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RD8 | RD9 | RD10 | RD11 | RD12 | RD13 | RD14 | RD15 | RD16 | RD17 | RD18 | RD19 | RD20 |RD21| Round 1 Port Adelaide versus North Melbourne 1.10pm, Sunday, March 28 AMMI Stadium I’m at the Rose Hotel, Fitzroy. The magnificent 1899 Fitzroy team photo hangs on the wall while a few regulars sit at the bar. I’m chatting to Sean, a fellow Roo, who I often see at games and exchange a ‘G’day’ with. We shared a class or two twenty years ago at uni, so it’s great to finally become reacquainted. Sean is disarming, smiley and softly spoken, works in state government and is the father of one. The Grand Prix is on in the main bar, so we head out to the dining room where the game is being shown on a small, distant screen. Such is life for Roos fans when our team is playing interstate: consigned to hidden back rooms and bars. A few other footy fans have gathered for the game. Several couples drift in, but I think they’re here for the food rather than the footy. Rain is falling in Adelaide. Basttinac is our only debutant, while Port have four first gamers. They also have Dean Laidley in the box, which is a bit weird. Sean’s mates, Craig and Andrew, join us. They get the beers in and flick through the Sunday papers. Craig’s a Tiger and after Thursday night’s loss to Carlton is expecting the same-old this year. My mate, Handsome Joe, arrives in time for the first bounce. He looks
like Kevin from The Wonder Years, which he combines with an apparent
innocent disposition to produce an extremely consistent female strike-rate.
He considers it his duty to be perpetually single and available as required.
Joe works in the IT department of a Hong Kong school. The talk all Summer from the club and new coach, Brad Scott, has been about the future and putting faith in young players. When the games gets under away, I’m pleased to see Anthony and Ziebell amongst it early and the latter sets up Adams who kicks the first. Good start. Port settle and begin to handle the wet conditions better. They’re minimising handball and kicking long. Kain Cornes and Pearce are everywhere; Ebert and Tredrea are presenting up forward. They start to dominate and kick several unanswered goals. We’re over using handball and short kicks which leads to turnovers. We’re in trouble and Joe calls for a headcount. Warren cleans up Brogan with a solid hip-and-shoulder on the siren and Sean and I hope this will provide a lift. Port by 21 at quarter-time. Early in the second term, Hale marks strongly and goals and Boomer snaps one over his shoulder. Unfortunately, this doesn’t last long. Port continue to attack and goals to Cassisi and Tredrea stretch the lead. Debutant Banner tackles Wells and converts the free kick. Pearce goals from the boundary and Port lead by 44 at half-time. This has rout written all over it. Joe and I decide to head to Brunswick Street for a bite to eat. As we leave, Sean flashes me a slight look of betrayal, so I suggest we may be back for the second half. To be honest, the way this is going, I can’t see that happening. We sit in the window of a restaurant and Joe orders something light as he’s not convinced he’ll be able to keep down a solid meal. The waitress is practising her calf lifts and is built like a ballet dancer. A dreadlocked hippie sits opposite, rolling her own ciggies. I check my walkman, Port are up by 50 points. Joe is updating me on his private life. However, I’m quickly lost. He needs to write it down for me, or construct a concept map on a white board. I’m sort of jealous, yet exhausted when his monologue finally ends. Ok, I’m exaggerating a bit here. We keep walking as Joe’s keen to find the Pies and Bulldogs on TV. We settle into comfy red chairs in a bar on Johnston Street. Joe’s concentrating on the Pies and I’ve put the walkman in. North are having the better of play and have kicked three goals to one for the term. Boomer has three and we’ve hit the post twice. The deficit is 34 at three-quarter time. Joe and I part, and halfway through the last quarter I’m in the car, heading north on St. Georges Road. The momentum has shifted with Anthony, McIntosh and Basttinac leading the way. We’re dominating like Port early on and the hometown commentators are getting worried. We kick five goals to two, yet Port hold on and win by 14 points. Despite a poor first half, encouraging performances from younger players
give hope for the season. We’re on the right path. PORT ADELAIDE NORTH MELBOURNE GOALS North Melbourne: BEST Crowd: NMFC Player of the Year Award:
