It is preliminary final day 1987. Normally I would be at the ground watching my beloved Hawks but today I am lying in bed. The sun is shining through the window and I can see the shrubs and trees of the garden and street.

Hawthorn are playing Melbourne at Waverley Park, a ground I loved to go to, for the right to play in the grand final. The clock radio is tuned to the ABC. I lie there listening to the game as Hawthorn struggle to gain ascendency against a Melbourne team playing very well. I am also struggling - tired, drifting, with the nausea, mouth ulcers and the metallic smell of the chemotherapy drugs spoiling my day.

Slowly the tension and excitement builds as I follow the broadcast game, knowing every inch of the ground, while quietly calling encouragement to the players every efforts. We have reached the last few minutes and Hawthorn is behind. My body is tense. Gary Buckenara takes a mark on the half forward flank but he is still 60 metres from goal, too far out to score. The room is silent as he goes back to take his kick. Then something unbelievable happens and the commentators raise their voice in amazement. A young first year Melbourne player, Jim Stynes runs across the mark and a 15 metre penalty is given. The siren goes but the skillful Buckenara kicks truly and my wonderful Hawks are into another grand final. I am yelling and crying in delight, oblivious to the pain of Jim Stynes and my own body.

My bed was empty when the 6 o'clock replay highlights began on television. I will never forget the fortunes of that afternoon and the joys of being a Hawthorn follower.