Lance Franklin second fiddle to Sonny Bill Williams as king of Sydney Lance Franklin parades the Birdcage at Flemington alongside model girlfriend Jesinta Campbell. LANCE "Buddy" Franklin, welcome to Sydney. Now if you'll just sit Jesinta on your knee so we can get another shot. Yep, that's it, gorgeous. What's that? You haven't unpacked your bags and you can't leave the house without a light bulb flashing? The gossip columnists are chasing you down aisle five at the supermarket? New teammates are wondering privately whether you're worth the salary sacrifices they made before they knew you were coming? Well Dorothy, you're not in Kansas anymore. Or that sometimes equally isolated and introverted state, Victoria. Down there they've got your back. The AFL boosters couldn't understand why the Daily Telegraph would mention that you had been parading around a marquee at Flemington pretending you'd never heard of Sonny Bill Williams - a genuine superstar in your new home town. Of course, if SBW went to the Storm and was overheard saying "Ablett who?," they would try him for crimes against AFL and string him up in Federation Square. Then again, maybe they really haven't heard of SBW in Melbourne. Even in summer Comrade Demetriou and his Ministry of Truth dominates the 24 hour news cycle. Minor changes to the pre-season competition schedule, the signing of some hack defender who was discarded by another club. Hold the front page! This AFL obsession can make the self-proclaimed "capital of the sporting world" seem very small. Sydney, on the other hand, is very big. Although not big enough for a man with a nine-year, $10 million contract to get lost. Especially not one who loves the limelight. Franklin in his new colours. No doubt the Swans told you how Plugger Lockett and Big Bad Barry Hall came to Sydney and revelled in their new-found anonymity. What they didn't they tell you was that Plugger and Bazza were rarely seen whispering in the ears of supermodels, frolicking in nightclubs, strutting the red carpet and engaging in the city's self-parodying C-lister lifestyle. I did see Plugger court the media once. He marched over to the press huddle at the SCG and fronted a reporter from Triple-M. "Got me bloody Metallica tickets yet?" he demanded. Big Bad Barry had a couple of publicised "romantic tangles." But, mostly, he let his boots and, finally, his fists do the talking before he got fed up with the successful but sometimes sanctimonious "Bloods culture." Speaking of the Bloods, you'll be hearing a lot about the Swans' "no dickheads policy." Which is odd because they don't have one. It was just a throwaway line from a former recruiting bloke who was trying to find a way of telling me that, when he had to choose between two players, he went for the cleanskin. But the Swans don't mind pretending "no dickheads" was handed down on a stone tablet. It makes them feel like they have some special redemptive power, not just an extra 9.8 per cent in their salary cap. Although, in your case, not even that massive competitive advantage has allowed the Swans to pluck you from beneath the Giants' noses without making a few changes. Popular ruckman Shane Mumford was offloaded to the Giants to make salary cap room. Meanwhile, some players who signed for less than they might have gotten elsewhere during the season to "keep the team together" might be wondering why they did so when you and last year's big name recruit Kurt Tippett arrived on rock star money. So it won't be just the paparazzi watching your every move. When iconic Adam Goodes says he will be interested in what shape you're in when you hit the gym, expect another 40 sets of eyes to be trained on you. You're used to that. You've darted and danced and performed miracles with a Sherrin before crowds of 100,000. But not yet in a town where a guy called Sonny Bill Williams has reclaimed the throne. Where, until you prove otherwise, you're just another pretender.