Keeping the faith through good times and bad
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I was in the same place in 2011, the only other grand final I’ve been present for. Stevie J’s fourth goal was the dagger that time. He was on one leg and still killed us. I remember an old boyhood lump rising in my throat, then took a deep breath and put my head down, with a job to do.
This time, without game duties, I felt comfortable cheering for my team, wearing the scratchy black and white scarf my mum knitted me as a boy. She’s in care now and no longer knows me, much less the team she adores.
As Collingwood broke out to a five-goal lead early, I thought of her. Collingwood’s charge to the unlikeliest of premierships seemed somehow ordained.
Then, as the game closed down, I clutched the scarf. Believe, I told myself. Still the Eagles came, slowing the game down, marking everything, yet we were in front.
Until Sheed’s shot. And my head sunk into my hands.
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