"1989," Lois said, with a sigh infused with poignant memories.
Clark nodded, encouraging her to continue.
"Grand Final," she said. "Hawthorn versus Geelong."
"I thought so." He smiled down at her. "And I can tell from your face that Hawthorn won."
"We did," Lois said. "But it was a close thing."
"Tell me," he requested, because he loved listening to her voice. And he loved her accent. And he wanted to hear her talk about something she loved.
"The first bounce ..." Lois said. "The ruckmen went up, Geelong cleared it ... got it to their gun forward, Gary Ablett. He marked, had a shot for goal, kicked straight, and they're a goal up."
"That doesn't sound like the greatest start," Clark noted.
"Ah, there was more to that bounce than most of us realised at first. As the ball was bounced, Mark Yeates from Geelong charged at Hawthorn's centre half forward, Dermott Brereton, and belted him."
"You're only allowed to bump if the ball is nearby, right?"
"Right," Lois said. "And the ball was nowhere near them. It was illegal ... and it looked pre-meditated."
"Losing a key player in the opening minute can't be good."
Lois glanced up with a look Clark was starting to recognise - a look that told him he had hit the mark with his comment. A look that said her respect for him was growing. A look that did untold things to his insides. "But this was Dermie," she said with deep affection in her voice. "He could dish it out, no question - but when he copped it, he didn't squeal. Anyway, Yeates had got him good, and he was pretty badly hurt. A couple of broken ribs and a tear in his kidney. Dermie collapsed onto his back and when the trainers managed to get him to his feet, he was woozy and vomiting. They tried to get him off the ground, but he wouldn't go, so they sent him to full forward where it was more likely he would get a few moments to recover."
"What happened?"
"The ball came down our end, Dermie marked it and goaled. The message could not have been clearer - hit us with everything you have, but we will *not* lie down."
From Part 42 ...
He had dreamed of this moment many times. He had anticipated her surprise. But the reality was far better than anything he had imagined.
"You're crying," he said softly.
She nodded. "Yeah, but they're not sad tears," she said. "They are the happiest tears of my life. I ... I can't believe you did this." She threw herself at him again and kissed him emphatically. Then her mouth leant close against his ear.
"I can't imagine loving anyone more than I love you right now," she said. "But you're Clark Kent, gentleman of extraordinary sweetness, so I imagine that, by tomorrow, my love will have grown again."
Clark held her close to his heart in the circle of his arms. This was worth every minute of the long hours in the airplane and every ounce of the frustration at the delays.
Lois was happy - and they were together.
And that meant Clark's world was perfect.
Part 43
"How long are you staying?" Lois asked. They'd moved from obstructing the main entrance into Glenferrie Oval and were now tucked into a corner at the foot of the grandstand.
"I fly out tomorrow night," Clark said.
He sensed the briefest glimmer of disappointment in the way her eyes dropped to where her hand was resting on his chest, but when she looked up again, she was smiling. "Your timing is perfect, big guy," she said.
"I wanted to be here for the rally and the game tonight."
Her grin was exultant. "Ah," she said. "But it's better than that. I have tomorrow off."
"You do?"
Lois nodded happily. "Browny figured that, after everything today, I'd be useless tomorrow, and he wanted two stories in today's edition outlining the cases for and against the merger."
"So ... you wrote a story for the anti-merger side and ..."
"And, in return, I have tomorrow off."
Clark grinned, yet something he'd been wondering about occurred to him again, and he made a mental note to discuss it with Lois before he left Melbourne. Now wasn't the time, though. "What had you planned to do tomorrow?" he asked.
"I'd planned to go to Operation Payback and help start collating all the details we collect today."
"Do you still want to do that?" Clark asked, trying to keep his face deadpan.
"Of course," she said. Her head jolted down, but not before he'd caught the foreshadowing of her smile.
Clark hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her face to him. "Are you *teasing* me again?" he asked, trying to sound stern.
Her grin blossomed. "I thought I wasn't allowed to tease you," she said.
Her mere existence was a tease. Clark steered away from the direction of those thoughts with a firm reminder to himself that their honeymoon was still a week away. He placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, allowing enough time to pass that his question didn't sound suggestive. "So, what are we going to do tomorrow?"
The amusement in her eyes implied that her thoughts were running parallel to his. "Do you like trains?" Lois asked.
"Trains?" They were definitely better than airplanes.
"Steam trains. We could go on Puffing Billy."
Puffing Billy? "Together?"
"Of course."
