The ride to the Woolshed took longer than expected, so the game was already a couple of minutes into the fourth quarter.

The Woolshed was rocking, though it was a relatively small crowd, the restaurant itself was empty, even the outside seating, with clear view of television screens, was empty, everyone was congregated in the large bar area.

And it was a good mix of being barracking for each side.  There seemed to be an equal number of St. Kilda and Collingwood jersey’s in the crowd.  Even the waitstaff were in game mode.  With the exception of the bartenders, most of the servers had their team colors on and most even sported face paint and in between serving food and busing tables were screaming with the rest of them.

The crowd was the most uniform of the day, ranging from about twenty-five to forty.  The Woolshed is a fairly new pub, and is fairly upscale, so the crowd wasn’t surprising.

I felt bad walking in front of the cheering crowd and ordering a beer while the game was in play, but, it did beat the alternative.

I found a quiet corner far in the back and proceeded to watch the game and hit on a rather attractive waitress that was barracking for Saint Kilda.  We were both happy.  Her Saints seemed to be making a comeback, even leading at one point, and I was talking to an attractive women.

Though the crowd was small, the tension as the game wound to a conclusion was palpable.  I thought some people in the crowd were going to require medical treatment as the game hung in the balance, their faces turning red, sweat pouring from their brows.

Saint Kilda took the lead, but Collingwood wouldn’t give up.  With a couple of more goals, they managed to tie it up…and Collingwood was making a drive.

The footy was making its way downfield, bouncing and tumbling as it went, the players playing with everything that they had.

Then the horn sounded.  Game ended.

Almost silently, the bar emptied.  Me, used to American Football, went to the bar, got another pint, and went to stand at the back of the room again. But nothing happened.  People just left.

I knew better, I had heard stories, and I’d even seen a tied game.  But it didn’t hit me until I was standing in a near empty bar looking over the trimmings and trappings of the celebration, seemingly limp and deflated at this point, that when the game ends in a tie – it is a tie, unless it is a Grand Final – then it must be replayed.

Yup, they were going to have to replay the entire game the next week.

I walked out of the bar with a few Saint Kilda fans, as the skies threatened to open up on a city that just experienced the biggest sporting event of the year, when no one walked away a loser and a winner.  People seemed numb.

As I said goodbye to a couple of the St. Kilda supporters, one of them nodded their head towards a group of about ten young Collingwood supporters seemingly beating each other up.

“Typical.” One of the St. Kilda fans said.

Another responded, “Yup.  If they would have won, there would have been a riot.  If they would have lost, probably would have been a riot. Tie game probably for the best.”

 As I walked home in the rain, past the AFL headquarters, the town seemed quiet and subdued.  Not how you would expect on the night of the biggest sporting event of the year.

But in hindsight, the biggest sporting event of the year would take place the following week, when the Grand Final winner would finally be known (provided it didn’t end in a tie).

View Inside the Woolshed, Grand Final (first one) Day

Collingwood Fans, releasing some pent up energy

Sign outside of AFL headquarters, no celebration in sight

 It was an experience at the Crown Casino.  Situated on the banks of the Yarra River, they had taken advantage of the broad path that ran between the Casino and the river and set up a large tent.  Inside, they had large screen televisions, bars, limited food selections, and all the trappings and trimmings of a fine bar, which huge banners showing Footy starts in various dangerous situations, doing what they do best – playing Footy.  They celebrated all of the teams that made it to the finals.  They had a Western Bulldog (my team) player dodging bulls with a Footy in in an ancient stadium in Spain, they had a Geelong player dodging cars in the Grand Prix, a Collingwood player was going padless in a Grid Iron game, a St. Kilda player was on an ice rink surrounded by bloodied hockey players.

The atmosphere was what you would expect at a casino, a little bit of Vegas, with a very mixed crowd.

Outside was the same band I’d seen earlier in the day, this time decidedly in St. Kilda and Collingwood colors, playing a wide range of songs and music at each break.  Who knew that a tuba, trumpet, and trombone could play such a stirring rendition of everything ranging from ‘Hey Jude’ to ‘Living on a Prayer?’  But now they were joined by a two more people, one was dressed as a massive Magpie wearing a Collingwood jersey, the other was of course a big radiant looking man with a halo, wearing a St. Kilda Saints jersey.

