AT half-time in the 1970 Grand Final, it was like feeling your world had crashed around you such was the connection between the performances of the Mighty Blues and the emotions of a group of kids in the backblocks of Broady. Like most kids in the area we entertained ourselves with street footy matches, cricket and fishing in the local yabbie pond. There wasn’t much else to do. You could join a gang if you wanted – and many of my mates did – or immerse yourself in sport and your football club. I chose the latter.

At half-time in the 1970 GF, I felt like joining a gang, going to the MCG and taking out every Collingwood player. They were murdering us and if the Blues couldn’t do it, this headstrong kid was going to. These memories are so vivid, they are with me constantly. But instead of one murderous fantasy, I chose to ignore reality and with a couple of mates play the second half in the street with the Blues mounting a sensational comeback.
Pic: Out of the Blue. We basically knew it was in vain, and while we tried to garner enthusiasm, it was hard to see through the black and white haze of depression which had virtually engulfed us. We knew we couldn’t win but fantasy squarely outweighed reality at that point. But we left a lone hand at the radio in the hope a miracle would occur. So we played with some verve and a running commentary of a mighty comeback. About 20 minutes into our fantasy GF, our man listening to the game started to mirror what we were saying: “And it’s another goal to the Blues, and another.” At first we were distrustful, but then he jumped shouting “We’re coming back! We’re coming back!” Before you knew it, instead of one guy gathered around the radio, there were at least 20.

Kids had come running from their homes to join us on what was to be a true magical carpet ride. We were stunned, we were disbelieving, we were going absolutely out of bloody minds, dancing around, jumping off some blokes trailer, screaming our lungs out as we steamrolled our way back into the game.

Then Collingwood got a couple of goals and our hearts sank once more. Some kids began to drift off but others were willing to keep the faith and feel the pain – or the joy. But Len Thompson’s goal which put the Woods up by 21 points at about the 10-minute mark seemed to crush our dream. As pundits are aware, 21 points in today’s footy is nothing but in those days it was Mt Everest and we had tried to reach the summit once but fell agonisingly short.

We were tired, we were downcast, we were bloody suicidal until in stepped “BIG NICK”. First a goal from a free kick, then a one from a towering mark – one of the greatest ever taken in a GF – and we were back within eight points. I think one of the most salient factors of this game was the might and mental strength of the second comeback. Collingwood thought they had seen us off – and so did we. To be 21 points down with about half the quarter gone is just about the equivalent of an eight-goal lead with 10 minutes to play in modern football.
It just showed the incredible mental strength and commitment of every Carlton player on that day. Having had the pleasure of speaking to Ron Barassi about the game at Percy Jones’s pub, he said he found it hard to remember much of what happened except that after his three-quarter time address he knew his team was not going to lose. I asked him whether he wavered in that belief when Collingwood got 21 points in front. “Not in the least,” he replied flashing that trademark Barassi smile.

Back at Broady, we were more than wavering but when Nick took over I felt a surge through my body that we were back in with a chance - a BIG CHANCE. And so it proved to be. When the siren sounded, we jumped and danced with joy on a dry couch grass front yard in a housing commission estate – one of the first built in Broady. Adults came running from the fibro-cement houses screaming with delirium as we ran the local streets repeating “We won, we won.!” Yes we did, and I will never forget it till the day I die – like so many other Carlton supporters.

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