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I don't usually post articles but I thought this article was fantastic and a great read. A good article on why Eddie is the best thing that happened to the club from a Collingwood perspective.
I didn't feel I'd lost the biggest thing in my life
30 September 2002 Herald Sun
By MARK ROBINSON
Emotional Eddie McGuire: From 5pm to 4am
The rooms
WHISPERS and pained faces, it's never any different if you're the loser. Paul Licuria was still crying. Molloy seemed shell-shocked. And Buckley's face was scowled and twisted.
Everywhere, families are huddled around their boys. The Crown Lagers were out, but they would've tasted hollow. They are a celebratory drink foremost and a pathway to drunkenness after that.
As the Malthouse clan, Mick, Nanette and Christi, embraced and cried in perhaps the most moving public scene inside, the president, Eddie McGuire, was in a corner.
He was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, Collingwood tie and charcoal black overcoat. The face was pasty, as is sometimes normal without the makeup, and the tie slightly askew. He stood, an AFL Record still gripped in one fist, with the Triple M headphones on. 3AW and, finally, the ABC, were to follow.
He appeared calm enough, but the eyes gave him away. They were a fraction red and puffy, a distant dull, but the tears hadn't really come then.
Channel 10 was next, the opposition, but today Eddie had his Collingwood hat on and nothing else. He answered Brad McEwan's questions with polish and dignity. "I'm very proud," he said. It was a message to last the evening.
The print media was next. There were three of us at the start, and seven others joined in. Eddie was just as obliging.
It was 6.15pm and Eddie hadn't seen his wife, Carla, now seven months pregnant, since he left the grandstand. At the siren, she squeezed his leg, gave him a kiss, and then he was gone.
"Carla was supportive all the way through," Eddie said. "At the siren she held my hand or my leg, I wrote down the score, stood up and that was that."
Carla arrived in the rooms, also dressed in black, and sat behind Eddie as he finished his interviews. Carla doesn't speak to the media - she was once misquoted by a reporter at the big paper - and says she never will again.
She was exhausted. She had watched the game with heat bags on her stomach to stave off the nausea of having gastro. Their boy, Joe, now 21 months, was ill on Friday, and Carla had picked up a sizeable dose.
"She was as sick as I've seen anyone this time yesterday," Eddie said.
Eddie had been up at 6.15am for the first of his two breakfast functions - at North Melbourne and at Crown for Channel Nine - and then skipped a third breakfast at the Hilton because of Carla and Joe.
When Eddie returned home at 10.30am, he was greeted by Joe in his favourite black and white jumper.
"He's never been sick, the little fella," Eddie said. "I didn't know what was going on, it might have been Grand Final nerves. He's a little ripper, though. When I said goodbye to him he had his Collingwood jumper on and he looked up and gave me a big hug. I said 'Go Pies' to him and he put his two hands in the air, you know, it was fantastic.
"But Carla's the go, mate. She's the bedrock of what's all built. She lives it all, puts up with me when I'm up and when I'm down. In that first year, when I'd get up at 3am and go into my room and work out what the hell I was going to do, she was the one who'd get up at 4am, get a cup of tea and tell me to get back to bed. She's a rare person."
Eddie and Carla were late for the official AFL lunch, much to the annoyance of the league - which text messaged him and told him to hurry - but Eddie switched on upon his arrival.
The head table included AFL bosses Wayne Jackson and Ron Evans, the Prime Minister, the Victorian and Queensland Premiers and Eddie and Carla. The boy from Broadmeadows can still afford to pinch himself. "It's funny, only when I was reciting the table back to you, I was thinking, 'it wasn't a bad table today'," he said. "But I could've been sitting next to Elvis and it wouldn't have made any difference. All I was thinking was Collingwood, Collingwood, Collingwood."
Carla was courteous despite everything. Between conversations she had to duck into the toilet, but always reappeared as if without a worry in the world. "She was great," Eddie said.
Back in the rooms, the interviews done and dusted, Eddie, finally, had to sit down. He was mentally drained - personally and professionally - and looking for a shoulder. He joined Carla behind him and as her arm rested on his knee, the tears welled in the president's eyes.
It was the second time it had happened since the siren - the first was on the ground - and it was to happen a third time when Eddie's Dad, blind and frail, joined him in the rooms. That's always the way; strong and resolute with outsiders, emotional and vulnerable with loved ones.