Walking into the massive tent, you could tell it was going to be a fun place to watch the game.  It was a wide mix of people, a fair number of twenty-somethings in cloths ranging from suits, to stylish casualwear, to those in t-shirts and looking like they hadn’t slept in days.  On the other end of spectrum where the retirees (in equal numbers to the younger crowd) and in as broad a range of clothing, though it ranged from suits to sweatpants and their teams sweatshirt.

I made my way to one of the bars and ordered up a Melbourne standard, a Carlton, and backed up to a clearing in the crowd to watch the 3^rd quarter.

It was a lively crowd.  And I will admit, my opinion of the Collingwood Magpies was starting to turn as well…there were some good looking birds in the crowd.

At about this time in the game, with Collingwood starting to lose their dominance, that one of the over sixty Collingwood female fans at a table in front of me started doing one of the Collingwood chants, as if her lone cheer from a venue two miles from the stadium would push her beloved ‘Pies on to victory.

Though the effect merely made me want to beat her up, the first time that I’d been that close to punching a lady (though most Footy fans would say, ‘she’s no lady, she’s a Collingwood fan!’).

For the next five minutes, she did the Collingwood cheer by herself, seemingly yelling it directly into my ear.  For the next five minutes, I heard, “COLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL-IIIIIIInnnnnggggggg-woooooooo-ooooooodddddddddddddd” like the cry of a real Magpie, starting out high and gradually working its way in steps lower.

After five minutes, the people around her, including many Collingwood fans, finally turned from the game and glared at her, seemingly tempter her to try it just one more time….COLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL-IIIIIInnnnnggggg- erp….she was nudged, hard, by one of her friends.  It was a nudge that might have saved her life.  From justifiable homicide….

With Collingwood still ahead, but Saint Kilda picking up momentum, the third quarter ended, I grabbed a cab and headed to my next venue right across from my building, the Woolshed in the Docklands.

View of the tent outside of the casino

The band plays on

View inside the tent

My Bulldog Banner

 The Waterside Hotel bills itself as one of the oldest bars in Melbourne (a fact claimed by many as it turns out), but the Waterside Hotel was truly at the gates of Melbourne, it was right in the natural turn around point for ships in the Yarra River (the turning basin), so it was at the busiest dock at the business port in Melbourne for a good many years.

That’s something to tip your glass too.

It is a classic pub, but recent renovations had cleaned it up from what it used to be only a few years ago.  Big, long tables with benches where the norm along the walls and the main area on the left of the bar.  Small high top tables for two were nestled below each window in the front, King Street side, and a small bar to set your drink was located on the Flinders street side.  There was a large party room in the back.  There was a lounge area where celebrities and even people off the street could kick back on comfortable couches and enjoy a beer.

In short, it was a good place to have a beer and watch the game.

I had heard rumors that the place was owned by some current and former Saint Kilda players, so there was no surprise that there was a pack of red, black and white outside the doors catching a smoke before the second quarter started.

Walking in, I was surprised by how roomy it was.  I had been in here before when it was packed to the point you couldn’t scratch your own, or anyone else’s nose, and while for the AFL it was busy, it was far from packed.  But they did have multiple party rooms (including the roof), open for business.  The lounge was reserved for VIP’s (or those willing to fork out for all you can eat for $100 a pop).

The crowd was happy, talkative, passionate, and didn’t care who you were barracking for, as long as it was footy.

In short, it was a good crowd.

But it was also a young crowd.  The bulk of the people in the place were under thirty, but they weren’t afraid to give their opinion on the game or the teams.

I grabbed a spot along the wall with a bar where I could set my pint, keep an eye on the game from one eye, with the other, I could monitor the girls at the table to my left.  It was a good second quarter.

I walked out at half time, with two pints of Fat Yak under my belt, heading to a whole new experience at the Crown Casino.

Collingwood was leading St. Kilda, 50-26

 Federation Square, the hub of most public gatherings in Melbourne, from the attempt to break the world record super hero costume gathering to watching the World Cup, was also where thousands were gathering to watch the AFL Grand Final.

