The flag

THE following short pieces on the AFL grand final were written by contributors to the Footy Almanac 2007: The AFL season one game at a time. The book was edited by John Harms and Paul Daffey and published by Malarkey Publications. It will sell in all bookshops around Australia from December 1 for $29.95. All enquiries to Paul Daffey

ANDREW STAFFORD
Grand final day being something of a family tradition, I went home and watched the game with my mother in Brisbane. We are Collingwood through and through, but we are also displaced Victorians so we badly wanted the Cats to get up. I suppose we empathised, too, having waited so long ourselves before Collingwood won the premiership in 1990.

But full credit to Geelong, who thoroughly deserved every accolade (and there were so many). With not one but two Abletts, this side was the equal of the high-scoring, attractive and skilful early 1990s model, but bettered those teams for toughness, teamwork and self-belief. They also have a far better backline, and that wins you premierships.

I hope there's something in the result for rival coaches: while no doubt there'll still be tempo footy and a reluctance to kick to contests, Mark Thompson's men proved what can be gained by taking the game on. These Cats don't choke their opposition; they flog them to death. It's a lot more fun to watch. But when you've got a star-studded midfield and multi-pronged forward line to go with the best defence in the competition, all-out attack may not be such a radical strategy.

I reckon there may have been a bit of sentiment in giving the Norm Smith to Stevie Johnson, but only a curmudgeon would deny him. The mercurial player who brings his full game to the big stage is the rarest of beasts - poor Daniel Motlop, Johnson's counterpart, suffered awfully by comparison. Johnson's was a wonderful story of triumph over self-doubt and self-destruction. It epitomised his team.

CHRIS RIORDAN
Nothing happened! I worked as a bookies' aide at the Seymour races and, by Gary Ablett, it was a long day. While 97,000 gasped and roared at the MCG, there were 493 at the neddies at Seymour.

Game updates were straightforward. "It's pretty tight." (From those awaiting a first-goal dividend). "Geelong are on top." (Quarter-time). "They've got it won." (Fifteen minutes later).

Seymour racecourse is recommended - but not on grand final day.

JAMES MASSOLA
After a quick shower and coffee, my lift arrived. As a Geelong tragic, he was toey. We were off to the MCG at 6.30am, to stand in line for an MCC walk-up ticket.

As we stood in line with 5,000 other early birds, we chatted about the meaning of life, the Jesuits, and how my friend was not quite sure, but he thought the forthcoming birth of his first child was more important than the result today. Curiously, we also argued with one MCC old-timer who claimed that "the blacks can't self-govern, in Zimbabwe, or South Africa."

Refreshments began at around noon, starting in the members' dining room, where we ran an eye over the TAC Cup boys. Then we moved up to the Sir Bernie Callinan, up on level four, nearer to our seats. I'm normally not a betting man, but after a couple of beers I had a vision that the Cats would lead by no more than 25 points at every change. At quarter-time I was looking good.

Thereafter, my money was done, but I had one very happy Geelong mate next to me.

There were two highlights for me: Nathan Ablett's two goals within a minute in the second quarter; and the erasure of Melbourne's record for the biggest loss in a grand final, assuaging the trauma I had experienced in 1988 as a 10-year-old.

JOHN WELDON
I shit you not: As I stood alongside a mate's barbecue waiting patiently for a sausage I stepped on something which made me slip and drop my just-opened beer. Cursing my luck, (I'd brought only three Coopers, as I had to drive), I got down on my knees looking for whatever it was I had slipped on, and of course to pick up the shards of broken glass. What I found was a navy blue marble striped with white.

"Is this an omen?' I spluttered as I picked up the marble.

'No, it's a marble," said the host.

"Yeah, but look at it. It's blue and white like a Geelong jumper, and it just got stepped on, and it just got showered with a hail of South Australian beer. The Cats are going to get murdered.

"Or it could mean that the Cats are going to upset the Port Adelaide drinks cart, making them spill their Powerade and so lose focus," he said, handing me my sausage.

"Do they drink Powerade?"

"Of course. They're Port Power: Power-ade."

"Well I hope you're right."

"Of course I'm right."

And he was. Next year I'm hoping to find a red, white and blue marble.

LES EVERETT
I've been to the MCG for two grand finals now. The first was in 1988. I've witnessed the two biggest thrashings in VFL/AFL history.

There was a difference.

When Hawthorn thumped Melbourne in 1988 it was their third premiership for the decade. It was impressive but not a victory to stir the emotions.