The husband and wife had barely two minutes alone before well-wishers interrupted.
It was 6.10pm and Carla left soon after. Eddie, meanwhile, turned on his mobile phone. It had been off since before the AFL lunch and for the next hour it buzzed with messages. Beep, beep, ... beep, beep. There must have been 100 of them.
Some, like Warnie's from Sri Lanka, were refreshing. "Good luck today, Ed. We are off to the watch the GF live. Come on Pies. Never thought I'd say that. Pls pass on my best to the lads. Warnie."
Said Eddie: "He's a good man, Warnie. He rang when we were in Port Adelaide."
Another said: "You're my hero Da. Love Joe."
Said Eddie: "That's my little boy. I think his grandmother did that. The little fella, he's great."
Others came from Sam Newman, Jack Reilly, John Warren, Jennifer Hansen, his brother Frank, Spider Everitt, and his Dad.
The old man is 85 and was sitting around from Eddie in the Great Southern Stand. "I saw him on the binoculars," he said. "It's pretty special when you see your dear old Dad up there at 85. I spoke to him this morning. He told me the usual thing before I played any football match or tennis game, he said: 'Get in and make a name for yourself'."
Other messages, however, weren't as sincere.
Beep, beep: "Get F---ed, Eddie.
Beep, beep: "Suck sh-t Eddie."
Beep, beep: "F---k you, Eddie."
Some dill rang three times to give it to him. "Private number" it said, but Eddie scared the bejesus out of him by saying the police had tracked the number. He never rang again.
"The problem is everyone knows my number. I've had it since I was a cadet," he said.
The Licuria clan, including mama and papa, interrupted the torrent of abuse and Eddie was back being Eddie. "As his parents you should be very proud, he's a good man," he said.
A bloke then introduced himself as James Clement's manager. He wanted to talk about his client and how good Clement and the club had been for each other. Eddie nodded and was polite, but surely there was a time and place.
Beep, beep: This one was Lou Richards. Bad luck, it said, unfortunately we can't make the dinner. Edna's sick. Said Eddie: "He's a great man, Lou."
The Bus Trip
PLAYER and officials departed the MCG about 7pm. Players up the back, Mick Malthouse three from the front, Balmey at the front and Eddie two behind Mick on the other side. They were off to Victoria Park but then again they could've been on the road to nowhere.
Eddie was visibly moved. His Dad finally made it into the rooms five minutes previously and it was one of those family moments. "The eyes opened up, I can tell you," he said. "It's amazing. No matter how big and ugly you get the moment you see your dad ...
"No, it was great, my brother and sister, they feel it because when they read stuff in the paper, they know it's their little brother, whereas I read it, it's the third person half the time.
"But it was good to see Dad. Dad was, 'you know, if we had of kicked that goal', etc. He was listening to it and he was saying he was going to throw the radio out of the stand early on when Sam (Newman) and Derm (Dermott Brereton) were previewing the game and were saying we had no hope."
The drive down Hoddle St to the "forever spiritual home" was numbing. The Crown Lagers were doing their trick, but no one knew what to expect on arrival. The background music was a song called Santa Monica by Everclear, a low-key number never more suitable. "I just wanna find some place to be alone," it hums. "Yeah, watch the world die." Alanis Morisette followed that.
"If there's 45,000 people there, 500 or two," said Eddie, "it's important to turn up and do the right thing.
"Actually, I was asked by one of the reporters 'Is it worthwhile?'. Is it worthwhile? Of course it is, not just the footy side but all the other things we're doing. People will get fed tonight because of the Collingwood Football Club, tomorrow when everyone's nursing a hangover we'll be making pies at Victoria Park to distribute to poor people, there will be a lot of kids up in the Northern Territory jumping out of their skin because of Collingwood."
Never again think Eddie is on an ego trip. Here we were on the bus, the losing bus, and Eddie was still thinking outside the square. Right then, Eddie was being Eddie. Positive. Realistic. Dignified.
"If it was an ego trip I'd go play golf every weekend," he said. "It's the dumbest thing and the dumbest time of my life to be doing it."
If he devoted as much time to making money as he did to making Collingwood great, he would be far richer man than he already is. "You do things because you want to leave them better than what they were when you got involved. The stereotype is changing, we really try to stand for excellence, but also for caring."
Turning right into Victoria St and then snaking around the back of the famous ground, the bus was confronted by the Army.