St. Kilda versus North Melbourne Wednesday afternoon. Four days since Easter Saturday night. I still don’t know what happened. I still don’t know what to write, what to say. I had hoped by now my pain would have subsided and my thoughts aligned in order to write a match report to the 104 point defeat by the Saints. I was wrong; so, so wrong. My hurt throbs and breathes like an air bubble in wet sand on the beach. Or like a cyst on the hind-quarter of a bull. I cannot explain what happened to North Melbourne in coherent thoughts, words, sentences and paragraphs. Nor express how it felt to witness the debacle from the TV at my parents’ house in Warrnambool (Thank God I listened to my Catholic conscience and went home for Easter). So, I’ve decided to surrender to my grief and not even try to produce a match report. I’ve decided – rather guiltily – to offer the reader match statistics and a muddled, dribbling collection of thoughts to bring light on the carnage. Please, stay with me. Statistics…. Total disposals: Saints 442, North 316 Contested possessions: Saints 126, North 90 Uncontested possessions: Saints 313, North 215 Number of players with over 20 possessions: Saints 11, North 2 Marks: Saints 142, North 90 Number of players with 10 or more marks: Saints 5, North 1 Inside 50s: Saints 54, North 34 Goals kicked from marks: Saints 15, North 4 Goals kicked from outside 40 metres: Saints 10, North 1 And, would you believe we won the clearances: 34 to 31. Go figure. Muddled thoughts – in dot point to keep me focused… • Hansen on Riewoldt? What about Grima? Hope that makes sense. I’ll make a better, more coherent effort next week. Promise. Hope North do. ST KILDA 8.1 11.3 16.4 23.5 (143) GOALS St Kilda: Riewoldt 7; Goddard 4; Peake 3, Milne 3; Schneider 2; Armitage,
Geary, Montagna, Dal Santo. BEST St Kilda: Riewoldt , Goddard, Dal Santo, Montagna, , Gilbert CROWD: 32,006 at Etihad Stadium. NMFC Player of the Year Award No votes given!
Still waiting on Round 3 report report, Wally!
North Melbourne versus Sydney 'Are you allowed to change teams?’ nephew Lukey
asks his dad, my brother-in-law, as we cross the bridge at Alphington
Station.
3 – Harvey
Round 5 Northerners, This is supposed to be a match report dedicated to our sensational and stirring victory over the Hawks on ANZAC Day. Unfortunately, it’s not and for that I apologise. Below is a piece about what I got up to on Sunday, including watching the Magpies and Bombers at the ‘G and the Storm and Warriors at Etihad Stadium. As I was at Etihad on ANZAC Day night, I did not see a kick of our match. I did have my radio in my ear and therefore, was able to follow the match to a certain extent. My listening was interrupted by the noise of the Purple Army rejoicing each try and by this blond named Cheryl who was chewing my ear off deep into the last quarter. I think she was trying to get to Hughesy through me – that’s what usually happens. I think I offended her when I explained I couldn’t talk because we had just hit the lead again. Oh well, that’s footy. So, I don’t think I could do justice to a match report with such limited knowledge of what happened. Scores, goals, best players and votes are included below. These stats are from The Age. It’s great to see Haley, Wells and Edwards in the goals and Boomer continuing his great form and Rawlings and Anthony amongst the votes. Let’s hope the Roos have a win against the rampaging Demons this week. A win will see us building some genuine momentum. As of this week, our Player of the Year award will be known as the Jason Daniltchenko Award. For obvious reasons. Have a read of the piece below; I hope you enjoy it. Go Roos! HAWTHORN NORTH MELBOURNE GOALS BEST The Jason Daniltchenko Award ANZAC DAY: FROM RESERVOIR TO THE ‘G, TO THE EYE OF THE STORM The national anthem brings the dawn service at the Reservoir cenotaph to a close and a greying man wrapped in black and white trumpets, Carna Pies! Some giggle into their winter coats while a few women puff on heartstarters. Children hang from parents’ arms. A craggy digger approaches another standing at the rear of the small crowd and pokes at the medals on his chest. There aren’t many of us left, mate. My name’s Jack. An elderly woman on a squeaky bike wobbles up Edwards Street, parks against a tree and melts into the gathering. A man approaches and kisses her on the cheek. Good to see ya, mate. Afterwards, around the corner in the RSL, the Gunfire Breakfast is doing a roaring trade. Snags, bacon, eggs, hash browns, instant coffee, and the choice of one beer, wine or juice. Most go for the beer. The window advertises Darryl Cotton for Mothers Day: show and two courses, $35. A digger in a blazer reminds non-members to sign in. Outside, a dark sky is merging into a promising pink and a train rumbles along the Epping Line. Later in the morning, I’m on the platform at Reservoir. I love train stations; they’re a bubble of humanity, movement and emotions. A digger spills his tray of poppies and badges and two teenage girls in torn jeans and footy guernseys dart over and silently clean up the mess. A young Indian male buys a poppy from his mate. A Vietnamese youth in a Geelong scarf