The night could have been a disaster.

Seriously – it could have gone either way. There was me, my husband, my best friend and another friend who was only going to the game so I would stop hassling him about coming along.

My friend B thought she might have been to an AFL game before, but wasn’t really sure.

My friend N had no idea who was playing, what the rules were, or why it was different to other codes; and I doubt he has ever drunk beer out of a plastic cup in his life – he is more of a Cosmo drinker.

Both arrived at my house at the designated time, ready to head down to the Gabba, and then it started to rain. We were not dressed for rain. We were not prepared for rain.

And it’s pretty safe to say that N, who had just finished a pretty big day at work, and B, who was starting to come down from a long lunch, were not in the mood for rain. But gallantly, we pressed on.

Much to Alex’s delight we belted out ’80s power ballads and show tunes on the way down the Bruce Highway. Not really Collingwood behaviour – but I was desperate to keep their spirits high.

I felt like it was opening night for a show I had written, directed and starred in. I had built up this night, this game so much and I just wanted – no, needed – them to like it. To feel the same passion and excitement I felt. I needed them to understand.

We shared a train carriage with some very typical Collingwood fans – you know what I mean – and some equally typical Brisbane supporters, with their cardigans draped around their shoulders and their umbrellas at the ready.

Alex led the way. I think he needed a beer in a plastic cup more than anything in the world at that moment.

I kept up a nervous running commentary on the 10-minute walk to the Gabba, quickly trying to explain the rules to N, who wasn’t listening.

I won’t lie to you – when we stepped inside I was nervous. Very nervous.

We lost Alex almost immediately – he sought and found sanctuary in the beer line. B and I headed to the canteen for some hot chips. N just stared at the number of mullets in one location – and being a Pies game, it was a sight to behold.

Someone had taken our seats, so we headed to an empty section – which was thankfully undercover.

We’d missed kick-off and came in at seven-all. All of a sudden, I was in the zone.

I jumped out of my seat. I cheered. I jeered. I laughed at the crowd’s antics, bit my nails down and thoroughly entertained a little girl sitting in front of us.

I became an expert and every time N looked a little confused I would lean over and confidently fill him in on what had happened.

By the second quarter, he was an expert. In the fourth he was on his feet, screaming at people he hadn’t known existed a scant 80 minutes before.

We went down by two. N actually felt disappointed. B couldn’t stop smiling (she switched teams in the final minutes), Alex had a happy beer glow and I couldn’t have been happier.

Yes we lost, but the game has gained two new fans. So really, AFL was the winner. And it doesn’t get much better than that.