I experienced something that, by my reckoning, is a one in 256 chance in Melbourne over the weekend.

(To all you eggheads out there, I apologise if that’s wrong. Please don’t email/blog/call me if so; journalists aren’t great at maths.)

I’d headed south to watch my team, Collingwood, take on St Kilda in the finals on Saturday night, at the same time hoping my Raiders could get the job done against Cronulla in the NRL in Sydney.

As an entrée, I thought I’d journey to the G to see the Western Bulldogs smash Sydney on Friday night.

Being there alone, I struck up a conversation with the bloke next to me.

“So who are you barracking for, mate?” I asked.

“Don’t really care tonight. I just want to see St Kilda win tomorrow,” came the reply. “Who do you go for?”

Summoning up the courage, I fired back: “Collingwood.”

Mike was from Sydney.

“So, do you go for anyone in the NRL?” I asked.

“Yeah, Cronulla,” he said.

We couldn’t believe it. The odds of both our teams playing each other on the same weekend is ... well, we went over that.

“There’s 50,000 people here and I had to wind up sitting next to you,” Mike laughed.

We all know what happened from there.

Collingwood were massively outplayed and Alan Didak now had an excuse to mingle with convicted killers and drink a skinful – Mad Monday.

Then I headed back to the hotel to watch the Raiders-Sharks replay, which was on at midnight down here.

The Green Machine performed as well as a Datsun 120B that hadn’t had a service and oil change.

That’s OK, I thought. I’ll watch the Storm beat the Warriors tomorrow, and Canberra will live to fight another day in the finals.

The signs were there from the start that this afternoon was going to be another personal kick in the guts. The New Zealand national anthem was sung beautifully. Seamless.

The massive Maori contingent on hand, possibly there to fill in time before their Once Were Warriors 3 auditions, roared their approval.

But when it came time for Advance Australia Fair to be belted out, there were some issues.

The poor lady given the job of performing our anthem left the field with her tail between her legs without uttering a note.

So, with the Storm leading 15-14 with just two minutes left, it came as no surprise that Warriors five-eight Michael Witt finished off a Manu Vatuvei break by scoring.

My mobile phone nearly exploded at full time with calls from my so-called mates. Let’s just say a lot of them weren’t sympathetic.

Bring on summer and its anthem of willow-cracking leather.