is on his mobile making plans for the day. The train arrives and fills with Bombers and Magpies. It’s alive with families, groups of mates and laughter. The pre-match ceremony at the MCG is respectfully understated. The AFL does this well; they know it’s not their day to steal. Our national flag is at centre half-forward and the Last Post carries in the wind. 90,000 people are silent. This is the one day of the year an irreverent nation is not. We acknowledge the sacrifice made by those before us and appreciate the freedom it has brought. Before the first bounce, Nick Maxwell and his troops form a huddle in the Ponsford Stand end goal square. The Magpie army lovingly envelope them and inject courage for the battle. The first quarter is like a final: confused, nervous, fumbling, frenetic. Collingwood settle, kicking direct and long. Essendon try to handball through the Magpies’ zone, however, repeatedly choose the wrong option, handballing to stationary teammates. Collingwood’s pressure forces turnovers. Cloke provides a target and kicks three for the term. It’s over at quarter-time. At half-time, I move from the polite, designer shirted Members’ Enclosure into the Ponsford Stand and the Magpie army. It’s an utter cultural shift. This is more than a group of football supporters; this is a family gathering. The warmth and familiarity are palpable. Faces are painted and glowing. They hug and call each other Love and Darl. The army love this day; they live for it. Nephew Lukey is running around in the Auskick. His black socks are pulled up past his knees and he glows like one of the light towers. Lukey gets his first touch when the ump gives him the kick-out after a point. He hits his mate on the chest. Lukey’s got it again in the dying seconds and streams into goal, only to spray it wide. His dad, the goal umpire, throws his head back and signals a point. I leave the ‘G during time-on in the last quarter and walk through Birrarung Marr. This is one of my favourite Melbourne locations, the intersection to our city’s greatest features: sporting precinct behind me; CBD ahead; Yarra and Botanical Gardens on the left; grass under my feet. When I reach the city, young sailors are having a few in a trendy bar. They’re getting loud and are in for a big one. A river of purple is surging and bubbling along the concourse from Southern Cross Station. Outside Etihad Stadium, the atmosphere is a mixture of relief and defiance and there are queues at the merchandise tents and ticket windows. Melbourne Storm fans have endured the worst four days in Australian sporting history and now want the rubbish over and football to start. This is their team, they want it back. I’m at Melbourne Storm versus Auckland Warriors thanks to my good friend and consistent provider of celebrity freebies, Dave Hughes. We’re each handed a ‘player pass’ and ushered up the players’ race where we mingle with cheerleaders and cheer squad members for the national anthems. Liz, a Storm staffer, has tears in her eyes. It’s been a tough week, she says. It’s still a bit raw. Liz explains that membership sales have gone through the roof this week and the club’s family day was well supported. A Polynesian woman grabs Dave for a photo. Go the Storm! she says. Sport is about people. By the time we arrive upstairs, the pre-match VIP function is finishing and people are making their way through the glass doors to their seats. Ben Roarty, a member of the Storm’s 1999 premiership team, rushes over and grips Dave and I in genuine and warm handshakes. Dave interviewed him on radio a few days ago and Ben wanted to know how he went. I was just being honest, mate. I’ll support these guys to the end’, he gestures to the playing field. He’s built like a brick wall and has a scar over his left eye. He looks like a league player should. Ben nods to the men leaning against the bar. All the boys from ’99 are here. We’re here for the boys out there. I recognise Glenn Lazarus and Matt Geyer. Geyer, who also played in the now stripped 2007 premiership, still looks fit enough to play. Out on the paddock, the Storm are being carried by a wave of emotion and adrenalin. Billy Slater is darting and sliding through the Warrior defence. Cameron Smith is converting tries. The Storm crowd is rejoicing and chairman, Rob Moodie, is clapping and whistling louder than anyone. Liz introduces Rob during half-time. He looks like actor Tommy Lee Jones. He is exhausted and frustrated. Fans have been locked out of tonight’s game because stadium owners, not expecting a large crowd, haven’t opened the top tier. Are you an alcoholic yet? Ben asks cheekily. Rob laughs, shakes his head wearily, and says he hasn’t had a drink today. He needs one. In the sheds post-match, coach Craig Bellamy is holding court, thanking all for their support during the last few days. He has tears in his eyes and