People ask what it feels like when a grand final siren goes your way. The truth is, you don’t hear it as much as you feel it – a shock through the body, then a wave that doesn’t stop.
1996 was that wave. North hadn’t won a flag for 19 years. We’d been jumped early by Sydney but ground our way back, and when the last siren sounded at the MCG the dam burst: players everywhere, coaches in tears, families on the fence, a club finally exhaling. It was the AFL’s centenary grand final and North’s win remains the only time a team has lifted the gold premiership cup – a little piece of history on top of everything else.
The rooms afterwards were chaos in the best way – sweat, laughter, and that feeling that the years of work, knocks and doubt had been turned into something permanent. And to share it with my best mate, Glenn Archer, who won the Norm Smith that day, made it even more special. His hardness and courage lifted the team, and for me, standing next to him as we celebrated was something I’ll never forget.
1999 felt different – and, for me, even more personal. Eight days earlier I’d damaged my ankle so badly the first diagnosis was “14-to-16 weeks.” The plan became a sprint: ice, strapping, hop tests, then a promise from Denis Pagan – “If you can get on the track for ten minutes on Thursday, I’ll play you.” I made it.
We beat Carlton by 35 points. I got through the first quarter before ripping my pec in the second, but by then we had control. The siren that day wasn’t just joy; it was relief, vindication, pride – the feeling you get when a coach trusts you and a group refuse to blink.
If 1996 was the club’s catharsis, 1999 was its proof. One flag ends a drought; the next one tells the competition you’re built to last. And as a player, you know you’ve been etched into history – remembered for life by the supporters who lived every bump, tackle and cheer with you.
But it’s really not until later years that you sit back and truly appreciate what it took to achieve such a feat – the sacrifices, the belief, the relentless work. Time gives you perspective, and only then do you understand how rare and special those premiership moments are, especially when you share them with your best mates.
That’s what the siren gives you: a second that lasts forever – and a reminder that every sprint, bruise and moment of doubt was worth it.
