"You're in the wrong town mate," a middle-aged woman angrily bellowed to me as I sauntered down Fremantle's Cappuccino Strip on Wednesday, decked out in full West Coast Eagles clobber.
In a way the woman was wrong. As an appallingly sycophantic West Coast fan I choose to live in the heart of enemy territory because of my adoration for the port city.
I choose to live deep beyond enemy lines, where a ferocious purple army guards the boundaries.
Most of the time my occupiers are pleasant and welcoming - a sort of Geneva Convention exists for most parts, when the footy isn't on.
But as soon as round one bounces down, I become the enemy once again.The cease-fire abruptly ends and the verbal salvos are exchanged in rapid fire (never more rapidly than in Western Derby week)
I have never been cool and objective about my open disdain for the Dockers, so I welcome the banter.
But being bunkered down in the trenches, firing blanks at my provocateurs after the Dockers beat the Eagles again and again can cause a bit of shell shock.
And then there are times when the rules of "football warfare" are broken.
I've had local cafe-owners, knock on my door and run through my house, hooting and hollering after a Dockers' win. People have driven past my home, honking their horns as if one of their kids had just scored a goal on a Saturday afternoon.
I can still remember wearing my Eagles scarf to my son's school assembly the day after the Dockers thrashed West Coast by almost 10 goals in 2006.
I was mocked, derided – I stood grimacing, secretly fuming on the inside, pretending to take it all in my stride.
I felt like how American author Norman Mailer described boxer George Foreman after a few rounds in the ring with Muhammad Ali in the Rumble in the Jumble - moving as "slow as a man walking up a hill of pillows."
For non sports tragics, the above behaviour might seem deeply disturbing. By contrast, I find it profoundly healthy.
I radiantly smile and revel in Freo fans' pain and misery when West Coast beats the Dockers.
How can I have such a complete aversion for a team, when I have so much affection for the town in which that team resides (and I live)?
Fremantle, at its best, is a dynamic place - cafes, the arts, the beaches and the stunning and vibrant architecture of the West End.
Despite the peeling paint and crumbling façade of the city, there is something romantic about living near, a working, thriving port.
But I would be miserable if I supported the Dockers, even if they do sometimes make me a little jealous..
Fremantle, like Geelong, has something unique that all sporting nuts would relish. A sense of community – a shared identity, because large chunks of the local population support the same team.
Us Eagles supporters are scattered and spread out across the metropolitan area like sporting refugees. There isn't that concentration of fans in one place.
Still, even if there was some mythical Eagles Shangri-La lurking in suburbia, I wouldn't want to live there anyway.
I love being a portsider.
Damn, though, I hate the Dockers.
