Hug Me Like the World is Ending (Grand Final: Syd v Haw)

“I know you want to have a chat with him”, were the words from my wife that gave me the tacit green light. “No. I just want to hug him”, I replied all too honestly.

It’s Garry Jack, father of newly adorned Premiership player Kieren, and a local identity of Sydney’s Hills District due to his own significant sporting deeds and his real estate industry profile. I’d never hugged anyone in the fruit and veg aisle of Woolworths before and Garry Jack was not going to be my first. In the previous two days I had been a very willing participant in more man-hugs than I could count. It just seemed so natural on a victorious Grand Final Day at the MCG, but it would break so many unwritten taboos should it happen adjacent to the Iceberg lettuce.

My seat is high in the Olympic Stand. I’m sitting with my close mate’s son, Will. My mate and his other son opted for early morning queuing, and are now safely ensconced in their MCC members’ seats. As the players run onto the MCG Will and I share a small reassuring hug – one of those brief side-by-side jobs featuring a slight squeeze of the shoulder and a quick pat on the back. Hopefully no manly taboos broken there. After all, he’s in his twenties, and although we know each other very well, I fear that I’m not 100% sure of what’s cool in terms of man-hugging with the generation below.

The first quarter is an anxious one. Buddy Franklin looks extremely dangerous. Sydney is fortunate to be down by only 19 points courtesy of wayward ball use by a dominant Hawthorn. Our only goal for the quarter is a once in a lifetime snap from the impossible angle by Nick Malceski; somehow making the impossible possible.

Sydney begin the second term with renewed vitality. Hard tough-nut footy from O’Keefe, Kennedy, and co. is coupled with some good ball movement utilising Jetta, Goodes and an unlikely Mike Pyke. Our third goal for the term by skipper McVeigh has the Swans crowd on its feet. My eye catches a celebrating Swans’ fan across the aisle. I suspect that he’s about Will’s age, but it’s hard to know exactly as he has Down Syndrome. I give him an encouraging “Go Swannies!” and he enthusiastically gives me one in return. I have a new mate. A long distance speculator from Sam Reid puts the Swans in front. Josh (my new mate across the aisle) is celebrating again. This time we append a quietly assured “fist pump” to our Go Swannies exchange. The second quarter turns out to be a colossal one for Sydney, kicking six unanswered goals to Hawthorn’s solitary point.

The third term starts in a similar fashion. A Kieren Jack handball to Kennedy with the crispness of the aforementioned Iceberg lettuce – and Kennedy bangs it through. The honest-as-the-day-is-long LRT follows up shortly after. This scenario didn’t feature even in my wildest dreams; we’re 27 points up. That’s 8 consecutive goals, and Josh and I are fist-pumping with Rocky Balboa vigour now – there’s plenty of feeling. His Dad looks across and gives me a knowing smile and a quick wink. He doesn’t want to encroach on his son’s newfound connection. By the 25 minute mark Hawthorn has answered unequivocally, piling on 5 goals to recover the lead. The drive of Brad Sewell is providing plenty of impetus and Buddy is again looking like a Hawks match-winner. With a furtive look over to Josh we share a disappointed shake of the head. It’s not going so well now.

A late goal courtesy of a Sam Mitchell 50 metre penalty has the Swans with a 1 point lead at three quarter time. The final stanza is a nip and tuck affair with multiple lead changes. Scores are levelled again after Hawthorn’s Young slips on a metaphoric banana peel and that man Kieren Jack pounces on more fruit for the sideboard. A nicely weighted bouncing goal from Adam Goodes is followed by more snapshot magic from Malceski. He’s done it again, and the Swans are out by 10 points.

The siren sounds. We’re on our feet once more. Hugs abound. I look across the aisle and see Josh with his arms raised triumphantly. I sidle across to him and we hug like there is no tomorrow. I’m no expert when it comes to those with Down Syndrome, but his hug has no inhibitions at all; a hug of someone who is well accustomed to showing genuine affection. I don’t know if it’s the roller-coaster of the last quarter or Josh’s uninhibited hugging that does it to me, but the emotions start to rise uncontrollably. Surely I couldn’t cry, could I? Hoping that my slight sniffling has gone unnoticed, I’m pretty confident that the mother of all man taboos has technically not been transgressed. I sit in the aisle and quietly take in all the emotion in the stands and out on the ground.

Back to Garry Jack’s lettuce selection, and I suggest to my wife that we could do with some cherry tomatoes – “Just starting to come good this time of year”, I drop in casually. That manoeuvres me close to my unsuspecting lettuce man. He is more than happy to accommodate a bit of chit-chat about the Swans. We talk tritely of when we had arrived in Melbourne and when we flew home. We touch on some of the anxiousness of the last quarter – more in a goal-by-goal way than anything too personal. As the conversation draws to its natural end, almost as if rehearsed, we simultaneously go with “Goodonyamate” as a farewell.

As he wanders off I am reassured that normality has been restored. As before Grand Final Day, all man-hugs are officially off the agenda …… unless of course there’s another Swans Premiership around the corner. And then I’ll be looking out for Josh to hug me like the world is ending.