Chris Ryan relishes cracking a can of KB as the Jets play at Henson Park, Marrickville.





You can keep your cold concrete stadiums with plastic seats and gargantuan TV screens. Rugby league is a game best watched on your feet, on the hill, while you enjoy a few beers.

I grew up watching the Eels lose at Parramatta Stadium, after their glory years in the early ’80s. As kids we found fun diving and scrambling for the balls sent over the goalposts in a conversion, or playing our own game of footy by the kiosk.

My old man would stand on the hill with his mates, oblivious to the scraps we had with other kids, as he divided his time between abusing the opposition fans, the referee, and the hapless Eels.

Early this century some guru thought to pave the turf where we once played and cement in seating. Other suburban grounds still have a patch of green where fans can fly flags the size of a mainsail, but I’ll never feel at ease in enemy territory. Today I find the place I most enjoy live footy is on the eastern side of Henson Park, Marrickville.

The on-field action when the Newtown Jets tackle the Windsor Wolves in the NSWRL Premier League isn’t as thrilling as a top of the table clash in the NRL. The up-and-comers or has-beens rarely draw a crowd, unless they are joined by a big name who has been dropped from the Roosters’ first grade side.

Top level players aren’t the only aspect of the NRL missing. You’re also spared a barrage of ads imploring you to punt – unless you count the women flogging tickets in the meat raffle. At half-time you don’t cop a half-baked cheerleading display. Instead kids in the crowd take over the field and kick around a footy.

The most enjoyable difference at a Jets game is that when you go to the kiosk you aren’t slugged six dollars for flat beer slopped into a plastic cup. There’s just a fridge packed with ice-cold cans of KB, VB and Toohey’s New, for four bucks apiece.



KB is still king when the Jets run round at Henson Park

Late in the second half it can be hard to see the play as you squint into the setting sun. Sometimes you only know Newtown scores because the bloke who rides a lap on a mini Penny-Farthing after every Jets try goes by tooting his horn.

With the empty cans of Cold Gold on the ground multiplying, the result doesn’t seem too important anyway. As full-time nears thoughts turn to post-match drinks at a nearby pub – where beer comes in a schooner glass, and you don’t have to drink tinnies of KB.

Update: There’s no KB at the Jets anymore, but it’s still a great day out.