Geelong's record-breaking grand final win was stirring for many reasons, most notably because it had taken so long. But the Cats not only broke a hoodoo, they broke a mould. I admired the physical and mentally exhausting style of Sydney but I'm glad the best team of 2007 is so different. The Geelong players run just as hard, are just as disciplined and team-oriented as the Swans, but have added ingredients that make it look like it's fun to play. It's sure fun to watch.

It's good to be in Melbourne during grand final week. A church in the city displayed the colours of the competing teams and advertised a talk by the Essendon chaplain. At the Victoria Hotel near the Victoria market there would be free beer from opening bounce to first goal. I wonder how much beer was poured in those seven minutes.

Getting into the MCG was easy. Then there was the pre-game entertainment.

I looked around me as Jet played. No interest at all. It added nothing to the day and would have cost the AFL about $50,000.

There was the parade of retiring players. A new style was tried. Next year they'll go back to the simple motorcade.

There was the line-up of premiership cups. This probably looked good on TV and it was a valiant idea. The acrobat delivering the cup was over the top.

The AFL should stay mindful of the fact that people are there for the game.

They should look no further for inspiration than the idea that's been in for a few years now, of AusKick kids handing the medals to the premiership players. If you get the chance, just watch how skilfully Gary Ablett put the cap on the head of his AusKicker.

After the game I walked to my digs in North Melbourne listening to ABC Radio's wrap-up of the game. Perfect.

MARK FREEMAN
FOR a punting Demons fan with a social conscience, the 2007 grand final was as good as it gets - save for the unlikely occurrence of the Dees actually winning one.

Many other footy fans more inclined to spread the love than covet the hate would have also revelled in the sight of the Cats finally purging decades of suffering. And those of us who support the premiership drought-stricken, such as the Demons, Saints and Bulldogs, were given a glimmer of hope that it can all be turned around one day with belief and persistence.

I spent the great day with friends in Ballarat. Neddie organised a video projector and blacked out even the tiniest shard of light from the adjacent floor-to-ceiling windows. We settled in at noon and had an early laugh watching Jet's drummer badly fluff the mime.

To add adrenaline to the heart-warming story, I had a snip of the black figures on offer for a Cats' flag before the finals. And adrenalin I got, not only in the heart-stopping preliminary final, but also in those early eye-popping moments of the big game.

An early sequence of events had me concerned that trouble was afoot. Gary Ablett copped a bang on the head, Chad Cornes and Brett Ebert were looking dangerous and Matthew Stokes landed badly and his grand final appeared to be over.

But then Steve Johnson's composure, Gary Ablett's sparkle, Brad Ottens' inspirational run-down of Michael Pettigrew and a brilliant passage of lightning-quick handballs ending in Jimmy Bartel's snapped goal just before the first bell showed clearly that these Cats were far superior to the Geelong grand final sides of the early 1990s.

And deep into the third quarter, when most impartial observers were lamenting a blow-out grand final, I was one of many Demons fans excited by the prospect of the Cats wiping clean one of the Demons' worst embarrassments - being at the arse-end of the record grand final winning margin.

Dees fans booted the Cats past the 96-point margin inflicted by the Hawks in 1988 with glee. If that was not enough, I had also indulged my traditional Norm Smith medal punt, and I never foresaw the day when I would thrill to any words spat out by David Rhys-Jones. But on the podium at grand final's end, he spoke two sweet words: "Steve Johnson", causing your correspondent to lift from the couch and punch the sky.

I had a ripper day, the Cats had a great one, and across regional Victoria spirits were lifted by a mighty side. Miracles didn't cease... it even rained the next day.

PAUL DAFFEY
As I've grown older, I've come to value the shared experience of footy almost as much as the game. Grand final day is a shared experience. During the morning, we tune into the radio or television knowing that thousand of others are doing the same. We go to breakfasts and barbecues to celebrate as much as watch the game.

As I waited on the Merri platform to catch the 12.35pm train I was disappointed by the lack of footy colour. One woman in her 20s wore a Geelong scarf, and a big smile, but she was alone in her happiness. There was no sense of a shared experience.

The train trip was very quiet. I heard no mention of the grand final. At Jolimont station, the ticket inspectors waved all passengers into Yarra Park. It was all so orderly. What's a carnival without a bit of chaos?

I met an old mate I'd grown up with and we headed into the 3AW tent to meet a mate who was down from Bendigo. There were a couple of dozen guests in the tent. We watched the panel do its pre-match. Mike Sheahan wore a pastel pink tie.

