| RD1 | RD2 | RD3 | RD4 | RD5 | RD6 | RD7 | RD8 | RD9 | RD10 | RD11 | RD12 | RD13 | RD14 | RD15 | RD16 | RD17 | RD18 | RD19 | RD20 | RD21 | RD22 | Round 1 Melbourne versus North Melbourne 1.10pm, Sunday, March 29 Melbourne Cricket Ground There are three certainties in life: death, taxes and North Melbourne being written off at the beginning of the season. The first two aren’t for this publication, however, the latter is as persistent and annoying as Hollywood correspondents on morning television. Every season, the ‘experts’ select North as their ‘slider’. No players, no money, poor facilities. The weight of fighting for survival too burdensome. These are the same people who pick the Tigers to make the eight every year. This season is no different with consensus pointing towards a bottom four finish. Unfortunately, after a disappointing end to 2008 and the retirements of Grant, Sinclair and Thompson, the doomsayers, on this occasion, may be onto something. A loss to Melbourne in round 1 will be met with knowing nods in footy circles. It’s nephew Lukey’s sixth birthday and we’ve gathered at the MCG to continue his celebrations. Saturday saw the ‘Footy Party’. Little Gazzas, Boomers and Roccas flew for miniature footies on my sister Anne’s front lawn. Today, Lukey and his big sister, Ellie, are wrapped proudly in their royal blue and white. I think Lukey secretly believes the AFL schedules the start of each season to honour his birthday. The sun is shining, the surface a treat and the optimistic smell of a new season is in the air. Ah, where else would you rather be? One of the pleasures of Round 1 is the appearance of debutants. North have named Ziebell and Melbourne, Spencer, Cheney and Jetta. I spare a thought for their families, probably present and sick with nerves. Also of interest is the return of players attempting to rebuild careers. Swallow is back for North after falling out of favour in 2008. The Demons have named Petterd and Rivers, both limited last year due to injury. Boomer wins the toss and points to Punt Road. Both teams form a final huddle. The preseason is over, time to put the hard work to use. Laidley has promised a new approach and this is reflected in his selections. Firrito and Harding go to the middle, Hansen and McMahon defence. Josh Smith, in his third game, lines up at centre half-forward wearing the King’s number 18. The match opens as expected – fast and physical. Players are committing their bodies and Harding produces a perfect smother. Forward line pressure from North results in the first goal to Thomas after two minutes. We look sharp. Campbell kicks another and we are controlling play. Ziebell attacks the ball hard and gets his first touch. Melbourne’s intensity is excellent, however, turnovers are hurting. They look small up forward. Eventually they settle and start to catch North on the break. Our defenders are sucked forward and Bate snaps Melbourne’s first. Forward pressure results in goals to Davey and Moloney. Demons lead.North sweep forward and Boomer converts a set shot. Scores level quarter-time. The second quarter is slow and dour as both sides settle into their zones. Players are dropping behind the play and defences are solid. Pressure produces skill errors. Spencer in the ruck and Cheney are enjoying their first games. Petterd is lively up forward and McDonald is playing a captain’s game. Boomer and Thomas are running hard. Swallow and Harding are strong in close, repaying the coach’s faith. Four goals to three for the term and North lead by seven points at half-time. The players depart while Ellie and Lukey fight over chips. The third quarter is the most entertaining of the match as momentum swings. North score two early goals as a result of their own sure skills and Melbourne turnovers. We look set to break the game open. Lukey high-fives his dad. The Demons won’t lie down and are ignited by Green who kicks two, one a classy banana on the run from the pocket. Moloney is too quick for Firrito and Melbourne are now on top. Gibson is having a shocker. He hates Sunday games, they ruin his weekend. We are holding on by a few points as the experienced players answer the challenge. Simpson and McIntosh are regaining control of the stoppages. The former captain goals on the run after another Harding smother. Ellie is on the Gameboy. Melbourne are not able to press home the advantage and we lead by fourteen points at the last change. North gain ascendancy early in the final term as Melbourne tire. Four goals to one for the term and we ease away to a fairly convincing 34 point win. The Demons showed plenty, however, North have done the right thing by Lukey and we depart a happy family. Don’t write off the Kangaroos, we’ll be in the mix again. Melbourne 3.3 6.5 9.6 10.7 (67) North Melbourne 3.3 7.6 11.8 15.11 (101) GOALS Melbourne: Petterd, Green 2; Bate, Davey, Moloney, Jetta, Morton, Johnson. North Melbourne: McIntosh 3; Thomas, Petrie, Campbell 2; Harvey, McMahon, Harding, Simpson, Hale, Firrito. BEST Melbourne: Cheney, Moloney, McDonald, Warnock, Green. North Melbourne: Swallow, Harding, McIntosh, Thomas, Rawlings, Simpson. CROWD 28,707 at the MCG [Return to top of page] Round 2 The Emergency Services Appreciation Game Western Bulldogs versus North Melbourne 2.10pm, Sunday, April 5 Melbourne Cricket Ground I invited my mates, Adrian and Glen, into the Long Room for today’s game. Adrian turns the big Four O soon and considers extended celebration necessary for such a milestone. He’s a Yorkshireman right down to his Hull City FC membership. With an unruffled exterior and Union Jack cufflinks, Adrian believes himself to be James Bond material. Unfortunately, he hasn’t the hair for it. Arriving in the colonies in the mid ‘90s, Adrian adopted the Bulldogs due to their colours and Glen’s influence. Glen finished second in the Empire State Building run some years back. He thinks he looks like actor Owen Wilson and apparently, any woman who glances at him sideways, thinks the same. ‘There ya go, the Wilson factor’s kicked in,’ he is known to proudly declare. Over a glass of MCC red and shepherds pie, conversation in the Long Room turned to SKA music, which evolved from doc martins and skinhead punk and mod rock in late ‘70s Britain. Groups like Madness provided outlet and social commentary for a youth generation emerging from Thatcherite Conservatism. The path was prepared for the new romantic sound of Ultravox and Duran Duran. I can’t believe I’ve mentioned Duran Duran in a footy report. If nostalgia was the theme over lunch, the same can be said for today’s match. A hard slog played in slippery and wet conditions, the contest resembled something from Channel 7’s,‘The Big League’. Moustaches and mullets wouldn’t have been out of place. Laidley made only one change from the team that defeated Melbourne, with ruckman Goldstein replacing Josh Smith. Coming off an impressive away win over Fremantle, the Bulldogs selected Liam Picken, son of ‘70s Magpie, Billy, for his debut. He was given the big task of minding Boomer. With an eye on the weather, the Bulldogs lined up with a small, mobile forward line. Gibson went to Johnson, which concerned me as I wondered if he had the smarts to handle Jonno’s artfulness. North, on the other hand, went tall, with Hale and Petrie up forward. Firrito and Harding again started in the middle. Gilbee picked up Wells. The first quarter was played through a film of light drizzle. The Bulldogs handled the conditions better with sure skills and well organised teamwork. Quick ball movement from Griffen, Gilbee and Eagleton placed pressure on our defence. Johnson slipped Gibbo to kick two and Giansiracusa drilled a beauty on the run. The Bulldogs settled into their zone, dropping players behind the ball. North’s turnovers were mopped up easily. Lake directed play from defence. North employed a Barassi tactic and bombed long to the talls. The wet ball came to ground often, however, opportunities were squandered, our skills suffering in the conditions. Simpson, Firrito and Harding committed their bodies and the former captain brought up our first just before quarter-time. Bulldogs by thirteen at the first change. North settled in the second term, however, again couldn’t capitalise. Despite Campbell’s early goal, the Bulldog zone was able to swallow our forward thrusts. Long bombs to Petrie and Hale weren’t working. With numbers goalside of stoppages and packs, Bulldog defenders swept the ball away. Gibson fell over and Johnson kicked his third. Well held by Gilbee, Wells broke free and shovelled one through just before half-time. Despite their efforts, North had brought the margin only three points closer. The weather cleared during the main break and the Bulldogs revelled kicking four early third term goals from quick, low movement and selfless teamwork. Griffen’s snap from centre half-forward stretched the lead to five goals and we looked in trouble. Many have said that about North to be proved incorrect. Laidley’s tactics began to work. Repeated attacks on the Bulldog bunker reaped rewards with three late goals. Hale held a pack mark and converted and Thomas and Campbell reduced the margin to eleven points. Game on! North continued to attack in the last quarter and the Bulldogs raised the drawbridge. Pratt and Hansen led the charge while Lake played Churchill, preparing to fight on the beaches. Hill caught North on the rebound, the lead stretched again and we had to reload. Lower toe-poked one through. McIntosh marked Boomer’s torpedo and slotted the set shot. The margin was inside a goal and I thought I saw a bloodstained white flag rise from the smoky rubble of Fort Bulldog. Alas, it was not to be. Constant bombardment exposed our rear flank and the Bulldogs counter attacked. Picken tackled Boomer and the ball landed with Aker who fed Hill for another. Modern footy isn’t often played in the wet, however, old fashioned ‘G and D’ saw the Bulldogs home. Adrian’s celebrations have begun well and he went off to get sentimental over his record collection and report for duty in her majesty’s service. Western Bulldogs 3.6 4.10 8.13 11.14 (80) North Melbourne 1.5 3.6 7.8 9.11 (65) GOALS Western Bulldogs: Johnson, Hill 3; Addison, Giansiracusa, Gilbee, Griffen, Minson. North Melbourne: Campbell 2; Simpson, Swallow, Hale, Wells, Lower, McIntosh, Thomas. BEST Western Bulldogs: Griffen, Gilbee, Lake, Hill, Higgins, Boyd, Picken. North Melbourne: Simpson, Pratt, Harding, Swallow, McIntosh. CROWD 34,466 at the MCG [Return to top of page]
Round 3 It was a beautiful sunny Autumn Easter Sunday that found me and the
boy eagerly rushing up the Docklands’ concourse to watch our mighty Roos
take on the reigning premiers, with a spring in our step and great hope
in our hearts. We’d dropped the wife and Darcy’s little sister off at
the in-laws for their Easter get-together earlier, but this was our celebration;
our religion; and besides, we weren’t in any danger of missing out on
a beaut chocolate treat ourselves, thanks to a lovely North volunteer
