Footy finals are here #dontgoquietly

IMG_20140720_090724It’s spring here in Oz and September means a multitude of things to many people, but to us AFL fans it means the beginning of the Finals. Eighteen teams are whittled down to eight and the fight is on for the two teams who will appear on stage that one day in September to battle for the holy grail – the AFL premiership cup.

My word. I used A LOT of footy cliches in that paragraph. Well done me! To be serious, peeps, I find myself loving myself sick over the footy this year. My team, Port Adelaide, has had an outstanding season and absolutely THUMPED their opponent, Richmond, in the Elimination Final at the weekend. We go on to play another week, a do or die match with Fremantle in Fremantle.

I do love my footy. I think my favourite representation of it was in a tourist guide I found in IMG_20140720_173637Melbourne years and years ago. An ad filled half the page of the booklet, a picture of the MCG. Emblazoned upon it was the legend ‘While in Melbourne, why not visit our place of worship?’ I thought that was just the bestest ad ever, tongue in cheek and fantastically awesome.

However, I never thought I’d be this in to footy. I have my dad to blame for that. A tried and true Port supporter, Dad was over the moon when Port finally entered the AFL in 1997. He’s been to most home games since, converted my mother and me, and made it very easy to shop for him come birthdays and Christmas 🙂

IMG_20140720_173825Anythehoo, I’ve found myself purchasing a Port membership at the beginning of the year, found myself cheering the boys on to awesome victories and crushing defeats, attended my first game at the newly redeveloped Adelaide Oval with rabid Essendon supporters only to see the boys lose to the visiting Bombers. I’ve enjoyed footy pies and pints of beer, yelled at the umpire that the opposition was ‘Holding the Ball!’, and sung the club song with gusto when Port won.

So on with the finals, on with this Saturday and hopefully on to next week for Port! I’ll be barracking for the boys, wearing my guernsey and screaming at the TV like a maniac. Fingers and toes for the boys, peeps. Fingers and toes.

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