They were everywhere. There were about 7000, cheering, crying, chanting. It was an amazing experience. "Eddie, Eddie, Eddie" they boomed. He could've been, well, Elvis, such was the fervour.
He took the microphone and immediately deflected the adulation. "Don't chant my name," he said. "Chant for the people behind me, they played their guts out for us today ... and Mick Malthouse is the man."
"MICKY, MICKY, MICKY ... " It was pandemonium.
The Beatles returned to the bus and it was back down Hoddle St towards Crown Casino for the official function.
As Eddie grabbed his first beer of the day, the mood had changed on the bus. "I was asked if it worthwhile," he said. "The boys gave it all but they just got re-energised tonight by all those people. It was great. The last seven years you felt like an idiot walking around, people in their jumper, their cap on, and scarf, having a go at you, 'you're a d---head' and all the rest of it. But now they can look around and say, 'listen, this is what our club means to us'. It's great."
Buckley now sat behind Eddie, the two always inextricably linked. Like a school trip, Buckley wanted to be involved so he stuck his head between the back rests.
The game was the talking point, but Eddie couldn't say who the best players were, save for Buckley. "Bucks was on the stage he was born to be on," he said.
"Shane Wakelin was fantastic early on, Presti was fantastic, the no-name backline were great. Johnno was great, Ryan Lonie ... "
Indeed, Eddie was reasonably subdued during the game. He sat beside Carla and Magpies chief executive Greg Swann. "I've been more passionate in a game," he said. "I suppose I was holding it in."
He wasn't at two points. "From where I sat I thought Anthony's goal went through. It was close, but I thought it was goal. It was a big goal. It was the one. And Lynchy's free kick was, well, we'll all debate that for next 100 years. That was a big free kick at that stage of the game."
Swann agreed: "We thought it was a goal," he said. "The Lynch free he wasn't happy with, but neither was I. But he was all right, he was pretty measured throughout."
After the game, Eddie hunted down his counterpart, Graham Downie, Brisbane coach Leigh Matthews and couldn't find his old mate "Gubby" Allan. Then he stood with the boys.
"You don't know what to do," he said. "I didn't cry, but it was emotional. I don't mind shedding a tear if it's required or if it's natural. I like to behave naturally. Standing there, a couple of times tears were building up. It had been a hugely emotional week or two, probably a hugely emotional four years in a lot of ways.
"But I didn't feel as if I had lost the biggest thing in my life. It's hard to describe. There was a lot of pride. I can imagine what it will feel like when Joe does something I'm proud of. I'm just so proud of all the people around me and I know that's sounds patronising or wimpy or whatever, but that's how I feel."
Back on the bus, and on the way past Olympic Park, Eddie's mind raced forward. "Have a look at this," he said, his arm sweeping left and right. "This is the future of football."
The dinner
THE bus arrived at 8.20pm. Eddie and Malthouse trudged into Crown's foyer deep in conversation and then went their separate ways.
Carla was upstairs in a room lying down and Eddie joined her. Carla was still ill, but at 8.47pm she emerged radiant as ever with Eddie and close friends Rob Sitch and Jane Kennedy.
They were joined on Table 4 in Crown's Palladium by Ian Johnson, his best friend Colin DeLutis, Jeff Browne, the production manager of GTV Nine and rampant Collingwood man Graham Prippett, and their partners.
Ever the professional, he thanked more people in his presidential speech than guest comedian Vince Sorrenti used the word "f---" in his gags later on. And that was plenty.
To a standing ovation he sat down. He was exhausted. "Once I finished the speech, that was it. I had fired my last shot," he said.
For the first time in a long while, Eddie stayed out while Carla went to bed. Once a lad, always a lad they say, and Eddie let his hair down.
The function finished at 1am, and he spent the next hour talking to club medical staff outside the Palladium. Then it was to Heat Nightclub with the boys.
They had booked a private room and he spent most of the time holding court in a corner. Tazza, Bucks, Shane Wakelin and young Tommy Davidson were listeners.
He finished at 4am, but it wasn't a big one. "Not like the old days," he said.
And that was just about it. It had been an enormously emotional day in many ways, but an unforgettable one all the same.
It might take a week or two to let it sink in, though.
Today, he has to a double recording of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?, be at a players and partners night on Wednesday and at the Copeland on Friday. Early next week it's off to London and Ireland to call the exhibition game and Irish series.