Walking up the steps, towards the throng, it was shocking, even the steps, where people had to watch on their tip-toes, was covered with people.  Making it to the top of the steps, people where spread out over every surface.  Security guards kept vigil to make sure no one got out of line and kept lanes open to allow people to pass through the teeming mass of humanity.

And it was a strange bunch.

Walking through the lane that led far to the back, I passed families, singles, couples, old people, young people, people in wheelchairs, people making out, people in Collingwood and Saint Kilda jerseys, people in suits, people in biker gear, people in bike shorts, teenagers with their parents, tourists (I heard at least five languages).

Slowly, I made my way to the back of the crowd as ‘Advance Australia Fair’ was performed and the teams took the field.

Quite frankly, it looked bad for Saint Kilda.

Collingwood came on strong.  The Collingwood fans in the crowd were getting worked up.  There was cheering and good natured bantering with every score that the Magpies managed to get.

But it was in fact all very good natured.

After snapping some pictures and watching for a bit, I made my way to one of the beer gardens far in the back of Federation Square, where the big screen television was visible, but just visible, and walked up to the bar and ordered a beer.

That’s right, walked up.  There wasn’t even a line.  Thousands and thousands of people and they were too absorbed in their Footy game to buy a beer.  Shocking.  For the next fifteen minutes, I watched from the back of the Beer Deluxe beer garden.

With the first quarter nearly wrapped up and Collingwood beating Saint Kilda 26 to 20, I made my way out one of the back alleyways and headed across the road to Young and Jackson’s pub, and institution in Melbourne.

There wasn’t a person out front of the place.  The small restaurant in the front looked deserted.  I opened the door to the place and was met with a hot, humid, burst of air, followed by a security guard.

“Man, we are packed.  No more.  We’re at code.” He said.

Walking along the side of the pub, the big glass windows were dark with the packed bodies of Footy fans crammed into the iconic main bar, and the place with the biggest televisions.

This was quite a game and quite an experience.

Not holding out much hope, I headed down the road to Flinders and King Street, with any luck, I’d be able to watch the second quarter from the confines of the Waterside Hotel.

View from the river steps leading into Federation Square

View of the crowd with Eureka Tower in the background

 Both the Collingwood Magpies and the Saint Kilda Saints had something to prove.  Collingwood has a long and storied history since their founding in 1892.  Prior to 2010, they had played in a whooping 41 Grand Final matches and won 14, with one draw.  But thanks to a string of second place finishes, they got the reputation as the chokers, or the “Colliwobbles.”

Saint Kilda on the other hand, is one of the oldest clubs dating back to 1873.  They are the near-do-wells, with the most number of last place finishes and the lowest winning percentage of any club.  Perhaps tellingly, their first game in the newly established precursor to the AFL, the VFL was against Collingwood (St. Kilda lost 16-41).  But they were still recovering from the loss the prior year to Geelong.  This was to be St. Kilda’s year.

It was against this backdrop that I entered that last Saturday in September.  At this point, I still wasn’t sure who to cheer for, but ready for a darn good game.

It was a fine day.  A good spring day.  Temperatures in the 60′s.  The sun was out.  I walked along the Yarra River, heading towards the most hallowed of Australian sporting grounds, the Melbourne Cricket Ground.  I didn’t have a ticket, or rather, I wasn’t prepared to fork out the two thousand dollars plus that was being asked for a ticket, but I wanted to take in the atmosphere of the event.

The waterfront was active.  Thousands of people streamed along the river decked out in Collingwood and St. Kilda colors – a range of jumpers, jerseys, and scarves.  Laughing and joking together.  Interspersed were the team colors for teams that had long since been knocked out of competition but being worn by fans that knew they would rise again to make it to the Grand Final the next year.

Outside the Crown Casino, by a temporary tent pavilion, a brass ensemble played fight songs and popular hits, while wearing their respective team colors, while their handlers handed out little footy’s.

