Sunday 30 September, 2007

The time is meow

At the beginning of last week The Murdoch Family and I had no tickets between us. Virginia is mad keen, Peter Murdoch has been a supporter his whole life, it was Huw's 25th birthday yesterday. And then there was me. I'm not as obsessive - but have been a keen follower since I swapped teams (from Carlton) at the age of 27. It was out of love for a man. The romance didn't last, the friendship has, and I kept the team. Then I moved to Sydney for 7 years and stopped following it much, though continued to care. I moved back to Melbourne, went to a footy game with Virginia (Geelong lost, against I can't remember who. It was at the Telstra Dome) and I changed teams again, though this time we're not talking football. (Incidentally the said man flew back FROM LONDON for the game and he and Virginia went to watch the team train on Thursday morning.)

Any way, at the beginning of last week a work colleague told me he could get me a ticket for $1000. I wasn't interested. Peter got two tickets on the Monday so then we had to wonder what child would be chosen. Son or Daughter. A friend of Virginia's diverted this disaster by tracking her down a ticket on Friday morning. That left me. The ticket I could have was now $600. I said no again but with increasing anxiety. What if they won, for the first time in 44 years? What if I missed it? How could I live with myself? Virginia rung an offered to share the cost because her ticket was free and then I snapped. I called the sporitng event place but now the ticket was $650 (no idea why). I gritted my teeth and gave them my Visa number. Visa costs another 2.5% I was told and I have to say the extra $16 almost pushed me over the edge. But I paid it so there I was, at the MCG in the second back fucking row feeling to ill to eat (lucky given the length of the queues.)

Peversely, seeing this dog on the way in made me feel confident.

Then there was a stange woman floating from a balloon. Not photographed because it was too stupid. Then the boys came on through.

Then we stood and sang.

I'm sure it looked like such a blood bath on the TV that it was boring - but I did not believe we had it in the bag until the end of the third quarter. The thing about sport is that anything can happen and you can never feel safe - until you realized the oppostion would have to kick a goal for every 2 mintues left of play. So then I felt safe. We were, after 44 years, going to win the premiership.

This, my friends, is the face of a fan who can finally relax.

Here are the boys running towards their cheer squad.

You know what I love? The fact that they took 44 years to win (yes, that's right - last won the year I was born) and then they broke the record for winning. 119 points is the biggest win in a grand final. Ever. As I am sure you all know by now.

Back at home drinking took place (note Tom's Hawthorn scarf. Hmm.)

as did the display of Cat's paraphenalia.

So, was it worth the money? You betcha.

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