ARE we never to be set free from the sight of Tania Buckley's butt cleavage? On the evidence of last night's Brownlow coverage. it would appear that the answer, sadly, is no.

Welcome to grand final week as interpreted by Channel Seven.

In fairness, this one week in September is a different beast to the usual linament and testosterone-smelling beast that is the AFL. It is a week that traditionally involves vast quantities of barbecued meat, an acknowledgment of people of the female persuasion, and a quick footy-booted stroll down memory lane.

Perhaps it was the triumphalism of Seven wresting the broadcasting rights back from Ten, but last night's coverage oozed nostalgia. It bathed in it, it sweated nostalgia from every pore — even for an ill-thought-out frock from 2001 that turned underwear into outwear.

Yet women largely gave thanks for the half-hour red-carpet special, which features the four words that strike fear into the souls of Brownlow partners: best and worst dressed.

Channel Nine had a stab at stealing some thunder, wheeling out Gary Ablett jnr's squeeze, Lauren Phillips, as a guest reporter following several women as they prepared for the big night. Channel Ten is muscling back in on its former ground with the Australian Idol grand final concert on Wednesday, an event that promises to mine the hitherto unexplored relationship between karaoke and football.

But Seven answered its commercial competitors with the big guns — namely Rebecca Twigley, who was unleashed on a special segment on Brownlow fashion through the ages. An impressive debut, she managed to utter the words, "Little did I know that one dress would cause such a stir," with nary a smirk.

Last year 642,000 Melburnians watched the three-and-a-bit-hour Brownlow dirge. Unfortunately, Channel Ten was unable the break down the figures into those fully conscious, those waiting in vain for a repeat of Futurama, and those asleep on the couch with a half-eaten sausage in bread.

This year, viewers were treated to Andrew Demetriou ploughing through the vote count like a man troubled by the knowledge he might have left the iron on at home; a suspiciously tanned Bruce McAvaney; and footballers joined as one in mugging for the camera over a growing forest of Crownies.

A champion was, eventually, named, his name to live among the annals of our true champions forevermore. But others were left pondering the big question: did showing footage of Jonathan Brown's naked behind before 9.30pm contravene any parts of the broadcasting act?