There’s a kind of magic to the way the sun sets over the Western Bulldogs' spiritual home down on the corner of Gordon and Barkly Streets in West Footscray.

Each night as it dips over the horizon to mark the end of yet another day, the old EJ Whitten statue that sits just outside the Club’s doors is bathed in a sort of golden hue.

On the right night, it can take your breath away.

This week, somewhere below the rickety old Whitten Stand, Dale Morris packed up his locker for the last time. And as the sun retreated west again, for the first time in 14 years, Locker 38 was empty after a third serious knee injury in two years forced the 36-year-old to call time on his 253-game career.

Time had caught up with the Keith Richards of footy, and as the old warhorse finally left the building, he's left behind the kind of towering legacy to which few can compare. But the footprint that Morris leaves behind is almost an intangible one.

Something in the air.

Long-time teammate Bob Murphy once said that while he’s a symbol for all things that don’t take talent; “the courage, the preparation, the sheer will to compete”, it’s often forgotten how good of a player he is. 

“He’s not a flashy player, but he is lightning quick, he’s body positioning is as good as there’s ever been. He’s a damn good player,” Murphy said.

Of course, for many, Morris’ legacy will always be on the field.

His herculean effort to bring down surging Sydney colossus Lance Franklin at a critical point of the 2016 Grand Final is now a part of footy folklore. 

With the big Swan about to put one red and white hand on the Premiership Cup, Morris, broken vertebrae, two cramping calves, and 15 kilos in arrears, changed history with one mighty lunge.

We all know what happened next. If that’s the only thing he ever did, he’d still be a legend, but the story of Dale Morris is more than that. Much more than that.

More than one of only thirteen men to play more 250 games for the Club, more than a 2008 All-Australian, and believe it or not, more than a premiership player.  He leaves having woven himself into the very fabric of what the Footscray/Western Bulldogs Football Club and its people is all about.

He’s there with Irene Chatfield’s tattered old scarf, layered with badges of the greats of yesteryear, he’s Luke Beveridge’s 2016 premiership medal, he’s Dennis Galimberti’s refusal to roll over back in '89, he’s EJ’s crushing handshake, he’s our AFLW trail blazers, it's the way Aaron Naughton and Bailey Smith watch him train.

There's watching and then there's watching.

The Bulldogs always been more than a football club for the working class heroes of Melbourne’s west, and it’s because of people like Dale Morris that it has stood as a beacon of hope of inspiration going back to the dark days of the late 1920’s when the depression squeezed the region’s factories.

And it's that spirit, resilience and the bravery, all the things you need to get through the toughest of times, is why they love him out this way and why he's now embedded in the very spirit of what it means to be a Bulldog.

Morris' football story is by now well known. Four years scrapping out at Werribee, only to be awarded a spot on the rookie list back in 2004, to the injuries simply too numerous to mention, to 2016 premiership immortal.

But he's no superhero.

He’s an ordinary man whose extraordinary character and fighting Bulldog spirit will now see him sit comfortably among any list of Club greats.

While the boots, the socks, and the spare pairs of shorts are now gone forever, the number 38 locker will never really be empty; the Morris legacy will be forever a part of those four walls. And this is where he's different.

Oh yeah, he could play. Boy could he play. But there's something else.

Now, every player that walks through those doors, filling up their own locker for the first time with their own footy dreams, will know they need look no further than the number 38 to know what being a Bulldog is all about. 

Go well, Dale.