Jumped on a bandwagon lately? I have some advice.
There will always be some among us who will ride or die with a passion for life, but there is no shame in hopping onboard the latest show in town just to go along for the ride.
As the story goes, it was Zachary Taylor who started the trend in 1848 by jumping on board a circus clown’s wagon while campaigning for president of the United States. His manner of attracting attention took off, so much so that by the end of the 19th century, the phrase was being hurled as an insult or mocking jibe.
The wagons have long since left our streets and their horses been put out to pasture, but music, politics, sport and, frankly, anything anyone wants to push, still seek to pull the hordes on board. From advertisers and influencers to media outlets and MPs, many crave the attention a proverbial bandwagon provides.
And what’s a world cup if not a call-out for people to leap into an armchair, or stadium seat, and share in the excitement?
I first tasted fickle fandom in primary school, listening ad nauseam to Olivia Newton-John singing Physical, Madonna’s Material Girl and Kylie Minogue’s Loco-Motion. Then, in year 11, I watched much of the ’91 Rugby World Cup, which was broadcast in the wee hours from England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales and France (I don’t think my study habits ever recovered).
As a twenty-something, I pulled all-nighters for an entire Ashes series to hear the leather on willow live from the Old Dart. And in 2009, a relative newcomer to the Herald, I succumbed to the lure of every passing château, gastronomic detour and change in the tête de la course of the Tour de France.
Olympic editions are traditional opportunities to be captured by a strange sport one seldom notices, from the keirin to curling.
And it would be remiss not to mention the revelation of 2023, when the band played Waltzing Matilda and we all knew every name of the Aussie women’s soccer team – for four wonderful weeks.
Of course, the biggest bandwagon on the planet right now is the FIFA World Cup. As my colleague Malcolm Knox wrote at the weekend, “Among the ‘Australian values’ on our citizenship test is that 25-plus million of us become Socceroos tragics for a couple of weeks every fourth year.”
As people dust off their Aussie scarves and beanies for our quadrennial quest in the beautiful game, I stand proud among them. Thanks to the office sweep, I have a love-Haiti relationship with the tournament, but my heart is with the Socceroos (take that, Turkey). I’ll keep dreaming that dream … until it’s over.
Specialists may poke a stick at rapidly inflated fandom, but why let such superior nous pop the bubble? If a super supporter spouts the wisdom of ages in their area of expertise, don’t take it as a denigration of your own slight understanding. (I couldn’t have named a single Socceroo before the weekend, but now…).
Some will flex powerful insights, acquired over years of diligent attention, but there’s nothing wrong with casually joining the fun and games. After all, following the crowd can be the fastest way to find a new passion.
Then there’s the wisdom of my 80-year-old mum, who loves to watch when the world’s top players are out on the pitch. “Who needs to follow the scrubbers when you can wait to see the best of the best every four years? The way they run across the ground, it’s like an orchestra playing, and they are gods striding the fields.”
I’m not advocating groupthink to navigate the smorgasbord of life’s entertainments. Follow your passion, whether it’s a spark that flares bright and fast or an eternal flame. Nor should anyone feel compelled to like and subscribe to all that attracts the masses, from K-Pop to the bookshop bestseller. As they say in the classics, march to the beat of your own drum.
But the next time some day-zero purist tries to blow your cred to smithereens because they noticed Nestory Irankunda when he was first playing for Adelaide United, or can remember every goal ever scored by a Socceroo in a World Cup, don’t feel intimidated or unworthy.
Wear that bandwagon badge with pride. You’re not an opportunist, you’re an enthusiast. And as Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote in 1841: “Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.”
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