Walking up towards Flinder’s Street Station and Federation Square, the public places were packed with crowds wearing their Collingwood Black and White or their St. Kilda Red and Black.  Across the Yarra, the boat clubs were wrapped in smoke as their members barbequed before heading to the big game.

Slowly I made my way with the revelers up the sidewalk and paths that lead to the MCG.  Wearing neutral colors (I pictured myself as some foreign observer in some field of battle as was common in the 1800′s), and listened to the good natured ribbing and bantering that took place across party lines.  Some families were divided in their loyalties.  Some boyfriends and girlfriends walked hand-in-hand…in differing colors…

This was a game that could divide!

The atmosphere around the MCG was more subdued than expected.  While people were jostling to get in, there was no raucous cheering and jeering.  A few hoisted banners, but there were none of the cat calls and jeering that I had been expecting.  Radio shows were being broadcast from every corner of the stadium.  Garbage cans overflowed with the refuse of 100,000 people scrambling to make it into the stadium.  People stood in line outside of the portable betting trailer set up for people to get their last second punt on the game.

As INXS fired up inside the stadium, I made my way back towards the city center to get a better look at the QUANTA’s flyby that was expected at 2:08pm, 22 minutes before game time.

QUANTA’s, true to form, was right on time.  With a mighty roar of the engine, it screamed overhead to the audible cheer of the crowd inside, and with that spectacle past, I made my way to the traditional public viewing area for those without the wealth or power to make it inside, Federation Square.

View across the Yarra River to the packed bars at Federation Square

The walk to the Melbourne Cricket Ground

Portable Betting

One of the live radio Broadcast

The Fly By

Saint Kilda Buskers – Not Giving Up!

 The Grand Final has a long and storied history, though not quite as old as the league which started back in 1897, the Australian Football League, or to be more correct, its predecessor, the Victorian Football League, the Grand Final has been in some form for most of the leagues existence.

Always a popular game in Victoria, Australian Rules Football, with its fast pace action and high intensity seems to be growing in popularity each year.  2010 marked the first year that more youth in New South Wales played Aussie Rules then Rugby.

And the Grand Final is the granddaddy of all sporting events in Australia.  More people watch it live, more people watch it on television, and is considered by many, especially Footy fans, as being the biggest sporting event in Australia every year.

Always played in the last weekend in September, except in cases of a tie (which happened twice), it makes the passage of spring in Melbourne, and is the biggest sports weekend of the year.  Bigger than Rugby Grand Final.  Bigger than the Melbourne Cup. Bigger than the Australian Open Tennis.  Bigger than the Australian Open Golf.

The game, and the MCG (Melbourne Cricket Grounds), have grown together.  The first couple of years were played on various fields around Melbourne, with about 25,000 people watching.  The Grand Final moved to the MCG in 1902 and has never looked back.  In 1908, over 50,000 people showed up.  By 1914, the first year that St. Kilda played for the premiership, there were almost 60,000 people in attendance.

Sure, there were ebbs and flows, the first year of World War I, people thought play should be suspended, and suggested that Essendon players be given Iron Crosses for their support of the Axis cause by playing the game when a war was on.  But the service men loved it.

World War II, with Australia being threatened with imminent invasion by Japan, the games went on.  Though the MCG was being used for the war effort, it didn’t stop play or the Grand Final. Only weeks after peace was won, Carlton and South Melbourne met at Princes Park and played the 1945 Grand Final.  Over 60,000 people showed up…almost double the capacity of the grounds, and the field was covered in mud, and the players were there to win. 

It has earned the title of the Bloodbath.  Of the forty-four players that walked on the field, ten would be cited for sixteen penalties resulting in a combined sixty-three game suspension.

Now that sounds like a Grand Final.

1954 was significant in the game…merely because that was the first and last time my Footscray Bulldogs won the cup.

In 1956, over 115,000 people showed up to watch the Collingwood and Melbourne showdown…and an estimated 20,000 people had to be turned away due to lack of seating.  As someone said, “At that point (and this was true up into the 1990′s), you brought in a slab (24 pack of beer) and you stood on it to see.  But you had to make sure you drank faster then the others, because otherwise, your beer was covered in piss. You didn’t give up your place to go to the bathroom.  You just went.”

