1980 – A Personal Footy Almanac: 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! 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 9.30 on the 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.  (Our gain was the Cheer Squad’s loss.  They were shoe-horned into a small area of seats at ground level at the other end of the ground, not even directly behind the goal.)

It’s hard not be convinced that this is our day when this is how it starts.

It just gets better and better. Richmond Under 19s are locked in an engrossing 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. He’s way better than Meatloaf in 2011, but his schmaltzy rendition of his famous song, complete with the purpose-built line “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 113,000 and there’s been greater anticipation of this match than any in recent years, such is the extraordinary nature of 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 ’72 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 1973, including some generous non-decisions in response to some of the more physical incidents in that game.

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”, 15 metres and a goal. 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. Magro’s predictable roughing-up tactics are met with an equally predictable impish grin and a gesture to the scoreboard.
We end the quarter toying with Collingwood but can only manage a flurry of points. Right on half-time, Picken, thrown forward in desperation by Hafey, snaps a goal. We finish 43 points ahead.

Our half-time banter is upbeat but I’m mentally poring through the record books, knowing that Carlton was 44 points down at half-time in 1970. Barely have the players left the arena and I’m willing the Tigers to start the second half strongly.

For a few minutes after the resumption, it’s end to end footy and my heart is in my mouth, so worried am I that a Ted Hopkins equivalent is going to bob up playing for the side that he tormented, ten years earlier. Mike Woolnough, Barham’s replacement, looks the part and he’s going a fair job on his wing. He outmarks Peter Welsh in a positive sign for the Pies. But his quick handpass is a shocker. Welsh jumps on it and pumps it forward. Cloke marks. Goals. Game over? Could it be?

Two minutes later, Rowlings crumbs a throw-in, dishes to Wiley who nonchalantly snaps left-foot from 50. You betcha!!

We’re up and about now and the corporate sponsors around us know all about it. The game, now dead as a contest, enters a flat, almost pointless period and Scott decides to liven things up. “Next dud decision by these white bastards, I’m going to let rip”, he quietly informs us.

He doesn’t need to wait for long. Deller pays Ohlsen a disputed mark over Francis Bourke, dead in front. He slams the resulting kick straight into the post – Collingwood’s fourth poster for the match.

Scott waits for the Bronx cheers to die down then, amidst the quiet, let’s loose with a few BSs about Deller’s decision and the justice of Ohlsen’s crappy kick. A few heads turn and there’s a guffaw or two but honestly, this game has rendered most of them too comatose to care!

Fortunately Richmond decides to do more than just go through the motions in the final quarter and sets about grinding its puny opposition into the hallowed turf. Collingwood begins in execrable fashion. Failing to clear a goalmouth scramble, McCormack’s errant handpass spills to Weightman who finds Jess jogging into an open goal, ball in one hand as per a training drill.

Bartlett swoops on a chance for number five but in a bizarre act of team-oriented play, handpasses to Rowlings who goals! Then he passes by foot to Cloke for his fifth. What’s going on?

All this action is happening directly in front of us and we’re deleriously lapping it up. But we’re momentarily distracted by the Collingwood cheer squad, around on the wing, who choose this point to discard mountains of cut up paper and toilet rolls that they’ve brought along in anticipation of some wild celebrations. Their dismal, messy display is appropriately matched by a belated Peter Moore goal, both actions rendered meaningless by the scoreboard.

But the party belongs to the Tigers and the now familiar sight of Roach and Cloke rising together for a mark is capped off by a superb piece of crumbing by Bartlett who helps himself to a fifth goal. No handballing this time!

Jewell makes his first interchange of the day, replacing the surprise packet, Mount, with skipper Monteath who was clearly under an injury cloud. The other unsung hero of the day, Peter Welsh, marks the occasion by laying two ferocious tackles, one of which throws aside the Incredible Hulk, Rene Kink, like a rag doll (Commentator Lou Richards dubs him “The Missing Kink”, such was his disappointing performance this day). It sets up Raines for a long kick which Cloke marks. Goal number six.

At this point, even my immature 16 year old brain starts to realise how golden these moments are. As Roach handballs to Bartlett for his sixth, I keep telling myself “Drink this in. You never know when you’ll see this again”. Out of the mouths of babes…!!

Daryl Freame, a red headed utility player who hardly played another game for Richmond, is finally called off the bench for eight minutes of Premiership fame. He lays an important shepherd, important because it helps create this game’s iconic moment – the famous KB seventh goal where he rounds Magro and slots a long shot from the boundary. The perfect cherry on the perfect icing on the perfect cake!

Bartlett’s has two chances of a record eighth Grand Final goal. Wiley ignores him to score the last goal of the game himself, then KB uncharacteristically fluffs one final opportunity.

