They think a regular byline visits upon them a mystical influence and a voice that is followed by the meek and feared by the powerful. And this columnist is no different.

The historical event subject to this week's sermon didn't change governments, start or stop wars or involve a life-saving scientific breakthrough but involves something far more important.

Football.

Next week there will be a small function at Hawthorn's Ricoh Centre at Waverley to commemorate how a footy club was plucked from the jaws of death by a ragtag army of volunteers.

Twenty years ago several Victorian AFL clubs were close to broke and the power brokers embarked on a strategy of cutting dead wood to encourage new growth.

In 1996 the first casualty was the long-battling Fitzroy Lions, consumed anaconda-style in an unequal merge with the Brisbane Bears. It was sad but not unexpected as the foundation VFL club had for years struggled against overwhelming debt and an unsympathetic league administration.

But Hawthorn – a mega-club that had played in 13 of the previous 14 final series, eight of the last 13 premierships and had won five? A club which owned its social club and supposedly turned a profit the previous year?

Slowly stories circulated that the Hawthorn board was exploring a possible "equal merge" with Melbourne, a proud club with a healthy bottom line and an unhealthy win-loss rate. Indeed, for some years the only silverware Melbourne supporters saw were the soup spoons in the MCC dining room.

On practical grounds the merge made sense. Both clubs were strong in the eastern suburbs, had a rich history of recruiting from elite private schools and were promised an immediate rosy future. The league would throw in $6 million to abracadabra all debts and allow a combined playing list that would almost guarantee a premiership.

But football is based on emotion not logic. Why else would grown men walk down the street wearing sleeveless football jumpers or stand in the rain to watch a grand final parade?

The Hawthorn board had no alternative as the previous healthy figures were at best rubbery, the club was near broke and to continue trading would be close to illegal. Without an immediate injection of funds the doors of Glenferrie Oval would permanently close.

When the proposed merge was announced there was a "you can't fight city hall" sort of apathy. For all its success Hawthorn had just 11,000 members, no cash, an ageing list, an ageing ground and bleak times ahead. The league thought Hawthorn and Melbourne supporters were "reasonable" and "practical" rather than passionate and parochial and that once this merge went ahead it would be easier to organise similar partnerships with other battling clubs.

Enter former premiership captain Don Scott who is a unique individual. Blood loyal to many of his 1970s teammates he fell out with the club, spending his last playing year virtually talking to no one off the field.

When he retired in 1981 he didn't as much drift away as storm off. Don't get me wrong; I like Don for he always sticks to his guns, even when they are pointing at his head.

It was Channel Ten journalist Stephen Quartermain (a keen Hawk) who invited me to the Hawthorn past players' room for a quiet chat with a handful of former players and media supporters.

The discussion was not so much about saving the club as giving the fans a choice. If they didn't come out in numbers with open wallets then the merge could go ahead without opposition.

As the meeting was breaking up one of the sports reporters, keen to write that an anti-merge group had been formed, wanted a snappy name for Scotty's gang. I said we weren't going to make one up on the spot for his deadline, as we needed a name that would resonate.

Having given many notorious crooks their nicknames over the years I felt strangely equipped to invent a brand name that would stick, believing we needed to look at our own history for inspiration.

One of the greatest wins was the 1989 grand final against Geelong, when at half-time coach Allan Jeans urged his injured players to "pay the price".

So in keeping with Jeans' call to dig deep or forever regret, I suggested "Operation Payback", with the message that the club had given us so much and it was time to repay that debt.

The league felt Payback would never raise the funds needed, nor gather the votes to block the merge. To make sure they found $250,000 for a pro-merge PR campaign, but we had Richard Amos, a former reserves player and executive with Royce Communications whose unpaid team comprehensively won the spin war.

The pro-merge campaign, codenamed Sweet (please), treated Scott as a well-intentioned eccentric out of his depth, arguing that even if he raised the money it was the equivalent of treating gangrene with a band-aid. They painted the lucrative merge proposal as a "cop the deal or walk the plank" offer.

The plan was to needle Scott to bite then paint him as erratic and dangerous. But Scotty stayed on message as he did for (most) of his football career.

Most of the media fell in behind the League strategy based on the numbers but passion, anger and outright love can't be listed on a financial ledger.

Any pretence of civility collapsed on voting night when the meeting of thousands of Hawthorn members at the Camberwell Civic Centre flirted with violence.

The existing board spoke first hoping to persuade the undecided, except there was no one in the hall who wanted to listen.

I saw one man on the first level trying to find a position to spit on the executive. Then there was the exchange between a board member on stage and a conservatively dressed middle-aged lady in the stalls.

As he explained the grim financial position she called out, "why don't you fix it then?" Unwisely he responded, "why don't you, darling?" When she countered with "why don't you go and get f----d?" her face dropped, as I doubt such an expression had ever slipped into her head let alone out of her mouth.

I was sitting with Hawthorn-supporting senior policeman Steve Pierce, a big man with a big chin, who said his two men in the crowd would not be enough to stop the looming riot. He declared I was expected to join him on stage to repel attackers if they tried to bash the board.

It was then I went to Scotty who was about to speak. His eyes focused, his jaw set, convinced as he was the vote was fixed and the proxies doctored.

I asked him to look at the crowd, to see they had come to vote against the merge and we were past the post. I asked him to calm the mob by telling them the board may be wrong in wanting the merge but they were Hawthorn people acting in good faith.

When he rose the crowd went mad but he remained silent until reminding them, school teacher-style, that it was good manners to be quiet when someone was speaking.

"These gentlemen deserve a little more respect than what you are giving them," he said, regaining control with that one statement. "Remember, it is 'we' once we leave here, even though we are having a confrontation tonight."

Scotty has no recollection of our conversation and no doubt came to his own conclusions but what is certain is without his statement that meeting would have turned nuts.

I looked at the crowd and felt a Churchillian glow of pride that we had given the supporters a sense of common purpose. Ross Stevenson from 3AW Breakfast (a mad Hawk and Dolci coterie member) suggested I looked more like a power-crazed Joseph Goebbels at Hitler's Nuremberg rally.

Despite Don's concerns of a stitch-up, Hawthorn members rejected the merge. Melbourne narrowly voted for the deal (despite its own brave anti-merge movement) but without a partner it was off the table. The league felt if such an obvious merger couldn't get over the line because stupid supporters ignored the obvious then such a strategy was dead.

And so Operation Payback didn't just save Hawthorn and Melbourne, but North Melbourne, the Western Bulldogs, Richmond and St Kilda.

Enter businessman Ian Dicker, as Payback's preferred Hawthorn president. As Scott proved to be a superb wartime leader, Dicker was the right peacetime president.

He tapped into the passion, and turned those fans into financial members with the number this year a record 74,000 plus.

Despite the AFL suggesting Payback would doom Hawthorn to a slow death the record shows the opposite. And while Scott stopped the merge and Dicker stopped the banks, ultimately it was the supporters who saved the club.

So what have we learned? Those in authority who pretend to have the answers often don't, apathy is the enemy of democracy, optimism beats cynicism and people power is the ultimate power.

And Payback was a pretty snappy name wasn't it?

Additional research, One For All – The Story Of The Hawthorn Football Club by Harry and Michael Gordon.