'I'M NOT a groupie … I'm a band aid," said Kate Hudson's character Penny Lane in Almost Famous, trying to tell her younger admirer that she wasn't on the hunt for sexual conquests, but a true fan who "dug" the music.

It's not for me to judge whether Penny was true to her word, but she sure did like those musicians. I've had a few Penny Lane moments of my own this past week — without the sexual conquests, of course.

Having been given the honour of representing Victoria, I had butterflies for the entire drive to training at the MCG, and they didn't let up until Sunday morning as I bid my farewell to Camp Victoria.

In a way, most footballers are like Penny. They are fans — fans of the game and of the great players. To be rubbing shoulders with the game's elite was, as you would expect for a fan, quite thrilling. But like royal protocol there is a certain dignity one must keep in the company of the greats, so I put my autograph book away for the week.

Preparing for training with my new teammates and coaches was exciting, and a little awkward. It's an unusual situation to be in, whereby everyone knows who everyone is, but have never met (apart from the field of play).

Small talk not being a strong suit of mine, I shuffled around with eyes aimed low looking for my locker, only pausing to reflect when I put my jumper on. Footy is a ride of ups and downs, but this was certainly a nice moment that I'll keep forever. With my club skipper Brad Johnson incapacitated, I suddenly felt like I was in the school playground with the big kids and with no big brother to look out for me. Thankfully, the big kids in this playground were not the bullying type, and once the footballs were brought out the tension eased.

The power of that ball, I mused — it never ceases to amaze.

Contrary to what some of my early coaches might think, I've always enjoyed football training. It's much like lunch time at school, when you'd run around kicking and handballing with your mates until the bell rang.

Anyway, like I said, I do enjoy footy training, but running onto the MCG last week on a frosty Thursday morning with the best players in the league was a tingle-worthy moment. Even so, I was plagued by a lingering feeling of guilt. Was this a case of football infidelity? Was I cheating on my wife (the Bulldogs) with this glamorous and exciting mistress — Victoria?

I decided to try and make some friends to avoid the confronting idea that I was an adulterer. Footballers and football clubs are relatively similar wherever you go, and the Victorian camp was no different.

You just need time to find your role in the social landscape of the team.

A footy team needs a certain amount of roles to be played out — and I don't mean backs, forwards and mids. There has to be a class clown, someone to break the ice with the group and to happily make fun of himself to put others at ease. Brendan Fevola plays this part as if he were born to it.

Then of course there is the chatty little fella who keeps the mood up all the time — Luke Power took to this role with consummate ease.

And when it came to who would be the boss, someone to take charge of morale and direction, it was left to the big boy from up north, J. Brown.

I say boy with my tongue firmly in my cheek, for if anyone was to be described as a man, then surely it's him. With dangerous levels of testosterone coursing through him, he has the rare ability to influence others through his presence.

These are just a few of the roles that had to be quickly filled by the time we ran onto the park. The freak, the superstar and the ladies man would all be filled by the likes of S. Johnson, C. Judd and J. Selwood respectively.

As for the team's weirdo, I'm not really sure we had one. I heard the boys talking about it at times, but the conversation always fizzled out when I walked into the room, which I thought was odd.

Anyway, after a couple more training sessions and official functions with my mistress, there was one last rendezvous to go. Not in the back corner of a dark, seedy bar. No, I chose to take my affair into the spotlight — on a Saturday night under lights at the MCG.

Afterwards we retired to a local pub to chat over the week, which was great. Stories and laughs carried well into the night. When the Dream Team boys showed up, the stories and laughter only got bigger.

Slipping back into my bed this week with my wife in red, white and blue, it was hard to escape the guilt of my weekend's dirty deeds.

I must say it's nice to be back with the missus, and there's nothing like your own bed, is there? But I will never forget my whirlwind week with the mistress in the blue dress with a white V down the front.