Having left our run too late to buy tickets to the Essendon versus North Melbourne match at Marvel Stadium on Saturday afternoon, my family settled for standing room tickets.

We'd soak up the atmosphere of a full house and leave when we'd had enough.

Advised by the ticket seller, we arrived an hour early to claim a good spot on the rail (our youngest perched on the bottom rung like a chicken in a woolly coat).

In front of a crowd of 45,682, the Dons and North put on a thrilling contest.

Ten minutes into the first term, Essendon's No. 1 fan (let's call him Jack because that's what his North mate called him) tucked in behind us. It all went pear-shaped from there.

"What are all these kids doing here?!" he blurts out.

"Shouldn't they be in day care? Well ... They're about to get an education from me!"

With that, North Melbourne scored a couple of goals in a row to put it further in front of the Bombers.

"AND THE CROWD GOES MILD!!!" he sprays.

(I hadn't heard this one before so I was amused at first ... mildly! I love a bit of word play but then it rapidly deteriorated.)

*Insert f... and c... (I wish I was exaggerating) at will in the below rant.

"Did anyone *turn up for *North Melbourne?" he bangs on, interestingly within earshot of his mild-mannered, red-headed, North mate.

"The whole *crowd is *Essendon.

"Other than their *cheer squad, **North Melbourne has no one* here. NO-OOO ONNE!! Seriously, there's only 14 people* here for *North."

Then a North fan in the next "standing room" section took issue with the above rant. From a safe and sound distance, he told the Bombers fan to smarten up.

This sparked a tirade of abuse that made the first issue seem like a Sunday school picnic.

"Oh look *** old man!" Jack sprays.

"Now you've got ** something to *** say.

"You should come and sit down here in the *** handicapped ***section with all of the other ***."

Inside 12 minutes, he had insulted young people, old people, women and people with special needs.

At this point, Jack's North mate piped up to say, that he had overstepped the mark and he should really settle down.

MORE MATERIAL GIRL:

I've never been a fan of drinking at the football.

I love beer and I love football but they don't go together for me.

I'm not sure if it's because the weather is sub-zero and the beer is cold.

Maybe it's because my parents never drank at the football (they were too busy coaching, on the gate or counting the takings in the cafeteria).

Jack had a couple of beers in his hands; why have one when two will do?!

When the Bombers had a burst of decent play, his beers were thrown about with reckless abandon.

I wore some on my black jeans but at least it was less for him to drink.

At $10 a pop, I'd be loathe to spill any. It's totally unAustralian!

Jack's red-headed Roo Boy mate and his mortified girlfriend were trying, without much luck, to rein him in.

With five minutes until quarter-time, my youngest needed to go to the toilet and her timing was impeccable. I took my two girls and made a beeline for the loos.

From her low perch on the rail, most of Jack's diatribe had gone over my youngest's head.

I was convinced of this fact when in the toilets she says: "If the Swans were playing, I'd probably be just as bad as that Bombers bogan!" Somehow, I seriously doubt that.

At quarter-time we moved up to Level 3, where we couldn't see any football but the serenity was bliss and the hot chocolate was warm.

We watched the last three minutes of that thrilling match on my iPhone at a tram stop on the way out to dinner.

Essendon may have won the match fair and square, but it is more than welcome to Victoria's biggest loser.

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