looks suddenly old. His team sit before him, heads in hands or staring at the floor. Bellamy breaks with tradition and asks all present to link arms and sing the victory song. I’m on the outer edges of the circle and do my best to mime the words. This is surreal. I’m at my first Storm game; I feel like an imposter and expect someone to ask me to leave. This doesn’t happen and with the speeches over, the atmosphere is friendly and relieved. Champagne is being passed around. Bellamy pushes through the throng and kisses his wife. Geyer is rounding up the kids. The players move off for their warm down. Dave and I thank our hosts and take our leave. What a night, I say shaking my head. Inner sanctum, he replies. Inner sanctum. What a night, what a day. ANZAC Day. It’s amazing what a few wins can do. I’m standing on the platform at Reservoir station and for once I’m not the lone Kangaroo. There are three family groups in royal blue and white. A mother is shoving a scarf into a Brent Harvey bag and further up the platform, a father and son are enjoying kick to kick. What’s even more incredible is a few Demons are here. Never before have I seen a Melbourne supporter on this platform. Ever. Maybe they took a wrong right hand turn up St. George’s Road on their way from Camberwell to the Docklands. I hope they’ve put the steering lock on. The Demons are going for four in a row and the bandwagon is filling with Melbourne supporters hoping for a late start to the ski season. The train fills with more Demons with each stop. What’s interesting is that some don’t match the eastern suburban private school stereotype. There’s the dreadlocked bloke in a Robbie Flower jumper, and another wearing a grandmother knitted scarf resembles a guitarist from a Sydney Road pub band. I’m chatting with Jordan, a Roo who’s a bit under the weather. He and his mate kicked on from the Bulldogs and Saints game last night. Jordan and I are happy for the Demons to have success - the AFL needs a competitive MFC. We just don’t want their winning form to continue today. Alighting at Southern Cross, the walkway to Etihad is sun soaked, full of supporters of both teams and the merchandise tents are busy. Cousin Elise has wangled a handful of Medallion Club tickets and a gang of relatives gathers on the flank, directly under Brad Scott’s nose. Uncle Allan, he who is responsible for the lot of us following North, is here. He and I comment on how long it’s been since we attended a game together and spot Blighty on the boundary doing a pre-match TV cross. We reminisce and sigh wistfully. The roof’s open and the sun’s shining. Let’s get this game going. The Demons’ first half is a recall of 2009. Despite kicking the opener through Green, they look flat from the start. They’re indirect and their skills are poor. They lack run and purpose. North’s aggression at the ball and man are much better. We’re winning the clearances and our play is relatively more direct. Two of our first quarter goals come from long kicks into the forward line. The other is a result of determined forward line pressure. We dominate the second quarter. Wells, Anthony and Harvey break the congestion with piercing runs and Hale and Wright kick two each before half-time. Thompson and Firrito dominate in defence. We lead by 34 points, but due to poor kicking, should be further ahead. The old lady behind me does fit the Demon stereotype. She spends much of the first half referring to her players as, shocking, so shocking. I turn around to have a look and she’s doing a fairly decent Cybil Fawlty impersonation. During the break, I catch up with Laura, a Demon, colleague and friend. A music teacher, she’s the owner of the best singing voice in the northern suburbs. Partnering Laura at Karaoke at last year’s Christmas party is an honour I didn’t deserve. Laura is crestfallen. Just like last year, she sighs. My assurance that all is not lost as North have rarely in my life managed to put teams away, not even during the golden years, does little to add balm to her pain. We kick the first two goals after the resumption, including a regulation run-around-the-guy-on-the-mark effort from Boomer, and it seems I have underrated my team’s abilities. A percentage booster is on the cards. But the Demons of 2010 are better than that. They start to win clearances and play with slick and direct ball movement. Grimes, McDonald and Davey push them forward and Melbourne kick six unanswered goals, including three from Green and a nice snap from Sylvia. North are tired and when Ziebell and Hansen collide, leaving both flattened, things look dodgy. The margin is14 points at three-quarter time. The woman behind has shut up and Uncle Allan and I exchange a worried glance. My words to Laura now seem rather prophetic. It’s game on. Firrito does his best Dermie by getting intimate with the Demon huddle. Our