On the ground in Ireland, comfortably ensconced on a hotel in Drogheda and relishing the taste of my first pint of Guinness the way that nature intended - straight from the tap in the birthplace of the magical elixir.  I'm feeling unusually reflective this evening.  Well, to be fair I've always had a tendency to over-think things, but tonight soaking up the atmosphere from the wood panels of this old pub, admiring the photographs and reflecting on my love/fanaticism for the Fremantle Football Club. 

God knows I've made some stupid, crazy and just plain wrong choices in my life.  I've done things that make me sigh, cringe or weep if I think about them too much.  To quote a very good song, I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend....but that's not really true, because every time I see a purple hat, anchor or scarf (and I've seen them in some surprising places) I see another friend.  It sounds trite and cliched, but it has proven to be true vastly more often than not.

I've often (with tongue in cheek) maintained that Freo were the Crap Boyfriends of the AFL.  They have disappointed me, let me down, made me want to punch a wall (ok, I did punch a wall) in frustration.  I've told myself that no, I can't get so emotionally involved any more, I have to step back and detach myself from this madness...but there's always a reconciliation.  Whether it was the 2001 away game against Hawthorn that finally saw us notch up a win for that year,  the Demolition Derby, the game against North Melbourne in 2003 where Pav ensured we snared our first finals berth through sheer force of will, talent and refusal to lay down and surrender, applauding the team with mad fervour even as they went down to Essendon later that year in our first ever finals appearance, or one of a hundred other memories...I keep coming back.

I've spat the dummy.  Many times.  I've done and said things that make me look back with shame (I totally lost it one afternoon after we blew a 51 point lead to Melbourne - Melbourne!) that I've no plans to dredge up now.  But I'm still here, as stupidly fanatical as ever.  I've worn the ridicule and derison from the followers of the Front Runners Up The Road, I've given back as good as I've received (and man are they quiet now).  Now come the Good Times.

Still, we know better than to get ahead of ourselves - Hawthorn are a damned good side, and we'll be rightly going into the match as underdogs.  But we'll be there, at the 'G, on the last Saturday in September.  And win or lose, the Hawks will have to scrap and struggle for every possession, every clearance and every score.

My Guinness seems to have mysteriously emptied itself.  Thirsty work this blogging business.