That was all he needed. "Sounds great."
Lois brushed the front of his sweater. "Where are you staying tonight?" she asked.
"I thought I'd get a hotel room."
She looked up at him, her eyes serious. "Not at my place?"
"There are problems with that, honey," Clark said. "I went to your unit to shower and change, and I ran into Esmeralda."
"Did she try to lock you in her room again?" Lois asked with a grin.
"No," Clark said soberly. "She told me she's heard a male voice in your unit."
Lois covered her mouth as alarm filled her eyes. "She *heard* something?"
Clark nodded. "She was certain about it. There was no way I was going to be able to convince her that she'd imagined it."
Lois shrugged. "I don't care what Esmeralda thinks," she declared. "If you want to stay at my unit tonight, that's between us, and it's no one else's business."
"I hate anyone thinking that about you."
"Your opinion is the only one that matters."
He smiled gently. "I know," he said. "But you have to live here."
Lois looked up into his eyes. "Clark," she said solemnly. "If you want to swish into my unit and stay the night, I'm OK with that. If you want to walk in boldly as Clark Kent and openly stay the night, that's OK, too. If you want to *sleep* at my place, that's OK. If you want to do a whole lot more than sleep, I won't have any regrets tomorrow morning. If you want to stay somewhere else, I'm sure Narelle and Gazza would love to have you ... so would Browny and Sue."
"Will you be disappointed if I stayed with Gazza?"
"Devastated," she said, though a small smile tempered her word. "But so long as you arrive there late tonight and leave early tomorrow morning, I'll survive."
"Lois, I don't want your friends thinking I had a flying visit to Melbourne and took advantage of you. We can't have any official future yet."
"I know," she said. Then her smile broke free. "But next week ..."
Clark grinned as he lowered his mouth to her ear. "Next week, my love, it's the honeymoon suite for us."
When he withdrew, Lois was still grinning, but it faded as she checked her watch. "Clark," she said. "I'm due back at the tables."
"That's OK, honey," he said. "I didn't come to distract you; I came to support you."
She smiled. "Well, just the sight of you distracts me," she said. Her eyes swept the length of him. "Nice jeans, by the way."
They were? They were just some fairly old ones he'd dug out from the back of his closet in Smallville. "Can I help you at the tables?" he asked.
"That would be great. Come and sit with me. We need to try to have all the names and addresses recorded before the official part of the rally begins."
She turned away, and Clark noticed she was wearing her number five jumper - the one he'd seen framed in her bedroom. He hurried a few steps and caught up to her. "Hey," he said. "You're wearing Crimmo's jumper."
She nodded. "Yeah. I've never worn it before, but today, I had to. It's my way of saying our history deserves a future."
They arrived at the tables and relieved two other volunteers. Lois quickly explained the questionnaire, and Clark looked up with a smile to the woman at the head of the line. "Hi," he said. "What's your name?"
||_||
It was almost three-thirty when Don Scott climbed onto the small makeshift stage. The crowd - which now filled every inch of Glenferrie Oval and even spilled onto the sidewalk - rustled expectantly as he tested the microphone.
Then, he began.
He spoke earnestly about the direness of the situation - the financial debt and the low membership numbers that meant that when the AFL cast their eye over the football landscape looking for a sacrificial lamb, Hawthorn had seemed like the obvious candidate. He talked of the work of Operation Payback, and he outlined the future - and explained how that future could be achieved without merging with Melbourne.
Then, he called Dermott Brereton to the stage.
The crowd exploded into a wild cheer. From one section came the beginnings of a chant "Der-mie, Der-mie, Der-mie," and with each cry of his name, the voices swelled until they roared like a vast wave across the oval.
Clark glanced at Lois. She, too, was chanting and, he noticed, close to tears.
She saw him look at her and leant across so he would be able to hear her voice over the chant. "Things went awry, and Dermie left us," she said. "He went on to play with Collingwood and Sydney. This is a favourite son coming home."
The chant showed no signs of abating as 'Dermie' stood, elevated above the sea of brown and gold, fidgeting with the microphone and fighting back the tears.
Finally, his hand brushed under his eyes and then he raised his arm, requesting silence. The crowd slowly quieted, and a hush came over them as they waited for Dermie to speak. He didn't, and Clark could see why - the man who had played an entire Grand Final with a torn kidney was now fighting an equally difficult battle - this time with his emotions.
"We'll never forget '89, Dermie," came a cry from the crowd. "You'll always be a Hawthorn hero."
