I’m imagining an empty G. I’ll try to be happy for mates in Perth but I’ve got serious Melbourne fomo

There is no week in the calendar I love more than the one that counts down to the AFL grand final.

As an ex-Melburnian, much of whose past is there, it’s a nostalgic festival of kinship and mates and memories and, foremost, the game – for all its anthropological intrigues and tribalism, hatreds and loves, history and mythology.

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