Four goal posts, rusted to the base, all with a rough-but-ready lean, once stood at the Hewetts’ family farm.

It became a symbol of the household – for the boys, anyway. Dad, Stephen, came off the bench on Sundays, only when the cropping and drafting were done for another week.

Mum, Teresa, tended the casualties when the dust settled.

There the posts stood, for the best part of 15 years, hammered into the South Australian dirt where their Port Broughton paddock meets the sea and where the Hewett boys – Nick, Will, George and Cam – spilled blood, sweat and tears right up until dinner time.

“We had the house, garage and about a 40m patch of dirt that went slightly uphill,” George said.

“Dad made us goal posts out of some rusty pipelines. It was always me and Nick versus Cam, Will and Dad on Sundays, when everyone was home. When Dad was working, us boys played every day after school.

“I’ll always remember kicking a goal and having to run up the hill to get the footy. It was full contact too, so at least one of us would always come off crying.

“Those times with my brothers definitely shaped me as a footballer.”

(Left to right) Nick, Will, Cam and George during their school days.

Farm work, school and Mum’s cooking were usually the only ways to lure the kids away.

Footy, cricket, scooters, motorbikes – it didn’t matter. The Hewett brothers were always active and everything was a competition.

The sibling rivalry, aside from a few heated moments, never peaked though as George was, in his own words, “a wuss” compared to his brothers.

That’s why when the cricket season came along George would always bat first.

“We were pretty competitive. We always tried to outdo each other, whatever we were doing. And we had plenty of run ins because of it,” he said.

“We had a little Signature Gray Nicholls bat that we used. There was one day I didn’t think I was out, but Will did. We had a scuffle and I threw the bat at his head. I got him a good one.

“It was on for while then. Every time he was winning I’d just take off down the road. It’d be game over because he wouldn’t be able to catch me.

“None of us liked to lose.”

They all stuck to what they were good at. George loved footy, cricket and scooters. Cam, the younger of the four, was an avid pushbike rider. Will, the second oldest, clung to motorbikes while “Nick was older and too cool to do anything with us.”

George was smaller and skinnier than his older brothers, a late developer, which explains his timidness growing up. He eventually learned to harness those traits and turned them into strengths, especially on the footy field.

Sitting in the SCG stands, he added: “I’m catching up with my weight and height now.”

The Hewett boys are more friends than foe these days but that competitive streak has stuck, especially between the younger two after Cam took George’s lead and earned his way onto an AFL list during the off-season.

Cam, Will, George and Nick ... all grown up.

 “We were very excited for him when Port Adelaide picked him up,” George said.

“He’s fitting in pretty well. He’s quite reserved, a bit like myself. And he’s a bit like me when he rocked up – light and small – so he’ll take some time.

“We find ourselves talking about what sort of training we do and comparing it to the other.”

It’s not often, but George always loves catching up with his brothers and getting back home.

About 10km from town, home is 4,000 acres of wheat, barley, peas, lentils, 1000-head of sheep and tranquillity.

“Our land is right on the beach. It’s pretty nice. One of the nice things about home,” he said.

“Every break I try and get back. It’s good to spend my time off there. I feel very comfortable on the farm. It’s secluded. You can unwind. You can do what you want for a bit.”

There’s something missing from George’s sanctuary nowadays though.

No longer do the goal posts stand at the top of the hill, beyond the house and garage and patch of dirt where the paddock meets the sea.

But what will always remain are the battle scars left over from when the Hewett boys spilled blood, sweat and tears right up until dinner time.

Where, ultimately, George the footballer was sowed.