After that, he's taking Carla and Joe to Queensland for a holiday. "I just want to take her up there and give her feet a massage and look after her. She deserves it."
I didn't feel I'd lost the biggest thing in my life
30 September 2002 Herald Sun
By MARK ROBINSON
Emotional Eddie McGuire: From 5pm to 4am
The rooms
WHISPERS and pained faces, it's never any different if you're the loser. Paul Licuria was still crying. Molloy seemed shell-shocked. And Buckley's face was scowled and twisted.
Everywhere, families are huddled around their boys. The Crown Lagers were out, but they would've tasted hollow. They are a celebratory drink foremost and a pathway to drunkenness after that.
As the Malthouse clan, Mick, Nanette and Christi, embraced and cried in perhaps the most moving public scene inside, the president, Eddie McGuire, was in a corner.
He was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, Collingwood tie and charcoal black overcoat. The face was pasty, as is sometimes normal without the makeup, and the tie slightly askew. He stood, an AFL Record still gripped in one fist, with the Triple M headphones on. 3AW and, finally, the ABC, were to follow.
He appeared calm enough, but the eyes gave him away. They were a fraction red and puffy, a distant dull, but the tears hadn't really come then.
Channel 10 was next, the opposition, but today Eddie had his Collingwood hat on and nothing else. He answered Brad McEwan's questions with polish and dignity. "I'm very proud," he said. It was a message to last the evening.
The print media was next. There were three of us at the start, and seven others joined in. Eddie was just as obliging.
It was 6.15pm and Eddie hadn't seen his wife, Carla, now seven months pregnant, since he left the grandstand. At the siren, she squeezed his leg, gave him a kiss, and then he was gone.
"Carla was supportive all the way through," Eddie said. "At the siren she held my hand or my leg, I wrote down the score, stood up and that was that."
Carla arrived in the rooms, also dressed in black, and sat behind Eddie as he finished his interviews. Carla doesn't speak to the media - she was once misquoted by a reporter at the big paper - and says she never will again.
She was exhausted. She had watched the game with heat bags on her stomach to stave off the nausea of having gastro. Their boy, Joe, now 21 months, was ill on Friday, and Carla had picked up a sizeable dose.
"She was as sick as I've seen anyone this time yesterday," Eddie said.
Eddie had been up at 6.15am for the first of his two breakfast functions - at North Melbourne and at Crown for Channel Nine - and then skipped a third breakfast at the Hilton because of Carla and Joe.
When Eddie returned home at 10.30am, he was greeted by Joe in his favourite black and white jumper.
"He's never been sick, the little fella," Eddie said. "I didn't know what was going on, it might have been Grand Final nerves. He's a little ripper, though. When I said goodbye to him he had his Collingwood jumper on and he looked up and gave me a big hug. I said 'Go Pies' to him and he put his two hands in the air, you know, it was fantastic.
"But Carla's the go, mate. She's the bedrock of what's all built. She lives it all, puts up with me when I'm up and when I'm down. In that first year, when I'd get up at 3am and go into my room and work out what the hell I was going to do, she was the one who'd get up at 4am, get a cup of tea and tell me to get back to bed. She's a rare person."
Eddie and Carla were late for the official AFL lunch, much to the annoyance of the league - which text messaged him and told him to hurry - but Eddie switched on upon his arrival.
The head table included AFL bosses Wayne Jackson and Ron Evans, the Prime Minister, the Victorian and Queensland Premiers and Eddie and Carla. The boy from Broadmeadows can still afford to pinch himself. "It's funny, only when I was reciting the table back to you, I was thinking, 'it wasn't a bad table today'," he said. "But I could've been sitting next to Elvis and it wouldn't have made any difference. All I was thinking was Collingwood, Collingwood, Collingwood."
Carla was courteous despite everything. Between conversations she had to duck into the toilet, but always reappeared as if without a worry in the world. "She was great," Eddie said.
Back in the rooms, the interviews done and dusted, Eddie, finally, had to sit down. He was mentally drained - personally and professionally - and looking for a shoulder. He joined Carla behind him and as her arm rested on his knee, the tears welled in the president's eyes.
It was the second time it had happened since the siren - the first was on the ground - and it was to happen a third time when Eddie's Dad, blind and frail, joined him in the rooms. That's always the way; strong and resolute with outsiders, emotional and vulnerable with loved ones.
The husband and wife had barely two minutes alone before well-wishers interrupted.
