The moment two codes have waited for is here

We’ve repeatedly said we know nothing about either the AFL or the NRL until September. Well, here it is. September.

Dateline, New York City. Sideshow Bob is out of the US Open. His efforts have been regrettable. Crowds have treated him in the way mischievous adults regard a precious toddler at a family gathering. Have another tantrum for us! The lack of support from Lleyton Hewitt has been intriguing. Australia’s Not The Davis Cup captain has gone for a hit on the back courts rather than watching Sideshow Bob being picked to pieces by Roger Federer.

Dateline, Gold Coast. John­athan Thurston is out of the NRL. He’s as far removed from a circus act as it’s possible for an athlete to be. He wouldn’t know a tank if he was swimming in one. “Never retire,” says Bill Gates, but athletes are not afforded the luxury of playing until their final breath. Thurston needs a panel beater or a permanent rest, and here comes the latter.

Just as Sachin Tendulkar scoffs at the supposedly divine gifts that have allowed him a few Test runs — he points to the millions of balls he’s hit in the nets as being of more value — Thurston has worked his fingers to the bone for all his good fortune. How fitting that his ­seventh-minute standing ovation has come as he’s scowled after the concession of a try. How fitting that he’s produced two thunderous tackles, one on the large Ryan James, one on the smaller Ash Taylor, while finishing his career on the whiff of an oily rag. How fitting he’s conjured a win for the road. He’s been a brawling sort of poet in his temple-busting, iron-willed combat­iveness. He’s been someone whom Hewitt may have been more inclined to watch to the end.

Dateline, Gosford. Usain Bolt has played his first game of soccer. Forgive us if we’re not desperately awaiting the next instalment. If Friday night’s appearance off the bench for the Central Coast Mariners hasn’t been the greatest possible example of a bloke being a million miles from professional football, I don’t know what is. His smiling, good-natured, likeable, rather romantic, experimental, uncertain, hesitant, unspectacular, praiseworthy yet complicated opening stint has come and gone in time for what really matters. The NRL finals. The AFL finals.

Through all the ups, downs, dramas, controversies, suspensions, bits of rubbish, bits of beauty and building tension of nearly 400 matches across both of these mighty codes, we’ve repeatedly said we know nothing about either competition until September. Well, here it is. September.

Look at these draws. Look at these schedules. Eight belters. Every one of them is heart-in-throat material. Every club has a storyline. Every player has his moti­vations and situations. Let’s pluck this one out of the air. ­Cooper Cronk has moved from the Storm to the Roosters for love, actually, and now the Roosters have won the minor premiership.

“I don’t know what I would be if it wasn’t for the Melbourne Storm,” he said after last year’s decider. “It’s basically been the biggest influence on my football career and off the back of that, it’s been a big influence on me as a person. I wouldn’t have had the opportunities I’ve had if not for the Melbourne Storm, and if I didn’t have the influence of some really, really good people. A lot of that comes from hard work. The Melbourne Storm makes you bigger than what you are.”

It seems only yesterday that the Storm ended North Queensland’s dream run by winning the NRL grand final in the merciless manner of someone shooting Bambi in the head. It also seems like forever ago.

It seems only yesterday that Richmond fans witnessed an AFL win they waited all their lives to see. It also feels forever ago. All four AFL finals are going to be must-see TV. All four NRL matches are the same. That’s a lot of TV to see.

Thursday night kicks it off, the festival of the boot. Richmond versus Hawthorn and then more blockbusters than Universal Studios. Club football is the pinnacle.

In the AFL, obviously. All-Australian selection gets you a nice blazer but there’s no matches to be played on a representative stage. In the NRL, players rate Origin and Tests as the pinnacle … until they win a grand final. You’re surrounded by the teammates you’ve plotted with since pre-season. There’s teammates you trust, teammates you worry about, teammates you regard as good ole plodders, or fat fools, or try-hards, or barely up to standard, and the teammates who are reliable, the ones who will never let you down.

When you work out a way to get it done, together, when a long and draining mission is a successful one, the satisfaction in club football is deeper than the hit-and-run accomplishments of Oriin and Tests. Origin is bigger. Grand finals are better.

Premiership defences start now. In both codes. Minor premierships have been decided. Nothing major. There’s the looming spectacle of the big-name, big-game, big-moment players in full flight.

Dustin Martin. Greg Inglis. Lance Franklin. More, more. Sights to see. The weeks that go down in history. The weeks we remember. The weeks that define an athlete’s career. The sudden-death derbies. Sydney derbies. Melbourne derbies. It’s on for young and old.

Spring has sprung, and what an incredible time of year it is for Australian sport.

Dateline, September. There’s no place you’d rather be. The slow, excruciating, exhilarating build to the moment when two teams, and only two teams, can say the magic words. We won the comp.