All Dogs go to heaven: Swanning it up at the Big Dance

Saturday’s classic fulfilled a childhood dream to attend the MCG on grand final day and watch my beloved Swans in action.

Having been blessed as a footy fan with five previous opportunities, following a wonderful run for the Swans since 2005, for me it was now or never.

With three kids under six, and commitments left, right and centre in the hustle and bustle of life (including the hide of friends having two weddings in 2006 and 2012), the joy of obtaining a standing room ticket last Wednesday in the Swans’ final ballot built a great sense of anticipation – off to the last Saturday in September (oops, well not quite!), and the chance to witness premiership glory.

Saturday morning was best encapsulated with the following highlights:
• Driving into Melbourne from Albury with football analysis blaring on the radio uninterrupted for a few hours.
• Grabbing a train from a mate’s place and disembarking to a sea of various combinations of red, white and blue at Jolimont Station.
• The exhilaration of picking up a ticket from the ticket office on the morning of a game at the ground – since when does that happen anymore?
• Nabbing a selfie with Michael O’Loughlin.

There were queues galore, but everyone was good natured and clearly looking forward to the clash. I snuck a traditional watery beer and cardboard Red Rooster delight before working out exactly where to stand.

The experience of a standing room ticket was a novelty. I was on my own to view the game, but had a few mates who had travelled across the border, scattered around the ground in varying degrees of comfort.

I was standing next to Tom Papley’s partner’s Mum, and also a 20-year-old Saint Kilda turned Bulldogs supporter for the week. We traded a couple of beers and talked about how the Saints are potentially not far off a tilt like the Dogs.

Pre-game Vance Joy and the Living End had decent background music you would expect in an Aussie beer garden, and Sting, whose dynamics were certainly challenged by the cavernous acoustics of the home of Australian sport, was caught between promoting a Ben Sherman and Chesty Bonds combo shirt – but at least it enabled him to undertake his own form of a two-gun salute.

I won’t go into onerous detail on the game, but the intensity and manic pressure from both teams was breath-taking and commendable.

I will say watching the Bulldogs’ fourth quarter (particularly over the last month) is like watching a David Attenborough documentary covering the Venus Fly-trap.

Cue Attenborough voice: the fly-traps have lobes that exhibit rapid plant movement by snapping shut when special sensory hairs are stimulated. The lobes close over in less than a tenth of a second, and are surrounded by stiff, thorn-like protrusions that gel together and prevent large prey from escaping. So it was for the under-siege Swans defensive unit on Saturday afternoon.

Once the unfortunate prey is unable to escape and the inner surfaces of the lobes are continuously being stimulated, the lobes fuse together, sealing the trap and creating an enclosed ‘stomach’ in which digestion takes place. Liam Picken, Tom Boyd and even ‘The Package’ feasted on the trapped Swans in the back-half of the final term.

In terms of the Norm Smith medal, having watched the game live, you generally patch together a player who can pull a series of key moments together without the benefits of replay or expert analysis – and in this instance I was very surprised Boyd did not receive the best on ground, after playing the ruck-forward role to near perfection.

His three goals were interlaced with significant off-ball defensive pressure, three or four tremendous relieving contested grabs, and a solid work around the ground. I guess this view harks back to a time before the ‘obsession with possessions’.

As a Swans fan, the biggest mistake John Longmire made was taking in both Jared McVeigh and Callum Mills into the game. They were both clearly cooked just after halftime.

In the wash-up, I wasn’t overly impressed with all of the umpiring (or, more importantly, non-umpiring), but the Bulldogs thoroughly over-ran the Swans in the back-half of the last term and deserved to sign off in style on an amazing month of football.

Following the match, the feeling that comes to haunt any hardened footy fanatic is the end of your team’s season. I can now relate to the wonderful novel Loose Men Everywhere by Jon Harmes.

Tim Lane neatly surmised Harm’s anguish when reviewing his book in 2002:

“Then in 1995, after the Cats’ fourth grand final defeat in seven years, Harms promises to give them up but knows it is a promise he can’t keep. His is the thinking footy fan’s conundrum: how can something so fundamentally frivolous be allowed to take so much time and emotional energy out of one’s life?”

I can understand why so many people love the joys of a preliminary final win more. Your hopes and dreams are built in the lead up to a grand final, only to be mercilessly snatched away suddenly and irretrievably through a loss.

I was privileged to see the Bulldogs win their second premiership – incredible to think that their last flag featured before the launch of television in Australia.

The sheer unbridled joy on the faces of long-suffering Doggies’ fans deep in time-on softened (partially at least) the cruelling nature of a grand final loss. Until the questions came:

Did I really just drive over 700 kilometres to watch Kurt Tippett disappear into the MCG turf? Where was Brett Kirk when we needed a warrior at three-quarter time? With all the Swans injuries, surely it was the time for Teddy Richards to cameo in a final game for the red and white?

Following the exit from the G, commiserations followed with mates at the Cricketer’s Arms on Punt Road.

The side alley was neatly closed off and a couple of beers before a nice Italian meal back up near Jolimont Station embodied what footy is all about for me. Passion, commitment, friends and fun.

For those who have never been lucky enough to attend a grand final, I cannot recommend the experience enough. I had the cliché day with many iconic venues and stop-overs, and was lucky to see my team there.

In closing, I would like to touch on an excerpt from Bruce Dawe’s wonderful footy poem ‘Life Cycle’:

Hot pies and potato-crisps they will eat,
they will forswear the Demons, cling to the Saints
and behold their team going up the ladder into Heaven.

At the conclusion of Saturday’s match, you could certainly say all Dogs go to heaven.