It was 6.10pm and Carla left soon after. Eddie, meanwhile, turned on his mobile phone. It had been off since before the AFL lunch and for the next hour it buzzed with messages. Beep, beep, ... beep, beep. There must have been 100 of them.
Some, like Warnie's from Sri Lanka, were refreshing. "Good luck today, Ed. We are off to the watch the GF live. Come on Pies. Never thought I'd say that. Pls pass on my best to the lads. Warnie."
Said Eddie: "He's a good man, Warnie. He rang when we were in Port Adelaide."
Another said: "You're my hero Da. Love Joe."
Said Eddie: "That's my little boy. I think his grandmother did that. The little fella, he's great."
Others came from Sam Newman, Jack Reilly, John Warren, Jennifer Hansen, his brother Frank, Spider Everitt, and his Dad.
The old man is 85 and was sitting around from Eddie in the Great Southern Stand. "I saw him on the binoculars," he said. "It's pretty special when you see your dear old Dad up there at 85. I spoke to him this morning. He told me the usual thing before I played any football match or tennis game, he said: 'Get in and make a name for yourself'."
Other messages, however, weren't as sincere.
Beep, beep: "Get F---ed, Eddie.
Beep, beep: "Suck sh-t Eddie."
Beep, beep: "F---k you, Eddie."
Some dill rang three times to give it to him. "Private number" it said, but Eddie scared the bejesus out of him by saying the police had tracked the number. He never rang again.
"The problem is everyone knows my number. I've had it since I was a cadet," he said.
The Licuria clan, including mama and papa, interrupted the torrent of abuse and Eddie was back being Eddie. "As his parents you should be very proud, he's a good man," he said.
A bloke then introduced himself as James Clement's manager. He wanted to talk about his client and how good Clement and the club had been for each other. Eddie nodded and was polite, but surely there was a time and place.
Beep, beep: This one was Lou Richards. Bad luck, it said, unfortunately we can't make the dinner. Edna's sick. Said Eddie: "He's a great man, Lou."
The Bus Trip
PLAYER and officials departed the MCG about 7pm. Players up the back, Mick Malthouse three from the front, Balmey at the front and Eddie two behind Mick on the other side. They were off to Victoria Park but then again they could've been on the road to nowhere.
Eddie was visibly moved. His Dad finally made it into the rooms five minutes previously and it was one of those family moments. "The eyes opened up, I can tell you," he said. "It's amazing. No matter how big and ugly you get the moment you see your dad ...
"No, it was great, my brother and sister, they feel it because when they read stuff in the paper, they know it's their little brother, whereas I read it, it's the third person half the time.
"But it was good to see Dad. Dad was, 'you know, if we had of kicked that goal', etc. He was listening to it and he was saying he was going to throw the radio out of the stand early on when Sam (Newman) and Derm (Dermott Brereton) were previewing the game and were saying we had no hope."
The drive down Hoddle St to the "forever spiritual home" was numbing. The Crown Lagers were doing their trick, but no one knew what to expect on arrival. The background music was a song called Santa Monica by Everclear, a low-key number never more suitable. "I just wanna find some place to be alone," it hums. "Yeah, watch the world die." Alanis Morisette followed that.
"If there's 45,000 people there, 500 or two," said Eddie, "it's important to turn up and do the right thing.
"Actually, I was asked by one of the reporters 'Is it worthwhile?'. Is it worthwhile? Of course it is, not just the footy side but all the other things we're doing. People will get fed tonight because of the Collingwood Football Club, tomorrow when everyone's nursing a hangover we'll be making pies at Victoria Park to distribute to poor people, there will be a lot of kids up in the Northern Territory jumping out of their skin because of Collingwood."
Never again think Eddie is on an ego trip. Here we were on the bus, the losing bus, and Eddie was still thinking outside the square. Right then, Eddie was being Eddie. Positive. Realistic. Dignified.
"If it was an ego trip I'd go play golf every weekend," he said. "It's the dumbest thing and the dumbest time of my life to be doing it."
If he devoted as much time to making money as he did to making Collingwood great, he would be far richer man than he already is. "You do things because you want to leave them better than what they were when you got involved. The stereotype is changing, we really try to stand for excellence, but also for caring."
Turning right into Victoria St and then snaking around the back of the famous ground, the bus was confronted by the Army.
They were everywhere. There were about 7000, cheering, crying, chanting. It was an amazing experience. "Eddie, Eddie, Eddie" they boomed. He could've been, well, Elvis, such was the fervour.
