FOOTBALL is a strange sport. Our rules and traditions would surely baffle people from other countries, let alone beings from other planets (whom I expect to see any day now).

I've left the topic of aliens lie for a while, but in light of another bizarre draw on the weekend, I thought we could get a bit freaky. Come on Melbourne … who's with me?

I wonder, for instance, if any of our green, extra-terrestrial friends watched the closing minutes of our game against Richmond on Sunday? What did they make of the draw?

After taking all afternoon to work out what was happening, they would have been left scratching their numerous heads as to why, after two hours of a high-octane, ferocious, end-to-end slug-fest, all the players scratched their own singular heads and trudged off the ground with only two points to show for it.

I've played in four draws now, and while each has been different, they all share the same hollow aftermath, the eerie feeling that you have just stepped into the twilight zone.

As the siren went on Sunday, my opponent Kelvin Moore and I just looked at each other and, like two people on a first date, we had little to say.

I love the mythology of football. The way reputations are passed on to younger generations, or a piece of play is pored over until it becomes like something from a scripted movie, and not just a few seconds in a game played a few years back. What would our great game today be without some of these football legends and myths? I think it's got a lot to do with the people who are involved in the game — the coaches, players, media and officials who are, from my observations, football junkies.

With the Tigers up by 19 points with 3½ minutes to play, my boys really had no right to think we were a chance to steal it. But football is a game with a sense of humour.

As Brian Lake launched himself to take that towering mark, only to crumple in a heap, you just knew that much of the ensuing week would be spent talking about the minute that followed.

With Brian being carted out of the way, pandemonium raged. Even now, as I try to recall where I was and who did what, I feel like a witness in Dallas when JFK died.

With neither video nor hindsight to help him decide, the umpire picked out the big German, Will Minson, to take the kick.

Before we go through the big finale, I should set the scene for the arrival of our hero.

I first met Will five or six years ago and was instantly fond of him. The thing that struck me upon getting to know the big boy from St Peter's College was his physical presence. On a grocery shopping trip one day, I walked a few steps behind Will to observe the old ladies and young kids looking on in awe, as if his sheer size was a circus attraction. It's been well documented that Will speaks German and plays a mean clarinet, and his grasp of the Queen's English is impeccable. But on meeting him all those years ago I was staggered by not only his lack of knowledge of pop culture, but his underdeveloped education on football folklore.

I've always thought Will and I were a good team because I could try to teach him about The Rolling Stones and Percy Jones, and he could teach me about the history of Germany or his philosophy on cooking a risotto and, in the next breath, explain to me how to build a tunnel from Carlton to Footscray to avoid the traffic.

Will is an underrated footballer — a good jump for his size, a competitor who thrives on physicality — but in my opinion his greatest asset has always been his ability to ask questions.

Being 199 centimetres tall and playing limited football in his younger years meant he had some ground to catch up. And he is never too embarrassed to ask the questions he needs answered to make him better.

It's because of this yin and yang of personalities, and his care for friends, family and teammates, that I regard him as a dear friend. With this in mind we go back to the moment the umpire gave Will the ball to make or break the day.

I was near Will and thought he looked a little distressed. It's a mountain of pressure for one kick. I jogged over to him and, after considering what I could say to ease the tension, I thought I came up with a pearl that could do the trick.

I put my arm around Will to pass on my vast wisdom, but he wriggled free and suggested in the most basic way that I should go away.

As the umpire signalled a goal, I tried to get my arms around him as he gave his trademark celebration. He might not have heard of The Beach Boys, but he is a man for the pressure situation and this was yet another moment that reinforced why footy is great.