While thousands of Aussies enjoyed boring Coldplay, a group of diehard fans relived the glory of a golden age right next door. I was one of them, writes AMY HOWES

Last week, more than 60,000 punters flocked to see what many might consider one of the best bands alive at Sydney’s ANZ Stadium.

However, that same night, another generation of fans quietly opened their own, separate way to see who they know is truly one of the greatest of all time: right next door, in the much smaller Qudos Bank Arena.

As a kid in the 90s I was obsessed with Take That. Posters plastered every inch of the walls (and ceilings) of my room. I went to several concerts with my older sister.

We waited outside studios, hotels, the gates of Wembley Stadium in London. I screamed and cried inexplicably along with thousands of others, truly believing I was in love with Mark Owen. Then Robbie Williams. Then Gary Barlow.

I went through a pretty serious Gary phase and even chose him when they released their own action figures. My sister kept her Robbie doll pristine and still in its box, while mine was immediately ripped off.

I’m an adult now (sort of), but my daughter still plays with the same Gary Barlow doll that lives in my mother’s house in London when we visit, and I love regaling her with the story of my first love.

I was a super fan. But by their standards I was a lightweight. The frenzy that surrounded Take That in the ’90s is difficult to understand unless you’ve witnessed it firsthand.

Take That was the original boy band, before One Direction, but after The Beatles, straddling two very different musical eras.

Their success had its roots in a special era of pop culture where music, media, and fandom converged in a unique way, making them pioneers of the boyband phenomenon that would define the following decades.

To this day, Take That songs are the only ones I can confidently perform word for word at karaoke.

So when I heard they were playing in Sydney, there was no doubt in my mind that I would go see them.

I convinced my friend Katie to come with me and as we rode the train from Central Station to the Olympic Park, the carriages were full of Coldplay fans. Coldplay music was blaring through the train’s speakers.

It was clear who the city of Sydney thought was the main event. We knew better, though, and as we all filed out and walked to neighboring stadiums, it became clear who our tribe was. That is, women over 40 years old (and quite a few husbands who had been dragged along).

With only three original members (Gary, Mark and Howard) still actively touring, their shows cater to a specific but incredibly dedicated fan base.

The fans who continue to turn up on Take That tours are largely the same loyal group who supported them through their rise to stardom, their tumultuous breakup in 1996 and their subsequent reunion.

We grew up with the band and seeing them play live is not just about hearing old hits like Relight My Fire or Pray, but about reconnecting with a part of our youth.

The 90s were a special time. It was an era where boy bands could still exist in a way that felt magical and Take That created an atmosphere of excitement that no one will ever have again.

This longing to reconnect with a simpler time is stronger than ever today, and a band like Take That offers a millennial like me more than just a nostalgic trip back in time.

The night after Trump’s re-election, they offered something deeper: emotional refuge in a time of growing uncertainty.

The current setup couldn’t be more different. Much smaller, much more relaxed. No pyrotechnics. No aerial acrobatics. But the emotional connection with his fans remains.

There is an underlying humor to their performances now, as the band members openly acknowledge their age, their legacy and the fact that they are no longer the pop idols who once dominated the charts with relentless energy.

Instead of trying to hide or deny it, they accepted its reality. They appreciate the audience that has always been there for them and gives us an intimate and nostalgic experience.

That being said; For men in their 50s, their dance moves are still 10/10. Even Gary, who always had trouble with moves (bless him), gave it a red-hot crack.

I consider myself a music fan. My taste goes far beyond Take That. But nowadays it is very difficult to take me to a concert in a stadium.

I’m old, I’m a mom, I’m tired. Basically, I just can’t deal with the crowds after the concert and the train ride home. But I was driven by a special love that only Take That fans would understand.

I sang every song and barely looked at my phone once. And when the boys (men) briefly made their way through the audience, the young superfan in me instantly took over and I moved very quickly to be among the excitement.

Even my friend was a little taken aback by my “psychopathic” behavior.

And as we ran out of the stadium with that trip home in mind, we also heard everything we needed to hear about Coldplay. A star-filled sky blared and big-budget fireworks lit up their massive stadium.

I had heard everything I needed to about it and was very happy to get on an empty train on time. We chatted to a couple of Take-That mates along the way who told us we seemed “too cool” to be Take That fans.

“Please,” I said as I looked at my fanny pack, before quickly reminding him, “Take that, fans ARE cool.”