In 1995 the Auckland Warriors league team ran onto the pitch at Mt Smart Stadium to play their first ever game in the Australian NRL. They lost the fight that night, but won thousands of Kiwi fans – including me. We had a team that was all ours, a team that was local, accessible and born with a signature sketchy flair.

TV viewing was fine, but I needed to visit Mt Smart to see the Warriors play live. They lost the first game I went to as well. Undeterred, I’ve returned every winter since. Why? Because, on game day, the mis-matched stands of the stadium transform into a thunderous stew pot that’s uniquely Kiwi: a place where road workers, bankers and families unite for a single cause. A place where kids learn new swear words and are given reason to practise them immediately. A place where steam rises from the backs of thousands of fans and the only thing that isn’t cold enough is the plastic-bottled beer.

Over the years I’ve viewed the Warriors from nearly every angle; I’ve slipped to a muddy seat on the grass bank and sipped drinks in the corporate lounges. My preferred position is anywhere I can hear the thud of bodies colliding and see opposition faces, as the stadium threatens to close its jaws and spit them out, soaked in the jeers of the crowd, with the bite of defeat.

Sure, being a Warriors supporter isn’t always easy. They’ve trailblazed fan-killing moves like the reckless offload, the final minute choke and the unexplainable brain explosion. But, if you’re patient, if you battle the winter weather and the flukey form, you’ll be there when the rain clouds part, everything aligns, and the Warriors are completely unstoppable.