I had a discussion with my mum recently about life, and how mine had panned out so far.
We spoke about how fortunate I am to have been dealt this hand. I still have to pinch myself occasionally that I’m playing football for the team I barracked so hard for growing up.
The conversation took me back to a moment that will forever be etched in my brain — the moment I became a Bulldogs player.
Leading into the 2008 draft, I was hopeful of being picked up. But it was unlikely to be the Bulldogs as I hadn’t had any discussions with them.
On draft day, my family and I were huddled over a laptop, listening to a streaming service that my IT-obsessed brother had set up for us. I memorised my registration number, so that I would know a second or two before anyone else if I was drafted. Player number 208223 was read out, and by the Western Bulldogs. In an instant, the dream I’m now living had begun.
I often think about my dad’s reaction. It was understated, but I could tell just how proud he was, having played in the red, white and blue in 1974. Dad was a reliable ruckman before being struck down by a serious knee injury after 13 reserves games. He loved the club – he still does – and I get a feeling his teammates liked him, too. People tell me he was dependable on and off the field, as he has been as a father and mentor.
Not long after my number was read out our phone rang. It was Daniel Giansiracusa. Gia congratulated me and said he looked forward to catching up at the club. That call meant a lot.
Football has its associated pressures and setbacks, but after six years at the kennel, I still believe that I’m the luckiest Bulldogs supporter
I know.
