Sometime before we A-League supporters became football, and sometime after we were counterintuitively accused of not knowing what football actually was, A-League advertising literally centred on emotions – 90 of them, in fact.

Supposedly that was the number of distinct feelings that could be either expressed or repressed over the course of a standard match.

Precisely what these officially sanctioned match-day emotions were remains a mystery, but it would appear from the advertisement they had something to do with insufficient flood-lighting, physics-defying levitation and spontaneous human liquefaction.

Now perhaps appreciating wank-happy ad metaphor isn’t my strong suit, but that doesn’t matter.  You see, regardless of what those undefined ninety emotions actually were, I doubt I experienced even a quarter of them.  As a 20-something male I’m simply not capable of that kind of emotional depth.

Actually, in the past I suspect I may have felt as few as four things when watching my team – stupefying delight when they won; begrudging acceptance when they drew; downright despair when they lost; and drunk, which was merely a louder, more foul-mouthed amalgam of the previous three that had very little to do with what was happening on the pitch.

This week though I have come to realise that I may not be the emotionally stunted man-child with an undiagnosed drinking problem the above paragraph suggests.

I am feeling something different. Something sort of like butterflies in the belly; only instead of madly fluttering their wings the poor creatures are being burned alive by a corrosive mix of stomach acid and undigested vodka.

And while that may sound like typical, start-of-the-season nerves to some, I believe it might be something more than that.  I think what I’m feeling might actually be good-old-fashioned fear.

You see, while I spent the past six months grinning like an idiot in the never-ending afterglow of grand final glory, it is only now I have come to recognise an unwanted consequence of such a successful season.  That is, over the opening rounds of the upcoming campaign, Brisbane Roar might have more to lose than they have to gain.

Just think about it.

With a full set of domestic trophies glistening brightly in the club’s display cabinet, the weight of expectation from the good denizens of Brisvegas is now more burdensome than at any other point in the Roar’s brief history.

And while it may be natural for some to assume that success will beget yet more success, I am genuinely fearful of the ramifications such blind optimism might have on the club’s ability to capitalise on its breakout season and grow its supporter base.

Don’t get me wrong, I still believe Brisbane Roar will be as competitive as last season and I am confident that a repeat title is well within the team’s grasp.  But I also believe it is inevitable that with personnel changes in key parts of the pitch – especially the front third – we won’t see the best of the team until November at the earliest.

This means that some early expectations will be almost impossible to live up to.

Now of course, it isn’t the expectations of genuine football folk that I fear.  Their reaction to any sluggish and unspectacular season start will be tempered by their understanding of the league and the game itself.

It is the expectations of the bandwagoners the club acquired on the way to its maiden title - those who are yet to be converted from curious observers into bona fide, dyed-in-the-orange-wool supporters – that I fear might be unrealistic and easily prone to disappointment.

Outside of the diehards, few people in Brisbane now recall that last season’s record run of results was preceded by a less than spectacular start – Roar opened the season with two squeaky 1-0 wins, two bore draws and a 3-0 loss to early title favourites Melbourne Victory.

It was hardly the stuff that championships are made of.  And while we often bemoan the lack of mainstream media coverage our team receives, at least at the time we could fly under the radar.

This campaign will be different though.  With the eggball seasons concluded and the cricket yet to commence, a bevy of bandwagoning Brisvegans will be paying particular attention and I fear their reaction if the club doesn’t come roaring out of the blocks.

They have been told this is the greatest football team in Australian club history and they are expecting results.

So on Saturday night, I don’t want to see those bandwagoners that missed the grand final leave the rematch with their worst suspicions of our sport confirmed by a nil-all result.  Rightly or wrongly, those people will feel cheated and won’t be rushing back.

And next weekend, I don’t want to see the thick-necked and barely literate ex-league players that impersonate sports reporters on the nightly news smugly announce that neither Roar nor their opponent scored for a second week in a row.

And come November, I don’t want to see the momentum from last season already sacrificed to one or two early season losses that may very well see crowd averages undeservedly return to those of yesteryear.

To put it succinctly – Brisbane Roar have to win and win well from the very start of the season or they risk losing more than just three points.  They risk the goodwill of nearly an entire city that is curious but yet to be truly convinced of our beautiful game’s merit.

It’s an unfair burden, I know.  But if the club is to convert the bandwagoners, the mainstream media and even the glaringly indifferent into true supporters of our football team then that’s the way it has to be.

To coin a new phrase – optimism may be a blessing, but expectations can be downright bloody frightening.