We got to the standing area in front of the Blazer Bar on the ground floor of the Members' about 1.30pm. The only other person in the area was eccentric journalist Howard Leigh. Howard covers footy, mostly the VFL, but his main gig is boxing. He's the ring announcer on pro-fight nights. For this grand final between teams that wear mostly black and blue, he wore a red sailor's cap, a white jacket, and a red and white bow-tie. Howard knows carnival.

Slowly the space around us filled up. As with any standing area, there was a greater sense of shared experience. A Geelong fan only just resisted the urge to smack himself with delight. Whenever Warren Tredrea went near the ball he was told to take a bow. The standing-room fans called him Warren. Chad Cornes was called Chad. Then there was Kane. It was like there could be no wittier putdown than to call a Port footballer by his first name.

No one left despite the enormous margin. As the Geelong players filed up to receive their medals, the standing room area was as full as it was early in the game. The Cats had won a rare flag. We all wanted to share in it.

PAUL MITCHELL
Pre-match

Girlfriend packs last of her possessions in North Fitzroy and moves into my Yarraville house. Ten minutes before first bounce eight-year-old son and 10-year-old daughter arrive. Daughter is wearing blue and white hoops. Explain to son that though I barrack for Blues, I wore those hoops in Under-16 schoolboys and in training for Under-19s at Geelong. Even son sees connection is tenuous, laughs.

First bounce

Girlfriend talks about house move issues. Explain that for next half-hour, at least, she might as well talk to couch.

Second quarter

Girlfriend disappears with daughter to go shopping for my birthday. Happy about this on two levels. Me and son eat rest of chips. He cracks another lemonade and I have first beer.

Mid second

Explain to son that if Port don't kick two quick goals very they will be crushed.

Half-time

Kick of footy on the road, using our Blues footy. Pretend we are Gibbs, Judd, Stevens and Murphy, crushing all comers in '08.

Mid third

Son says wants to play Playstation Wrestling game in his room. Says give him a yell in a few minutes to see how game is going. Tell him I could round up 17 blokes from Yarraville pub, right now, and we could give Port a bath, we'd have more confidence. Son says he could do same with Under-9s team.

Late Third

Girlfriend returns, realises she has moved from her house, for good. Feels disorientated. Doesn't know what to do. Lies on couch. Talk softly to her without taking eyes off game. Proud of multi-tasking.

Final Siren

Remember that when Geelong lost in '89 was still living in Geelong. Went to Town Hall reception. Been living in Yarraville 10 years, have no desire to gatecrash. Hear theme song and, despite barracking for Cats all day, remember song blasting many times after Geelong beat Carlton at Kardinia Park. Remember that Carlton has never in my lifetime beaten Geelong there. Decide to get Blues membership for son and me next year.

Post-siren

Girlfriend asleep on couch. Kick footy with son. I'm Fevola, he's Jarred Waite. He wins '08 flag with kick after the siren.

ROB CLARKSON
Mum was born and raised in Calcutta. She moved to London and met Dad (from East Devonport) there in 1964. They married in '66 and caught the boat south and settled in Hamilton, a farmers' town in central Tasmania. Dad, as you do, suggested Mum pick a team in the VFL. Mum, for no reason that she can remember, picked Geelong and, over the years, came to love them.

I called her as I left the Ponsford Stand at the end of the Grand Final. "So many people have phoned me!" she said. "It's like my birthday!"

She was so very, very happy.

It's worth bearing in mind, however, that, relatively, she's had it pretty easy compared to most Cat fans her age. After all, she's only waited 41 years.

ROD GILLETT
After staying up to watch some of the past grand finals on Fox (I still can't believe just how athletic Carl Ditterich was in the '65 grand final) I woke up on a beautiful spring morning just in time for coverage of the North Melbourne grand final breakfast. But already the neighbourhood was abuzz with the sounds of lawn mowers, whipper snippers and the cursed leaf blowers. And it kept up all day!

The AFL grand final must be played at night, not at twilight, but at peak viewing time. Not just to suit the gardening folk, but to make it truly a national sporting event that just about everybody in the country tunes into to. This year the AFL grand final on TV in Sydney drew only 320,000 viewers; last year when the Swans played it was 779,000. Nationally, this year it was 2.56 million compared to 3.15 million in 2006.