with pink bunny ears outside gate 7 handing out mini Caramello eggs. North Melbourne 2.1 5.5 8.9 10.9 (69) GOALS North Melbourne: Rawlings, Gibson, Hansen, Simpson Hawthorn: Mitchell, Roughead, Guerra, Whitecross, Rioli, Franklin, Dew, Bateman CROWD: 34,893 at Docklands [Return to top of page] Round 4 North Melbourne versus Essendon 1.10pm, Sunday, April 19 Etihad Stadium It was just like any other regular, run-of-the-mill weekend day in our sleepy seaside hamlet on the Bellarine Peninsula. Nothin’ special. Picked up the papers, had the usual Sunday morning breakfast – Poached eggs on sourdough toast. Stacey prefers it with a generous scrape of Vegemite – frankly, I reckon she’s mad – ruins the flavour of the fresh free range eggs we get from Bernie & Gen from their farm in Mannerim. Still, each to their own, I s’pose. Quietly, I packed my backpack. Two roast lamb rolls, a packet of chips, some cold drinks, a ballpoint pen, flannelette shirt for me and Darcy’s Ripcurl hoodie. “I’m just going out for a while, Stace”, I casually called over my shoulder, the boy in tow. “Okay, seeya later.” No questions. None needed. You see, North were playing Essendon. A crucial round 4 showdown. Crunch game. Tradition rivals. But even more importantly, the local derby. No, not the inner Melbourne-type local derby, separated by Racecourse Road and the leafy suburb of Kensington. The BIG local derby. The inter-household, potentially fatal, husband and wife variety. We’ve been together 24 years. In the beginning we actually even went to games together. North won some, the Dons some others. Didn’t matter, though. We still went hope happy. In love. Laughing, holding hands... It didn’t really matter to us who won or lost. These days things are different. That first flush of infatuation long gone and now even an innocent ‘good morning’ smile the next day is likely to be met with a terse “get that stupid grin off your face”. It all started going pear shaped the day of the infamous ‘marshmallow final’ in ’98. I bought the tickets... “You’ll be sitting with us in the North area – I hope you don’t mind”. Big mistake! A string of dubious frees to the Dons almost saw the wife throw one particularly load & whinging elderly North lady over the balcony of the Great Southern Stand. Three hours, several thousand demented Roos’ fans and about 50,000 flung marshmallows later Stacey cracked. Without a cheery wave or congratulatory peck on the cheek she departed the scene, Darcy in hand, explaining to the bewildered 4yo lad that, “yes, I do hate all North fans – but not you, darling”. I went to the pub. So, in our household, this 2009 battle, like so many before it, didn’t exist. Not mentioned at all leading up to the game, nor broached in the slightest afterwards. I couldn’t discuss North’s tactics of chipping the ball around relentlessly, designed to slow down the Bombers’ dangerous speedsters, nor the fact it made for a slightly dull spectacle, though it did make for an intriguing contest. I didn’t even tell her about Andrew Lovett’s brilliant solo goal in the first quarter, grabbing the ball in the middle from a centre bounce, weaving around several hapless North defenders, taking a couple of bounces and coolly slotting it from 50, though in better circumstances I’m sure she would have enjoyed hearing it. Nor was it mentioned that ‘Boomer’ Harvey finally found some form or that David Hale was a tower of strength in the forward line with four goals or how ‘Spud’ Firrito was instrumental in getting us over the line with some inspiring work in and under the packs in a desperate last quarter. There was certainly no way I was going to rave about the mighty Jay Z, his sublime skills and toughness for such a young man, nor the impressive debut of Ben Warren, who surely has got Corey Jones’ spot in the team wrapped up for the time being. I would have just been asking for trouble. And despite how interesting the incident when Daniel Pratt become the first player to be pinged under the new rushing behinds rule (handing an easy goal to Matthew Lloyd) was, I would rather become coach of Richmond that even think about discussing that particular piece of trivia with the good woman. It would have been sheer madness, I tell you. So, nothing was said. Just came home, furtively left the scarves in the car and walked in the door like we’d just got back from a stroll in the park. A smile from Stace (slightly forced, I’m sure) and a piping hot serve of Chicken Enchiladas in the oven. Relieved, I hoed into my meal and smiled contentedly to myself in the knowledge that we’d not only managed to avoid the troubles that the local derby can bring, but we’d also managed to knock off the bloody Bombers in the process. “Get that stupid grin off your face”. I did the washing up. North Melbourne 3.3 5.5 9.7 10.9 (69) Essendon 1.3 3.7 5.11 7.15 (57) GOALS North Melbourne: Hale 4, Harvey 3, Ziebell, Petrie, McIntosh Essendon: Lloyd 3, Winderlich, Stanton, Lovett, McPhee BEST North Melbourne: Harvey, Hale, Firrito, Ziebell, Hansen, Pratt Essendon: Stanton, Zaharakis, Lloyd, Davey CROWD 33,842 at Docklands VOTES 3 – Harvey 2 – Hale 1 - Firrito [Return to top of page] Round 5 Earlier in the day… A small group gathered around the cenotaph for the dawn service at Reservoir RSL. A chilly wind bounced up Edwardes Street while an appetising smell wafted across from the Vietnamese bakery. The ceremony was short. Veterans in berets placed poppies and wiped their eyes. Grandkids shivered and looked confused, but did as they were told. Later in the morning, I walked around Reservoir listening on my walkman to the broadcast of the march in the city. Diggers with shaking, outback voices deflected the ‘hero’ tag with lines like …’Just doin’my job’…. One spoke of his troubles settling after returning from war. He drifted about the country for a while, before re-enlisting into the familiarity of army life. Deputy PM, Julia Gillard was interviewed and spoke less guardedly than usual as she told of her family immigrating from Wales when she was two years old. Her parents still give thanks for what our Democratic nation has given. At the top of the hour, the news announced North Korea had cancelled nuclear disarmament talks with Russia. I bought a paper from Sam, a Muslim whose smile is never off his face. Sam’s corner shop is open every day of the year and his only late starts come on Good Friday and Christmas Day. Up at West Preston/Lakeside, the Under 19s were under way. The full forward chatted to his opponent while the goal umpire leant against the post. Parents lined the fence, huddled over coffees and smokes. I always attend the Essendon and Collingwood game on ANZAC Day. I love the respect for the occasion and celebration of Australia the event displays. This year, I was with my mate Russ on his buck’s party. The crowd rose and applauded the motorcade and at the commencement of official proceedings, a member of the crowd called out, ‘Hats off!’ A near full MCG fell into utter silence. Only the wind could be heard. For a nation embarrassed by reverence, this is one day we respect and honour. The match was tense and close all day, yet lacked the aggressive atmosphere clashes between rivals can carry. Opposition fans smiled and patted each other on the back. When Russ’ crew pushed along the aisle to go for beers, no one grumbled. Ryder, Lovett and Zaharakis ran the Bombers home. At the final siren, Magpies slumped to the ground as if they had lost a grand final. They know how special this game is. I slipped quietly away from Russ and his lubricated crew and jumped on a Docklands bound train. Rain slid down the windows and Fitzroy Gardens looked relieved and revived. Now to our game… I gathered with a group of mates on the top deck. We made an interesting collection – an accountant, a grog seller, male nurse, muso, teacher, assorted kids. Allegiances were evenly split and the Tigers amongst us couldn’t remember the last win they personally witnessed. ANZAC cookies were shared around the row in front. Kangaroo fans moved along for Tigers looking for seats. I had worried about the wounded Tigers all week. The pressure was off Richmond after the loss last round to the Demons. This was bound to free them up. We were ordinary in beating the Bombers and were having problems kicking goals. We lined up with three tall forwards, including Edwards, in for his first senior game for 2009 after a club-imposed suspension. Greenwood made his debut. Mark Coughlan was back for the Tigers after three injury plagued years. I wished him luck, but not that much. We started well. Direct, long kicking resulted in three goals, all set up by Firrito, inside ten minutes. Warren was presenting himself and Ziebell was hard at the contest. It was business as usual for the Tiges - repeated turnovers and no accountability. When Richo soccered one out on the full, we looked set for a percentage booster. How wrong I was. North kicked only four more goals for the game. Midway through the first quarter, the course of the match started to change. With a winless, out of form opponent there for the taking, North went defensive with indirect, slow play. This brought the Tigers back into the game and they were allowed to settle. Harvey went off with a dislocated elbow after a crude tackle from Jackson and Firrito left with an ankle injury. Richmond started to dominate possession and Coughlan received a cheer with his first touch. Two goals before quarter-time had the Tigers in the contest and building momentum. The Tigers took confidence pills during the change of ends and came out running in the second quarter. Deledio and McMahon were setting up from defence and Nahas, Oakley-Nicholls and Riewoldt were dangerous up forward. The latter was on the end of crisp forward movement and kicked three for the term. The only negative came when Richo limped off early in the quarter with a hamstring injury. North looked confused and indecisive. They over possessed and their skills suffered. Simpson and Swallow were keeping us in the contest. Firrito returned limping. Edwards kicked his first on the half-time siren and the Tigers led by seven points. Richmond believed in the third quarter. Strong running and hard contested football saw the Tigers dominate. Richo returned and Jackson and Deledio accumulated possessions. North continued to hesitate. Our delivery into the forward line was poor and Richmond rebounded easily. Two goals in time-on stretched the lead to 27 points. Game over. North’s performance deteriorated further in the last quarter. We missed four early set shots, only to see Bowden twice saunter forward to kick goals. Humiliation was total when Thomas, Power and Warren messed up an easy chance to goal when all three were unattended in the forward line. The reluctance by all to take the shot reflected the low confidence level of the team. The Tigers eased away to a 36 point win and mobbed Coughlan on the final siren. Lest we forget? I had another great ANZAC Day, however, for the Kangaroos,
this is one worth forgetting. North Melbourne Richmond GOALS BEST CROWD There are times when emotions are best expressed through alliteration. When
feeling romantic, we’re amorously aroused. When our car is broken into in a
Northcote carpark, we’re bloody bummed. When Barry Hall is angry, he is Big