Loud cheers followed.
Dermie lifted the microphone and began to speak. "I ... I ... I didn't expect this," he said in a voice that cracked.
The crowd cheered again, giving him a few moments to compose himself.
Falteringly at first, but then with more surety, Dermott Brereton spoke about what Hawthorn meant to him. He spoke as a man might speak of his first love - with enduring affection and heartfelt nostalgia. Then he said that victory often required pushing through pain. He compared their current situation with the final minutes of a close game - noting how triumph came by taking the hard way and refusing to give in. Then he begged the crowd to give whatever they could to free their club from the scourge of debt.
The cheers of the crowd rose above his voice, and Dermie returned the microphone to Don Scott. Fevered applause, piercing whistles, and loud cheers accompanied the former player as he stepped down from the stage. As he walked through the throng of fans, they inundated him with hugs, handshakes, and pats on his still-broad shoulders.
As Lois had said, a much-loved son had returned home.
||_||
After the rally had concluded, the swarm of people scattered as the Hawthorn fans headed to the station or their cars to travel to the MCG for the game against Melbourne.
As darkness fell, about fifty remaining volunteers packed away the tables and chairs, dismantled the stage, and bundled the precious questionnaires into boxes for safekeeping.
Clark had been following Lois, stepping in whenever she was about to lift something he considered too heavy for her. The excitement at the success of the rally had begun to fade as tiredness crept over her. "You need to eat before the game," he said, knowing food wouldn't have been her priority all day.
Lois summoned a smile for him. "That would be wonderful," she said. "But we don't have time to sit down."
"I'll walk to Glenferrie Road and get us something to eat on the train," he said.
"OK, thanks. Don't be long."
"I won't be. There's still a bit to do here; I won't hold you up."
"That isn't what I meant," she said. "I meant that I don't want to be away from you for even a second longer than necessary."
With a smile, Clark leant over and kissed her. "I'll be back soon with something hot and tasty," he promised.
Lois grinned, as if at an amusing secret, but said nothing.
"What?" he asked.
"Hot and tasty," she said still grinning. "Just like you."
||_||
For Lois, the trek across Yarra Park felt eerily surreal. She'd walked this path hundreds of times. Everything - the stately elms, the upright gums, the dark soil, the wide asphalt walking tracks - was so familiar ... but something had changed.
Something felt different.
*She* felt different.
It was as if she had been lifted from the course of her life to dangle aimlessly - no longer a part of her past, but not yet secured in her future.
This could be the last time.
The last time she dressed in her Hawthorn jumper.
The last time she felt her stomach knot with the anticipation of a big game.
The last time she smelled the scent of battle in the air.
In front of her loomed the mighty Melbourne Cricket Ground - the hallowed turf, the stadium where Hawthorn had won eight of their nine premierships ... the place of a thousand memories.
Beside her was Clark - holding her hand, regularly looking down at her, his eyes soft with his love.
Around her were streams of people - two distinct tribes - those dressed in brown and gold, and those dressed in the blue and red of Melbourne. This time, however, there was a common thread. Supporters of both clubs carried banners and signs protesting the proposed merger.
Clark gently tightened his grip on her hand. "Are you all right, honey?" he asked.
Lois nodded. "Can you feel it?" she asked. "Can you feel the build-up? The excitement?"
"Yes," he said. "I can."
She forced away the unsettling cocktail of melancholy and nostalgia and foreboding. "I don't want to think about how this could be the last time ... I just want this to feel exactly as it has hundreds of times before."
Clark smiled and it felt like he was her mooring post amidst a swirling sea. "Just enjoy this, honey," he said. "And whatever happens, we'll deal with it together."
She smiled up at him - and again felt her heart swell with love because he'd foreseen how much she would need him and had come to be with her.
"Do you think we have a good chance of winning?" he asked.
"Melbourne are thirteenth," Lois replied. "They have no chance of playing finals. But if this is the end of an era for them, too, I'm sure they'd like to go out with a victory."
"Anything else you're hoping for?" Clark asked.
"Jason Dunstall is on ninety-one goals for the season. I'm wearing my number 19 jumper over Crimmo's jumper to support Piggy. If he can kick another nine, he'll get the ton."
"It that a big achievement?"
"Really big." She pulled out her purse and extracted her Hawthorn membership card as they approached the gates. "Is it OK if we go and chat to the Cheer Squad for a few minutes before going to our seats?"
"Of course."