Which was probably what the atmosphere was like in 1970 when almost 122,000 people packed into the stadium.  Fire codes be damned.

Gradually, safety, and a strong desire not to be urinated on, brought these numbers down to the 100,000 or so that watch the Grand Final in 2010.

But, in its 114^th year, the tradition, the grandeur, the love of a good game, continue to live on, to make the Footy Grand Final the top sporting event in Australia.

And I’d get to take it all in.

 Then there was the story of the Nicks.  A bit like a Dickensen classic, or the famous Mark Twain tome, “The Price and the Pauper.”

On the one hand you have Nick, Nick Riewoldt.  The first pick in the first round at the first time he was eligible.  The golden child that seemingly could do no wrong.  Years ago, it was not a question if Riewoldt was going to be captain of a team, but when.  It wasn’t a question of if he would lead his team to the Grand Finals, but when.

As the captain, and the main man for St. Kilda, Nick Riewoldt is the man.  There is few in the game that can compare, to his style, his intensity, his shear ferocity.  Nick Riewoldt is a man, is a force to be reckoned with.

On the other side, is the other Nick, Nick Maxwell, the captain of the Collingwood Magpies.  Ask people ten years ago if they thought that Nick Maxwell would be a captain some day, and they would truthfully say, “Nick who?”

Nick Maxwell was passed up.  Multiple times.  He was picked up by Geelong, last years premiers, only to be dropped and never drafted.

He tried out with Port Adelaide too, in the end, they liked what they saw, but not enough.  Not enough to even take a chance.

The last time he tried with Geelong. They offered him time in the VFL, the minor league, he chose to go to University instead.

Nick Maxwell, unlike Nick Reiwoldt had gotten used to rejection in Footy, so they say.  So many times, so many times the dreams were cut short.  His response, train more.  Try harder.  Don’t give up.

The day after being let go by Geelong, as his life seemed set, he was riding in the car with his mother and sister and the text message came in, “congratulations on being drafted.”

The last player drafted by last team to draft – Collingwood.  He was just happy to play.  And he worked hard.

So the match up would be the Saint Kilda Saints versus the Collingwood Magpies.  The game would also put two unlikely leaders against each other.  The golden child that was the recognized best of the game, and man that rose from the last to be the captain of one of the most stories teams in Footy.

You see, Nick and Nick were both captains of their respective teams.  Each taking a decidedly different path to get there.

There is a lesson in leadership here, and as a man that who has his fair share of hard knocks and hard lessons, there is something to be said about the underdog, about the man that got knocked down time and time again and just kept on coming.

Oh, I said I was going into the Grand Final unbiased, though telling and retelling Collingwood jokes…in truth, it is stories like Nick Maxwell that you want to read about.  It is stories like Nick Maxwell that you want to tell your kids and grandkids, nieces and nephews.  We should celebrate the Nick Reiwoldts of the world – their skills, gifts and abilities deserve the praise, but more so should we look upon the Nick Maxwell’s, the men who don’t give up on the dream, but just keep on trying.

 Every fall, the day would roll around that we looked forward too – Jaime’s doctor appointment.  I don’t think that Jaime, my older brother, usually looked forward to, he would have to get pointed and prodded thanks to some childhood problems that had popped up when he turned ten, but aside from some pills, really didn’t impact him – except for this one day.

For the rest of us, and I think for Jaime too, it was still a little exciting – we got to go to Fargo.

Most people wouldn’t be excited about that prospect.  Fargo, the town of about one hundred thousand people, just doesn’t seem to get the blood pumping for people quite like New York, o Los Angeles, Atlanta, San Antonio, or even Des Moines.

Fargo just seems kind of ho hum.

But for us kids, where this was our one major trip shopping every year, this was an event.

With livestock to be cared for and cows to be milked twice a day, trips off the farm, especially as far as Fargo (seventy miles) were a big event.  If we got going right after chores, we could be on the road by nine, Jaime’s appointment would last about half an hour, then it would be shopping.

Well, more window shopping.