At 34 minutes exactly – siren!

Although the usual pandemonium is let loose in the stands, on the field, the post-match ceremony in 1980 is a muted, unscripted affair compared with today’s. The podium is a modest affair that looks thrown together from an Ikea kit. Ron Barassi presents KB with the Norm Smith Medal – who else? – and the Governor, Sir Henry Winneke, announces “The Richmond Club as Preemiers” in inimitable plummy tones. Craig Willis – nowhere to be seen (or heard)!

Many of the Richmond players have swapped jumpers with their opponents as they run their lap of honour. Barry Rowlings and Peter Welsh – Hawthorn discards – borrow the cup and dash over to the Hawthorn members’ section of the crowd, offering a few two-fingered salutes to the officials who decided to cut them.

But this is otherwise a time for the heavenly love and goodwill that characterises these precious post-siren moments and we savour every last second.

I’d love to finish this account by saying that we partied long and hard into the night and the next day. But after a quick check of the Punt Road Oval determines that there are no celebrations happening there at the moment, we shrug shoulders and rather tamely head home to watch the replay. After all, it was patently obvious that there’d be plenty more Premierships to celebrate…

The Aftermath
The consequence of Richmond’s spectacular record-breaking Grand Final win was that the Tigers were installed as hot favourites for the 1981 Flag, with many pundits predicting a Richmond “dynasty” in years to come.

Sadly, the team that turned up in 1981, though much the same in personnel as the 1980 side, was considerably less hungry. Evidently, many of the players were more than ready to believe the glowing media opinions, as was the club as a whole.

So whilst the Tigers’ immediate rivals such as Carlton, Collingwood, Hawthorn and Essendon spent time and money during the off-season to strengthen their lists and coaching staff, Richmond was happy to rely on the same crew that had delivered so brilliantly in 1980.

The results were immediate. Richmond was thrashed by Carlton in Round 1 of 1981. Two of the Blues most prominent players were newcomers, Ken Hunter and Peter Bosustow. A month later Hawthorn, under new coach Allan Jeans, beat the Tigers by 12 goals. The Tigers were strong enough to battle through the season as finals contenders, despite the key loss of David Cloke who missed half the year with a knee injury, and a string of narrow losses. However, with their season on the line in the last round, Richmond again crashed against Carlton and missed the finals. Complacency had cost the club dearly and a golden opportunity to capitalise on a strong, talented list and a huge, passionate supporter base had been lost.

I could go on about the grisly details of Richmond’s demise during the 1980s that saw the club finish bottom of the ladder in 1987 and 1989 and come within weeks of going out of business in 1990. However, after such a nostalgic account of our last great triumph, this would be an unduly negative conclusion.

Suffice to say, Richmond’s feats during the 1980 Premiership season, as great as they were in their own right, look even more remarkable in the light of the club’s spectacular failures in the years that followed.

And for those of us who were there, the experiences and the memories can never be erased.

The Wrap
Richmond 6.5 11.11 15.17 23.21 (159)
Collingwood 2.6 4.10 5.18 9.24 (78)

Goals
Rich: Bartlett 7, Cloke 6, Wiley 3, Keane 2, Roach 2, Weightman, Rowlings, Jess
Coll: Picken 3, Davis 2, Wearmouth, R. Shaw, Moore, Ireland

Attendance
113,461 at the MCG

Major Stats and Best Players
If there was a single statistic that underscored Richmond’s obliteration of Collingwood this day it was their 120-55 superiority in the handballs. It exemplified their quick ball movement out of defence and through the midfield, which was to set a blueprint for the modern game.

Kevin Bartlett contributed one of these handballs, a selfless pass that set up a Barry Rowlings goal. Otherwise his stats read 20 kicks, 9 marks and 7 goals 4.

If KB had a rival for best afield, on sheer numbers alone, Geoff Raines was that player with a 36 possession masterclass in the midfield. Fresh from a shock Brownlow Medal result in which Raines, widely tipped as a favourite, polled no votes at all, missing out on the Norm Smith after such a dominant display was a tough result.

Plenty of other Richmond players had great games, particularly the experienced campaigners. Apart from Bartlett, Merv Keane (27 possessions and two goals) produced one of the best performances of his understated career and Bryan Wood (23) was also outstanding. Francis Bourke coolly led the defence, which was otherwise a pretty inexperienced line-up. Robert Wiley (26 touches the three long-range goals) – gee, we forget what a talent he was.