They entered the ground, and Lois made a beeline for the Cheer Squad area behind the goal posts. Once there, she stood for a moment as memories pounded her heart like waves on the cliff face. Matty looked up from where he was handing out flags, and when he saw her, he jogged up the steps and greeted her with an enthusiastic hug. "Lois," he said. "You're here in good time. Do you want to do the banner? I've saved you a seat."
Lois put a hand on his arm. "Matty," she said. "I really appreciate the offer, but I can't sit with the Cheer Squad tonight."
His face fell. "You said you would."
"I know," she said. "But I'm going to sit with Clark."
Matty glanced behind her. "Lois, we're chockers," he said. "I only have one spare seat."
"That's fine," Lois said reassuringly. "I'm going to sit with Clark. I just wanted to tell you."
"Lois," Clark said. "You can sit here."
Shocked, she turned to him. "You've travelled halfway around the world to be with me, and you think we're not going to sit together?"
"This might be your last chance to sit with the Cheer Squad."
"If that's the case, it's also my last chance to sit with you and watch Hawthorn play," she said. She turned to Matty. "I'm sorry, Matt," she said. "I didn't know Clark would be here."
Suddenly, Matty smiled. "So," he said. "Little Miss America is all grown up, and she's even got herself a Mr America."
Lois nodded with a shy smile.
Matty gave her a quick hug. "If we win, come down after the game. Come and celebrate with us." He looked at Clark. "You're welcome, too, mate."
Lois smiled. "Thanks, Matty. Go Hawks, hey?"
"Go Hawks."
Lois took Clark to their seats about twenty rows behind the Cheer Squad.
"Lois," he said. "Are you sure about this? I don't mind if you go and sit with your friends."
"I'm sure," she said. "I want to be with you. I *need* to be with you." She reached up to kiss him and at that moment, the Hawthorn team ran out for their warm-up. Lois stood and cheered loudly. When she sat down, she said, "How long since you began planning to fly here for this weekend?"
"Almost from the time I arrived back in Metropolis."
She grinned meaningfully. "I guess you've had practice at keeping secrets."
"I was so worried you'd ask why I'd be missing for nearly a day."
"How did you know how much I would need you?"
"I didn't really think of it in -"
"Lois!"
At the sound of the well-known voice, Lois leapt from her seat and spun around. Seb was there, wearing his Hawthorn jumper - the one that still sported the number nine she had rather crookedly sewn onto it. Lois embraced him - awkwardly at first, but then his arms tightened around her, and her heart gladdened. It was so good to be with Seb again. When they parted, he gave her a circumspect smile. "Good luck, Lois," he said.
"Go Hawks," she responded.
He nodded.
"Where are you sitting?" Lois asked.
"On the wing with Mum," Seb replied. "I ran into Matty earlier today, and he said you'd be in the Cheer Squad tonight."
"I was going to join them, but Clark came back for the weekend, so we're watching from here."
Seb nodded at Clark. "Have a good game."
"You, too."
Seb paused before leaving. "The board asked me to contribute financially to the merger campaign," he said. "I didn't. I couldn't - not with how things stand with you."
"Aww, Seb," Lois said, feeling her looming tears jam her throat. "Thank you."
"I'll still be voting for the merger," he said.
"And I'll be voting against it."
He nodded. "C'arn the mighty Hawks."
Clark put his arm around Lois's shoulders and dropped a kiss into her hair as Seb walked away.
||_||
The teams had taken their positions on the field and feelings were already running high. There were a couple of heated clashes between opponents before the umpire had even bounced the ball to start the game. Lois sprang to her feet. "Get off him, Clarkson," she screamed.
When she sat down again, Clark asked, "Clarkson?"
"Alastair Clarkson," she said with disgust. "The little thug."
Clark decided not to pursue this topic and turned his attention to the play.
A minute later, Jason Dunstall kicked the first goal of the game. The rest of the first quarter was fast-paced and tough. By quarter time, Melbourne was eleven points up, and Lois was looking worried.
The second quarter was some of the most enjoyable football Clark had ever witnessed. It certainly helped that Hawthorn outplayed their opponents and kicked seven goals to Melbourne's two. It also helped that Lois became more excited with each goal her team kicked. She turned to him as the half-time siren sounded. "Six goals to Piggy in that quarter," she exclaimed. "He was brilliant."
Clark had to agree. Dunstall's speed, strength, and ability to mark under extreme pressure from his opponent had been impressive. "He kicked one goal in the first quarter, didn't he?" Clark asked. "So that's ninety-eight for the year?"
