Our day at Hyde Park had it all. 

We had a strange Rasta dude who jogged around the lake the whole time we were there. 

We had proxies winning games like there was no tomorrow. 

We had a taxi driver who kept turning up, trying to take Painter to the airport before he was ready to go.

There were short games played on grass and very long games played into the massive roots of Moreton Bay fig trees, to the apparent alarm of the locals.

Now we have the home and away season completed, packed in a box and tied with an old shoelace.