I thought winning wasn’t everything. Then my netball team made it to the grand final

Forget the AFL or the State of Origin: in my first season back playing suburban netball in 30 years, my team won the grand final.

On Wednesday night at a women’s competition in Melbourne’s suburban backblocks, my team took the division three premiership cup for the winter of 2024.

Kiera Austin of the Vixens.Credit: Getty

Actually, that’s a bit of a lie; we didn’t get a trophy or cup. Instead, we each got a medal made of some unknown metal alloy that read “Finalist” and came attached to a navy-blue ribbon to hang around our necks.

If you had told me at the start of the season, when I returned to the court after a 30-year hiatus, that this would happen, I’d have laughed long and loud. But I truly couldn’t be more chuffed than if I kicked the winning goal at the MCG on grand final day.

You have to take your little wins in life. And it might sound corny, but I won just getting off the couch, returning to a sport after three decades away, playing in a team, and just turning up every week after a full day’s work for four months.

During my first full game, I had a nasty fall. But I got up, and I kept going. My secret weapon was having low expectations about the outcomes, and my own performance. In expecting to be thrashed every week, the game became about showing up more than the end result.

So, when we did win a match, it was a bonus. I would think, “Wow, what a nice surprise.”

Our opponents in the grannie turned out to be “the Boyfriend Team”, as I had previously dubbed them (because all of their players seemed to have a corresponding partner watching from the side of the court, at every match).

The spouses sat in a row cheering every pass and goal as if their girls were the Melbourne Vixens. Which was good for them, I’m sure, but bugged me.

“I want a cheer squad, too,” I found myself saying out loud one day.

More annoying was that the Boyfriend Team had great players. They contested every loose ball, their passes ricocheted down the court like in a pinball, and their goal shooters were machines. So when I saw they were to be our opponents in the grand final, my heart dropped.

I started mentally writing the story about my team being annihilated and why it was disappointing, but not the end of the world. After all, just months earlier I had written in this masthead that winning wasn’t what led me back to the sport, and not what truly mattered.

But against the Boyfriend Team, I suddenly found myself wanting to win more than anything. And not only did we win, we won graciously.

It was a close game, but at half-time one of our opponents injured her leg. They had six out of seven players on court and the spouses were noticeably more subdued than usual.

Then, at third-quarter time, something extraordinary happened. Our captain, Sam, asked our eighth player, who’d been watching on from the bench, to play for our opponents. And she did.

It was an awesome gesture, and one that I doubted I’d have offered. “It’s a social comp,” Sam said, shrugging, when the other team thanked her.

We won by 24 points to 16. The Boyfriend Team (and their boyfriends) were friendly and funny in defeat.

After the game, I accidentally wore my medal to the servo, where I bought a celebratory soft drink before dropping round to show it to my mum. I casually mentioned the win at work and on social media, but I was as stoked as a teenager winning the Saturday park netball comp flag.

It wasn’t the Olympics, but you’ve got to take your wins where you find them. Go team! We are the champions.

Carolyn Webb is a staff reporter.

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