AT THE end of an era — his era — Kevin Sheedy walked into a blitz of camera flash guns. "Japanese making a lot of money," he chortled. When chief executive Peter Jackson spoke of Sheedy's "aplomb and professionalism", Sheedy mouthed the word of "aplomb" again, as if amused by it.

When Jackson asked that the decision to sack Sheedy be judged not now, but in three to five years hence, Sheedy interjected: "I'll be on the board by then."

Jackson, hitherto considered in tone and even in expression, gave up. "I just hope you're not president," he said.

This news conference was as Sheedy's generally are — a pantomime, but bigger. It was as if to say that nothing had changed except that, incidentally, he would not be coaching Essendon next year.

Meantime, he would remain in character to the end — impish, upbeat, calculatedly and infuriatingly oblique, full of wisecracks and asides, revealing little of himself.

But when asked how he felt, Sheedy volunteered nothing brighter than "pretty good". When asked about the wisdom of Essendon's decision, he replied: "It's not necessarily correct or a mistake."

He had been uniquely fortunate to coach the Bombers for 27 years, he said, but also made it clear that he had never entirely given up on the possibility of a 28th. He had miraculously saved himself often enough before.

But this year, it became clear that, rabbits or no rabbits, Essendon wanted back the hat.

Sheedy's sacking was a momentous turning in the tide of Essendon's affairs — and for that matter the AFL's — yet in its moment, the word "sacking" seemed too harsh.

More precisely, it was the day that — sooner or later — had to come. Essendon, knowing the stubborn set of his mind, had been coaching him towards acceptance since January; even Ron Evans, the late AFL chairman, had impressed on him that he and the club had come to the long unimaginable watershed. A finishing date was roughed out.

But the deleterious effect of ever-rising speculation, combined with the falling of coaching vacancies at three other clubs, had forced the Bombers' hand. A meeting on Monday, a little last-minute subterfuge to distract media, and the job was done.

According to Jackson, when the inevitable at last was upon Sheedy on Tuesday morning, he said: "Let's get this over and done with, because we've got to beat Adelaide." Jackson said Sheedy's phlegmatism in such an historic moment was the mark of the man.

But others never would be so dispassionate on his account. Yesterday morning, as word swept town, media and fans descended on Windy Hill, startling pensioners arriving for a social morning. Passers-by on the road were constrained to say their piece, some rejoicing in the Bombers' hurt, one calling choice epithets to media.

Another, in a white delivery van, yelled: "They ought to be ashamed of themselves: he put you on the map …" His voice trailed off in his wake. No more in his leaving of the Bombers than in his long stay would Sheedy leave folk unmoved.

Some players sat in on the news conference in Essendon's theatrette, others watched live on pay television from an adjoining room. It was an age removed from the manner of his arrival in 1981, long before pay television, the internet and — for that matter — the AFL.

The Bombers lost five of their first six games. I recall sitting with him on a bench in the away change rooms at the Western Oval after the fifth defeat. He was wondering what he had let himself in for.

That week, he touted the idea that he might come out of retirement. The Essendon board vetoed it, but rarely bested Sheedy again until this week. The Bombers won their next 15 games in a row, and three years later the premiership, and so a legend was founded.

Coaching exploits aside, Sheedy was — and remains — the single greatest character of his era. Publicly, he was eccentric.

Privately, he was, too: Jackson's several bemused shakes of his head yesterday suggested as much (Sheedy "sacked" Jackson by way of return compliment yesterday, saying that the club was in the throes of the change, with a new president and soon to have a new coach AND chief executive!).

But Sheedy could connect with footballers; his record says so. Periodically, he would fall out with one or another, but rarely for long, or for good.

He was as chirpy as ever yesterday. He would keep all options open, except to stay at Essendon; that would be unfair on his successor. He would remain in football, would continue to enjoy it. Jackson said he had impressed on Sheedy his own advice, that the best might be yet to come.

Sheedy grinned. It was a brave face, or the facsimile of one. On Tuesday night, already half-sacked, he went to a function at the racing museum. Last night, he intended to go to dinner with some old mates from VFA club Prahran, as planned. "I don't think it is a big deal," he said of the day. "It's footy. It's sport."

But at the end of the conference, an odd thing happened. Eighty media folk, including the most hard-bitten, burst into applause. Some surprised themselves. It happens at the Olympics, but not in the dog-eat-dog world of AFL.

It was the first ovation in what will be a long and deserved series. Once the last echo has died, Essendon will never be the same again, and nor will the AFL.