Bad Barry. And so on. My head was an unmade jigsaw puzzle. A nightmarish jumble of unmarked Magpie players running everywhere; of Kangaroos turning the ball over; the Collingwood cheer squad going up again in celebration; and poxy faded blue and white uniforms better suited to the von Trapp family. It was positively painful. I sent a confused and desperate text to Wally, my internet site mate: ‘Where do I start?’ Reply: ‘It was horribly frightening’. Wally’s the most eloquent texter. In Pilates class Saturday morning, I was still in shock. That afternoon, to make myself feel better, I bought a new rug for the living room floor. Successfully stimulated, Mr. Rudd. Forty-eight hours after the final siren, my thoughts have realigned to the extent I can organise them under the following categories. Shaky Skills. Collingwood’s skills were excellent, ours awful. The Magpies carried the ball smoothly from end to end. Kicks hit leading targets and handball was used to clear play and mount attacks. Davis, Thomas, Corrie and Pendlebury were standouts. Like last week, North’s kicking was sloppy and we over used the handball. All three of Collingwood’s third quarter goals came from North turnovers. Acting captain Petrie was gallant, however, missed two easy shots at crucial times. Gibson attempted to kick on his opposite side and missed targets. Target Troubles. Collingwood had a number of goal kicking forwards and we didn’t. The withdrawal of Rocca before the match did not adversely affect the Magpies. Anthony was a dangerous on the lead and Lockyer constantly dropped in behind he and Cloke. Lockyer’s three second quarter goals helped create a match winning lead. North missed the injured Hansen in defence. Edwards was our only workable target. In his second senior game for the year, he led and marked well. A confidence player, Edwards goaled from a tight angle in the first quarter and had four by half-time. Although goalless in the second half, he had a good game. Hale’s poor form continued. Delivery to him was ordinary at times, however, he was beaten by Presty. When the ball hit the ground in the forward line, Collingwood was able to sweep it out too easily. Eleven goals for the night were never going to be enough. At the start of the season, I feared our goal kicking would be a problem and this is proving to be true. We are averaging just over ten goals a game. Pace Problems. Except for a twenty-minute period in the first quarter when we played attractively through the centre corridor, we lacked speed. A swifter opponent carried the ball neatly from stoppages or switched play in order to open the game up for runners. North were overwhelmed. Wellingham’s goal early in the last quarter was an example of the Magpies’ pace dominance. Part of a passage of play that saw the ball carried up the outer wing, he ran at least 150 metres with opponent Swallow always trailing. Try as he might, Swallow couldn’t catch Wellingham who finished off with a fine goal on the run. Onballers Simpson, Harris and Lower could not keep up with opponents who were outrun by Essendon last week. With Harvey, Wells and Campbell missing, an already sluggish outfit is looking downright cement footed. Gracious God, grant us gallopers. Pulverising Pressure. We panicked under physical attention and made poor decisions. We constantly kicked to outnumbered team mates. Strong body work from Swan and Maxwell broke packs and tackles and cleared paths. North were physically over powered and beaten into submission during the Magpies’ eight goal second quarter. Testing Transition Time. It’s going to be a long year. The retirements of Grant and Thompson have decreased our goal kicking options and injuries have robbed us of pace and stability. The careers of Ziebell and Warren have begun well, however, they can't yet be expected to carry responsibility. Simpson, proud and courageous as ever, was again our best on Saturday night. Who is going to carry the load with him? Friday night left me confused and concerned, however, I’m relieved to have
articulated (hopefully) my scattered thoughts. You could say I’m rightly reconciled. Collingwood GOALS: BEST: CROWD 3 –Simpson 2 – McIntosh 1 – Edwards [Return to top of page] Round 7 North Melbourne versus Port Adelaide 7.10pm, Saturday, May 9 Etihad Stadium As a young boy growing up in Warrnambool, Sunday nights were devoted to toasted bacon sandwiches and Disneyland on TV. My favourite episodes featured American frontiersman, Davy Crockett. Tanned, honest, good to Injuns, Davy roamed the Wild West in his bearskin suit and racoon hat, hiding behind trees and forging a new nation. Davy’s demise came at the Alamo, where he joined tough knife fighter, Jim Bowie and a courageous band of Texans fighting for independence against the Mexicans. Inspired by commander, William B. Travis’s line in the sand speech, the Texans held out for two weeks, firing their rifles from the broken windows of the Alamo mission house as the enemy came over the walls. At night, the defenders ate buffalo and sang battle songs. The siege would have ended earlier, however, like all bad guys, the Mexicans were bad shots. Eventually, the Texans succumbed and the episode closed with Davy, brave to the end, outnumbered and out of ammo, swinging his trusty rifle at the enemy. We didn’t see Davy die, but I knew what happened. It was a cold lesson in life for a young viewer. Arden Street’s had a bit of the Alamo about it this week. Mexicans, let’s call them the media, have been charging the portables, guns blazing about clash jumpers, mounting injuries, stadium deals and other sorts of cannon fodder. Saturday night couldn’t arrive quickly enough for a club under siege. Tonight, the invading Mexicans are Port Adelaide, boisterous after Derby victory and hoping to solidify a top three position. Davenport makes his debut. Despite recent form and media scrutiny, I’ve entered tonight’s game with a gentle confidence. I’m counting on Port’s inconsistent season to continue and despite the late withdrawals of Rawlings and Urquhart, we’re fortified by the inclusions of Wells, Campbell, Ross and Goldstein. Also, we’re a club that loves a fight. The management of Etihad Stadium is continuing the siege mentality, with two-thirds of the top tier roped-off from spectators. A small blue and white army has mustered and we’re squashed into the outer to make the TV pictures look pretty. The battle begins with North launching attacks. We’re winning the clearances and taking risks. We’re direct and positive. Ziebell marks strongly and kicks the opener. Wells slices through the middle, leaving his opponent, Kane Cornes, trailing. Harding kicks two and we’re dominating. Port put up the barricades. They withstand the barrage and counterattack. Goals to Motlop, Lade and Tredrea keep them in the contest. Boak’s goal on quarter-time brings the margin back to six points. Motlop kicks the first of the second-quarter and Port are in front. They are threatening a killer blow. North won’t die. We continue to take risks and charge the middle ground. Wells is setting up goals with missile-like delivery. Simpson is our Crockett, winning the contested ball. McIntosh is moving well and winning the ruck. Ziebell and Swallow think they’re Jim Bowie. Edwards kicks three for the term. A seven-goal quarter and we lead by 31 at half-time. This is our best half of footy for the year. We lead the clearances 25 to thirteen and have kicked twelve goals. Before this round, we were averaging ten goals a game! Choco Williams must have produced his best Commander Travis during half-time. Port come out charging and quickly reduce the margin. Tredrea and Ebert are dangerous targets. Greater intensity forces North into errors. A rushed behind half-way through the quarter is North’s first minor score since the opening minute of the match. We’ve kicked fourteen straight. The contest tightens. Both teams commit bodies and turnovers increase. This is a crucial period. Goals either way could be telling. They come for Port. Three majors in time-on and the margin’s thirteen points. They have the momentum. Early last quarter goals to Thomas and Lower give North back the ascendancy. Boak and Brogan reply. We can’t put Port away. Petrie, Simmo and Hale kick attractive goals and the margin’s an even 30 points in time-on. We celebrate like the war is over. It isn’t. The Mexicans refuse to surrender and keep coming over the walls. Four goals between the 28 and 33 minute mark and Port are banging on the door of the Alamo. Motlop shovels a behind and it’s five points the difference. It’s hand-to-hand combat in Port’s forward line. Casualties mount and blood is spilt. Packs form and bodies lay everywhere. Swallow lunges and scores a try over the boundary line. He should be pinged. I hold my breath. Thankfully, the umpire’s view is blocked by the pile of bodies. Throw it in. McIntosh guides the throw-in to his feet and another pack forms. Siren. The Kangaroos emerge blinking from the rubble. We live to fight another day. Sometimes the good guys do win. NORTH MELBOURNE 5.1 12.1 15.3 20.5 (125) PORT ADELAIDE 4.1 6.6 12.8 18.12 (120) GOALS North Melbourne: Edwards, Campbell 3; Harding, Warren, Thomas, Hale 2; Ziebell, Firrito, Swallow, Lower, Petrie, Simpson. Port Adelaide: Tredrea 3; Ebert, Boak, Rodan, Lade, Motlop 2; Davenport, Krakouer, Chad Cornes, Brogan, Chaplin. BEST North Melbourne: Simpson, McIntosh, Swallow, Wells, Ziebell, Aaron Edwards. Port Adelaide: Boak, Kane Cornes, Chaplin, Tredrea, Chad Cornes. DEBUT Davenport (Port Adelaide) MILESTONES 50 games Gibson (North Melbourne) UMPIRES Kamolins, Pannell, McInerney CROWD 14,342 at Etihad Stadium VOTES 3 – Simpson (NM) 2– McIntosh (NM) 1 – Swallow (NM) [Return to top of page] Round 8 Geelong versus North Melbourne 2.10pm, Saturday, May 16 Skilled Stadium, Geelong I love The Cattery. I love it for its friendliness, deep standing room, big sky and cold winds. I’m old school. The Cattery is a reminder of the VFL. It’s as close to country or suburban footy we have in the big league. You can almost hear the cars around the boundary line. I attended my first VFL game there. I stood in the outer with Dad – a Bomber – and he told me to keep an eye on the new kid, young Simon Madden. He was wobbly like a colt and circled his opponent in the goal square to keep warm. Today, I’m on the midday train from Southern Cross to South Geelong. The train is two-thirds full with Cats and the occasional Roo. As we push out, I leave the working week behind and catch up with my brain. Everything makes sense again. Etihad Stadium resembles a uranium smelter. We roll past ship containers and crumbling factories and into the western suburbs. I peer into the backyards of rows of houses. They look welcoming and warm on this cold Melbourne day. The huge grandstands of Flemington loom on the right. More supporters get on at each stop and the carriages are bright with laughter and hurried chatter. We alight at our destination and walk past old, weatherboard cottages to The Cattery. People are paying $5 to park in the primary school grounds. I take my seat in the second row behind the goals, city end. I’m surrounded by a small handful of Roos and the talk is about the withdrawals of Ziebell, Wells and Rawlings. We laugh and shrug at the prospect of a one-sided afternoon. Grima and Wright are debutants and we have seven players with 20 or fewer games experience. We are up against a team that has lost three times in two years. The withdrawal of Chapman consoles us. He is replaced by Lonergan. The Cats come out for their warm-up and look massive. Harley could carry a small child on each shoulder. North come out and we too look big, however, less intimidating. We’re wearing our ice-cream jumpers again. The Geelong mascot kicks into the crowd and hits an old bloke in an akubra. ‘Shit’, he says before breaking into a laugh. His wife ribs him. The mascot comes over to the fence and mimes an apology and the old bloke gives him two thumbs up. The game is under way and Geelong are playing the way you expect. They shrug off opponents, win clearances and open up play. They work for each other, running hard to make a lead or to assist in a contest. They kick to the front of the square and lay tackles that leave opponents on the ground. Bartel is smart. He knows where to be before the ball arrives. Selwood is tough, busting open packs. Kelly is gliding smoothly out of defence. North are attacking the game and playing the type of direct footy that brought success last week against Port. Edwards is running Scarlett around and Hale is presenting well. Geelong’s defenders settle and assert themselves, sweeping the ball away. Varcoe is desperate to secure his position and slips away to kick two early goals. Twenty-one points down at quarter-time and a flogging looms. ‘How much did Brisbane lose by? One hundred points?’ The Roo beside me asks with a chuckle. I have to admit, the Cats are a pleasure to watch in the second quarter. They dominate possession. There is nothing flashy about them, they are too physical and skilful for the Kangaroos. Stevie J outsmarts Gibson and leads him under the ball. Mackie runs hard. It’s nearly ten goals the difference half-way through the quarter. The ball is coming into the Geelong forward line easily. Scott Thompson is holding onto Mooney. ‘Be careful Moons, he might make love to you!’ a supporter calls out. The Big Hairy Cat laughs and replies, but his words are lost in the wind. We start dropping players behind the ball. Ross emerges running from the wreckage. McIntosh marks strongly. Two late goals help us avoid humiliation. Fifty-six points down at half-time. The third quarter is encouraging for North. We are continuing to be positive and direct and are stronger at the contested ball. Despite our efforts, the Cats are too skilful. Hale misses a sitter and Geelong rebound quickly for Bartel’s third. We kick out of bounds on the full four times. With the win assured, Geelong have relaxed. They share jokes amongst eachother. Each team kicks three for the quarter. The intensity has gone early in the last term. Our defence continues to work hard, with Grima impressing. However, Geelong attacks and they ease away to a 70 point win. Geelong have won fifty out of the their past fifty-three games. If they claim only one premiership from this era, it will not be enough. This team should win a handful of flags. North, on the other hand, are attempting to build a new team, a new era. It will come. I’m walking on the ground after the game amongst the dancing smiles and
