For the second year in a row, Yarra Park, and indeed the MCG, will be empty on AFL Grand Final day. Photo: MCC

Like so much over the past year, we are watching things from a distance. The up-close thump of players colliding as the reach for the ball is imagined, the athleticism and pace not in full exposure, the boot meeting the leather is unheard, as too is the thunderous vibration running beneath the feet as people gather and ready themselves for a contest in the arena synonymous with Melbourne, the MCG.

The usual crowds meandering and snaking their way through Yarra Park, past the red gums with their arms holding wind chimes of flutter leaves, up to the caravan stalls lit up like florescent signs with great swathes of salt and sugar in equal measure, half to coat donuts, half to fall like delicate confetti tossed over buckets and buckets of hot chips.

Gone is the spontaneity on a Friday evening, a spare ticket and a hankering for something to awaken the child in you after a long week at work. Off with the work attire and on with shirt, then remembering the sharp winds that rise and move through your top, a jumper might be a good idea, thinking back to the last shivering quarter of the game, reaching for the black puffer seen in the throng, those wise enough to know, the best possession to take along. Under the arm it goes. A beanie in the pocket. Just in case. This was Melbourne in September.

“Meet you by the donut stand, the one closest to the entrance. Near the city side.”

“I think I’m at the donut stand but I can’t see you.”

After several strolls around the curve of the ground, a familiar face breaks into a smile. Their whole face lighting up like they got the joke. One hand falls into the other, a clasp, an outstretched arm, a pat on the back. A momentary togetherness of respect and friendship and shared history – a happiness for times shared like this.

Then comes the jolt of the siren singing out, a little off-tune, beckoning you in to find your seat, offering apologies to those already seated, ready, concentrated, record and pen in hand. You exchange a nod, knowing that for some, this is the biggest event of their week.

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Knees knock and stories weave throughout the game. Someone arrives late but jolly, drinks in hand, losing half the contents as they weave through the chatter, the cheers and the hands gesticulating wildly after the umpire stops the play.

“Ball!” say the children, joining in, not knowing exactly what that means. They are having the best night out. It’s well past their bedtime and they are allowed a hot chocolate and chips. Together! Immediately they feel part of something and keep jumping out of their seats, tapping dad on the arm to look, look. There’s so much to see. So much to take in. As the second quarter draws to a close, one of the children falls quiet, watching the team stride in, big and strong, laughing and talking, seeing the coach take a player by the arm, hearing him say, “Keep going, you can do it, keep it up. You’re on the right track.” The coach’s eyes then briefly meet the child’s, a fleeting smile exchanged. One little moment, changing his perspective, a great surge of inspiration filling his sails and he is off. One thing is for sure, he knows who his favourite team is now, he feels it.

It is daytime now, several years on, spring sunshine dances between clouds, throwing shadows across the pathway outside the MCG warming sparse passers-by, out on a stroll, heads down, others squinting out and around, grateful for the change in season.

This year, things will be different again in this footy-loving city, in this footy-loving state. And yet, for those lucky ones, this time has meant more time playing kick-to-kick out in the back garden, or meeting a friend down at the local oval for a walk and some goal practice, or reminiscing, exchanging stories on otherwise quiet Saturday afternoons. While watching on from afar, there have been other opportunities to get closer. To reconnect. With the outside world and with the seasons, nature and the spaces within reach. It’s also time to reflect on those good times, for whenever they come, you’ll know to cherish them and pull them in.

One day in September, we will stand near the jam donut stand and meet again.