I clearly remember that glorious day in February when one of the five friends suggested we take it to the next level and head to Sydney for the NRL grand final.
Our previous escapade to Marlborough for fine wines and cheeses had been a highlight without sport the previous year, so the suggestion to combine wine with rugby league was warmly received.
We joked right from the start - "What if the Warriors made it?" - and shrugged it off like it was a wonderful pipe dream.
So, it was settled. One of the group's good wives would plan the event, given that planning something on this large scale was not in any of our respective male repertoires.
Regular payments and event planning ensued.
Meanwhile, the Warriors kicked off the 2011 NRL season with three losses on the trot. I scoffed about it to another mate who had predicted that the Warriors would win the competition this year. I think a box might be headed his way.
Regular wagering was also part and parcel of the whole experience, until we all noted how much we were losing and it was shelved, alongside the Warriors joke, which was starting to become less of a joke as the season wore on.
As the tickets arrived and the day drew closer, one of us dropped out, replaced by a mate of a mate of a mate, and still the Warriors marched on.
Two weeks ago, the scoffing was at fever pitch as the chances of beating Benji Marshall's Tigers were apparently next to nil.
And then, as semifinal Saturday against the Storm rolled around, it became a contest of who could yell most loudly at the tube as Shaun Johnson put on a step and sent Louis Brown over for the match-winner.
Sydney, here we come. The Warriors have made it, and we get to be there, in the rugby league capital of the world.
A television set is nothing compared to a grand final - and hopefully a Warriors victory - viewed with our own eyes.