boys are too stuffed or more interested in the oranges to lend a hand. Spud escapes without too many scratches. North parry early final quarter pressure and goals to Anthony and Wells douse Melbourne’s fire. Hansen is back and marks strongly. Wells sets up McIntosh, the big man converts and it’s game over. We kick five goals to three and ease away to a 26 point win. As the club theme song bounces off the stadium walls and the players fan out to deliver DVDs (Uncle Allan wants to know what’s happened to the little footies) to excited young Kangaroos, I consider our season so far. If the footy gods had offered three and three after six rounds, I would’ve taken it in a heartbeat. Particularly considering the 100 point loss to the Saints was only four rounds ago and Petrie hasn’t played yet. We’re in the mix; don’t worry about that. NORTH MELBOURNE GOALS BEST CROWD The Jason Daniltchenko Award Good teams bully North Melbourne. Intimidate and beat up on us. Chew us up; spit us out. Against a team with similar or less ability, we usually get the job done. Not so against the top teams. We’ve suffered demoralizing defeats at the Cattery in recent years. Days when the result is obvious not long after squeezing into the standing room behind the city end. Against North, Geelong live up to their name. They are the metaphorical nasty cat, toying with the limp, dazed mouse. They toss us here; throw us there. At Easter, the Saints led by five goals after ten minutes and the resigned looks from Kangaroo players served as warning to what was coming. A 104 point humiliation. Let’s not talk about the floggings we’ve received in finals. Like the thumping from the Cats in the 2007 Qualifying Final, followed a few weeks later by the debacle against Port Adelaide. Remember Tredrea’s poncy goal square bow? Like I said, let’s not go there. It happened again on the weekend against the Pies. We were simply bullied. I met up with cousin Nick, his wife Louise and their two boys, pre-match in the Members’ Reserve. Nick and his youngest, Ben, are Roos, while Lou and Dylan follow the Magpies. They had made the pilgrimage from Hamilton to the big smoke for the annual Pies and Roos clash. Nick is as country as a day at the bush races. He’s a Sunday arvo session at the Stump Hotel, Port Fairy Folk Festival. He’s a twenty-first birthday bash in the local hall. Portrait of the queen above the urn. A B&S Ball in the back of nowhere and a dusty hangover the next morning. When Nick ventures to the city for the footy, he stands on street corners, looks up at the tall buildings, shakes his head and breathes, ‘Geeze, those buildings are big.’ He stares incredulously at the traffic: ‘Geeze, there’s lots of cars.’ Nick and his late father, my Uncle Adrian, are legends of the Glenthompson Football Club. A prowling forward pocket with a baulk you could see coming a week away, the highlight of Nick’s long career was a Twos premiership, followed closely by the footy trip to Echuca that same year. For the last few seasons, Nick’s worked the bench for the seniors with the now combined Dunkeld-Glenthompson Rams. They finished third in 2009 and expect this to be their year. The coach didn't mind him taking a week off to come to Melbourne. The little fella – picture a shorter, retired Wayne Harmes – doesn’t say much, however, when he whispered out of earshot of Lou he was fearing a flogging, I had to agree. When North emerged wearing their poxy ice cream outfit, defeat firmed in the betting. Collingwood’s good start set the tone for the match. The Magpies won centre clearances, entered the forward line quick and direct and kept the ball in there. This allowed them to set their zone: rows of black and white jumpers pushing forward from the centre. Defenders and on-ballers spreading wide and deep, choking Kangaroo attempts to clear. Our forwards were sucked up the ground, creating further congestion and confusion. Like Essendon on ANZAC Day, North tried to handball through the black and white forest, only to turn it over under pressure. Stationary Kangaroos were mauled by fierce gang tackling. We were forced into 84 turnovers and 14 of Collingwood’s goals to three-quarter time came from our errors. We were terrorized. North’s inexperienced team fell behind early and couldn’t regroup or build momentum at any time. Our inability to hold tackles was most concerning. Opponents broke free and away too often. North’s forward line pressure was poor in comparison and Collingwood were able to rebound easily. Collingwood treated North Melbourne in the same manner they have Essendon and Carlton in recent weeks. The Pies are playing at their best and apart from Geelong are as good as any team. Their challenge, of course, is to maintain this form and produce in September. I didn’t expect to win on Saturday night, however, our inability to compete against top teams is concerning. We are middle of the table and inexperienced, but we need to stand firmer against the likes of the Magpies and Cats. We can’t be pushed around. At the final siren, Dylan triumphantly waved a Collingwood flag while
