THE FACTS:
By Hoani Smith and Dion Enari
Up The Wahs is no longer just a phase, it’s used now before the season has even started.
Weeks out from the opening round of the NRL, anticipation is already visible.
Pre-season matches are selling out, tickets for early fixtures are disappearing quickly, and Warriors’ games hosted outside Auckland are again drawing capacity crowds. This is happening before form, injuries or results even play a part.
In a sporting environment where engagement is often short-lived and heavily managed, the Warriors have sustained sell-out crowds across multiple seasons. In 2024, the club sold out every home game, the first NRL team to do so, with average attendances exceeding 23,000 and more than a quarter of a million tickets sold across the season.
That momentum has continued into 2025, with strong demand well before the competition proper has started.
Importantly, this support is no longer confined to Auckland.
Warriors’ fixtures have drawn sell-out or near-capacity crowds in other centres – including in Christchurch – reinforcing that the appeal is national rather than novelty-based. When people are turning up before results can justify it, something deeper is at work.
That detail matters.
The Up The Wahs phenomenon didn’t start last season, and it didn’t emerge from the Warriors suddenly being a dominant team. It has been building for years as a result of loyalty, humour and belonging.
What the early sell-outs and pre-season demand show is that the movement is now self-sustaining. It re-emerges on its own terms, driven by connection rather than performance.
This persistence invites a more interesting question than whether rugby league has overtaken rugby union.
Why does this particular team continue to generate goodwill and emotional ease with supporters, while other highly successful teams often sit at the centre of pressure and scrutiny?
This is not a comparison about success. The All Blacks remain one of the most successful sporting teams in the world.
Nor is it an argument about league versus rugby. Rather, it is about how different sporting structures shape the way people experience belonging.
One explanation lies in expectation. As a club with a long history of near misses and setbacks, the Warriors operate in a space where success is hoped for but not assumed.
That creates an environment in which supporters can remain engaged through fluctuation. Losses are disappointing, but they do not rupture identity.
The relationship between team and supporter is sustained through reciprocity: fans continue to turn up, and the team, in turn, offers effort, visibility and honesty.
For many Māori and Pasifika supporters, this way of relating to a team feels intuitive. Māori concepts such as whanaungatanga – connection through shared experience, and manaakitanga – care, respect and mutual obligation, help explain why support is not conditional on outcomes.
In Pasifika contexts, similar ideas are captured through the concept of vā, the relational space that must be actively nurtured. You support because of the relationship, not because success is guaranteed.
These ideas are not slogans. They describe everyday social practices.
The Warriors, as a club embedded in specific communities, are structurally well placed to sustain them. Supporters are not positioned merely as consumers of performance, but as participants in an ongoing collective story.
National teams operate differently. The All Blacks are not just a sporting side; they are a national symbol. With that comes expectation, scrutiny and a sense of collective ownership.
Winning becomes the baseline, while losing – or even perceived underperformance – invites analysis around systems, leadership and correction. This is not inherently negative; it is a consequence of long-term excellence. But it does shape the emotional experience of following the team.
From a Māori and Pasifika perspective, this environment can make connection more fragile. When sport is framed primarily through control, measurement and outcome, there is less space for vulnerability, humour and shared journey. The relational elements that sustain long-term loyalty, reciprocity, collective responsibility and acknowledgment of effort, can be overshadowed.
The Warriors operate in a different space. They are a club, not a nation. Clubs are allowed to be local, imperfect and emotionally open. The Warriors’ strong Māori and Pasifika presence is visible not just on the field, but in the stands and in the way supporters engage. Fans speak in “we” – not “they”. That shared identity builds mana for both the team and its supporters, regardless of the scoreboard.
None of this suggests one model is superior. Clubs and national teams serve different purposes, and the All Blacks cannot, and should not, attempt to replicate the Warriors’ approach.
However, the early sell-outs and renewed anticipation around the Warriors offer an important insight for sport leaders and boards across codes.
They show that emotional accessibility, community grounding and reciprocity are not abstract values. They are practical drivers of attendance, engagement and long-term trust.
In a sporting environment increasingly shaped by commercial pressure and performance metrics, the most striking thing about Up The Wahs is not how loudly it appears when the Warriors are winning, but how reliably it returns before the season even begins.
That is the clearest sign this is no longer a moment, but a shift in how many New Zealanders choose to connect with sport.
Dr Hoani Smith is a Lecturer in Sport Management and Sport and Exercise Science at Lincoln University, His research weaves Indigenous knowledge with applied sport science.
Associate Professor Dion Enari is an academic in Ngā Wai a Te Tūī (Māori and Indigenous Research Centre) and School of Healthcare and Social Practice, Unitec. His research interests include Sport management, Sport leadership, Mental health, Pacific languages.