First things first, let’s accept that Patrick Dangerfield is a great of the game.

“Nuh,’’ interrupts Dangerfield, “I don’t believe that. I get embarrassed when I stand — and it happens a lot because I do functions with Joel Selwood and Gaz and Tom Hawkins — and you’re standing with premiership players … I hate it.’’

He said it again and again: “I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.’’

And each time he said it, the tone changed in his voice.

What started out as playfulness ended with a brutal reality. He is not a premiership player.

So, how can he be a great without the ultimate greatness?

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“I hate that,’’ he said.

“Even playing finals, because you really haven’t won finals until you’ve won the last final of the year. Because it doesn’t count. Nothing counts unless you win it.

“I remember listening to Matty Pavlich, and it’s etched in my memory, he was talking about fulfilment when he finished his career, whether he felt fulfilled, and everyone’s different obviously.

“But if I put myself in that position, I don’t think I could ever feel really satisfied when all you’ve ever tried to do, is get to there.

“You don’t realise it when you first start, you think your career is going to last forever, but then you get beyond halfway and this is my 12th year, and it’s that feeling of mortality.

Dangerfield talks in the present.

DANGER IS NOT ALONE

Nick Riewoldt labours in the past. The St Kilda champ’s pain is Dangerfield’s fear.

“Would I rather we had won one?’’ Riewoldt says.

“Bloody oath. I think about it all the time — all the time. But we didn’t. So what do I do? Go and get filthy on the game?’’

Dangerfield is 29, Geelong’s best player and one of the game’s best players for almost eight years.

His peers parade above him. Dustin Martin won a flag. Selwood and Gazza won flags. Sam Mitchell won a flag. Josh Kennedy. Jimmy Bartel. Even Marcus Bontempelli, who is younger, has a flag. Of all the Grand Finals Dangerfield has attended — and he’s been to all of them since 2012 — it was the Bulldogs of 2016 which most aroused the what-if.

“Watching the Dogs in ’16 was horrific,’’ he said.

“I was so envious of what they had. The biggest thing I envy is the hour afterwards.

“I was at a function so I was at the MCG for ages afterwards, most people had gone, a bit of music was playing, and they were on the field.

“Imagine that feeling, when the lights go down, everyone’s gone home and it’s just you and the team and having done everything you set out to do nine months prior.

For those who remember the 1970s and 1980s, Bobby Skilton’s name was synonymous with Grand Finals. Which was odd because Skilton never played in one.

Then a Channel 7 commentator, Skilton was part of the fabric of footy’s biggest day because he said without fail, year after year, that he’d swap his three Brownlows to play in a Grand Final.

Dangerfield relates to the Hall of Fame Legend. He says winning a Brownlow Medal, as he did in 2016, is akin to going fishing by yourself and catching your greatest fish.

“There’s no story to tell,’’ he says.

“Think when you’re sitting around the fire, the best stories are when everyone is involved.

“When it’s individual, nan might like listening to it and that’s about it.

“I think that people think, and with respect to the Brownlow, you get a greater feeling of fulfilment from the individual things in football. And I probably did early in my career.

“How great would it be to win a best and fairest, an All Australian, a Brownlow Medal? Awesome. Terrific. But it’s a hollow feeling. That’s being brutally honest.

“I really respect the award and I will appreciate it as time goes on, but right now it means nothing. It just doesn’t. The really good players are only judged on what you do at the end of the year.’’

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Unquestionably, there’s a confidence to Patrick Dangerfield.

His detractors say it’s straight-out arrogance. That he craves the drama and the theatre. And that as president of the players’ association, he has too much to say on too many topics.

It’s a ridiculous assertion, really.

But “confidence” is the right word. The greats need it in spades.

Let’s be honest, if Dangerfield is not fit and playing well this September, Geelong probably won’t win the flag.

And if that happens, Dangerfield will be accused of not getting it done.

It’s not lost on Dangerfield that Dusty got it done for the Tigers. He won the Norm Smith medal and the Tigers won the premiership.

“You can say Dusty grabbed the team, and it looks to be that, but he’s just doing what he’s supposed to do,’’ Dangerfield said.

“Yeah, it’s grabbing the opportunity, but he dominated when he needed to.’’

Dangerfield has played in three losing preliminary finals — and moments from those losses still live with him.

“The smallest plays become the great historical stories,’’ he said.

DANGER OF JEALOUSY

It’s why he’s jealous of others.

“I hate Shaun Burgoyne,’’ he says. “I still have an unflinching memory from the 2012 preliminary final. It was at stoppage and I was on the wrong side of Shaun, the ball goes up, he wins it, the ball goes forward and Cyril marks it. Difference three points. It’s a game of moments, it really is.

“I love Shaun, I really do, but I hate him. I remember that play so vividly. It’s a game of inches. Just one passage of play. It speaks back to what you were talking about, changing the moment. They’ve done it when it really mattered.”

It’s why Dangerfield also loves Luke Hodge.

“I think he’s one of the greatest of all time,” he says.

“If you look at his individual statistics, yeah, he’s a good player, but he’s not a 10-time All-Australian.