flying footballs. A father gathers his scarf and collects his child for the
walk to the car. The sun is setting behind the old grandstand. I love footy. GEELONG 20,873 at Skilled Stadium VOTES 3 – Ross (NM) 2– Mcintosh (NM) 1 – Grima (NM) [Return to top of page] Round 9 North Melbourne versus Fremantle 2.10pm, Saturday, May 23 Etihad Stadium It was a game of two halves in more ways than one... 1st Half A certain NMWG honcho (without wishing to name and shame, I will simply say he has the initials Andrew Starkie) had promised faithfully that we had procured prime seats for the game in the coveted Medallion Club section on Level 2 – A luxurious footy experience to which I’ve never been privileged. Excitedly, the boy and I turned up outside Gate 5, eager as beavers, to meet up with our mate and his bounty only to be told that the seats had fallen through at the last minute. Bugger! Oh well, back with the great unwashed it was to be. It was five minutes before the bounce, so considering that there was only about 10 people per bay on the bottom tier we did our best to sweet-talk a few ground attendants to let us sneak in, to no avail. It seems that Nazi Germany is alive and well in Etihad-world, circa 2009. So, we took the long journey up to the level three, though thanks to Collo’s brilliant idea of closing off the Western half of the stadium we got to the top only to discover that, despite the meagre attendance, three seats together were actually at a premium. Forced up to the nosebleed seats we found a suitable spot and settled in just in time for the first bounce. I was feeling quite optimistic about our chances. I felt we’d played alright the past few weeks, despite the shellacking the mighty Cats had given us the week previously. We’d thrown off the dour shackles that had marked the early part of the season, chucked in a bunch of untried youngsters, and reverted to a far more attacking brand of football. And Freo were still a basket-case, after all. A nice run through the centre and a long bomb from Scott McMahon saw the mercurial Leigh Harding toe the first major of the match 4 minutes in and North were, seemingly, away. But Freo had other ideas. A quick reply by Paul Haselby, followed by two more goals to Luke McPharlin and Matthew Pavlich had the Dockers up 20 points to 6, twelve minutes into the contest. I was starting to worry, and not just about the footy team. The Freo surge set off a number of uncomplimentary remarks about the Kangaroo players amongst the North ‘fans’ around us. To Andrew’s right was a young chap who took a distinct dislike to just about everyone in a blue and white jumper. Behind Darcy & I was a pair of lads who were a touch more discerning in their criticisms. Amazingly, the butt of their jibes seemed to be wholly directed toward a bunch of kids who’d managed no more than a dozen games of senior football between them. Ben Ross – S..t kick. Ben Warren – A waste of f..king space. Todd Goldstein – F..king d..khead. Sam Wright – Bloody useless. Add to that, Daniel Wells – Lazy c..t, and you get the picture. (Please excuse the language folks – just reporting the facts). Objectionable, offensive and thoroughly unlikeable supporters and only 20 minutes into the first quarter and we were already having a particularly awful time. That’s not to excuse the football we were playing – Hesitant, no confidence, clumsy disposal and poor decision-making. The sort of inconsistent footy you’d expect from a bunch of kids. We went to quarter time 25 points in arrears and looking in all manner of strife. Dean Laidley stormed onto the ground and, deservedly, gave the lads the mother of all bakes. More importantly, though, he made a number of crucial changes. Michael Firrito had struggled to keep the brilliant Pavlich at bay and was banished to the backline, replaced in the role by the redoubtable Josh Gibson. Daniel Wells, who had been quiet early, was sent to a half forward flank. North came out a different team. Wells was sublime. Getting on the end of a beautifully-composed 50m pass from Jack Ziebell, he put the ball on the chest of a leading David Hale, who duly converted. Next, he grabbed the ball on the boundary and centred it brilliantly towards Drew Petrie in the goalsquare who outmarked two opponents to kick another. Two minutes later, Wells bamboozled a number of Freo players to snag one of his own. Eight minutes in and we were back to within seven points and Wellsy had pretty much done it off his own boot. Still, the inane slagging of North’s youngsters continued around us. A goal to Warren was met by annoyed silence. Ross and Goldstein weren’t spared even in the face of repeated desperate efforts. Clearly the tools behind us were not going to be deterred no matter how hard the inexperienced North Melbourne unit strived. I had had enough. Darcy was ready to throw the first punch of his short time on this earth. But it was Andy that made the first move... “Let’s get out of here, Wal. Why don’t we try and talk our way in downstairs at half time?” 2nd Half Miraculously we spied an unmanned entrance to bay 31 and sauntered in as if we owned the place. We took our seats (amongst the thousands to choose from) and looked around in wonder. The roof was open, the air smelt crisp and clean, the sun had broken through the cloud for the first time that day and everyone around us seemed just a little more civilised – possibly even a little better-looking. We had fought back to be only five points down at the long break and were starting to look the goods. A goal apiece to Hale and Des Headland and the Dockers clung to a seven point lead at the eight minute mark. The match was tightening considerably. Josh Gibson was doing a terrific stopping job on the dangerous Pavlich, whilst Ross, Simpson and Petrie were starting to take control around the ground. For seventeen long minutes the contest became stagnant, with neither side able to grab their chances. Then, at the 23 minute mark the turning point of the match came. Steven Dodd double-fisted the ball over the behind line from 7 metres out under no pressure and the umpire correctly decided that it was a deliberate rushed behind. Despite the protests of Dodd, Aaron Edwards went back on a tight angle and converted nicely to level the scores. From there the game changed. The Dockers looked shaky and nervous while the Roos surged to kick the next three goals of the game in only 6 minutes of football. Freo battled hard in the last quarter and got within 7 points but North looked more composed and in control than they had all day. Hale’s fifth for the day late in the match saw off the Dockers and North ran out 13 point winners. We all agreed it had been quite a pleasant day in the end. I came away with the conclusion that while we are still a fair way off the mark there are some promising signs for the future. Despite what the dickheads up on level bogan might think, I reckon our kids are terrific. Ross, Warren, Goldstein and Wright all look to have a bright future and as for Jack Ziebell... Well, I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but the boy is surely going to finish his career as one of the most revered and decorated figures in the history of the North Melbourne Football Club if not the entire AFL competition. But then again, I don’t want to get ahead of myself now, do I? NORTH MELBOURNE 2.3 8.8 12.11 14.14 (98) FREMANTLE 6.5 9.7 10.10 12.13 (85) GOALS North Melbourne: Hale 5, Warren 2, Goldstein, Edwards, Wright, Petrie, Harding, Wells, Rawlings Fremantle: McPharlin 4, Pavlich 3, Hasleby 2, Hayden, Headland, Peake BEST North Melbourne: Hale, Petrie, Gibson, Wells, Simpson, McMahon, Ross, Urquhart. Fremantle: Hasleby, McPharlin, Hill, Ibbotson, Pavlich, Dodd. CROWD 15,436 at Docklands VOTES 3 – Hale 2 – Petrie 3 – Gibson [Return to top of page] Round 10 North Melbourne versus Brisbane Lions 2.10pm, Saturday, May 30 Etihad Stadium The Preston Market is my late Friday afternoon ritual. Ham and Cheese from the Greek deli. Salmon from the Vietnamese fish shop. Piped James Taylor floating above the friendly din. Looking down proudly like a portrait of the queen in a bush town hall, a WEG poster from the ’99 premiership adorns Italian Dave’s family fruit stall. Dave and I conduct weekly pre-game talk. He shakes his head frequently when discussing North. ‘Dunno this week, Andy. Just dunno…’ he regularly concedes. Dave’s brother gave up on footy’s possession game a few years ago, turning to the less mentally demanding NRL and Melbourne Storm. He smiles like a prisoner who has just jumped the back fence, or someone who has discovered the secret to eternal happiness. ‘Laidley ain’t got the cattle,’ he likes to proclaim. Dave and I are agreed this week. Win the clearances, limit supply to Brown and Bradshaw and we’re a chance against Brisbane. And another thing: Ziebell has the hair and the game to win a brownlow. Dave’s cutting the heads of corn and wiping his knife on his leather apron. I share this summation with Wally as we take our seats on the flank in the Medallion Club (Yes, I delivered on my promise this week). He agrees, North are a show today. We’re joined by assorted family, including Wally’s son Darcy and my nephew, Lukey. It's Saturday afternoon footy and I’m surrounded by friends and loved ones. Where else would you want to be? Come on, North! Alas, my confidence is soon shaken with the announcement of Grima’s withdrawal. His two games in defence have been impressive and his big body will be missed. Harris, who must do a good job washing the coach’s car, replaces him. Gibson goes to Brown. If he cleans up Brown today, he'll do the same on Melbourne’s dance floors tonight. Thompson picks up Bradshaw and all of our defenders are smaller than their opponents. Brisbane start well. They look sharp; their skills clean. Sherman kicks the first and celebrates like he’s won a flag. Adcock drives through the middle and kicks another. Our forward pressure is encouraging. Harding and Petrie are throwing their bodies around. However, Brisbane playing an extra man on Hale causes confusion. Our ball use lacks efficiency and we keep turning it over. A diligent work ethic brings two late goals and Brisbane’s lead narrows to five points at quarter-time. Our tackling and intensity unsettle Brisbane early in the second quarter. Simpson is winning the clearances and goals to Warren and Thomas give North the lead. Come on! Attack and press home the advantage. No! We’re decreasing speed and tempo and attempting to over-possess. We don’t have the skill to play possession footy. Don’t they know that by now? Our delivery forward is terrible. We’re letting Brisbane back in. They’re seizing the momentum again with slick, direct ball movement. Thomas won’t chase McGrath who is running free. Rich and Power are controlling the middle. Brown and Bradshaw kick their first. Hooper, his second. We’ve had our chance