Lois grinned. "Two to go."
"What happens if he kicks one hundred goals?" Clark asked.
"Have you heard how 'a ton' is celebrated?"
"No," he said. "Does 'a ton' mean one hundred goals?"
She nodded. "I hope it happens, just so you can see one of the most remarkable sights in footy."
"What happens?" Clark asked.
She didn't tell him; instead, she kissed him. "You'll see," she said when their mouths eased apart.
"Any hints?" Clark asked.
"Do you want hints or kisses?"
"Both?"
Lois kissed him again and then said, "The only hint you're getting is that the AFL administrators hate it and threaten all sorts of fines."
"Oh."
"But we do it anyway - just to remind them that it's *our* game, not theirs."
"Will you be doing *it*?" Clark asked, wondering exactly what 'it' was.
She considered for a moment. "Probably not," she said. "I've done it before - more than once - but if it happens, I think I'll just enjoy the spectacle tonight."
Clark hugged her against his chest, thinking how wonderful it was to be with her in public. "You seem more relaxed."
"I am," Lois replied. "You're here, and I still have to keep pinching myself to believe that you really came all this way just to be able to share today with me." She smiled happily. "And the Hawks are playing well. We're nineteen points up. They have no one who even looks like he's capable of stopping Piggy. Our midfielders are dominating. We *should* win reasonably comfortably."
The third quarter, however, didn't pan out the way they had hoped. Melbourne came out from the half-time break with new purpose and vitality, and suddenly the Hawks looked slow and ragged. The one bright spot was when Dunstall kicked another goal, bringing his tally to ninety-nine for the season.
A few minutes later, Hawk Darren Kappler raced the ball out of defence with a breath-taking run along the wing. He steadied and speared a left-foot pass into the Hawthorn forward line. Dunstall out-positioned his opponent to take a strong overhead mark. He walked back to prepare for his shot at the goal, and Clark watched, dumbfounded, as hundreds of people left their seats and streamed down the aisles towards the fence. Lois's eyes were glued on Dunstall, her fists were clenched, and she was muttering something under her breath. The Hawthorn player took a few steps, kicked, and the ball skewed left, missing the goal.
A loud groan echoed around the ground, and the crowd seeped back to their seats. Lois sank her face into her hands.
By three quarter time, Hawthorn clung to a slender two-point lead, courtesy of a late goal by their forward, Nick Holland. Lois looked tense. Clark put his hand over hers and smiled encouragingly.
"One quarter to go," she said.
She meant - perhaps one quarter ever.
At that moment, Clark knew with total certainty that he was exactly where he needed to be - with Lois ... openly with Lois. Whatever happened in the next half an hour, they would face it together. He swooped down and kissed her cheek, then whispered in her ear. "Your Hawks aren't done with yet."
She gave him a strained smile.
The last quarter began, and not long in, Dunstall earned a free kick after being tripped. As he lined up for the goal that would be his hundredth, Clark again noticed the crowd flooding to the fence.
This time, Dunstall kicked accurately, and instantly, hundreds of spectators jumped the fence, spilled onto the playing area, and raced towards the Hawthorn player. The security guards, distinguishable by their blue coats, reached him first and formed a human barrier around him.
The swiftest members of the crowd reached Dunstall as others continued to leap the fence and run onto the MCG. They just kept coming - hundreds of them, thousands of them.
Clark dragged his eyes from the teeming mass on the ground and looked to Lois. "This is what happens when a player kicks his one hundredth goal for the year?" he asked.
She nodded. "Going onto the ground to congratulate the player is one of the traditions the AFL haven't been able to stop. They've taken away allowing the kids to have a kick on the ground after the game, they've stopped the front row of fans from banging on the advertising signs to celebrate a goal, and they've banned running onto the ground after the final siren to pat the players on the back." She grinned triumphantly. "But they couldn't take this away."
"What happens now?" Clark asked.
"They'll clear the ground, and we'll keep going."
"The game will continue?"
Lois looked at him blankly. "Of course."
Clark turned his attention forward again. People had begun to leave the ground and were returning to their seats in orderly fashion. "That's an amazing sight," he said.
"Isn't it," Lois said. "I'm so glad we saw it one final time."
||_||
Dunstall's goal had put Hawthorn seven points up. After a delay of about five minutes, the last of the spectators left the field, and play resumed.
A few minutes later, Dunstall kicked truly again and stretched the lead to thirteen points. Lois began to breathe a little easier. There was less than ten minutes to go - all they had to do was play shutdown football and hang on grimly.