Ben melted into tears. It was time for Nick and Lou to get the boys back
to the hotel and in bed. Waiting in the morning was the long push back
across the vast central Victorian plains and beyond the base of the Grampians
that rise from the Earth like massive waves. GOALS BEST CROWD The Jason Daniltchenko Award During three-quarter time I was almost through a banana, and this thought: ‘We can’t lose this game, we cannot poss…’ when I stopped myself, turned to the big bear of a bloke behind and said, ‘You’re still in this, mate. We never put teams away.’ ‘Not a chance, mate,’ Bear replied. ‘It’s how far North.’ And the Crows were not a chance. And it should have been how far North. We led by 54 points and were dominating all over the ground. Niece Ellie predicted a 100 point margin. Nephew Lukey had waved his Kangaroo flag so hard, it had twisted into a tight knot. And yet, with North, I’m never too confident of victory. I’m always uncertain, worried. A fear emerges after two quick opposition goals cut into our comfortable lead. It’s a fear that dates from the ’98 GF. That haunting, nightmarish day that shall never be spoken of. That day when Adelaide… Stop! Breathe. Ok. Since that never to be spoken of day, I’ve always feared the North fade, capitulation, defeat from the jaws of victory. Or even games in which we fall across the line after a percentage booster has beckoned at half-time. When we take our clichéd foot off the pedal or the throat. North always have a bad percentage. This is because we never put teams away. We have no killer instinct. No mongrel. For three quarters, North were better than they have been so far this season. And last season. Goldstein, our lone ruck after Hamish pulled out prior and Hale limped off early, was doing his best Nick Nat, with second and third efforts that offered the playground image of the Grade 6 boy versus the preps. Boomer was running, bouncing, and kicking goals. Swallow was clearing, tackling and kicking goals. Wells was gliding, linking. Bastinac and Garlett were everywhere; Greenwood, hard at it. Even Edwards was kicking a few. We kicked seven unanswered goals from late in the first term to halfway through the third. We could not lose. For three quarters, Adelaide were deplorable. The Bear had spent the night yelling, ‘Too soft Adelaide!’; ‘Too indirect!’; ‘Shit skills, Crows!’; ‘Too slow!’; ‘Noooo!’ He blamed the umpires for a while, but gave up on the futility of that. This game was done and dusted. Or should have been. We settled in for the last quarter with Bear questioning the coach’s future. Things changed suddenly, decisively, yet not totally unpredictably. The Crows were clearing; bullocking; running; hey, they were even playing direct, long into the forward line footy. Crows who hadn’t had a sniff all night but were thinking of their spots for next week, came into it. Maric, the big lug, flogged earlier by Goldy, was his own one man band: marking, baulking, linking. Yes, I said baulking. Walker, who had kicked one by accident in the third and celebrated like 400 metre runner, John Steffensen, kicked a couple more and carried on like an even bigger pork chop. Porplyzia had been disinterested all night. The ball dropped in his hands and he kicked two. Meanwhile, North were stuffed. Goldy ran out of puff and Ziebell could barely jog off for a rest. It would have been better to leave him out there instead of asking him to cover 100 metres to the bench. We turned it over constantly and everywhere North were gasping for air or had hands on knees. Bear was full of voice, as was his son who accidentally clouted me with his flag. Sister Anne and the kids had headed home early to beat the traffic and I was feeling somewhat abandoned, bruised and a bit shaky. It was seven goals to zip for the last term. Thankfully, the siren found the Crows 9 points short. We had survived another North fade. Unlike that day in ’98 we never
speak of. NORTH MELBOURNE 4.3 8.6 12.11 12.12 (84) The Jason Daniltchenko Award 3 – Goldstein
