THERE was the devastation of the 2007 Elimination Final, when Buddy Franklin truly arrived on the AFL scene and sunk my beloved Crows.
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Then there were borderline tears in the 2009 Semi Final as a last-gasp Collingwood goal ended another season of promise for the men from Adelaide.
In 2012, we went from jubilation to heartache when we fell just a few points short of stunning Hawthorn in the Preliminary Final, despite grabbing a late lead.
As a die hard fan, it’s moments like those you dread, and that pain can linger for seasons to come.
But you take solace from the fact it’s just a game.
On Friday morning, matches like those have never seemed more insignificant.
It was a moment when we were reminded of the very real faces that are behind the sports we love.
The pain felt by Phil Walsh’s family – by all who knew him – is unimaginable. No one deserves to live in fear in their homes.
His persona entered our lives in a number of ways. I’ve never met Phil Walsh, nor would I have been likely to, but like so many other footy fans I felt I knew him through his work building up our clubs.
When I travel to Melbourne for away games, there’s always that sense of community among the thousands of Crows supporters.
I know we can all pull together and, as a club, make Phil Walsh proud.