I love grand final day! I’ve always loved grand final day. As a scrawny kid from the bush who loved his footy, the grand final was everything. 

My whole day was planned out ... get out of bed and pull my old Fitzroy footy socks up over my pyjamas.

I’d be eating my Coco Pops and making all sorts of bold predictions in passionate discussions with dad as we watched the North Melbourne Grand Final Breakfast on the telly.

Would the MCG be a mud bath? Who’d kick a bag full? Who would start the blue?

Our telly was an old Rank Arena, a massive big teak box with bunny ears on top, that needed constant adjustment out on the farm in Koroit or it would look like it was snowing at the MCG.

My brothers and I would roll up footy socks to make footballs and kick them around the lounge room. My poor mother Mary!

A wrestle would break out in the living room between the brothers and there was always a blue.

I love grand final day. If it was sunny we’d get into the full-fledged footy gear, boots and all, and kick some footy in the yard with my brothers and sister.

I’d pull on my old moulded-sole footy boots that were worn flat by overuse. 

As the day wore on I’d watch some footy and eat some sausage rolls. My mum would bake sausage rolls in the kitchen and the smell would waft through the house.

It was a great smell ... my mum makes the best sausage rolls in the world.

Cooked golden brown and crusty, with Rosella tomato sauce squirted on top.

You’d always end up with as much sauce on your face as went in your mouth.

I love grand final day!

I remember watching the telly as the players filed off the buses as they arrived at the MCG. The gladiators arriving for battle. They’d be all kitted out in their tracksuits and mullets.

Eventually the time for the main game would arrive and we’d settle into the couch.

That was always the toughest time for me, because that was the time I’d have to pick another team to support.

Of course I was a Lions supporter as a kid. And the Lions never made it to premierships ... never!

With a heavy heart I’d pick a team to support but I want to reassure you all here today I’d never support the Pies!

The game would wax and wane and we’d be on the edge of the couch, sipping on cans of Fanta and smothered in sticky tomato sauce.

I loved grand final day!

Of course I was born a Lions supporter. Sure I had a 14-year playing career but I’m a supporter first and I’m a fan for life.

As a Lions fan, I knew of the long, hard and at times traumatic years since the Mighty Roys last won a flag in 1944.

I knew the burning desire to right this injustice — as a fan — long before I was a Lions player.

I’d watched the likes of Roos, Osborne and Lynchy battle it out.

My dad had told me of the legends like Quinlan, Wilson and “Bulldog” Murray, players who’d given their all for our club without a sniff of a flag.

When my time came to play for the Lions I had no doubt what I wanted ... I wanted a flag!

I wanted a flag for me and every other fan who’d sat through long cold winters of honourable losses.

I wanted a flag for the fans who’d endured the horrible season of 1964 where we couldn’t win a game and 1996 when we won just one game!

I wanted a flag for my dad, my uncle Noel and all the other players who’d toiled for the club over all those years.

And in 2001 I got the chance. We’d won 15 in row on the way to make the 2001 GF against the Bombers. It was a strange start to the week. Ansett went bust on the Monday and we had to get private jets to take us to Melbourne.

Grand final eve was the grand final parade through the streets of Melbourne where what seemed like a few hundred thousand people lined the streets to show their support for the teams. 

I was shocked, as I sat in the back of the ute, to see that we had more support than the Bombers. The Lions fans had waited a long time for this day!

The striking yellow, blue and maroon colours were overwhelming that of the Bombers’ black and red. The fans were out in force and you could see the look of hope in their eyes.

They believed in us and we didn’t want to let them down.

On the way to the ’G on game day, I gazed out the window of the bus. I see all the fans walking to the ground, the butterflies are really starting to set in.

I love grand final day.

It’s an eerie feeling just before the game as I lace up the boots. A deathly silence, only punctuated by the sounds of INXS wafting into the big concrete rooms. 

Leigh (Matthews) called us all into the meeting room. He says: “I love what you boys have done this season, no matter what happens today I’m so proud of you.” 

It’s a very rare show of emotion from Leigh. 

I ran out on the field and my feet didn’t touch the ground for half an hour. I couldn’t believe how much support we had in the stands. It felt like the vast majority of the crowd were willing us to win. 

Our fans inspired us to play some great footy on the day. They cheered every effort, every mark, every tackle. 

We were definitely riding on the emotion created by the fans. We were like a juggernaut after half-time, kicking six goals to one in the game-changing third quarter. 

Midway through that quarter I kicked a goal to put us in front for the first time that day. It was a spine-tingling feeling as the 90-odd thousand crowd erupted. I felt 10-foot tall.

Of course we went on to win by 26 points. And as I looked into the crowd I could see that our loyal fans were crying tears of joy. I was so happy for them.

I was really pleased for all the former players in the crowd like my dad Brian.

I love grand final day. After the lap of honour we went back to the sheds. 

We went straight to the meeting room and sang the Lions’ theme song around this magnificent piece of silverware.

I had a Crownie with dad too. That was pretty special.

I love grand final day.

Winning that first flag with Leigh and the boys jogged a few old memories, too. It took me back to the first time I ever held a premiership cup.

At the Reid Oval in Warrnambool. It was Hampden league grand final day. 

The year was 1985. I was just four years old. I was all dressed up in my footy gear, from head to toe, although mum always made me wear a skivvy under my jumper. I bloody hated that. No real man wore a skivvy under his jumper.

I wanted to be like my dad — my hero. And he didn’t have a skivvy on! He’d just captain/coached his team, Colac to victory.

As dad accepted the trophy I looked up at him in awe. I couldn’t believe it when he handed the cup to me, my heart raced. 

I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity. I hoisted the cup above my head and the crowd went wild.

From this day on I was hooked.

I love grand final day!