September often brings a different mood, especially to Melbourne; while it signifies the end of winter as we enter spring, it’s the month we get to see the best football of the year.
Enter the AFL finals, Australia’s showpiece sport at its finest. Some prefer Grand Final day to Christmas Day, I know I do, as football becomes a religion that outdoes any uprising or supposed miracles. Here is a stage for everyone to witness.
After six months of weekly matches, the best eight teams qualify to push towards the final Saturday in September.
I’ve been to that final day, it’s an experience unlike any other, 100,000 people packed into the greatest stadium in the world screaming deliriously in a combination of nerves, ecstasy and fear. I’ve seen my team lose a Grand Final and I’ve seen them win, and the contrast in feeling is about as opposing as it gets.
But it isn’t just the Grand Final that creates such a buzz. Every match of the series is a fierce battle. Players know a loss means the end of a dream.
Supporters cheer louder, ticket prices rise, colours are more significant, more beer is consumed and the national anthem is played before each game. Silence erupts into anarchy. All aspects are on a grander scale.
When your team misses out and you sit back watching your friends or foes barrack for their team passionately, jealousy creates an initial sour taste. But then the fever takes hold, and you find yourself raving for the lesser of two evils.
This year promises to be the most even series of the past decade.
Sydney, who finished on top of the ladder, deserve favouritism. Yet despite reaching the summit, the Swans have lost four games in their home state this season. They come up against Fremantle in the first week, a team that made the Grand Final last year and can lock up a game better than anyone.
Hawthorn would be considered the next best bet, but this week they face Geelong. This is the biggest rivalry of modern football, so to call the Hawks certain winners this week is foolish. Many consider the match a 50/50 battle.
And while commentators suggest that a team outside the top 4 can’t make the Grand Final, this could be the year. Port Adelaide sat atop the ladder for multiple rounds earlier in the year and are said to be the fittest in the competition. Despite this, they face Richmond, a team everybody assumed would be missing in September, and then went on to win 9 in a row to qualify. Who is brave enough to suggest they can’t secure a 10th?
Last, but certainly not least, there’s North Melbourne against Essendon. North have beaten four of the top five teams, including the top two. No other team has done that. Essendon were disqualified from the finals last year because of drug issues, so they’ll be as fired up as any team entering September, keen to make amends not only for themselves but for supporters who were forced to miss out.
Four states are represented, establishing the competition as an Australia-wide brawl. The front pages of newspapers are littered with as much team news as the back pages. Guernseys are worn everywhere as a statement. Social media is filled with keyboard warriors projecting the hopes of their respective clubs. Pubs and bars are bursting with chaotic lads and ladies roaring over countless glasses of alcohol. We wouldn’t have it any other way.
September might as well be renamed Finals, as from that first bounce little else is really relevant.
And when that final siren sounds on that final match, you’re either celebrating harder than ever before, shattered to the point of disgust or simply drinking for the hell of it, wondering if your team will be there next year.
The gift of victory isn’t something that can be put under a tree. You receive no money, no prize, no benefits or a cup; the winning feeling trumps all of it.
Chris Sutton