But we were usually promised at least one toy (if we were good).  So we would carefully pace the toy isles in Target and Kmart, looking for that perfect item.  Maybe it was a Stomper, or maybe a matchbox car.  The stompers were always dependant upon the last accident.  They ran off one double ‘A’ battery and were known to have a mind of their own.  Accidently dropped into an unsuspecting sibling’s hair, they would have to be cut out…if that happened too recently, Mom and Dad were sure to proclaim – no new stompers.

If the weather was still nice, maybe a good kite and there was even one year where I bought a good Styrofoam glider with a combination of money from Mom and Dad and savings.

For the older kids, usually there was a stop at LaBells, (eventually replaced with Best Buy, now the largest electronics dealer in the United States) to look at albums and cassettes.

Then came the capstone to the entire experience…Royal Fork.

The Royal Fork was a buffet style dining experience all of us kids looked forward to.  It was perhaps the one time each year when we were expected to gorge ourselves.  We could eat until we got our fill.

I think the staff shuddered each time our old station wagon pulled into the lot.

We would pile out and into the store, and go through the line.  Most people would expect that it would be the meat and potatoes that would be the desired things.  But when you can have as much as you want of anything that you wanted, you usually steered away from the things you had at every meal at home.  We usually went for the weird stuff.  Some of the cold salads, the pizza, the pickled herring, the croutons and salad with blue cheese dressing.

Then there was desert.  We would pretty much stick around until the soft serve machine went dry.

Then we would all climb out into the car and us kids would fall asleep in the back, knowing that we would be home in time for chores.  Mom and Dad would sit in the front, relived that the trip was over, and a little relived that for a change, Mom only had to prepare a light supper that night.

I teased a lot of peopled that barracked (supported for you Americans) Collingwood and Saint Kilda.  The Saint Kilda supporters took the jokes like martyrs (sorry, too good to pass up) – saying things like, “How could you do that too us?”  “It is suppose to be Collingwood that you are cheering against!” or, looking down their noses, “Sorry, you’ll have to explain that one a little slower please.”The Collingwood supporters would usually laugh, than throw another one at me.  As a matter of fact, all of the Collingwood jokes that I received were actually forwarded to me from a loyal Collingwood supporter.

They may be thugs and thieves, but thugs and thieves with a sense of humor.

****Special note, for the young children that have been reading this so far (and yes, that includes my nieces), you can’t read the rest of this.  Sorry, you need to remain pure and innocent.  The jokes below are neither****

What does a Collingwood supporter use as protection during sex?  A bus shelter.

What does a Collingwood supporter use as a contraceptive?  His personality.

What do you call a 30 year old female Collingwood supporter? Granny.

What do you call a Collingwood supporter in a suit? The defendant.

Why did the Collingwood supporter cross the road?  To start a fight with a complete stranger, for no reason what so ever.

What do you call a female Collingwood supporter in a white tracksuit? The bride.

If you are driving and you see a Collingwood supporter on a bike, why should you try not to hit him?  It might be your bike.

What’s the first question during a Collingwood supporter quiz night? What you looking at?

Two Collingwood supporters are in a car without any music – who is driving?  The policeman.

What do you say to a Collingwood supporter with a job?  Big Mac please.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when a Halloween pumpkin has more teeth than your wife does.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when you let your twelve-year-old daughter smoke at the dinner table in front of her kids.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when you’ve been married three times and still have the same in-laws.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when Jack Daniel’s makes your list of ‘most admired people.’

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when you wonder how service stations keep their restrooms so clean.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when someone in your family once died right after saying: ‘Hey, watch this.’

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when you think Dom Perignon is a Mafia leader.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when a ceiling fan once ruined your wife’s hairdo.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when you think the last words of Advance Australia Fair are: ‘Carn the Pies.’

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when you lit a match in the bathroom and your house exploded, right off its wheels.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when the market value of your car goes up and down, depending on how much petrol is in it.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when you have to go outside to get something from the fridge.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when one of your kids was born on a pool table.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when  you can’t get married to your sweetheart because there’s a law against it.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when you think ‘loaded dishwasher’ means your wife is drunk.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when your toilet paper has page numbers on it.

You know you’re a Collingwood supporter when your front verandah collapses and kills more than five dogs.

