Basking in the glory and the misery

What is best in life? To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women. For a certain kind of sicko, one of the little thrills of a win like that is trawling the internet for ever more obscure references to the event. News articles, social media, and opposition websites provide supplementary nourishment to the original feast. Finding more examples of joy is its own reward. How many different home made camera angles of the whole affair can one find? Not enough, never enough. Each one has its charm, each one adds to the feeling that we were all touching different parts of the same elephant. But there's also something to be said in basking in the misery of others, both those who you overcame even if they wished you no specific ill will, but especially those who wanted you to fail. Some people go further and hunt down every person who sought South's demise, and bring up every receipt, all kept especially for days like Saturday. But I am not like that; I am a basker, content to merely feel the warm, toasty glow of the hatred and recriminations. When that 5-4 match against Dandy City back in 2017 broke me spiritually, the thing that began to heal me was the misery of others. First, watching the Facebook livestream back, and watching as the comments celebrating our imminent failure turned into utter despair as the miracle of miracles took place. Two weeks later, at a Melbourne Knights game speaking to a few of my Cro mutuals, I stood there as they still tried to come to grips with how their sister club had lost the game, and I could finally feel the enjoyment that other South fans had experienced first hand. Even so, more than I hate other clubs, I love my own. If my love for South Melbourne Hellas and its people was not my main motivator to keep going, I would be a much sicker and sadder individual. But still, I ask the question, as I tend to do, can love exist without hate? And while the answer is, certainly, yes. hate still provides a contrast, a different flavour and texture. Though football has its artists, it isn't itself art; it is defined by conflict. But sometimes a footballing moment can rise above the simple duality. Post-match, I received a message from a former Melbourne Croatia acquaintance, congratulating us. In tears, I responded with thanks, and that congratulations meant something because he understood the struggle. For a brief moment, South created a moment of such good feeling in Australian soccer, that it transcended all the fuss about the famous Hellas ego. It was our victory, to be sure, and it always will be; but it was also open to anyone who wanted to feel some of what we felt.