IT IS Saturday afternoon in Melbourne. I am wandering along Swan Street not far from the MCG. Saints fans sit, short-sleeved, in pubs and cafes; groups of red, white and black, happy in the warm afternoon sunshine. Pies fans drift along, shouting to each other, "Go Pies".

I find Barrie Cassidy, best known as the host of ABC TV's Insiders. He is with his crew in the Post Office Hotel, Richmond, having a beer and contemplating pizza. This is his natural habitat. He has footy in him. He has sport in him.

I like a man with a long-term plan; a man willing to spend decades of his life in political journalism in the hope it leads to a sports show; and a deeply-contented man, now that he has Offsiders. And his Pies are in a final. Which he's quietly confident they will win. Collingwood-confident.

Barrie Cassidy: the everyman of Australian television. He's the sort of bloke who could bob up anywhere. At Tobruk. At Moonee Valley. On the beach at Byron. There's cricket Bazza keeping wickets. There's bus-driving Bazza helping a little old lady. There's racing Bazza riding the favourite in the fifth. There's sergeant-major Bazza playing two-up with the boys. There's Justice Bazza at the bench. And farmer Bazza leaning on his grain truck. You feel like he'd be at home in any situation, and nothing would surprise you.

He's certainly at home going to the footy. He's done it forever. He grew up in Chiltern, a country town where everyone is a Lappin or a Cassidy. He is from one of those crazy families where each child chooses a different team to support. His father supported Melbourne, his oldest brother Geelong, his next brother St Kilda. Being the late 1950s, when his time came, he chose Collingwood.

He donned the red and white of Chiltern in his youth until a job as a reporter with the local paper made it difficult to commit to the team. He returned to play a season at Shepparton United in the 1970s. His team made the preliminary final, which he missed after some thug from Tongala rearranged his nose.

He was always looking for a game of footy and played with a number of clubs. He once played in a charity match ("in front of thousands") for Media against All-Australia, a team that included Bluey Adams, Merv Hobbs, John Peck, John Schultz and cameos from Lou Richards and Jack Dyer. He kicked the first goal of the match after receiving a Murray Weideman handball.

While working in Canberra he continued to have a run, for the Australian National University seconds, a team coached by John Deeble, professor of economics and architect of Australia's original Medibank system. Deeble, who had played in the Melbourne reserves under Jack Mueller in the late '40s, was as much a shepherd as a coach. His job was not only to offer tactical advice but to rouse the hungover lads from the local residential colleges on Saturday mornings to ensure the ANU seconds had a full team. One time they didn't and Barrie's principal claim to footy fame is that he played in the only team to be beaten by Yass (in human history).

Barrie (by then in his early 30s) retained the stamina so typical of the Chiltern Cassidys and put in some magnificent performances on the wing and at the bar. Teammates remember Barrie to be particularly determined in this regard.

He was a handy player, not the greatest disposer of the footy, but his reputation was built on his pace and his ability as a dogged burrower. And he was a fine club man.

The pizza goes down beautifully and Barrie is toey. We join the stream of fans heading towards the MCG.

Unfortunately, as is the way in big finals, we are unable to sit together. As we near the Keith Miller statue many groups are dividing, bidding farewell, and all the best, and see you after the game. I join the Saints fans behind the goals at the Punt Road end. They are high on life and on the prospect of their team causing an upset.

From the outset it's on the cards. The Saints have so much space in the forward line and Nick Riewoldt runs into it. Miraculously he has his kicking boot on and the Saints fans are encouraged.

It is a hard game to work out. The Pies go forward just as much as the Saints but their attacks are untidy. At half-time it's 8.1 to 4.11. Barrie and I meet for a beer. He remains confident. ("We've had more scoring shots"). Collingwood-confident.

But the furrows in the Cassidy brow are deeper than usual. I suspect he is worried about St Kilda's tall forwards, and the Pies' scrappy delivery.

We return to our respective areas. The Saints break the Pies. The song is sung.

Outside, groups of fans meet up again. "How good was that?" says a Sainter.

"We never win in the white shorts," says a Pie.

I won't find Barrie Cassidy. For once he has left to walk home just before the final siren and is kicking stones somewhere along Church Street.

He's got a sports show to host in the morning.