Many of the eye-catching performances were not reflected in the stats. Mark Lee statistically shaded his opponent Peter Moore (12 possessions to 11 and 32 hitouts to 24) but in reality he monstered Moore in terms of the drive he gave to the side, raging through the midfield and spiking hitouts metres to advantage. Peter Welsh, who only a month before had been on the Reserves interchange bench, was as tough as nails all day while the underrated Terry Smith shut down Rene Kink. David Cloke had only 11 kicks for the day but terrorised the Collingwood defence, contributing 6.4 on the scoreboard and providing so many of the contests from which KB and others fed. It made Richmond’s earlier finals victories, achieved without his imposing presence, even more remarkable.

It was almost impossible to find a winner for Collingwood on such a dirty day (although as usual, they handsomely won the free kick count 36-24). Ray Shaw topped 20 touches and Billy Picken provided something of a target when moved into the forward line. Mike Woolnough, brought on for the injured Ricky Barham, battled hard and Peter McCormack kept Michael Roach pretty quiet under unrelenting pressure.

In the midfield, Barham’s early injury robbed Collingwood of plenty of dash and experience. In retrospect it was interesting to see the youthful pair of Daicos and T. Shaw in action, ten years before they were to enjoy Grand Final success together. Neither had a great game but both showed glimpses of their potential.

About Sam Steele

Stainless (aka Sam Steele) started following Richmond in 1970 when he was 6. This occurred when his mother, under instructions to buy him a Melbourne jumper, found they were out of stock and purchased a Richmond one instead. Despite the decades of heartache and turmoil this fateful decision has brought on Stainless, he is grateful to his mum as he has at least seen his side win a couple of Premierships. After 30 September 2017, his mum is now officially his favourite person.

Comments

  1. Stainless

    Loved these all year. The names are brilliant, the real glory days. I think we forget just what a side that Tiger team was, and what could have been.

    Bryan Wood was my favourite but I had a soft spot for players like Terry Smith and always loved Mick Malthouse.

    I was 13 years old and spent the day watching the game at my Grans as they had a color telly. We drove home down Balaclava Rd to East Malvern with the scarf out the window, me pretending I had been at the game.

    Very jealous you were there. I went in 82, Dad got standing room tickets from I believe the Esanda office at Chaddy for next to nothing, still think the streaker broke our momentum that day.

    I kept a diary of the season myself, not with the care and attention you clearly did, more cut out articles and pictures, and I don’t think my mum was up to letting me go solo to Moorabbin or the Western Oval at that age.

    What ever happened to Peter Lane?

    Well written and great memories, excellent series of pieces all year. Shame we Tigers have to go back that far though…

    Sean

  2. Peter Fuller says:

    Stainless,
    Thank you, it’s been a riveting series, even when we knew bits of the narrative and the final act. You’ve brilliantly filled in gaps of detail in our memory, and provided a worthy successor to JB’s account of the 1911 season on the site last year. You have also made me nostalgic for that dying phase of suburban football, as you evoked the sense of time and place so well.
    I’m pleased that you made it to the Granny, though inclined to stir you as a precursor of those corporates who ruin Grand Final day for real supporters by snaffling all the tickets (that’s a bit of Blueboy snark, btw).

  3. Haje Halabi says:

    All true tigers know what they were doing in 1980- for me it was up at Bright watching it in the local pub with my mate Wes and a collection of tigers and one or two magpie fans. Big day. It is as big as where were you when Diana died, or when Barack was elected. I am trusting that as tigers we can re live that time again in real time before we all disperse to that great footy ground in heaven. Maybe another 5 year plan awaits……Loved the read, Haje

  4. I paid $110 for a standing room ticket, money well spent! A mob of Cwood yobbos in front of us sang they’re club song repeatedly during the reserves GF. A pal shouted, ‘ Sing it now, u won’t b singing at the end!! How right he was. The greatest day of my life as a Tiges fan, never forget it!!

  5. Cheryl Critchley says:

    What a great tribute to the last year us Richmond fans really got to smile :-). Who’d have thought that 32 years later we’d still be waiting for another! I was 14 and sitting in the Richmond Cheer Squad. Best day of my life (possibly excluding the birth of my three kids).

  6. This was a great series Stainless. Superbly crafted, well-written and meticuously researched (though I’m guessing most comes from your memory). Thanks for your efforts, really loved it.

    From a Collingwood perspective, this GF loss never quite hurt as much as 79 or 81, I guess because Richmond were streets ahead of the rest in ’80 and the Pies did well just to get there from 5th. As a 7 year-old, I do remember in the lead up to the Big Dance, Magpie Mania had gripped the city. No one could quite believe they were there, after battling for most of the year just to make the finals. My memories from the game, are mainly Bartlett and Cloke running wild with Roach was well held by Peter McCormack. Amazing that 196 goals came from the boots of Roach and KB in 1980. Probably 2nd only to Huddo and Lethal in ’77. When you also consider plenty of goals came from Cloke and Monteath (though injured alot that year), that adds up to a very potent forward line indeed.

