MELBOURNE bade farewell to Kevin Sheedy and James Hird at twilight. It was the right light for the occasion, glorious, even inspiring, but indistinct, too. It was a light that said the end was near and certain, but had not yet arrived.

It made for an ambiguous celebration, a finale, but not final. The MCG, sold out and heaving, was a spectacle. The preliminaries were on the grand scale. Strains of the anthemic Heroes Live Forever rang out as the scoreboard screen aired a video tribute. The stage was grandly set.

But Sheedy and Hird both insisted that there be no stage. There was still a match to be won, still the slight possibility of making the finals. Slight possibilities are the margins in which champions in all endeavours work.

So it was that both were plainly uncomfortable about the opening extravaganza. As the causes celebre walked alone up the players' race and onto the arena, Sheedy looked abashed, Hird blank. The greeting was thunderous, yet neither was moved. As soon as was decently possible, they gestured for the team to follow, and soon enough the giant run-through was shredded. Sheedy and Hird did not so much stand on ceremony as stomp on it.

Within 20 seconds of the first bounce, Hird had a free kick. Soon enough, he had made a goal for Matthew Lloyd by the artful expedient of sagging away from his minder, Chris Newman, then doubling back to lead and mark. It was quintessential Hird.

The crowd watched him almost as intently as Newman, and later Daniel Jackson and Kane Johnson, noting for perhaps the last time the easy, loping stride, the licking of the fingers as the ball approached and later, as his exertions took their toll, the hands on hips, as deceiving a pose as Robert Harvey's.

Hird ranged up and down the ground, and every now and then darted across it, still searching for angles; in this, he was like the many who have paid tribute to him this past fortnight or so.

Every time he neared the ball, his name rose in throat of the crowd. Four times, passes from teammates failed to reach him on the full. But he, too, was culpable, twice kicking the ball away in defence.

The match did not rise to any great heights. Both sides turned the ball over repeatedly and missed seemingly simple shots at goal. The truth, hidden by the sense of occasion, was that this was 11th versus 16th on the ladder. By the clear light of night, this was unavoidable.

Hird's influence waned. This was scarcely a surprise; he is 34 and at the end. He will not be remembered by this match anyway, but by all 253. He was as creative as ever when in the play, but unable to bend this match, unlike so many others, to his will. Sheedy kept him on the ground throughout, for there was no point in sparing him now. Richmond watched him hawkishly, knowing the inspiration he might provide if allowed to cut loose.

Hird spent the last quarter on the forward line, from which redoubt he so often has proved heroic before. But, save for one last mark and goal, he could make no impact. Mostly, the action was at the other end of the ground. Finally, he inserted himself at a centre bounce, but again the play washed around him and away towards Richmond's goal.

The final siren was anti-climactic. At first, no one approached Hird, then Andrew Lovett, then a bunch of Richmond players, who could now afford to be gracious. One handed him the match ball, which he bounced disconsolately a couple of times, then kicked to a trainer. So did an era at the MCG pass mildly away, to background strains of the Richmond theme song.

Hostilities done, Hird and Sheedy walked farewell laps, one clockwise, one anti-clockwise. It symbolised their years together, both giving his all, but in his own way. Defeat weighed down the moment, since football is firstly about the pursuit of victory. But the crowd was glad of the moment, and Sheedy and Hird humbled by it.

At length, there were fireworks, reducing one of Hird's children to tears — this was the bang, but long after the whimper — then a guard of honour formed by players of both clubs.

As they left the great arena for the last time, the vision again was misty, partly because of the still clearing smoke, partly, doubtlessly, because of tears.