and didn’t take it. Brisbane by thirteen at half-time. Though quiet in the first half, the third quarter belongs to Simon Black. He boldly and artistically demonstrates the two great facets of our game – courage and skill. In separate passages of play, both leading to goals, he hands the decisive advantage to Brisbane. In the first passage, midway through the term, Black displays his bravery. He throws himself at a contest, intercepting a North forward move. The ball spills to Sherman, who kicks his second. At the following centre-bounce, Black’s superb talent emerges. He roves the ruck contest, surfs through a blind turn and delivers beautifully to a moving target. This piece of pure footy starkly illustrates the difference between the two teams. Suddenly Brisbane lead by four goals. Petrie’s long goal on the siren brings North within nineteen points. However, Simon Black has decided this game. A quick study of the scoreboard during the break provides an accurate description of the match to this point. Four goals to three in each quarter represents the edge Brisbane have had all day. Our endeavour is great, our execution is not. The final term passes quietly. Black and Rich continue to dominate. Rich has the game and hair as well. North persist, but turn over possession regularly. Huddled under a hoodie and scarf, Lukey’s been quiet all day. Now he wants to play ‘rock, paper, scissors’. I’m tempted, but decline the offer. Brisbane breaks the scoring pattern by equalling North’s three goals for the quarter. Hooper and Warren each kick their fourth and Brisbane win by three goals. The train journey home offers time for reflection. We won the clearances and held Brown and Bradshaw to three goals between them. Yet, we still lost. I wonder what Dave will have to say next week. His brother may be right about North this year. NORTH MELBOURNE 3.3 6.5 9.7 12.9 (81) BRISBANE LIONS 4.2 8.6 12.8 15.9 (99) GOALS North Melbourne: Warren 4; Hale, Petrie 2; Harris, Wells, Thomas, McMahon. Brisbane Lions: Hooper 4; Brown, Polkinghorne, Sherman 2; Stiller, Bradshaw, Rich, Adcock, Black. BEST North Melbourne: Warren, Simpson, Gibson, Thompson. Brisbane Lions: Rich, Black, Adcock, Hooper, Clark. CROWD 21,583 at Etihad Stadium VOTES 3 – Warren 2 – Simpson 1 – Gibson [Return to top of page] Round 11 North Melbourne versus St Kilda 2.10pm, Saturday, June 6 Etihad Stadium Thirty One minutes of pleasure. In a year that’s been somewhat of a write-off, I suppose I should be pretty happy with that. And to be honest, despite a 46 point shellacking at the hands of St.Kilda, I walked out of Etihad Stadium feeling surprisingly chipper. Our first quarter was a belter, and was my first 30 minutes well-spent. Three minutes in, Aaron Edwards goals. Seven minutes – free kick and goal to Benny Ross. Next, a mark and 50m penalty to Adam Simpson – goal. Andrew Swallow & Michael Firrito soon added to the tally of majors and all of a sudden, 23 minutes in to the contest the score read North Melbourne 5.1.31 to the Saints 0.2.2. Frankly, it was all a little surreal. North Melbourne, who had been utterly dreadful for most of the year were smashing a team that had taken all before them and were sitting, unbeaten, on top of the AFL ladder. A late goal to Nick Dal Santo brought the quarter time margin back to 22 points, but still, it had been a very enjoyable opening to the match. If Dean Laidley had wanted to show off his ideal gameplan to the club hierarchy he couldn’t have hoped for any better. The midfield was relentless in their pressure and tackling like their lives depended on it. Sam Power was proving an excellent link man and for once hitting targets with aplomb. Daniel Wells was being shadowed by the AFL’s best tagger for the season to date, the underrated Clinton Jones, yet he was been given some terrific protection by his teammates and as a result was cutting the Saints apart. In the back half Scott Thompson was limiting Justin Koschitzke’s influence and Josh Gibson, after carving up Jonathan Brown and Matthew Pavlich the previous two weeks, was doing likewise to Nick Riewoldt. Surely this was all too good to be true? When Drew Petrie scored at the seven minute mark to put North 28 to the better, I was beginning to really believe that we might just pull off the impossible. The second term began as a real dogfight. We were hanging in there but the signs were worrying. Dal Santo, Hayes, Montagna and co began to get hold of the ball. Adam Schneider cut loose in the Saints’ forward 50 and Jones started to get hold of Wells. We were still leading, though, and when Ben Warren snagged another major from the goal square it seemed like we could still do this. The last twenty minutes of the quarter were notable. Schneider got away to kick a couple, Kosi took a strong mark and kicked truly from 15 out following a Leigh Harding turnover and St.Kilda went to the long break only 13 points in arrears. But even more notable than their comeback on the scoreboard was two separate incidents which, in hindsight, set the tone for the rest of the afternoon and was the beginning of North Melbourne’s demise. Firstly was an off-the-ball hit on Power from Saints’ ruckman Steven King which saw him unconscious before he hit the ground. (A hit which has since seen King take an enforced 4-week layoff, courtesy of the AFL Tribunal) Power was not to be seen for the remainder of the afternoon. Next up, Ben Warren copped an accidental elbow in the face from Jones, which also had him sidelined for the day (and next couple of weeks, to boot) with a depressed fracture of the cheekbone. Power and Warren had been close to our best two players during our early dominance and it was a bitter blow. After half time North came out a different side. Gone was the fierce attack on the ball and the man. Gone was the run-at-all-costs style of footy that had served them so well in the first term. The Roos disappeared into their shells and became the fumbly, unconfident team that has been the hallmark of our worst efforts in 2009. We were afraid to take the Saints on and the opposition capitalised gratefully. Eleven goals to two in the second half told a grim tale. Kosi and Riewoldt were the beneficiaries of unpressured delivery and quickly got on top of their more inexperienced opposition. Their decorated midfield smashed us, their back half became impassable. North ended the day with only 17 men on the field due to a horrendous run of injury (how’s this for a sorry list: Power, Warren, Wells, Campbell, Pratt, Simpson, Wright) and a day that had started out with an improbable promise of a famous victory finished in an all-too-familiar fashion. And the other one minute of pleasure? Well, it may be a touch self-indulgent, but it did give me a rare second-half chuckle. Thanks to my resourceful nephew, Jason, we’d snagged front row seats on the 50 m line. Riewoldt marked the ball on the boundary and was lining up for goal not more than one metre away from me. I decided to give him some ‘friendly advice’ on his kicking technique. He missed. Within minutes I had received text messages from Rob in Sydney (two if you count the one he passed on from his Mum in Tassie), Sharpen in Hobart, Mick T in Perth (blasting me for abusing poor Nicky) and a phone call from Stan ‘Lemon Lips’ Armstrong in Lancefield. Seems the Foxtel cameras had captured my little outburst quite graphically and I was, very briefly, the star of the show. I taped the game when I got home and watched my little cameo over and over again. Pathetic, I know, but you’ve got to somehow find a little sunshine in everything, I reckon. NORTH MELBOURNE 5.1 7.2 8.3 9.3 (57) ST KILDA 1.3 4.7 8.10 15.13 (103) GOALS North Melbourne: Swallow 2, Edwards, Ross, Simpson, Firrito, Petrie, Warren, Thomas St Kilda: Koschitzke 6, Riewoldt 3, Schneider 2, Dal Santo, Jones, Gwilt, Gram BEST North Melbourne: Firrito, Gibson, Simpson, McMahon (Power and Warren til they got smashed) St Kilda: Koschitzke, Montagna, Hayes, Gram, Dal Santo, Riewoldt CROWD 30,962 at Etihad Stadium VOTES 3 – Firrito 2 – Gibson 1 – Simpson
North Melbourne versus Adelaide Crows 2.10pm, Sunday, June 14 AAMI Stadium I’m going to make this brief. Firstly, I’d like to point out that this website, the NMWG, is a site written and designed wholly for the enjoyment of North Melbourne supporters. Thus, I can only assume that, this being a review of North’s Rd 12 trip to Footy Park in Adelaide, no self-respecting North fan is reading this report. If you really barracked for North you’d be getting pissed or smashing a phone box or beating up the dog. So I’m not going to bother going into any great detail, but just in case you’re so desperate, dumb or hopelessly lost on the WWW to have stumbled in here, I’ll give you a few little snippets. Now, let’s see... • It was Adam Simpson’s 300th game. • He played ok. • No-one else did much. • We didn’t score at all in the first quarter – not even a single behind. • We were kinda desperate at times, other times we weren’t. • The Crows were equally as desperate; however, THEY KNOW HOW TO KICK THE FRICKING BALL TO A TEAMMATE! • Corey Jones kicked his 200th career goal in the second quarter, our only one for the half. • It was, most likely, his last ever. • Jason Porplyzia has poise and skill in front of goal, unlike any of our forwards. • North can’t kick to a target to save themselves. • We are currently the worst team in the league. • Laids is in huge strife. And yes, I know we’re crippled with injuries - topped off by poor old Jay Z going down with what looks like a broken leg – and that’s got to be a pretty reasonable excuse, but honestly... 3 goals in four quarters of football? The bloody Socceroos have scored more heavily than that in recent times and they get slammed for being defensive! The mid-season break can’t come quick enough. Good night. ADELAIDE 2.4 3.6 5.9 8.13 (61) NORTH MELBOURNE 0.0 1.2 2.5 3.5 (23) GOALS Adelaide: Porplyzia 3, Knights, Edwards, Bock, Tippett, Walker, Vince North Melbourne: Jones, Edwards, Thomas BEST Adelaide: Porplyzia, Thompson, Bock, Otten, Knights, Doughty, Symes, McLeod North Melbourne: Thompson, McIntosh, Firrito, Grima, Simpson CROWD 30,173 at AAMI Stadium VOTES 3 – Thompson 2 – McIntosh 1 – Firrito [Return to top of page] I have another reason to feel excited. Three work colleagues (I’m a teacher for those who don’t know), two who haven’t been to a game before, have joined me in the Members’ Reserve. I enjoy taking footy virgins to games. I gush and puff my chest like a new father as I proudly introduce them to our game. Podraig Staunton is a strawberry blond Irishman, briefly calling Melbourne home. He’s the younger brother of Steve, former English Premier League player, Irish international and, more recently, national coach. Their dad was a policeman during the sectarian Troubles. Podraig’s game is Gaelic Football. His local county, Louth - pronounced loud, as in ‘Loud and Proud!’ – struggle and have been all-Ireland champions on only a few occasions. Podraig loves the amateur status of Irish sport. However, he concedes competing with soccer and, more recently the AFL, is increasingly difficult. He applauds his young countrymen for pursuing riches offered by the Australian game. Providing they return to play the Irish code when their time is up, of course. Sport is tribal in Ireland, according to Podraig. You support your local team. Anything else is treachery. ‘That’s why I can’t believe this ejit…’ he says, shaking his head at Todd. Todd is an Englishman from Leicester who, for unexplained reasons, supports Arsenal in the EPL. Quick-witted and dry, Todd believes the greatest asset he brings to teaching is humour. Any combustible situation can be doused with a bit of light-hearted sarcasm. Todd is also enjoying an extended tour of the colonies. Todd and Podraig are in charge of the Physical Education Department at school. An Englishman and Irishman in charge of P.E.? I know what you’re thinking. We don’t break too many long-standing national records. Richard is the final member of today’s party. Erudite and well spoken, he’s not your typical Collingwood supporter. However, his choice of team is best explained by his favourite hobby. Richard’s passion is his home brew kit, which produces a range of exotic brews and occupies the best room in the home he shares with his tolerant Japanese wife and bubbling twin boys. I give the boys a quick tour of the Members and a spiel on the history of the game. Todd and Podraig take some convincing when I declare ours to be the first organised, and therefore oldest, of the football codes. We settle in centre-wing, ground level. Everyone is in holiday mode and the boys are jolly after experiencing pre-game local culture at a Punt Road pub. Boomer’s elbow is heavily strapped and Picken, his round 2 nemesis, picks him up. Debutant, Anthony, starts on the bench. The game starts with intensity and energy. Both teams resemble schoolboys, released to the playground after a long day caged inside due to rain. Crocker’s game plan is obvious. We’re playing direct and attacking footy. We’re playing on and taking risks. Both teams kick early goals. Alas, the more things change… Before long, we’re repeating the skill errors that have plagued our season. Harris drops an uncontested mark at full-forward. Turnovers in defence lead to three Bulldogs goals. Hargrave and Eagleton have started well. Giansiracusa limps off. Petrie is providing a lone target. He kicks two. Lake out positions Hale. Warren, returning from a broken cheekbone, is carried off with a fractured leg. Bulldogs lead by nine points at quarter-time. Boomer drags us into the contest in the second term. He directs traffic, beckons leads and hits targets with deft, perfectly weighted kicks. A long handball releases Hansen who goals. Boy, we’ve missed the captain. We probably should lead. However, Boomer hit the post on the run and Jones missed two easy shots. The Bulldogs’ lead is reduced to two points at the main break and the game is up for grabs. Over a half-time pint in the Bull Ring, Todd is amazed by the number of seagulls on the ground and wonders if they ever get a kick. He and Podraig are impressed with the physicality of our game, but bemused by the missed goals. I explain goal kicking is one part of our game that hasn’t improved over time. Our half-time conversation is made more poignant during the third quarter. North, though dominating for periods, can’t capitalise. Our intensity and pressure are maintained and Ross and Anthony provide run. Jones and Harding kick goals and we lead for a short time. However, we can’t press home the advantage. Swallow panics and sprays wide from directly in front. Urquhart, whose kicking has been poor all season, runs into an open goal and misses everything. Boomer catches the disease and kicks his third behind. The Bulldogs have less possession, yet are more efficient. Griffen is running hard with the ball. Gia is back and kicks his first. Hill takes a hanger in the goal square and seizes the lead on the siren. The Bulldogs have the answers. The Bulldogs run away with the game in the last quarter. Simmo and Firrito turn the ball over and Gia kicks two more. Hill adds another and the game is buried. North tire and Hale kicks our only goal for the term and receives sarcastic cheers from the crowd. The 22 point margin is a fair result as the Bulldogs have taken their chances and we haven’t. Twelve of seventeen Bulldog goals have come from North turnovers. Podraig and Todd catch a city bound tram satisfied with their first experience
of our game. On the train to Reservoir I’m disappointed with the result, though
heartened by the beginning of this period for our club. Crocker has introduced
a fresh, risk-taking brand of footy that will bring good results - if he can
fix our skills. NORTH MELBOURNE [Return to top of page] Sydney Swans BEST
[Return to top of page] We are immersed in a gentle, swirling sea of flags, cultural costumes and music. Community groups carry banners and small left wing political organizations hand out flyers and sell badges. Chinese dragons bounce and twist through the crowd. AFL footballers, high-ranking police, religious leaders and politicians are present. The dark-skinned young woman in charge of proceedings is talking into a microphone from the back of a small truck. She is wearing a cream, strapless formal dress with gold sequences down the front. Massive peacock feathers stick out of her hair. Dom’s late father, Con, was born in Palestine to a Sicilian father and Greek mother. They were escaping World War Two ravaged Europe and eventually found themselves in an internment camp in Tatura, country Victoria. The family moved to Melbourne, where Con grew, met Katie at the Surrey Hills YMCA and together reared a handful of creative and smiling children. Dom and I became mates when the family moved to Warrnambool and he and his brothers enrolled in the local boys’ Catholic school. He’s happy because the Bombers defeated Sydney yesterday. The walk moves off towards the city and I have my trusty walkman in my ear. I’m confident about today’s game against the out of form reigning premiers. Our losing form has been better then theirs and I feel an imminent win for the Roos under Caretaker Crocker. Having said that, a loss for the Hawks will put them two games out of the eight and almost end their finals chances. Hawthorn cannot afford to lose today. Rain blown south away from Melbourne yesterday is falling on Launceston in Biblical proportions. Hail is predicted. The young ruckman Goldstein has been replaced by the smaller Greenwood. This is a day requiring old-fashioned wet weather tactics. The hungrier team will win. The first quarter is a messy slog. Players are committing bodies and shovelling the ball forward. Stoppages are common. It’s one goal each and we lead by a point on the siren. Dom and I are swallowed up by a band of Chinese drum players. We turn down Swanston Street during the second quarter and spectators have gathered on the pavements. The walk has a bit of Momba about it. North are handling the wet conditions better. Our tackling is strong and we’re kicking long to Hale. We’ve kicked three goals to one for the term – including a tricky snap from Anthony - and lead by nine points at the main break. The walk reaches its destination at Federation Square and the speeches and dancing begin. Dom and I decide it’s time for lunch. By midway through the third quarter we’re back at Dom’s East Melbourne apartment. The ‘G is an imposing site through the glass balcony doors. He turns on Foxtel. The rain has stopped in Launceston and the game has opened up. We’re using the ball better, with efficient kicking and minimal handball. Our tackle count grows. Spite has crept into the game and Buddy has his number taken for unduly rough play on Petrie. It’s a soft report and shouldn’t make it to the tribunal. Harding goals on the siren and we lead by fourteen points. The Hawks’ season is on the line. Buddy marks over Gibson in the goal square at the start of the last term and kicks his first. Swallow bombs to Hale who does the same. Quick reply, I’m still confident. Hawthorn’s strong bodies are starting to dominate the clearances and contested ball. Hodge, Mitchell and Sewell are willing their team on. Buddy is the target. He kicks two more. The comeback is on. Our intensity is still good, but we can't put the Hawks away. Simmo dribbles one along the ground and it brushes the inside of the padding on the goal post. Jones and Thomas miss goals they shouldn’t. We lead by five points, but my confidence is waning. I’m out of my chair and prowling the lounge room. Dom reminds me to pace myself as there’s still plenty of time left. He’s right. I take a few deep breaths and sit down again. Hawthorn are pressing and there’s a throw-in on their forward flank. Hodge rucks against Hale, forces the ball forward, receives it back and goals on the run. Hawks lead by a point and the crowd behind the goals are jubilant. Two minutes left, we’re still in this, but the Hawks have the momentum. They attack again. Buddy takes a two-grab mark and kicks his fourth for the quarter. Hawthorn are home and I’m in the kitchen restraining myself from kicking chairs. ‘Gotta hurt,’ Dom says. No shit. The siren sounds and the Hawks celebrate with relief. They have resurrected their season and Buddy produced when needed most. That should keep Jeff quiet for a week. For North, well, we blew it. That’s three ‘honourable’ losses under Crocks. Our application and attack are excellent, however, skill errors continue to hurt. We should not have lost this one. I thank Dom for his hospitality and walk back to Carlton where I’ve parked
the car. I pass smiling and flag waving people on their way home from the Harmony
Walk. Their day may have ended better than mine, however, I can still appreciate
what a beautiful city we live in. HAWTHORN NTH MELBOURNE GOALS BEST CROWD VOTES [Return to top of page] I couldn’t help think of Bucks as nephew Lukey and I, and a group of friends took our seats in the Ponsford Stand, city end. Apparently, both clubs playing today are chasing the media commentator and junior coach for next season. I imagined him sitting behind the glass in some corporate box, waiting for the game to begin, mumbling to himself, ‘Mmm, which of these wretched clubs will I choose to rescue? Impress me boys.’ He may have decided to delete James Brayshaw’s phone number after the first half. The withdrawals of Cousins and Cotchin looked to make our cause a bit easier. Actually, I was looking forward to watching him play. He won me 2006 GF Day – he was heroic. We started well enough. Jones led the team out for his 150th and Boomer won
the toss and pointed to our end. A nasty gale was blowing in our faces. Hansen,
again starting up forward, kicked the first. Boomer was everywhere and we had
the better of the action for the first ten minutes. The Tigers kicked four goals in five minutes and the Army were in full roar. North were top heavy in the forward line. Hale and McIntosh dropped marks and fell over. Edwards ran off Thomas too easily. We looked listless and dispirited. The loss to the Hawks last week hurt me deeply, God knows the effect it had on the players. We were 20 points down at quarter-time when my pen ran out. Maybe that was symbolic of something. The remainder of this report is a collection of memories from the game. The Tigers carried on in the second quarter and led by seven goals at half-time. Nahas and Riewoldt presented themselves. Tuck was strong in the middle and youngster Post was impressive. To be honest, Richmond should have been further ahead. A better team would have. Meanwhile, we were defining the term ‘Rock Bottom’. We were dysfunctional, disinterested and other negative words starting with D. Simmo punched the ground in disgust. There’s another. Thompson managed to repel some attacks and Boomer continued to gather possessions. During the break, my mate, Steve, tried to tell me we were still in the game. He reckoned they hadn’t put us away. I like Steve’s views on footy – dispassionate, learned and insightful – but on this occasion I told him he was bloody stupid. We were gone. I don’t know what Caretaker Crocks said at half-time, but it worked. Harding took a hanger at the beginning of the third term and kicked the opener. Jones tackled strongly and converted the free kick. Greenwood went into the middle and we started winning clearances. He arrived from Adelaide with a big reputation and I can see why – he’s tough and his skills are neat. We were inside three goals at the last change and Lukey was confident. I still wasn’t convinced. The final quarter started quietly and the momentum North had gained in the third looked to be dissipating. Neither side was making a decisive statement and the game threatened to end meekly. Boomer re-ignited the contest. He kicked