FROM DEEP INSIDE the tunnel, a tinny engine revs. It’s Storm Man, half Ned Kelly, half Phantom, a living mascot for all us losers. He bursts out onto the Anzac Day green of Melbourne’s Etihad Stadium, lime quad bike screeching, fists pumping, muscles quivering inside a padded purple Lycra bodysuit decorated with silver and yellow thunderbolts. His head, encased in soft black Kelly-style armour, swivels this way and that, taking in the twenty-five thousand people who have come along to watch the disgraced local National Rugby League team, the Melbourne Storm, take on their trans-Tasman cousins, the Auckland Warriors.

Four days earlier, the NRL had stripped the Storm of its two premierships as a punishment for salary cap rorts. Even if the Storm wins today, the team won’t get any points. The boys are playing only for pride.