But, as Lois watched with deepening horror, Melbourne rallied with two goals in the next nine minutes and reduced Hawthorn's lead to one point. One point. All Melbourne had to do was knock it through their goals to score a behind and the game would be drawn - and that would not be enough to get Hawthorn into the finals. They had to win. They *had* to stop Melbourne from scoring. They *had* to keep the ball out of the Melbourne forward line. Trepidation snaked a path around Lois's heart. It couldn't end like this. It just couldn't.
Clark slipped his hand into hers. "Squeeze as hard as you like," he offered.
She took the time to flash him a tense smile before returning her attention to the play.
Melbourne surged towards goal and her heart screamed in protest. Two Melbourne players attacked the ball, hampered each other's efforts, and the ball fell loose. Lois breathed a little easier when the combined efforts of three Hawthorn defenders cleared the ball and gained thirty precious metres.
Fifty seconds to go.
Hawk Daniel Chick received a handball and hesitated.
"Kick it long," Lois advised under her breath.
He didn't - and his short pass was cut off by a Melbourne player. Lois's insides coiled tighter.
Forty-one seconds left.
Melbourne kicked long into their attack, and the Melbourne forward surged to meet it. He looked certain to mark it until, rising from behind him, Chris Langford, Hawthorn defender, flew - and Lois's entire body tensed in empathy. Langers somehow got his fist to the ball before it reached his opponent's hands and it ricocheted fifty metres away to the vacant wing area.
"L-l-l-l-l-angers!" she screamed in delight.
It became a race for the ball as tired legs pumped across the turf, driven by hearts that refused to give in. The Melbourne player reached it first, took possession, and managed a desperate, erratic handball as Hawk Shane Crawford tackled him.
Luke McCabe evaded a flying Melbourne tackle and kicked forward, gaining an extra forty metres of breathing space.
Twenty-four seconds to go.
A Melbourne player picked up the ball and threw it onto his boot, gaining good distance but without any precision.
Andrew Collins - small, blond, and wearing Crimmo's number five jumper - used his body to shepherd his opponent from the drop of the ball, allowing his teammate Nick Holland to drift into the space and take an uncontested mark. Lois leapt to her feet like a suddenly loosed spring. "Yay, Dutchy!" she yelled.
Eighteen seconds.
Lois perched on the end of her seat. "Take your time, Dutch," she muttered. "Take your time."
Holland walked, ran, stepped backwards ... and managed to eat up ten seconds of time.
Then, falteringly, he inched forward. The umpire told him to play on.
Four seconds.
Holland kicked the ball as long as he could, and while it was still in the air, the siren sounded.
Hawthorn had won.
By one point.
||_||
Notes
The rally at Glenferrie Oval.
I wrote this based solely on my memories of the event. Then, after writing it, I checked with the Hawthorn history book and discovered that my memory was surprisingly accurate, so I changed very little.
"While Scott delivered a typically stirring speech to the 8000 supporters, imploring them to 'really put your hand in your pocket' to help save the club, it was the return of Dermott Brereton that prompted the most sustained ovation. Choking back tears, Brereton recalled the times in his career when the hard path, the physical path, had been the right path. 'You have the chance right now to just give up. That's the easy path,' he said. 'Or you can rise up ... until it hurts.'" The History of the Hawthorn Football Club - One For All, by Harry and Michael Gordon, pages 281,282
The game.
Yes, Hawthorn really did win by 1 point.
The description of the game - including the named players is accurate.
Mike Sheahan, football writer, as quoted in "One For All" about the 'Merger Match' (page 283).
"It was an epic: 30 goals, a one-point result, 10 goals on the night and 100 for the season for Jason Dunstall, nine from David Neitz, Chris Langford's defiant, spine-tingling plea to supporters as he left the ground after the final siren, the outpouring of emotion from supporters."
Alastair Clarkson - 'Clarko' - this feisty little Melbourne player would, eight years later, become the Hawthorn coach. It has never been my intention to use this fic to denigrate other clubs or their players, but I felt I could have Lois utter a protest at the dust-up between Clarko and the Hawthorn player - John 'the Rat' Platten - because they are both much-loved members of the Hawthorn family now.
Vids
Highlights of the 'Merger Match'.
First half (10:43) -
Second half, part 1 (6:15)
Second half, part 2 (9:51)
The third video starts with Dunstall's successful kick for his 100th goal and the reaction of the crowd.
