Yes, we lost on the weekend.

The Bulldogs strangled us out of it, beat us to the ball and put intense pressure on the ball-carrier. They beat us. I was there. At about the 15 minute mark of the last quarter, as another goal sailed through from a Bulldog boot, it was over. And it hurt like hell. A physical pain that had me leaning on the railing in the standing section of Docklands. Like being kicked square in the guts.

But at the centre of the pain, there was a ray of light. Because the reason it hurt so bad is that I honestly expected Carlton to win. As I do almost every week now. Because, well, we’re good. Consistently good. Players who frustrated in the past, or showed some promise, have turned into great players. The new faces are tough and solid and brave (looking at you Nick Duigan). So I haven’t felt that pain for the last decade or so. For the most part, a win was a pleasant surprise. A loss was the norm. A narrow loss was a win itself. But slowly over the past year, the expectation that we would win week-in, week-out crept back.

When the siren blows on Saturday, even if we lose, and even if it hurts, there will be something positive at the centre of that pain.

Thanks, Blues. Thanks for making it hurt again.