two goals in a couple of minutes and brought his teammates into the contest with hard running and accurate short passes. Two points the difference with less than ten minutes left. The Tigers awoke and started pressing again. Riewoldt dribbled a kick into the post and Nahas toed a behind. The Tigers had the momentum again and could have finished us off. McMahon passed to a leading Riewoldt who amazingly dropped a chest mark. Gibbo mopped up and booted North clear. He regathered possession in the middle and hit Hale on the chest directly in front. He kicked his first and we had hit the front for the first time since the opening term. With a few minutes remaining, we were set for a good old-fashioned frenzied finish. The Tiger Army had a ‘Here we go again’ look about them and we Northerners just thought we may get out of jail. After six consecutives losses, we were owed one. The Tigers kept coming, yet their skills failed again when needed most. McMahon couldn’t hit a leading Nahas from 20 metres away and Tambling hit the inside of the post from a set shot. Scores level. From the kick-out, North carried the ball up the MCC wing and it landed with Harding in the goal square. He kicked his third and saluted the Tiger cheer squad who reacted in the way you’d expect. With a minute left, that should’ve been it, yet I feared it wasn’t. The Tigers bombed it long from the re-start and the ball spilled over the back of the pack to Morton who roved and kicked Richmond’s second goal for the half. Scores level again. But there’s more, this was one long minute. With one final attack, North flung it towards Hale who was one out on Silvester inside the fifty. Hale marked, however, gave away a free for infringing on his opponent. I think the ump got it right. Silvester cleared to the wing and the siren went with the ball in Boomer’s hands. Usually with a draw, one set of supporters feels aggrieved while the other considers itself a bit lucky. With this game, all present felt their team had blown it. The Tigers gave up a big half-time lead and North couldn’t close out the game after hitting the front deep in time-on. The cynics among us may suggest neither team was good enough to win. So, we filed out with that numb feeling you have when closure hasn’t been experienced. Like when your favourite TV show ends with ‘To be continued’. I wonder what Bucks thought of it all. RICHMOND VOTES [Return to top of page] It’s been a tough year, folks, but once again I settled down in front of the
TV at home, Little Creatures at hand, hoping against hope that we might pull
off a miracle. The Lions are a tough side this year under the tutelage of Michael
Voss but, funnily enough I thought we might just give ‘em a shake tonight.
And I was, like so many times this year, buoyed by an opening that held much
promise. Brisbane Lions GOALS BEST 3 – Jones 2 – Simpson 1 – Anthony [Return to top of page] Round
18 My hatred for Carlton is limitless. My contempt so deep it causes a physical reaction. When I think of Carlton – as I am now – my forehead starts to burn, the skin on my arms prickles like on a cold day and chest pain pierces my heart. My top seven reasons for hating Carlton are: 1. They have too much money – most of it dirty. I have other reasons based on their arrogance, tanking, salary cap cheating, Fev, private jets, and Judd’s position of ‘Environmental Ambassador’ at Visy. Tonight’s game is a contest between good and evil. We must also win for Simmo as this is his 306th and final game. With two premierships, a best and fairest, club captaincy, and All-Australian honours, there have been few greater Kangaroos. Despite tearing a calf during the week, he will hobble about tonight, giving everything in his typically honest manner. We’ve won the last six encounters between the clubs and tonight is an opportunity to bring some satisfaction to a poor season. We haven’t tasted victory since late May. Yes, late May. And that was against Fremantle. Carlton are sitting in seventh position on nine wins and a victory will make September action likely. A loss will see them fighting out eighth spot with Port Adelaide, Essendon and Hawthorn. I’m joined tonight by Hughesy, a Blue, worried about the Simmo factor; Joey, a Magpie, home from Hong Kong for his footy fix; and Rohan, a Roo who shakes his head at our chances. We take our seats on the flank; a good crowd is in. I’ve had a few beers and my head is buzzing. Come on North! Greenwood, impressive of late, goes to Judd. Simmo joins them in the middle. Thompson starts needling Fev and Petrie is at centre half-forward. Grima comes in for Hale who lately has been doing his best impersonation of someone wanting to be sent home to the Gold Coast. Despite the build-up, the opening lacks urgency. Both teams are fumbling and lack direction. We turn the ball over. Bower and Thornton collide. Fev misses twice. Goals eventually come. Simmo lays a shepherd for Harding who passes to Thomas. He produces the game’s first. Gibbs answers for the Blues. Petrie tackles Armfield and converts. Murphy and Stevens kick truly on the run. Harding levels the scores at quarter-time. It’s a fitting score line as neither side appears good enough to win at this stage. The second quarter is marginally better. We’re creating opportunities. Petrie and McIntosh are the best big men. Harding is a leading target before tearing a hamstring. Thomas kicks his third after Houlihan trips over the ball. ‘Why is he still on our list?’ Hughesy asks somewhat rhetorically. Carlton are lacking run. Betts is being held by Rawlings and Greenwood is suffocating Judd. Fev finally kicks his first. We lead by eleven points at half-time. With nine scoring shots to three for the term, we should be further ahead. Still, I’m confident of victory against our ideological enemy. Simmo helicopters one to Petrie who goals and we’ve started the third term well. Boomer kicks another and Fev misses again. ‘He’s gambling again,’ Hughesy suggests. The Blues around us agree. Their team sense the urgency and lift. Gibbs and Stevens are running. We turn it over on the wing and Murphy goals. Fev kicks a couple and Blues supporters love him again. I hate him more. Six goals to four for the term and Carlton lead by four points. I’m worried. My head is in my hands for most of the last quarter. We attack constantly, yet kick nine straight points and one out on the full. It’s a horror movie but Joey can’t stop laughing. Rohan shakes his head. Such is the story of our season. Carlton watch North self-destruct. Thornton kicks the sealer and the Blues win by ten points. Hughesy is sheepish as this has not been an impressive victory. Skill errors have again cost us victory and the Blues look destined for finals action. Simmo leaves through a guard of honour and I feel that chest pain coming on again. NORTH MELBOURNE CARLTON GOALS BEST CROWD VOTES Round
19 Like most footy fans, I look forward to some games more than others. I love playing the Cats – the brilliant and wacky are guaranteed. I relish trips to the Cattery for its suburban feel, big sky and deep outer. You can watch the sun setting behind the members. I look forward to clashes against Essendon and Carlton. They are rich, hugely successful and powerful clubs - everything North isn’t. Victory brings a David and Goliath sense of achievement. Due to their infrequency, I appreciate North games at the MCG. I feel like the country mouse let loose in the city. Or the poor cousin invited to a wealthy relative’s mansion for Christmas. I don’t enjoy footy at Docklands. Its exterior resembles an inhospitable concrete factory. Inside, it’s murky. The atmosphere is hollow and you can’t smell the grass. Too much space is given to corporates and with the uniformity of the seating, it lacks character. Even the siren has an empty sound. When the roof is closed, Docklands is a cave that hides spectators. Even when open, it gives a sense of separation from the rest of Melbourne. Historically, our footy grounds have been vital components of our suburbs and towns. Hubs connected to our people. On game days, surrounding streets would hum with anticipation. Think of the old Western Oval. Docklands is on the far edge of the city, disconnected from the population. In due respect to those living in apartments in the area, most fans have to remove themselves from their city and suburbs, to visit Docklands. Docklands doesn’t feel like a footy ground because it’s not. It’s a multi-purpose stadium better suited to soccer due to its smaller playing surface and close grand stands. Footy will never be at home at Docklands. Unfortunately, life as a Kangaroo means plenty of Docklands games. Today we take on Melbourne – fourteenth versus sixteenth - and with the recent form of both teams, the journey to the match is filled with even less anticipation than usual. Nephew Lukey and I take our seats in the top tier, Coventry end. Ours is the only corner of the ground receiving warmth from a gentle Winter sun and a small crowd sits in silence waiting for the bounce. The atmosphere is true to form. ‘You excited?’ I ask Lukey. ‘Yep’, he grins, punching the air with little clenched fists. His childish innocence sends me wistful and I wrap an arm around him. The match starts timidly with both teams saving physical contact for their end of season trips. There is little intensity, yet turnovers come regularly. Players take turns kicking the ball out on the full. Melbourne are indirect and North drop back waiting for errors. The highlight of the quarter is a point kicked by Melbourne. Moloney produces a rare one-percenter, a smother on the wing. Davey collects and glides forward taking a few bounces. His graceful left foot shot glances the inside of the padding on the goal post. This passage brings the loudest applause for the term. The many mistakes lead to scoring opportunities. It’s four goals to three and we lead by four points by quarter-time. The calamity continues in the second quarter as the contest resembles a schoolyard game. Groups of players chase the ball back and forth. Our forward line is marginally more functional, with Hansen and Petrie on top. We kick three for the term and Melbourne don’t look like scoring. The crowd continues to be as noncommittal as the players. Kids are swinging on the railings while an old lady is studying the form at Coleraine. The sun is making me sleepy and Lukey is talking to himself. This has been a truly terrible half of footy. North by 22 points. The best action comes during the half-time Auskick game. A young fella, a foot taller than everyone else, is doing a Kouta, grabbing the ball from the bounce, running the field and slotting it through. No one notices when the two teams re-emerge for the second half. Goldstein is leading the way and North kick four quick ones at the start of the third term. Melbourne eventually realise where the goals are and kick a few late ones. Jones and debutant McNamara are having a crack. North by 40 points. Meanwhile, a father is chasing his children around the top tier. Lukey keeps asking what’s wrong with the players. Melbourne fans are chatting among themselves. When Gibbo gets bored, loses concentration and kicks the wrong way, it brings a laugh. Melbourne go home at three-quarter time. We manage five goals to one and Goldstein finishes off a good day with his fifth. Gibbo trips over his feet and is done for holding the ball. I’ve said it before: he hates Sunday games; they ruin his weekend. Spencer drops the ball while walking in for a set shot. The crowd are enjoying the laugh and stay until the end. Final margin, 62 points. We depart Docklands somewhat deflated by the experience, but happy with
our first victory since round 9, and for Caretaker Crocks who has secured
his first. As we head for the train, I realise it doesn’t matter if we win
or lose or where or whom we play, all that matters is spending the day with
Lukey. NORTH MELBOURNE VOTES I love North Melbourne.
