomely that autumn afternoon. I might even print up a fake ID just so I can feel like a scallywag one last time when I purchase my beer. And, while it would bear my picture, the name printed on it would of course be Holden Caulfield.
