When I was a young bloke with dreams of one day playing AFL, I played for Calder Cannons alongside Paul Chapman and VC Recipient Corporal Cameron Baird MG.
Most footy fans will have of course heard of Chapman, who played in three flags with Geelong during a decorated 280-game career. Far fewer would have had the chance to see the on-field feats of Baird.
When Cameron and our Cannons' teammates were running around chasing the Sherrin in the north-western suburbs of Melbourne, all we really wanted to do was have fun and maybe, just maybe, catch the eye of AFL recruiters.
Bairdy, as he was known, was a man-mountain who developed earlier than a lot of us. He simply dominated junior ranks as a centre-half forward. Back then, the best centre-half forward in the big league was Wayne Carey, and we all thought Bairdy was our 'King' Carey. He was flint-hard tough, had courage to run back into packs with the flight of the ball and boasted all the hallmarks of a gun draftee who would shine at AFL level.
It wasn't to be. Unfortunately, a shoulder injury in his top-age year meant he missed the draft. The sliding doors nature of footy - of life - was evident. He chose to join the Army soon after.
I was lucky enough to get drafted to the Swans and I was constantly aware of the physical nature of our sport. But my idea of tough was nothing compared to what Bairdy and so many who have served over the course of history have endured.
During one of his many tours of Afghanistan, Bairdy was part of the commando platoon of the Special Ops Task group. On June 22, 2013, he performed actions so heroic that he was awarded the Victoria Cross - Australia's highest military honour.
It pains me to write that Bairdy received that honour posthumously. As he continually put the lives of his mates ahead of his own during that battle, Bairdy eventually lost his.
It breaks my heart knowing he won't get a chance to do what regular Aussie blokes get to do - settle down with a partner, have a couple of kids and enjoy simple freedoms such as going to the footy, heading to the pub with mates, enjoying a fishing trip or a round of golf and a few laughs.
We owe diggers like Bairdy a debt of gratitude. Actually - that's not enough. We owe them a cavernous well of gratitude and sincere thanks for their efforts. To those past and those presently safeguarding our freedoms.
The traditional Collingwood vs. Essendon games on Anzac Day, which first took place in 1995, have always been played with respect for the day. It has provided a platform to raise important funds to the Anzac Appeal and also surface so many important stories that may have been lost along the way. It has placed the stories of the diggers at the forefront of people's minds.
It's always dangerous to mention sport and war in the same sentence but to the credit of the Essendon and Collingwood football clubs, they have ensured there is a reverence shown to our service men and women and to honour them on the day.
In terms of the games, there have been so many classic matches ever since the inaugural contest that finished in a remarkable draw.
Having grown up in Essendon, I used to head to the contests on the tram down Mt. Alexander Road to the MCG with a lot of schoolmates who barracked for the red and black. I'd witness the passion of both teams' supporters, willing their side to give them the chance at holding bragging rights at the final siren, and the slow journey home.
And even as I eventually got to play on the famous ground countless times over my career -- including being lucky enough to hold aloft the premiership cup on two occasions -- I genuinely admit there's an element of jealousy toward the two teams that get to compete on Anzac Day. I think it's at least on level-pegging with the grand final as the greatest event on the AFL calendar.
But while we sit back and watch the 44 young men locking horns on Tuesday afternoon, let's not forget the incredible sacrifices so many people have made in allowing us the freedom to enjoy such moments.
Lest We Forget.