...and I'm still struggling with the reality that we won the flag.
I have the poster from the Age on my cubicle wall, the DVD (which is already sticking!), some merch and all, but I still get a shiver up and down my spine thinking about the whole thing. I vague out when I'm bored, or on the phone, and as my eyes wander up the wall, I see the stunned look on LRT's and Dumpster's faces, the relieved look on Nog, the clenched fist and wonky helmet on Judae Ben-Hur, the sheer, unfettered joy on the Monty's, Schneids' and B2's faces (and the rest of them, actually), as well as Bevo's left ear (it's all I can see)... and it all comes flooding back.
Recently on the walk home from walk, a house had had its lawn mown, and I thought of Brereton's comment stating that he always equated the smell of just-mown lawns with spring - and finals time - and in a split second I'm transported back to the G, and the Swans being premiers. I relive it again, and again, and again.
I love it. I just do. No longer am I a joke for supporting a losing club. Pyss off about the game plan, tell somebody who cares. Boring? Bore me to a flag. A crap list? A crap list with premiership medals. Lame ducks? AFL's lovechild? Read your history books. Guts. Determination. Testicular fortitude. Zen. Call it what you like. We're premiers.
Sorry. Got carried away again.
Bat on...
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