Bomber Evans woke to the usual post-match morning aches and pains. One was particularly bothersome, a large bruise on the prominent edge of his elbow.

‘That’s where my elbow hit the ground after I tried to tackle Broady,’ he thought, remembering the incident that incited Broadbent’s accusation that he had been assaulted. He was still angry at Broadbent’s teammate Bluey McLaren. ‘He should have owned up when he had the chance.’

For a moment he relished the thought of their next meeting, but he instantly remembered the warning of the CEO from his management company – don’t get into any trouble, no matter what.

He pulled on a pair of black and red track suit pants and went to collect the Sunday Herald-Sun. Picking it off the damp grass, he struggled to remove the plastic wrapping. ‘You need a bloody university degree to get this off,’ he thought. Giving it up as hopeless, he marched to the kitchen and jammed a bread knife into the wrapping. Rolling it out on the breakfast nook, he grabbed the phone on the second ring.

"Bomber, it’s Jason Harvey," the well known football journalist said, "what do you say about the allegation?"

Bomber shook his head. "What allegation?"

There was a pause. "You haven’t heard?"

"Harves, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Check out the front page of the Herald-Sun," the journalist advised.

Evans looked down to be confronted by a series of grainy blow-ups of the huddle just before half time. The first showed Evans’s elbow in the air, his head buried in the vicinity of Broadbent’s shoulder. The second showed Broadbent emerging from the pack, his hand at the side of his head, grimacing in pain. The third showed the umpire speaking to Evans, Broadbent’s finger pointed accusingly at the young Essendon champion. The headline left no room for doubt: "BROADY DIVEBOMBED".

"Are you there?" Harvey asked.

Evans replaced the receiver, his mouth still open. The phone rang again. It was his manager at ISM, Robert "Dutch" Slaven (nicknamed because his manner resembled the con man in a 1950s Broadway musical about gangsters). "Say nothing, absolutely nothing," he ordered his young charge.

Seven kilometres away, at the headquarters of the AFL, the General Manager Football Operations stared at the same headlines. He shook his head, reached for the phone and punched out a number.

Mark Scott, investigations officer for the League, had been expecting the call.

"We have to investigate," the General Manager said, "we’ve got no choice."

"I agree," Scott replied, "but I doubt there’s anything in it. Let’s face it, the umpires didn’t even think it was worth an investigation, let alone a report.."

An hour later he was on his way to AFL headquarters to view the video tape…