Another good man has succumbed to an epic fight. COVID-19 is a battle, mental illness is a war. Long after a vaccine is found and the mundane routine of Daniel Andrews, the politics and the man himself are long forgotten, we will still be dealing with an enduring global pandemic.

I grew up in Tiger territory and proudly wore number 8 on the back of the 'yellow and black' for Essex Heights Football Club (Eat 'em Alive). I have owned pubs in Richond and been in business with a Tiger tragic for a quarter of a Century. Shane seemed to me, a ripping bloke. Just one of the boys, desperate to shed the tag of being another AFL footballer and his inherited identity as son of Michael.

I was lucky enough to stand on Glenferrie Oval in 1990/1991. In those days there were three training groups. Group 3 were the Under 19's and we were graced with the most senior of players. Tucky, amongst others, recommenced their latter seasons dusting off the cobwebs with the 'young bloods'.

I will never forget standing in line at the start of training in a short 'kick to kick'. Hoping, occasionally realising, a surreal opportunity. "Tucky, Tucky, Tucky." The way I remember it, he called "Jules, Jules, Jules" and I delivered it laces out.

Shane would have been a 9 year old. I have no recollection of the kid that would become the man that achieved so much in his own right on the footy field. It is irrelevant.

The point that I am fumbling to make, is that we are consumed with a virus that will find a cure. Let's all keep one eye on a greater issue.

Vale Shane Tuck.

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