Round
21 Even the darkest season produces a glimmer of triumph. Light that makes the heartache worthwhile. Hope that keeps you coming back. It can be a mere moment: an unforgettable mark, a sublime passage of play, the emergence of a young star. Or, as in our case this weekend, a win over a highly fancied opponent. A victory carried by pride, Rawlings’ 200 and love for departing club servants Watt and Caretaker Crocks Here’s how the day unfolded… I arrive at Docklands just before game time due to a crazed dash from the airport. I spent the previous day and night in Canberra doing stuff. I have to admit my main thoughts as I sped along Citylink were along the lines of ‘Why bother, we’re going to get smashed’. But, it’s footy and the Roos’ last Melbourne game this year. I couldn’t miss it. Nephew Lukey can’t fit a day at the footy into his busy schedule – he has an Auskick barbecue to attend – so I join my friend Jenny on the flank in the Medallion Club, courtesy of her work. Jenny arrived in Melbourne from Adelaide in the ‘90s, took one look at Wayne Carey and decided he was good enough reason to support North. Our fondest memory together was sitting atop the old Olympic Stand watching the boys thump the Blues in the ’99 GF. Jenny knows nothing of the pre-Duck North Melbourne. Schimma and Greig don’t ring a bell. When I point out Phil Krakouer sitting behind us she shrugs her shoulders. A friendly group of Roos sits nearby and together we laugh at our chances against the Saints coming off their first loss for the season against the Bombers. The sun is shining and a relieved, end of season atmosphere hangs in the air. ‘Are the trots on?’ A young Roo asks, flicking through the channels on his complimentary TV. ‘Idol’s finished.’ The game starts and it’s obvious the North players aren’t sharing our lack of concern in the result. Intensity and tackling are excellent. We’re winning the clearances and banging it forward. Swallow and Anthony are everywhere. Edwards, given an opportunity to prove he’s worth keeping next year, kicks two and we’re away. Petrie snags a couple and Goldstein another and suddenly we’re five goals up. Jenny and I share a chuckle and agree it won’t last. The Saints look ordinary. They’re lacking run and making skill errors under North’s pressure. Our defence is on top, with Grima, Thompson and Obst rotating on Riewoldt and Kozy. They eventually shake free and kick goals from the Saints only centre clearances. We lead by two goals at quarter-time. The match tightens during the second quarter. We’re controlling the tempo and forcing stoppages. The Saints are off their game. Kozy and Montagna spray shots they would normally convert. Dal Santo is suffocating under Greenwood’s tag. We kick two goals to one and the lead is sixteen points. Still it seems like a matter of time before the Saints get moving. The Saints are dominating possession early in the third term, however, our pressure is forcing them wide and their forward delivery is missing the mark. Riewoldt and Kozy miss shots they shouldn’t. The former eventually marks strongly and converts. Swallow – having the game of his life – kicks our only goal for the quarter. The margin is six points. Jenny and I and our new found friends are well into the contest by now. We sense we’re a real chance. We want this one to hang our season on. The Saints continue to press at the start of the last quarter. Goddard has found space. They enter the fifty time and again, but can’t score. Stoppages continue. I count five in a few minutes inside their forward area. McQualter breaks free and puts the Saints in front for the first time. Kozy kicks his second and the game has a ‘here we go again’ feel. Both goals have come from our turnovers. This has been our problem season. But this week is different. We continue to tackle and our intensity never slackens. Petrie takes over. He does his best Carey, hitting a pack hard and bringing down a strong mark. He converts and Jenny is impressed. An attractive passage of play ends with another mark to Petrie and he has his fourth. We lead by a goal and we’re roaring. The Saints attack desperately. Schneider is pinged for holding the ball, gives the umpire a serve and is penalised fifty. He’s dragged and we’re out of our seats delivering a send-off. Reiwoldt marks and has a shot from outside fifty. Goldstein rises and punches through on the line. Five points the difference. Petrie makes a game saving spoil and the siren sounds. Delirium. Hugs and high-fives all round and we’re celebrating as if we’ve won the GF. The players mob Crocks in the centre of the ground and Watt and Rawlings receive a guard of honour. This one meant a great deal to the club. One victory can lighten a dark season. I wish Lukey was here to see it. Round
22 I don’t like watching footy on TV. I feel disengaged, not part of the action. I can’t smell the air, feel the atmosphere or become emotionally involved with the game. The screen is too small to capture all the action on our large, oval playing field. Other football codes and sports, for example, tennis, are better suited to TV with their smaller playing surfaces. Delayed footy telecasts are an insult to the viewing public. Research has shown live sport on TV does not adversely affect crowd sizes. Commentators are either washed-up former players or dorky wannabes who forget what they’re there for – to call a game of footy - and see their role as an opportunity to talk about themselves and hang shit on each other (a big generalisation, I know). I go to the footy. I feel involved, engaged. I sit in the grandstand or stand in the outer with the radio in my ear. At home, I listen to the radio coverage. Radio commentators are better informed, more accurate and less egotistical (except for Rex). So, despite the fact it’s the last game of the year and the Roos are on free-to-air (surprise, surprise), I’m not too excited about taking on Port at AAMI. I’m up for a movie: ‘Balibo’ looks good. Unfortunately, my host isn’t keen and with the rain coming down, we’ve settled in over a stirfry and beers. She wants to watch ‘Bend it Like Beckham’. No probs, sounds better than the footy. I’ll flick for the score during the ads. We tune into the movie and the main character, Jess, is playing football in the park with the boys. Her conservative Indian parents aren’t yet aware of her obsession with the round ball code. An endless Summer is basking over London. Jess is a good-looking sort. Indian women are beautiful (another generalisation). I start to reminisce to many years ago and my first Indian meal in Brick Lane, London. The waitresses were a revelation. I check the footy. It’s approaching time-on in the first quarter and we lead nine points to eight. It’s raining, windy, slippery and dour. Thompson clears for North. He’s had a good year. Drew kicks one over his head. Even with Crocks miked up in the box for his last game, we can’t escape the mundanity. Back to Jess and her mother is teaching her traditional recipes. Later, she’s talking marriage with teammates from her female football team. She can’t marry a Muslim or Christian, only an Indian. The Irish male coach has his brooding eyes on her. Soon, he’s rubbing her sore feet. It’s entirely inappropriate, but understandable. Airport Brogan receives a 50 and puts Port in front. They lead by five points at quarter-time. The shit hits the fan for Jess. Her parents have busted her and she’s banned from playing football. Everyone’s in tears - especially Coach. Half-way through the second term, Port lead by sixteen points. Greenwood is in a push and shove contest with S. Burgoyne. I like Levi, he isn’t easily intimidated. Drew collects Chad. Good work. Lade’s on top. Jess’ teammates have smuggled her to Germany for a game. The coach gets her pissed and has a crack. Jess’ mate Jules, who has the hots for the coach, catches them. Their friendship is over and Jess is devastated. Coach is spewing. Port lead 41 to 28 at half-time. Jess’s sister is getting married. The house, car and reception centre are full of colour, dance and noise. Everyone is happy except for Jess, for today is her soccer final and she isn’t there. Her dad relents and Jess’ gay friend drives her to the game. Jess scores the winner around a wall of opponents – or is that the wall of Indian conservatism? The celebrations begin and she and Jules are friends again. Jess wraps the sari back on, returns to the wedding and dances the night away Bollywood style. Half-way through the third, the game has opened up. There’s more urgency in the play and the small crowd is involved. Ebert slips Thompson and kicks one. Port by eight. Jess and Jules are offered scholarships at an American university and after much pleading, Jess’ parents give the thumbs up. Coach is back on the scene and they have a big kiss at the airport. He tells her he’ll wait for her. The film ends with Coach and Jess’ dad playing cricket on the green. London’s endless Summer continues. The rain is washing across the TV screen with four minutes left. We’re coming hard and trail by two points. Crocks has sent out the message: kick long! We have a milo. Early in the last term, Port lead by three points. Gibbo’s getting a lot of it. He’s finding form for Mad Monday. Boomer kicks truly on the run and we lead. I should be more excited. I should be there. Drew jumps into the pack and marks on his chest. He spends too long with the preparation and misses from ten metres out. Port press and we’re defending frantically. Ebert goals and Port lead by four points. Five minutes left. Boomer crumbs, slips, baulks, and misses from just outside the goal square. McMahon marks on the forward flank. Krakouer gives him a slight push in the chest, he falls and receives a 50. It’s a poor decision from an umpire lacking perspective and flexibility, but, we’ll take it. McMahon converts and we lead again. Lower kicks a point on the siren and we win by four points. The teams form a guard of honour for the retiring Peter Burgoyne and Lade. Burgoyne and Krakouer are in tears. I feel sorry for Krakouer. It shouldn’t happen to a member of a famous North family. It should’ve happened to Chad. I’m happy with the win, but not so emotional - I’m at home watching on TV. The season is over and it’s fitting I say something deep: thank God! See ya. PORT ADELAIDE NORTH MELBOURNE GOALS CROWD VOTES |