  7. Likewise I have loved this all year! Become part of my footy rhythm! Would make a fantastic book.

    You weren’t aloud to even shout…at a grand final!!? That must’ve been murder! Thankfully it wasn’t close. Precious memories you’ve shared this year, and as a Tiger born in 1981…it’s great to see the scores in the book come to life and given some colour. Thanks

  8. J C, you can’t affort to shout at the grand final these days.

    You need a letter of credit to buy a ‘dogs eye’.

  9. Thanks again, Stainless, for a corker ride! I was there, and Stephen Mount, No.6, was my favorite player. That day, with him, was the underdog’s moment in the sun. (At the players ball that night, he took two dates, one on each arm. As a young kid, that made him a legend! Haha.
    Roach, Tayloe, Lan, the Tigers had three centurians that year. How long gone are those days?
    Again, thanks for a great journey!

  10. Tony Roberts says:

    Stainless
    The bit you wrote early on about Peter Allen and mercifully brief pre-game entertainment at the 1980 GF overlooks a couple of things. Firstly, re the Teneterfield Saddler-up: he copped a prolonged and joyous booing from around where I was, in standing room on the bottom-deck concourse of the old Ponsford stand.

    And the corporations were already getting their claws into the GF back in 1980. The players’ entry onto the MCG and their jog around the centre square (no Walllace warm-up drills then) were seriously disrupted by a monster float promoting a French kitchenware company (Molineux? or similar…). The float’s engine stalled in the middle of the ground at the appointed time, and it took about 10 minutes and a hundred blokes to manually push it from the arena.

    Bloody hot northerly blowing, too.

    The day was best summed up by two young Bomber smart-arses (are there any other sort?) standing in front us, yelling in unison during the pre-match lull: ‘we’re not here to barrack FOR Richmond; we’re here to barrack AGAINST Collingwood’. Got their wish in spades.

  11. Yes, Tony I was in the standing area and they were chanting “Boring” while Peter Allen was singing. Just turned 11, first GF, witnessed the filth, fury, joy and disappointment. Left at 3-quarter time, scarred for life.

    Great series Stainless. Enjoyed the journey, but not the destination!

  12. Great series. Had a few friends over and decorated the room with yellow and black. Merv Keane was very underrated by all but Tiger supporters. Worthy member of Richmond’s team of century.

  13. Peter Lane won the Morrish Medal.

  14. Thanks one and all for the great feedback. It’s sustained me during the long hard winter I can assure you!

    As I said at the start, it was always going to be a bit of a self-indulgent nostalgia trip but I’m glad it brought back a few fond memories for more than just the Richmond tragics.

    I’ll freely admit to taking advantage of corporate largesse at the 1980 GF. At least I fully appreciated the value of the ticket and I can honestly say I was a devotee of standing room every other year until I became an AFL member in the 1990s. I loved hearing the stories from those of you who stood in 1980 – all very reminiscent of my own experiences in other years down in the heaving cesspool of the old Southern Stand.

    And yes, Matt, I’ve heard the story about Mount and his two dates! Made him a legend in my 16 year old mind too!

  15. Richard says:

    This was my first grand Final. I sat in the MCC reserve with my Mum’s ‘Ladies Ticket’. I will never forget the crowd in the outer calling out “Boring, boring” when Peter Allen was singing!

  16. Jamie Janides says:

    Great read
    Remember the day well
    Sat in bottom of old Southern Stand in section 14
    About 5 rows from the front
    Remember drinking some ladies champagne at 3/4 time
    Was 20 at the time
    Life long memories of a great game and great a Tiger period
    We went to the footy expecting to win each week
    Now we going just hoping

  17. John Tiger Turner says:

    Those were the days Stainless.We have since won u/19 premierships in 1985,1989 and reserves 1997 and the cricket club premierships in 1983,1990,2000,2012 and they were very unlucky this year.Umpire Craig stood in the field for two days refusing to pay extremely close LBW decisions and then when Richmond/Monash batted gave both openers out in an over and a half – you guessed it LBW.

    We still maintain as many premierships as any other club in 1sts,2nds and U/19 of 30.

    What an absolutely wonderful recount Stainless but unfortunately the sands of time have not been kind to ………Richmond!!!!! Eat’em Alive John

  18. David Zampatti says:

    If only the shade of Peter Allen would come back out tomorrow in that 1980s salmon pink ensemble and sing Same Love. Tony Abbott’s head would explode.

  19. Phillip Dimitriadis says:

    Stainless,
    I hope you’ll be unfurling the ‘TETLEY’ flag tomorrow for luck?

  20. Thanks Phil – I think we’ll need it. The 2017 Crows are going to be a sterner test than that 1980 Collingwood side! Anyway, let’s just take it one 37 year drought at a time!

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