Anyone else anxious?

IF a week is a long time in football then I’d have to say if the team you support sort of unexpectedly makes it through to the big one then grand final week is a metric s — t-tonne in anxiety.

Having promised myself that I wouldn’t get toooooo carried away if the Pies accidentally beat Richmond last week (which they did) I then broke a couple of preplanned rules post-game including not going to celebrate at a pub after the game (I went) and definitely not sticking around too long so I would have to catch the last train home from Southern Cross (did that too, very naughty).

Thankfully the company on the way home was very convivial and, for the benefit of my travelling companions, I hope you made it home safely and did not burn your houses down by trying to cook something on the stove when you were very tired (I played smart-ish with 3am sandwiches which was 100 per cent safe but not great in terms of indigestion when the alarm sounded just a few hours later.

Next came the Saturday morning run to the supermarket (wearing footy jumper) where reality finally set in over the delirium from the night before and more strange things happened.

I bought two papers instead of one (one to read, one to keep, or two to set on fire if things go wrong tomorrow) and then went home and started to get anxious again worrying I’d forgotten to record the replay. But as luck would have it I’d set that up at 3am mid-sandwich so I settled in to watch and calm the nerves.

On Saturday arvo after picking up the car from South Geelong after promising I wouldn’t go to the pub the night before, I watched a bit of the other prelim, which wasn’t a great spectacle (unless you barrack for the Eagles). But it provided a momentary distraction from logging in and out of my mobile banking app in the hope an amount had been deducted to pay for a Grand Final ticket (which it had), then put the replay on again.

But then I had one awful bloody flashback to the early 1990s, outside the Retreat Hotel in Collingwood, after the Eagles towelled us up at Victoria Park on a very dirty afternoon indeed and started getting anxious. Again.

Picture this: A parking sign, with an Eagles scarf draped over it, and a dejected bunch of Magpie fans finishing the last of their drinks out on the footpath. Someone set fire to the scarf. It scorched the parking sign, leaving it marked for some years until it was replaced.

We were supposed to win that day, but we didn’t. Will we win tomorrow? I dearly hope so, but I don’t know so.

I do hope the burning merchandise doesn’t come back to haunt us two-and-a-half decades later.

Have a beaut grand final day and don’t forget to fill the barbecue gas bottle early to avoid the rush. ush.