We're moving on from hearing about super fans. If you have someone, maybe she who's a footy superfan,

might be putting you on our footy Wall of Fame up on Ligon Street next week.

Email me, Christian at Christian O'Connell.com.com.com.com. Like Madison, Klinberg.

Christian, I want to call this morning, but I couldn't pick up the phone because I start crying,

and you wouldn't be to understand me.

This is a lovely story about a dad Colin. My dad Colin was the biggest Melbourne fan you could meet.

He became a fan in around 1965 at the age of nine because his cousin was dating Tassie Johnson,

who was a player at the time. And Taz gifted my dad a football signed by the whole team that year.

And that's when the obsession started.

Unfortunately, Dad used to kick this obviously coveted ball around as a kid

and kept kicking it into mum's clean washing out the line.

Wait for this bit.

Used to keep kicking into mum's clean washing.

My mum lost it one day, chopped the ball in half with an axe.

Oh, how are we?

Hashtag straya.

Mums have axes?

What?

And to get through a full sharon.

That's such a vivid image to have from childhood.

It's like some sacrificial smorter.

You can imagine her saying if you keep kicking that ball.

...