I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to produce a column regarding His Jeffness when our esteemed editors informed me of this month’s topic.

Having only moved to Victoria around about 18 months ago I had no real opinion of the man or any real knowledge of what he’d done during his reign of whatever (might have been power, might have been terror, might have been rainbows and lollipops for all I know or care).

It wasn’t until a slightly booze-fuelled conversation with Editor Juzzy at the Tribune’s 1st Birthday Party that I recalled that I do have an anecdote regarding Mr Kennett to share. While I’ve never been an avid AFL follower, during the 2008 season I did feed off Juzzy’s fervour for a young bloke by the name of Robert Harvey, and for the first time, seriously adopted an AFL team to follow (from a distance at least, because I can’t afford the prices they charge for tickets, drinks, eats and general standing-around-ness at most sporting events these days). So it was that I became a Saints supporter, on the back of the fact I lived in St Kilda and that apparently this Robert Harvey bloke was fucking awesome.

I was happy when St Kilda made it through to the finals and even happier when they got through to the second last week....the one just before the big day. I was also lucky enough to score tickets to that particular game against Hawthorn. It was here, my friends, that my brush with......Greatness? Mediocrity? Awesomeness? Other?.......occurred.

I scored tickets that were situated nearby the Members’ area in the MCG and was accompanied by a friend....let’s call her Bob. Anyway, Bob’s sister was in the Members’ area and we made a plan to sneak into the Members’ during half time to join Bob’s sister. Plan went off like a cracker! As long as you LOOK like you know where you are heading the Security monkeys at the ‘G will almost never pull you up and ask to see your pass.

It was during the half time break, while chatting merrily away with Bob and Bob’s sister, that Bob noticed a gentleman getting a lot of attention not far from where we were standing. Commenting on this Bob said ‘I’m not sure who that is but he must be an ex-footballer because people keep going up to speak to him and shake his hand’. Bob’s sister and I both looked over and, from memory, either simultaneously groaned or simultaneously rolled our eyes at each other. Possibly both.

The man in question was, of course, Mr Jeffrey Kennett. I couldn’t help myself from blurting out ‘For fuck’s sake Bob! That’s not an ex-footballer. That’s Jeff Kennett. He used to be Premier of Victoria and is now Hawthorn President.’

Of course Bob was upset and rightly so because I might have been a bit harsh considering Bob hadn’t even been in Australia through the entire reign of whatever of His Jeffness so, to appease, I asked for Bob’s ticket and a pen, planning to politely ask Mr Kennett to autograph Bob’s ticket. I walked over to where Jeff was and waited while he finished speaking with the people who were currently harassing him for my own turn to harass him. The exchange went something like this:

Me: Excuse me Mr Kennett, sorry to bother you, but would you be so kind as to sign my friend’s ticket?

Mr Kennett: Certainly! What is your friend’s name?

Me: Bob.

Mr K: *Signing ticket To Bob* There we go

Of course I’m wearing all Black and Red as I’m there supporting St Kilda and Mr K is sporting his own club’s colours so I feel I must acknowledge that politely.

Me: Thank you Mr Kennett. Good luck to your team tonight.

At this stage he was handing me the ticket and pen back and had no real need of good luck wishes considering the half time score line, but I like to be polite about these things. It was here that, completely unintentionally, my politeness came to a screaming halt.

As I took back the ticket and pen and made that last comment I turned and completely missed Mr K’s outstretched hand. I swear I didn’t see it! I got back to Bob and her sister and they were aghast at the fact that I had refused to shake Jeff Kennett’s hand after he’d been so kind to autograph the ticket. I was aghast that I’d been so rude, but pleaded innocence because I truly didn’t see it.

What it all boils down to is, intentionally or not,.....I FUCKING HOSED JEFF KENNETT! I didn’t mean to. He was very accommodating and amazingly polite, even though I was some stranger monopolising his time in an area of the MCG I wasn’t supposed to be in anyway.

Mr Kennett if you are reading this and if you remember the idiot at the semi final last year that got your autograph and then bolted, please accept my sincere apologies. If I do see you again don’t hold it against me, as I’ll gladly shake your hand for being such a gentleman on our first meeting.

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