He took the microphone and immediately deflected the adulation. "Don't chant my name," he said. "Chant for the people behind me, they played their guts out for us today ... and Mick Malthouse is the man."
"MICKY, MICKY, MICKY ... " It was pandemonium.
The Beatles returned to the bus and it was back down Hoddle St towards Crown Casino for the official function.
As Eddie grabbed his first beer of the day, the mood had changed on the bus. "I was asked if it worthwhile," he said. "The boys gave it all but they just got re-energised tonight by all those people. It was great. The last seven years you felt like an idiot walking around, people in their jumper, their cap on, and scarf, having a go at you, 'you're a d---head' and all the rest of it. But now they can look around and say, 'listen, this is what our club means to us'. It's great."
Buckley now sat behind Eddie, the two always inextricably linked. Like a school trip, Buckley wanted to be involved so he stuck his head between the back rests.
The game was the talking point, but Eddie couldn't say who the best players were, save for Buckley. "Bucks was on the stage he was born to be on," he said.
"Shane Wakelin was fantastic early on, Presti was fantastic, the no-name backline were great. Johnno was great, Ryan Lonie ... "
Indeed, Eddie was reasonably subdued during the game. He sat beside Carla and Magpies chief executive Greg Swann. "I've been more passionate in a game," he said. "I suppose I was holding it in."
He wasn't at two points. "From where I sat I thought Anthony's goal went through. It was close, but I thought it was goal. It was a big goal. It was the one. And Lynchy's free kick was, well, we'll all debate that for next 100 years. That was a big free kick at that stage of the game."
Swann agreed: "We thought it was a goal," he said. "The Lynch free he wasn't happy with, but neither was I. But he was all right, he was pretty measured throughout."
After the game, Eddie hunted down his counterpart, Graham Downie, Brisbane coach Leigh Matthews and couldn't find his old mate "Gubby" Allan. Then he stood with the boys.
"You don't know what to do," he said. "I didn't cry, but it was emotional. I don't mind shedding a tear if it's required or if it's natural. I like to behave naturally. Standing there, a couple of times tears were building up. It had been a hugely emotional week or two, probably a hugely emotional four years in a lot of ways.
"But I didn't feel as if I had lost the biggest thing in my life. It's hard to describe. There was a lot of pride. I can imagine what it will feel like when Joe does something I'm proud of. I'm just so proud of all the people around me and I know that's sounds patronising or wimpy or whatever, but that's how I feel."
Back on the bus, and on the way past Olympic Park, Eddie's mind raced forward. "Have a look at this," he said, his arm sweeping left and right. "This is the future of football."
The dinner
THE bus arrived at 8.20pm. Eddie and Malthouse trudged into Crown's foyer deep in conversation and then went their separate ways.
Carla was upstairs in a room lying down and Eddie joined her. Carla was still ill, but at 8.47pm she emerged radiant as ever with Eddie and close friends Rob Sitch and Jane Kennedy.
They were joined on Table 4 in Crown's Palladium by Ian Johnson, his best friend Colin DeLutis, Jeff Browne, the production manager of GTV Nine and rampant Collingwood man Graham Prippett, and their partners.
Ever the professional, he thanked more people in his presidential speech than guest comedian Vince Sorrenti used the word "f---" in his gags later on. And that was plenty.
To a standing ovation he sat down. He was exhausted. "Once I finished the speech, that was it. I had fired my last shot," he said.
For the first time in a long while, Eddie stayed out while Carla went to bed. Once a lad, always a lad they say, and Eddie let his hair down.
The function finished at 1am, and he spent the next hour talking to club medical staff outside the Palladium. Then it was to Heat Nightclub with the boys.
They had booked a private room and he spent most of the time holding court in a corner. Tazza, Bucks, Shane Wakelin and young Tommy Davidson were listeners.
He finished at 4am, but it wasn't a big one. "Not like the old days," he said.
And that was just about it. It had been an enormously emotional day in many ways, but an unforgettable one all the same.
It might take a week or two to let it sink in, though.
Today, he has to a double recording of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?, be at a players and partners night on Wednesday and at the Copeland on Friday. Early next week it's off to London and Ireland to call the exhibition game and Irish series.
After that, he's taking Carla and Joe to Queensland for a holiday. "I just want to take her up there and give her feet a massage and look after her. She deserves it."
