So we are nearly to the end of the footy season. But that's not why.
Geelong has made it into the Grand Final for the second year running and the supporters are just about wetting themselves (if not already leaking slightly) in their anticipation of back-to-back premierships after 50-odd years in the wilderness. But that's still not why.
It's because of one of the lady supporters they had on the telly. She was in her 50s, in a naice, sensible coat and shoes, make-up on, discreet earrings, naice sensible handbag, with a similarly-clad friend in tow. Her name is probably Valerie. She looks like she has a couple of grown kids, and a dog and nice husband called Colin, who's probably about to retire. She looks like she has a vegetable garden, and worries about what her fuschia plant is doing this year.
Why I love Melbourne is because people like Valerie, stalwart pillars of the community, Naice, Naice Melbourne Types, can nonetheless get entirely rabid about their footy and have a Moment.
Sometimes it's just my otherwise reasonbly sane and sensible mother Not Speaking to my dad for a day after Carlton beats Essendon; or ringing up and singing the Essendon song on my answering machine when Essendon got into the Grand Final; or the conductor of MUCS (who one might, if one was feeling charitable, describe as somewhat over-cultivated) wearing his North Melbourne scarf to rehearsal and making everyone shut up at break so he could get the scores.
Or it might be our friend Valerie, who forgot herself in front of an entire nation and said the following to a man with a TV camera:
"They have to win this year so that I can get a tatt on the other cheek."