Jake Norton

I was a fairly normal child until September of 1993.

It was then that, aged 11, I was given a ticket to see my beloved Bombers take part in the AFL Grand Final, thanks to some reconnaissance by my old man. This made me the happiest boy in the world! Until a day or two prior to the match, that is…

That was when I was informed by my seemingly overprotective mother – who in hindsight had only my best interests at heart, but at the time I considered the evil figurehead of a fascist regime – that I wasn’t permitted to attend the match due to the lack of adult company. Needless to say, Essendon were crowned premiers; a feat I was sure they would not replicate in my lifetime.

At this point, I turned into an angst-ridden, cynical, powder keg of fury. Or perhaps that was just the effect of teenage hormones coursing through my veins. I can’t be sure.

Anyway, the boys in red and black won the flag once again in 2000, an event I thankfully bore witness to. And alas, the status quo of pre-September 1993 was restored. Most importantly, this meant that the old lady was absolved of her seven-year penance (love you Mum!)

Other than finally seeing the Bombers win the big one (I say ‘finally’ despite the fact that they’ve won one every six or so years in my lifetime, but I’m sure you understand), I have many, many great (live) sporting memories. Here are but a couple, with apologies to plenty…

Might and Power’s 1998 Cox Plate. My mate Brash and I were literally hanging from the rafters of the Moonee Valley stand as the earth started to rumble (as Bryan Martin put it). I haven’t seen a horse before or since that would come close to Might and Power over the middle-classic distances.

Shane Warne’s 700th Test wicket, Boxing Day 2006. Being there to see the Aussies humiliate the Poms after they briefly held the Ashes in 2005-’06 was one thing; being there to see the great S Keith be the first man to 700 was another. My mate Dima often preaches that “everything Shane Warne does is right”. I couldn’t possibly disagree with that.

The Games of the XXVII Olympiad, Sydney. I can’t describe being in the Olympic city as an 18-year-old as anything but lots of fun. Make that lots and lots. Heineken’s exhibition area – full of equally rambunctious and curvaceous Dutch – brings back particularly fond memories.