When someone asks you if you want to take a bus ride across the Nullarbor to cover the Grand Final, the first part of that sentence doesn't even register.

All you hear is Grand Final and your mouth says yes before your brain has really registered the question.

Even if you do, by some miracle of reasoning, hear the first part of the question, it's pushed to the side. "Ha," the brain says, "The Nullarbor, great! A bus trip then the Grand Final! Dead easy, money for jam!"

Let me make this perfectly clear. In moments like these, your brain is an idiot. It is evil, it must be punished. Luckily, you're taking a non-stop bus trip across the Nullarbor. That's the punishment.

I'm not alone in saying that when the sun started to rise on the Thursday, the folds in my brain had completely flattened out. I was severely discombobulated.

Thankfully, the FreoExpress had made terrific time. Initial fears that we were going to get into Melbourne at some ungodly hour on Thursday night were put to rest. I genuinely looked like we were going to be, if anything, early.

My thoughts turned to the knowledge I had a king sized bed in my hotel room and I had a surge of energy.

The rest of the bus was invigorated. Driver Davis Read was acting as quizmaster for the day and every time the energy levels dropped, the Hawthorn anthem blared across the PA system, or a cry of "Go Hawks!" came from the front of the bus. Did you know Kickett got the first possession kick ever for the Dockers? I do now.

The Fremantle theme song was sung countless times with gusto over the last six hours of the ride, and I tell you if I didn't know the words before I sure do now.

The energy when we jumped off that bus at Southern Cross station on Thursday was amazing. Sure, it dissipated about two and a half seconds after I got into my hotel room, fell on the bed and stayed there for the next 11 hours, but when it was there it was genuinely electrifying.

The support from fellow travellers was amazing as well. In South Australia, we got a honk from almost every car that went by, so I think it's safe to say who our crow-eater friends are going for.

What's brilliant though - and what surprised me - is the support we've had in Melbourne. Apart from one or two cries of "Go Hawks!", we've generally been cheered.

Maybe it says something about our supporters. We're always visible, but I've been out and about last night and this morning and I've only seen one person in Hawthorn colours.

Maybe it's because it's our first grand final, or maybe it's because at heart, all Dockers fans are a little bit mad, but the dedication to the cause is in full effect.

Now I'm an Eagles member. I'm a proud West Coast man, and I'd never seek to claim any other team as my own. I used to hate the Dockers, but let me leave you with this: This entire experience will leave me with a very, very soft spot in my heart for the Dockers, and I hereby do solemnly swear – I'll never go for any other team playing the Dockers. Unless of course it's the Eagles, in which case all you Dockers fans can get stuffed for at least a day and a half.

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