And finally, my favorite Collingwood story…

Eddie McGuire, president of the Collingwood Football Club, flies to Baghdad to watch a young Iraqi play Aussie rules and is suitably impressed and arranges for him to come over to Collingwood.

He’s signed to a one-year contract and the kid joins the team for the pre-season.

Two weeks later the magpies are down by six goals to Carlton with only ten minutes left.

The coach gives the young Iraqi the nod and he goes in. The kid is a sensation – kicks seven goals in ten minutes and wins the game for the magpies!

The fans are thrilled, the players and coaches are delighted, and the media are in love with the new star.

When the player comes off the ground he phones his mum to tell her about his first day of AFL. “Hello mum, guess what?” he says. “I played for ten minutes today, we were six goals down, but I kicked seven goals and we won. Everybody loves me, the fans, the media…”

“Wonderful,” says his mum, “Let me tell you about my day. Your father got shot in the street and robbed, your sister and I were ambushed and beaten, and your brother has joined a gang of looters, and all while you were having such great time.”

 The young Iraqi is very upset, “What can I say mum, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry?” says his mum, “It’s your bloody fault we moved to Collingwood in the first place!”

Towards the end of September in Melbourne, the whole town goes Footy mad.  Australian Rules Football, or the AFL (Australian Football League) is by far and away the game of choice in Melbourne and Victory.  And for good reason, it is a fun game to watch.One of their supporters, who has traveled the world, summed it up best for me.  American Football, or Gridiron, as they call it, is like a giant chess match, where you have your line, your quarterback, your receivers, running backs, which are your pawns, rooks, knights, and king.  It is a game of strategy as well as brute force.  Rugby is a bit like checkers, where you work your way back and forth continuously across the field, pushing and shoving your way along.  Aussie Rules Football is more like a big game of Chinese Checkers where you are constantly working your way back and forth across the field of playing and trying to get more of your marbles in then the other side – with a lot of pushing, shoving, and running in between.

Probably not a perfect comparison, but not half bad.  Too many people get hung up on the fact that one is better than another. It is important to point out that they are just different.  To a new comer looking at them for the first time, one might be faster or slower or more physical or more strategy, but I don’t know if they are any better or worse, just different.

And in Melbourne, and Victoria, they love their Footy, especially when the Grand Final approaches, the final game of the season, when the winner of the AFL.

As luck would have it, my team, the Western Bulldogs made a valiant run in post season play.  Though weakened by injury and sickness, they continued to battle hard and made it into the semi-finals.  The semi-final game, they led at half time to the Saint Kilda Saints.  But they couldn’t hold out, and in the end, lost.  Saint Kilda would make it into the finals, the second time in two years.

In the other semi-final, the Collingwood Magpies played the Geelong Cats.  Geelong were the winners the previous year.  Collingwood was the juggernaut of the season that no one could seem to beat, especially towards the end of the season.  Geelong were out of the game in the first quarter.  They just couldn’t withstand the onslaught.

It would be a Collingwood Magpie versus Saint Kilda Saints Grand Final

But I had a problem.  I’ve got some very good friends and co-workers that are Saint’s supporters, but quite frankly, I could never quite get behind them.  Quite frankly, they always seemed just a little too stuck up for me.  This will cause me some grief from the Saint Kilda supporters, but it is true, they just seemed to have an air about them that said, ‘I’m better then you are.’ Originally when I showed up, they had several players embroiled in a sex scandal where several players were accused of sleeping with underage girls.  It was a convenient excuse not to cheer for them then, but now….there was a problem….

On the other side was Collingwood.  Collingwood is probably the most hated of the football clubs.  Either you are a Collingwood fan or you hate Collingwood, there is no middle ground.  They were the thugs of the league, the mafia love the Magpies.  They were known as the team of thugs and thieves.  But they played pretty good Footy, and they were fun to watch.

They couldn’t supplant my Bulldogs, but I had a hard time cheering against them, especially when the alternative was Saint Kilda.

So what was I to do?

I made fun of both sides equally (though in truth, there were a lot more Collingwood jokes floating around…and it took so darn long to explain them to the Saints supporters….)