Edited version as appeared in the Herald Sun of the earlier post!!! Bloody sub editors!!! oops I'm married to one.

Clare Heaney From: Herald Sun September 15, 2009 9:53PM
I RECKON over the past decade or so I've made plenty of sacrifices in the name of motherhood.

Think sleepless nights, stinky bottoms, goo-stained clothes, career and social life bypasses . . . I could go on, but you get the picture.

And while I have continued to complain bitterly about these incursions on my health, mental state and general wellbeing, I usually like to focus on the bigger picture.

One of these three kids is going to look after me when I'm old.

But, this week, after much soul-searching, I made the supreme sacrifice.

I bought my son a Geelong football jumper.

I'm sure I spent less time choosing names for my kids and picking their school than I have over the past few days considering whether I should "let" Patrick barrack for the Cats, much less actively encourage it.

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You see, our home is a Richmond household, continuing a family tradition. I took it for granted that my kids would follow the Tiges.

My late Mum was Jack Captain Blood Dyer's cousin. Growing up, we often looked at Mum's blue photo album, with its pictures of Dyer serving ice creams at his Tigers Milk Bar in Richmond, his wedding photo from St Ignatius and a shot of him shaping up in a boxing pose.

Among the pages was a dog-eared program for his testimonial, which my Mum attended.

From time to time, Dad would come home with The Truth, so Mum could read Jack's famous column, Dyer'ere. Or that's what he said.

At one time, I was part of a small team that published a fan magazine about Richmond called Roar. Pregnant and with babies in pouches, we sold the magazine outside the 'G.

It was non-profit (to us), but we made a sizeable donation to the Punt Rd renovation.

So, when my middle child finally spat the dummy and said he hated the Tigers because they were duds, I felt really sad.

"But they've got the best theme song," I offered. "They never win, so we never hear it," he countered.

Last year, he trudged off unhappily to the school Footy Day in a Tigers jumper. After the drubbing against the Swans in Round 19, when we actually broke tradition and left at three-quarter time, he insisted he barracked for the Cats, like his Dad.

In another sign, last week he refused to wear his Tigers raincoat.

It was at this point that I concluded forcing your child to barrack for your team, no matter what, isn't a good idea.

I felt like a traitor as I handed over the $60 for the Cats jumper - the cheapest I could find.

"You can get a number on the back of that, it's just $20," the shop assistant suggested.

"Are you kidding?" I said. Cameron Mooney may be his favourite player but I wasn't going to pay a cent more.

He clearly wasn't picking up the note of sadness attached to the reluctant purchase.

And, yes, the size 12 is a tad big. But I figured if I was going to be forced to buy this jumper, Patrick was going to wear it today and the next four Footy Days of his primary school years.

Me? Well, my only consolation is that he doesn't want to barrack for the Pies.

The Ultimate Sacrifice

I RECKON over the past decade or so I've made plenty of sacrifices in the name of motherhood.
Think sleepless nights, stinky bottoms, goo-stained clothes, career and social life bypasses ... I could go on but you get the picture.
And while I have continued to complain bitterly about these incursions on my health, mental state and general well being, I generally like to look at the bigger picture.
One of these three kids is going to look after me when I'm old. (although the eldest appears to have taken an unhealthy interest in the nearby Sir Eric Pearce Hostel and how old you need to be to get a bed)
But, yesterday I made the supreme sacrifice.
I bought my son a Geelong football jumper.
Have you any idea how hard that was?
You see I regard our home as a Richmond household, continuing a family tradition.
My late mum was Captain Blood Jack Dyer's cousin. Although we lived in Ballarat and I never attended a footy match in Melbourne until I shifted here 20 years ago, the Tigers were part of our family's folklore.
My mum had stayed with an aunt in Richmond when she came to Melbourne to train in Flinders Lane as a tailoress. Growing up we often looked at her blue photo album with its pictures of Dyer serving ice creams at his Tiger Milk Bar in Richmond's Church St, his wedding photo from St Ignatius and a shot of him in boxing pose. Tucked among the pages was a dog-eared program for his testimonial which my Mum attended.
His sister, Irene, often visited us in Ballarat and we knew her as Cookie.
From time to time Dad would come home with The Truth so Mum could read Jack's famous Dyer'ere column. Or, that's what he said.
My dad followed South Melbourne but happily supported his family's Tiger ties. After Tiger Kevin Sheedy turned up at our school, St Columba's, my brother wrote him a letter.
Sheeds replied, wishing the family all the best ``even the old Swan''.
In 1989 when I arrived at the Herald Sun, after two years at the Geelong Advertiser, I kept getting sent to Geelong for assignments.
I remember being sent to Geelong to go from pub to pub to capture the ``colour'' of the 1992 Grand Final. It was a pretty sombre day, with the Cats well beaten by West Coast.
At one time, with my crazy colleague and friend, Cheryl, we were part of a small team that published a fanzine about Richmond called Roar. Pregnant and with babies in pouches we sold the magazine at the front of the ``G''.
It was non-profit (to us) but we made a sizeable donation to the Punt Rd renovation.
So, when my middle child, Patrick, finally spat the dummy and said he hated the Tigers because they were duds, I was disappointed to say the least.
"But they have got the best theme song," I offered.
``They never win enough to hear it,'' he countered.
He did have a point.
This time last year, he trotted off unhappily to the school Footy Day in a Tigers jumper. He kept saying all year, especially after the drubbing against the Swans in Round 19, when we actually broke tradition and left at three quarter time, that he hated the Tigers.
He wanted to barrack for the Cats, like his dad.
Last week he refused to wear his Tigers raincoat, declaring he would sooner get wet.
It was at this point that I decided maybe forcing your child to barrack for your team, no matter what, isn't good parenting.
And he could very well be the one deciding which nursing home I am going into.
So, there I was over the weekend trying to sort out clobber for this week's Footy Day.
The cheapest option, apart from $22 scarves and beanies, was a $60 jumper.
``You can get a number on the back of that ... it's just $20,'' the shop assistant suggested.
"Are you kidding?" I said. He clearly wasn't getting the sentiment.
I figured if I was going to be forced to buy this jumper, Patrick was going to wear it for the next five footy days for the rest of his primary school years.
And, yes, the size 12 is a tad big. But, he didn't seem to care as he paraded it around the house. I caught a glimpse of his father who looked quite self satisfied.
Me, well, I am just glad he doesn't want to barrack for the Pies.
As my colleague, Harry, says: "That's the trouble with you. You're related to Jack Dyer and they all hated Collingwood so much they couldn't even stand watching black and white TV."