Sure, it's not a "TV game", but only one hundred thousand get into the ground to see it. It's not just about those lucky enough to get a ticket, but about attracting the largest possible audience to watch the game on TV - which is now the life-blood of the game. The weather's too good during the day at this time of the year in most of NSW and Queensland so people go out of the house. But I'm convinced regardless of whether they follow the game or not, they'd watch it on TV - on a Saturday night.

And to demonstrate that the AFL is truly national, let's start playing the grand final around the country on a rotational basis. Not on a bidding basis, but let's go round the grounds. We could begin at the Gabba in 2008, then go to Sydney in 2009, Adelaide in 2010, Perth 2011, and come back to Melbourne in 2012. Sure the capacity would be greatly reduced at some venues, but the true footy fan can't get a ticket to the grand final anyway.

And at least that way I could my gardening done at the same time as my neighbours.

TONY ROBERTS
Since 1977, my first year in Melbourne, I have watched every "year seven" grand final with Dave Nadel. Despite our neutrality for most of these contests, we've always managed to differ. No choice, really - Dave's a Pie; I'm a Lion, and once was Blue - just transferring the (heavily diluted) venom from our direct face-offs between 1979 and 2003 (4-0 to me, there).

So this year, Dave was a patriotic Victorian Cat, while I was a hip-pocket Socket (shorted out badly). Ten years ago, Dave was a confirmed Crows hater; I had nothing against St Kilda, but just had to laugh at Darren Jarman's clinical cruelty. Dead simple for both us in 1987 - Carlton was facing the horrible Hawks; through Dave's eye, Hawthorn was facing evil.

And what of 1977? Collingwood had bounced all the way from 1976 outhouse to penthouse, and looked good to end it longest flag drought. Dave's romanticised spin had all but sucked me in at Moonee Ponds station en route to the MCG (standing, aided in so many ways by BYO beer cans). As Arnold Briedis tanked and shanked, though, I took pity on North - for the sake of the contest. Then 'Snake' Baker ran riot in the last quarter and turned disaster into apparent glory. I then realised just how close we had been to a Pies flag and all that that meant, and unashamedly turned turtle for good. The ultimate draw and my treachery gave Dave a 'tension headache'.

The next week, it was all the way with RDB for me, and Manassa's five-bounce goal could be safely patronised. And I even squared that up (kind of) by bowling the Mauler himself first ball in a cricket match two years later.

VIN MASKELL
George watches the game from his bed. He doesn't get out of the house much, let alone his bed. But he takes his medication every day and still finds something to smile about. 1965, 1984, 1985, 1993, 2000.

"Which way's the wind blowing?" he asks the television. "Which is the scoring end?"

The television doesn't reply but it doesn't matter. Whichever way the Cats are going is the scoring end.

George cups his big hands together and claps them gently after each Geelong goal.

There's a large framed poster of the Essendon 2000 team hanging above his bed, but he's happy to be watching the Cats.

"They flogged us in the wet at Kardinia Park. About 40 years ago. We got done by 10 goals."

He cups his hands together again. And again. "Doug Wade kicked 10 goals against us. Might have been that same game. In the wet. It was pouring."

George sees Jimmy Bartel No.3 jumper and says "Kenny Newlands". He sees Brad Ottens No.6 jumper and says "Gareth Andrews". He sees Cameron Ling's mop of red hair and says "Scratcher Neal!"

He can't do the same with the Port Adelaide players. "Does Fos Williams coach them?"

Then he smiles and cups and claps his hands together. Again and again and again.

Grand final

GEELONG vs PORT ADELAIDE

2.40pm, Saturday 29 September 2007, MCG, Melbourne

Geelong	5.7	11.13	18.17	24.19	(163)
Port Adelaide	2.2	4.3	5.5	6.8	(44)

Goals - Geelong: Mooney 5; Chapman, S. Johnson 4; N. Ablett 3; Bartel 2; Ottens, Byrnes. G. Ablett, Rooke, Ling, Mackie. Port Adelaide:
Tredrea, S. Burgoyne 2; C. Cornes, Logan.
Best - Geelong: S Johnson, Chapman, Scarlett, King, Mooney, Corey, Enright, Ling, Mackie.

Port Adelaide: C. Cornes, P. Burgoyne, K. Cornes.

Norm Smith Medal: S Johnson (Geelong).

Milestone:Pearce (Port Adelaide) 50 games.

Umpires: McBurney, McLaren, McInerney.

Crowd: 97,302.

13 November 2007

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