This Saturday night Brisbane Roar FC will be officially awarded the Premiers Plate as part of their triumphant homecoming to Suncorp Stadium before what promises to be a sizeable contingent of orange-clad fans.

Amongst the celebrations there will undoubtedly be some boozing, chanting, embracing and mutual back-slapping as the frustrations of the previous five fruitless seasons are finally released by supporters, players and staff alike.

But, as with all celebrations, there will be the inevitable hangover the following day as we return to reality and once more witness our club's achievements reduced to also-ran stories in the mainstream press and belittled by our eggball enamoured friends and co-workers.

It happened with our ongoing undefeated run as we were shunted from a deserved back page to somewhere nearer the obituaries in the city's only metropolitan daily by a rugby league team that doesn't yet exist.

It happened last weekend when I casually mentioned that Roar had clinched the Premiership only to be met with derision and the usual sheilas, wogs and poofters arguments from the non-football fringes of my social circle.

It happened as Tuesday night's victory against Fury was derided for low crowd numbers across the nightly news broadcasts despite the match being rescheduled, moved more than a 1000 kilometres from the original venue and played on a weekday evening on a shoddy surface with a real threat of rain and zero promotion.

And it will happen again this Saturday as the only thing more ignored than the Roar Premiership will be the fate of our W-League incarnation which is competing in their third consecutive grand final the very same day at 3PM in Sydney - best of luck ladies.

It seems that no matter what this club does it will never be good enough in the eyes of some in this big country town - be they followers of other codes, the Euro-snobs in our own code or even the mainstream media that can usually manage to turn anything in to a headline despite reason and common sense to the contrary.

So I say, to hell with them. This is our Premiership and we shouldn't feel obliged to share it. It doesn't belong to anybody else in Brisbane but those that have earned it.

It belongs to the fans - those of us that have forked out our hard-earned for five previous seasons of disappointment and heartbreak; those of us that make banners, beat drums and chant on match days; those of us that cluster in the corners of away day stadiums wearing a ghastly shade of orange and our hearts on our sleeves.

It belongs to those who have worked on and off the pitch - the players who play a winter sport in the thirty degree summer sun; the coaching staff that run the drills and formulate the tactics that have brought success; the physios and trainers that strap the ankles and rub the strained muscles; the back room who run the website, answer the phones, devise the business plans, pay the wages and organise the school and junior club visits.

It belongs to the sponsors that have hitched their brand's reputation to our jerseys, shorts, advertising hoardings and to this football club's fortunes in a symbiotic but still much appreciated gesture of support.

And it belongs to the volunteers - the ball boys and ball girls; the kids that wave the centre-circle corporate banner; the stretcher bearers and ticket sellers at W-League games; and anyone that has taken the time to write a blog or a letter to the editor in support of our beloved club.

These are the people that have contributed to the football club, to our little orange pocket of the A-League sphere. These are the people that deserve their moment to gloat and dance and drink copious volumes of alcohol in the name of triumph over previous adversity (well, the ball boys and girls can have lemonade instead.)

It is their Premiership and their Premiership alone.

It doesn't belong to a city that has ignored us when things are good, belittled us when things have gone wrong and mocked us the rest of the time.

It doesn't belong to a media that will lead the bandwagon once grand final day finally arrives in the river city and then forget us all over again by October.

It doesn't belong to anyone that doesn't identify themselves as part of Roar no matter the results on the pitch.

So for goodness sake enjoy yourself this Saturday night my loyal and handsome readers. Because in this humble blogger's opinion you have all earned it too.