I’ve never played football. I don’t know what it feels like to pull up those long socks and tie my laces just right. I don’t know what it feels like to mark that ridiculous leather ball on the run and kick a goal. I don’t know what it feels like to chase down the opposition and tackle them to the ground, or have it happen to me. To be flanked by teammates who are ready to defend you like some modern day war game. I don’t know what it feels like to walk off the ground exhausted, battered and bruised, to put my arms around my fellow players, to sing ‘our’ song. Completely satisfied, or completely not, depending on the outcome. I don’t know what that feels like.

But Ash does, he’s played football for as long as he can remember. His childhood memories are scarce, he can’t tell me which teacher he had in which grade, or what toys were his favourites, he just remembers ‘having a footy in my hands’.

He’s finishing up at the end of this season, and strangely, the game that has been such a mystery to me is making me quite emotional. Because this is what I do know.

I know that when he goes to footy training he always comes home happier than when he left.

I know that many of the important lessons he has learned, and friendships he has made, have come from football.

I know that when he’s going through a stressful time he can play a game that reminds him what life is all about: family and mateship.

I know that the rhythm of pasta nights and pickle juice has become as comforting to me as it is to him.

I know his lucky jocks are revolting.

I know that a bunch of blokes who would rather be thrown to the ground than talk about their feelings, can show affection and love for each other through a pat on the back or a ruffle of their hair.

I know that the day they won the grand final will stay in his heart forever, and so will the team he played with.

I know that watching him play footy, and the way he conducts himself as a sportsman, is a source of great pride to his family.

I know he will always look back on his days playing footy as some of the best in his life.

I know that while I have regularly moaned at his leaving the family teatime olympics, I would never take something so important away from him.

So, in knowing all of that, while I don’t quite understand the love affair with chasing down a hard odd-shaped ball, I can’t help but respect the game that his given my husband so much.

And he’ll hate me saying all of this, but we’re really proud of him. He’s humble and gracious and a role-model to his children, not because of his ability, but because of who he is as a person, which will continue on long after he hangs up the boots.

Annabel Crab wrote ‘Women need wives and men need lives’ and I really am grateful for the life of friendship that football has provided for Ash (and myself).

I suppose, really, this is an ode to the game as much as it is to him.

Now I’ll go back to nagging him about not wiping the bench when he does the dishes and moaning about him leaving me to go on the footy trip.

Life goes on!