“He’d do what needed to be done to get his team in a position to challenge. And as soon the finals started, it was like Luke Hodge became Luke Hodge.

“I think about him all the time. As soon as finals came, it wasn’t about possessions, it was about actions. I idolise him.

“We are so concerned, rightly or wrongly, with statistics throughout the season, but just the gut feel of who you really want there. Joel is one of them. Luke is another.”

Dangerfield says his time is now.

“Absolutely it is. And I think it’s a great responsibility to have,’’ he said,

“That’s what it should be as a senior player and when you are one of those players that’s our role, to get it done. It’s a great feeling having that responsibility.

“A coach used to say to me it’s a privilege to play in the midfield and it’s true. But it’s a privilege also to have someone run with you.

“Just think of the respect the opposition must have of you to assign someone to play on you. Conversely, when you need to perform, that’s just what you have to do. I think that’s a great responsibility.”

Asked to describe the pressure on him to perform, and how much pressure he imposes on himself, confident Patrick raises his head.

“Pressure makes diamonds,’’ he quips.

With all the footy world looking at you?

“That’s fun though. I’d rather have it than not have it, because you can influence, you get a say in how we finish. That in it itself is a special, special thing.’’

And, more importantly, your teammates looking at you?

“It’s what you want as a player,” he says.

“To be respected enough that they look to you to help change momentum or to continue it.

“When you play with someone like that, I want to show him I can do that and I can deliver on his level.

“It’s just what’s required. It’s beyond a role. Role playing is a bit of cop out sometimes when players say they are playing a role, yeah absolutely but we need your best game, especially in finals.

“That all said, it’s hard to talk about yourself when you haven’t done anything. It sucks. It’s embarrassing.’’

Dangerfield doesn’t have a flag. Neither does Riewoldt, Skilton, Tony Lockett, Gary Ablett Sr, Gerard Healy, Bernie Quinlan, Nathan Buckley, Doug Hawkins, Robert Harvey, Lenny Hayes, Matthew Richardson, Peter McKenna, and countless others.

FOOTY OWES US NOTHING

Dangerfield is a friend of Riewoldt’s and says the Saints champ deserved a flag.

Told that footy doesn’t owe anyone anything, Dangerfield said: “But if it did, there’s few like Nick.’’

Riewoldt played in three Grand Finals for a draw and two losses. Throw in three losing preliminary finals.

In two of those Grand Finals, his team led in time-on of the final quarters.

He understands what Dangerfield is enduring.

Because he never achieved the ultimate, it’s said he never got it done.

“If I were great player, I don’t think I’d deserve a premiership because of that.’’ Riewoldt says.

“And I’m not calling myself a great payer. But I feel like our team through that period deserved one.

“People will say you weren’t a great team because you didn’t win it. But we’re talking a bounce … the tiniest of degrees here.

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“Does that make that team any less great? It does because we didn’t win it, but we’re still a great team. I don’t like talking about the Grand Finals. Most of the time it’s spoken about in a context that holds it against you, or holds it against the group.

“Scott Watters (former Saints coach) comes out last week and it’s all held against us,” he says.

“Scott Watters said there was an issue with our culture, but if we won one of those two flags, no one could ever question the culture.

“And we’re talking leading in time-on in both hose Grand Finals.

“And someone like Scott feels like he’s in a position to question the culture. That’s the frustrating part.

“And it pisses me off when people want to chip Rossy Lyon. He was a bee’s dick away from winning three.’’

Riewoldt understands what Dangerfield is living and thinking. For probably 280 of his 336 games he played for St Kilda, Riewoldt was viewed as the matchwinner.

In finals, it was worse. Simply, he had to perform for the Saints to win.

“I felt that every game of my career, that I was potentially the difference between winning and losing. Whether that’s accurate or not, that’s how I felt. I felt that expectation. But that fuelled me, it drove me.’’

His Grand Final failings, and that of his team, hurt but there is perspective.

“I’ve got pretty good perspective in my life with what’s occurred in our lives as a family. I remember saying when we lost the ’09 Grand Final that it feels like someone has died and five years later I felt like the stupidest person alive by having said that when we lost Maddie.

“When people ask how much it hurts … I’m in as good a position unfortunately as anyone to be able to lay perspective over it.

“It hurts, but it more hurts on a professional, legacy sense, and more so when these conversations come up because you’re forced to talk about it.

‘’But it’s hard for me to be completely down about it. Would I rather we had won one. Bloody oath. I think about it all the time _ all the time. But we didn’t. So what do I do? Go and get filthy on the game?’’

Dangerfield can’t be filthy because his career is still active. But time is fleeting.

The brutal fact is he was recruited to Geelong as the game’s best player and the Cats have not won a flag.

“It’s really hard to articulate and say how much it would actually mean. The level of envy, jealousy is the wrong word, but I will be happy with others things in life, but not career-wise, not even close.’’

Every day proves a reminder at the football club.

In a hallway of the new grandstand, there’s a wall of historical photos and accomplishments.

“I’m up there because of the Brownlow but it doesn’t mean anything,’’ he said.

“Two down from me is Jimmy Bartel with his Brownlow, surrounded by the all premierships … I love it and I hate it.’’

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