Grand finals shouldn’t end like this, with a party masquerading as a football match for half an hour or more. This was supposed to be a tight contest with the AFL’s two best teams, slugging it out in an arm wrestle for the title of the modern era’s best club, a fitting struggle for the final Saturday in September.
But as the Lions kept coming in a staggering second half, there was not just one defining grand final moment. Rather, they came thick and fast, too quickly to fully appreciate. A hallucination of glory, an incomprehensible haze.
