t’s no way to live your footballing life. You’re being well beaten at half-time. You trail the tackle count 43 to 23. You’re lucky not to be further behind. You send Rory Lobb, who’s no Gary Dempsey, into the ruck. You kick three goals in two minutes. You overrun your bogey side and get the four points in Geelong for the first time in twenty years.
You then have to wait. You stew for 20 hours. Your finals fate, for the second year in a row, is wedded to Carlton. You look at their outs – Cripps, Docherty, Pittonet, Motlop. You gather as a playing group. You point the Bulldog bone at Greater Western Sydney, your bitter rival, who have everything to play for. You watch a crackerjack first half. You cannot imagine Carlton, who’ll finish fifth no matter what happens, having the motivation to sustain that for four quarters. You watch the very impressive Giants skip away to a five goal win, and another season goes up the spout.
