The stats only say so much; there are indications of the Western Bulldogs' ascending trajectory everywhere. If you look.

My husband, Simon, is your average, reasonable man. You could say he's philosophical, but not religious or particularly open to being visited by visions. Like all of us, he is bound by the linear nature of time and the three dimensional space in which he runs his work and family-life. There's no omnipresent other conducting from above. Yet, since the Western Bulldogs have been playing in the finals he has been seeing things (including a boy "messiah" in a tracksuit) that all point to the Bulldogs' streak of wins. He is struggling to focus on his workaday tasks. Rather, he's intent on finding signs and building a case for the Dogs getting into the grand final. Never mind that his case has foundations in another dimension.

The messiah was probably the biggest sign. He took the form of a boy wearing phys-ed gear, which was all blue ("the right colour blue") with red-and-white bands around the arms and waist. He had been mucking around in the street after school, but when Simon and his four buddies left their Leederville accommodation (on their way to the Irish Club, where the WA Dogs' supporters had arranged to meet before the game), the boy was standing motionless on top of a fire hydrant. For a second it looked like he was floating in mid-air, in a Wes Anderson-style salute. Apparently. They turned to each other, with a "are you seeing what I'm seeing?" look that quickly turned to a "we've got this game!" look.

The Irish Club, where Dogs supporters from Perth and Melbourne were gathering to walk together to the ground, was full of, shall we call them, believers. Peter Gordon said a few words, about how wunder-coach Luke Beveridge tells each player to play for one and a half men. And how there were 40,000 punters expected at the West Coast Eagles and Western Bulldogs game. We have sold 400 tickets, he said, so we need each of you to barrack for 100 men. They knew they would, even though they already knew that the Dogs would win. And the Doggies knew it. "Straight from the horse's mouth," confided Mr Bontempelli (Marcus's dad) to Simon when they both ducked into the men's. "I know I should be toey, but I'm not," he said. "Marcus says he knows he should be worried, but he's not. We've got this!"