Grand Final – Richmond v Collingwood. As we hop off the train at Richmond, my ears are assailed by “Good Old Collingwood For Ever”, screaming full volume out of an enormous ghetto blaster. Its owner, a teenage girl, is sitting on the platform, wearing a duffel coat that’s simply covered in badges, player names and numbers. Even as I ask myself “is this what we have to endure today?”, I note the girl’s almost desperate demeanour. This musical assault is actually a defence mechanism from a sad, frightened kid who already senses her fate.

All through September Scott’s been assuring us that if Richmond makes the Grand Final, his dad will see us right with tickets. Scott’s dad, you see, is a big wheel at Mayne Nickless, the security firm that sponsors Melbourne. He’ll get us some tickets from the Melbourne allocation, don’t worry. Doubts about this promise have been buzzing in my head from the moment we knocked off the Cats. I’ve heard the stories about the scarcity of Grand Final tickets, of huge prices paid to scalpers, of forgeries, of disappointment. Will Scott prove to be a “gunna”? Not on your life!

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It’s in a midweek English class where the precious pink, swirly- patterned tickets (none of your computer- generated Ticketmaster crap in those days!) are quietly handed out to the loyal foursome who’ve stuck together through this wonderful season. We don’t even have to pay for them. I can barely stop gazing at this precious passport to paradise. Scott’s dad came through! We don’t realise the true magnitude of this triumph until we walk into the “G” at 9. Big Day and locate our seats.

Row C, upper deck, Southern Stand, directly behind the Punt Road goals! In the yellow and black seats normally reserved for the Cheer Squad! The best seats in the house. Richmond Under 1.

Grand Final tussle with Fitzroy and emerge victorious, despite falling behind in a gripping last quarter. Richmond’s third century goalkicker of the season, Peter Lane, kicks six today and is the difference between the sides in the end. Strangely, despite the talent spread across the two teams, virtually none of the participants go on to play senior football. Except for one fellow from Fitzroy called Roos. We watch the curtain- raiser action unfold amidst acres of empty seats.

In this era, Grand Final crowds arrive in two waves. At gate opening time, the MCC Members and the standing room throng pour in and grab the best vantage points they can. Those with reserved seats arrive gradually – at their leisure. We’ve bucked the trend, wanting to see the Tiger cubs in action, and our first two hours of Grand Final Day are spent in the reflective quiet of the empty top deck. Below us, the already seething hordes in standing room are starting to get rowdy, but they sound like the roar of a distant ocean on a wide beach.

Gradually the crowd begins to gather. It’s Geelong and South Melbourne in the Reserves Grand Final and one old bloke near us is getting very excited about the Bloods. Sadly for him, South slips behind after a promising start as Geelong run away with a high scoring win. Scott’s dad and some of his corporate mates arrive, and we engulf him with thank- yous for his generosity.

At this point, Scott gives us our pre- game pep talk. He reminds us that although this is the biggest game of the year, we’re sitting among respectable people, colleagues of his father. No shouting today. And definitely no swearing! We get the message. As the Reserves game ends, those assembled in the stands cease being individual observers and become a crowd. The noise at the ground changes, noticeably, from civilised to primeval.

For the first time, I feel a shooting anxiety, made worse by the fact that whatever tension or heartache the next few hours may bring, we’re going to have to sit there quietly and suck it in. The time for serious reflection quickly dissipates. A figure in what looks like a red space suit runs onto the arena. Peter Allen, latterly known as the “Boy from Oz”, but this day looking and sounding for all the world like a Yank, is the pre- game entertainment. Watch Rules Don`T Apply Online Hollywoodreporter.

He’s way better than Meatloaf in 2. I still call the MCG home”, rates right up there in the treacle jar of great VFL/AFL Grand Final entertainment. Mercifully, the League’s forays into pre- match hype back then were as short as they were amateurish, and in no time, the huge pods of black, white and yellow balloons circling the arena are ruptured as the teams appear.

The noise is deafening. The crowd today exceeds 1. Collingwood’s run through the Finals – the first team to make a Grand Final from fifth position on the ladder. In the time- honoured Grand Final tradition, Geoff Raines wins the first free of the day at the opening bounce, pretty much for being closest to the ball when it hits the ground, but in the madcap frenzy of the opening minutes, it’s Collingwood looking sharp.

Moore and Stewart take strong marks to help the Pies forward where Ian Low crumbs a pack. But he sprays an easy shot from close range. It’s about his only moment of prominence. From the kick- in, Jess marks on the wing and is mauled to the ground by Magro. While Stan’s dishing out the treatment, his opponent, Dale Weightman dashes forward, unopposed, gleefully accepts Jess’s pass and slots the opening goal. At this point the umpires, Bill Deller and Ian Robinson (complete with afro), go trigger- happy.

Deller is our most hated “white maggot” and as one of the leading umpires at the time, he seems to have had the Tigers every second week. We reckon he’s got it in for Richmond and older supporters hark back to his performance in the ’7. Grand Final where he apparently “murdered us” in our shock loss to Carlton.

We don’t mind Robinson so much. He gave us a pretty good go in 1. On cue, it’s Deller who imposes himself on the game, firstly giving Craig Davis a charity goal after he deems a simple marking contest by Greg Strachan to be illegal. Moments later, Ronnie Wearmouth dives over the boundary line in the forward pocket and wins another soft free, converting an angled shot. Our early game anxiety is intensified by our inability to scream obscenities at Deller, but the tension is released like a safety valve a few minutes later.

From a boundary throw- in in our forward pocket a yellow and black flash weaves its way through the pack and runs into goal with almost ridiculous ease. The arms go up as they’ve been doing with monotonous regularity through the finals. Yep, KB – again! Even Deller can do little to stop the avalanche that follows.

The signs are ominous as first Barham gets a limp up and then Billy Picken emerges from a contest with Jimmy Jess looking groggy. More importantly, Bartlett’s goal has restored the sense of normal service. Goals from Keane, Roach and Wiley follow in the next ten minutes and we’ve suddenly skipped to a four goal quarter- time lead. Jewell’s major positional tactic has been to stick Jess to centre half forward, allowing Cloke and Roach to own the goal- square, but riskily relying on the youthful Stephen Mount to hold down centre half back.

It bears fruit – spectacularly – as the second quarter begins. Roach is denied a mark in the goal square by the Maggots, but Cloke monsters a huge pack mark soon after and goals. The unassuming Merv Keane, playing a ripper, adds another within a minute and a rout threatens. Up in the third row, we’re starting to feel relaxed and comfortable until Ray Shaw jags a badly needed one for the Pies. But the sense that it’s all turning horribly pear- shaped for Collingwood grows as Ohlsen misses a chance to make it two in a row and Barham finally concedes to injury. KB smells blood. Dashing into space, he accepts a Mark Lee pass, some Stan Magro “afters”, 1.

His third comes moments later from another midfield scrimmage won by the Tigers and pumped forward by Terry Smith. When Hungry’s fourth arrives a few minutes before half time, Hafey concedes, moving Bartlett’s former teammate, Kevin Morris, and replacing him with Magro.

Daily Mail Australia . The 3. 9- year- old, who lived in Poplar, east London, was reported missing after he was last seen on Saturday night lying on the pavement near London Bridge. But today, relative and journalist Isabel Duran confirmed he had died and that he was 'in heaven with his inseparable skateboard'. Mr Echeverria is the last of the seven victims of the atrocity to have been named by family members. Also killed in the attack were Australian nanny Sara Zelenak (top left), 2. French chef Sebastien Belanger (second from top left), 3. Alexandre Pigeard (second from bottom right), 2.

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