Preliminary finals are the ultimate test in football. They don’t just measure skill; they expose nerve, leadership, and resilience. You’re one step from the grand final, but that step is often the hardest of all. Prelims are where dreams are made and where seasons come to die.
I’ll never forget the 1994 preliminary final. North Melbourne had Geelong on the ropes for most of the day. We controlled large patches, won the contests, and looked every bit like a grand final side in waiting. Then came the moment that still stings. Gary Ablett Snr marked 35 metres out, directly in front, as the siren sounded. The stadium fell silent. One kick later, the ball split the middle and our season was gone. That’s prelim football in a nutshell – unforgiving, merciless, and brutally final.
From 1994 through to 2000, North Melbourne played in seven consecutive preliminary finals. It was one of the most consistent runs of the modern era, and every year reinforced how unique this stage is. In 1995, Carlton tore us apart with power and polish. In 1997, St Kilda outlasted us in a nail-biter. In 1998, we beat Melbourne in the prelim but stumbled a week later against Adelaide. And in 2000, we ran into an Essendon side that barely lost a game all year.
But there were triumphs too. In 1996, we overcame Brisbane and rode that momentum all the way to premiership glory against Sydney. In 1999, we again beat the Lions in a bruising prelim, and a week later lifted the cup against Carlton. Those wins weren’t just about the brilliance of Wayne Carey, the courage of Glenn Archer, or the defensive strength of Mick Martyn. They also came because of the quieter contributions – the work rate of Peter Bell, the composure of Adam Simpson, the toughness of Anthony Rock, and the relentless running of David King. Prelims expose your depth – not just your stars.
And the stage itself adds to the weight. Prelims draw massive crowds, often 90,000-plus at the MCG, and the wall of noise becomes suffocating. Every contested ball feels like life or death. The physical toll is brutal too – bodies battered from a long season, players carrying knocks into games that leave no room for excuses.
That’s what separates a prelim from a grand final. On grand final day, the week is a celebration. But in a prelim, it’s fear. Fear of wasting a year. Fear of being remembered for falling short. Fear that one fumble or one kick could haunt you forever. That pressure is heavier than anything else in football.
This week’s contenders are about to walk into that furnace. Whoever survives won’t just be talented – they’ll be tough, composed, and ruthless. Because history remembers premierships, but players remember prelims – and after all these years, I can still say it with certainty: the hardest game to win in football is a preliminary final.