I shouldn’t be here. I’m crook; lethargic and headachy. I should be home, resting, listening to the radio. But I can’t help myself. Missing a North game is like piking on a family gathering. I’m sitting alone in the top tier, southern end. My half of the ground is draped in sunshine and I could almost doze off in the late Autumn warmth. Northerners and Bulldogs greet friends, unwrap homemade sandwiches and get the beers in. I’ve just passed by Liam Anthony on the concourse where he was signing autographs. His damaged shoulder is still in a sling. Hale and McIntosh have joined him and Petrie on the sidelines as our injury list grows by the week. O’Keefe comes in for his first game and makes his way to full-forward. Pratty plays his 100th - it’s only taken him ten years. The game begins in a lazy, almost sleepy fashion. The early exchanges lack physicality, typical of recent matches between North and the Bulldogs. We are having the better of the play, however, can’t capitalize. Ziebell and Goldstein miss sitters and O’Keefe’s nerves get the better of him and he drops a sitter. The Bulldogs take a while to get going. Cooney is featuring around the packs. Their first goal takes twelve minutes. It’s quickly followed by five more as they score easily when going forward. North continue to attack with no success. With the above mentioned players out injured, our forward line looks like a deserted town in a western movie. We lead the Inside 50s 20 to 10, however, are goalless at quarter-time and trail by 31 points. This is doing little for my headache. The second term is a training run for the Bulldogs. They’re doing a circle work drill out there. Lake, Boyd and Hargrave have their own balls. The goals keep coming. North are terrible. No forward line pressure. No intensity. The blokes behind me say ‘soft’. I agree. It’s nine goals to zip at the 27 minute mark, when things go from embarrassing to humiliating. Scott Thompson is a true North Melbourne man. A fine defender, who wears the Kangaroo jumper with obvious pride and relish. He is building a career by playing the role of the close checking, niggling backman. He often plays on the opposition’s number one forward, giving up height and weight. He is rarely badly beaten. I really like Thommo, but he stuffs up here. Barry Hall bends over to tie his boot laces, when Thompson pushes him over. Hall grabs Thompson in a headlock and it takes four Kangaroos to drag Big Bad away. A free is awarded down field to North. Hall is coming off the ground when more Kangaroos run to him, chesting and bumping. Hall raises his arms in the air to show he’s not retaliating. Scrimmages break out up the field, North receive two 50 metre penalties and Campbell kicks our first goal of the match. This is what it takes for us to finally kick a goal. Thommo and the other Kangaroos who harassed Hall have humiliated the club and themselves. If you’re going to rough someone up, do it early in the game, not when we trail by the good part of ten goals, time-on, second term. It was schoolyard stuff. Childish, misplaced aggression. 45 points down at half-time. I almost consider going home. The third term opens with a bit more vigour from North. It doesn’t last long. Boomer does a complete u-turn while running through centre half-forward, turns it over, and the Bulldogs race up the other end for another goal. Cunnington has been observing teammates and is developing into a league footballer: he is receiving the ball, turning away from goal and delivering backwards. I wonder if he is enjoying AFL footy. McMahon takes a hanger – our only highlight for the match. The Bulldogs have converted 33 Inside 50s into eighteen goals. They lead by
75 points at the last change. The last quarter is a waste of time for everyone. It offers an argument for the mercy rule. With the sting long gone, Thomas and Wells collect kicks. We outscore the Bulldogs who have done enough and are thinking of the showers and next week. Lake has had over forty touches, most of them uncontested, due to our non-existent forward line. The final margin is 70 points. I leave with my headache no better for the
outing and wonder why I bothered coming. NORTH MELBOURNE 0.5 2.10 4.13 7.15 (57) GOALS Western Bulldogs: Hill 4; Hall 3; Cooney, Grant 2; Hudson, Stack, Giansiracusa,
Akermanis, Picken, Hahn, Eagleton, Griffen, Minson. BEST Western Bulldogs: Cooney, Lake, Hill, Griffen, Boyd, Hargrave. CROWD 30,794 at Etihad Stadium The Jason Daniltchenko Award
Round 10 It’s early Sunday evening at the Missionaries of Charity, Men’s Refuge and Soup Kitchen, Fitzroy. The faces in the queue are grey and empty. Eyes are red, black, and sunken into hollow cheeks. Beanies are pulled down over ears and shoulders hunched under grubby coats. Winter is a few days away. I’m standing at the entrance of the busy kitchen, handing donated servings of soup, roast chicken and vegies and fruit salad to the men as they pass on their way to the dining room or back courtyard. Some offer thanks, others avert their eyes, not wanting to engage. I have my walkman in an ear. North are playing Fremantle at sunny Subiaco. We need a spirited show after last week’s dismal effort against the Bulldogs. Hale and McIntosh are back and Petrie is playing his first game for the year. Wells is out with a groin, Edwards and Smith have been dropped. A win will square the equation at five wins, five losses. Barlow is a late withdrawal for Fremantle. Victory will secure second spot for the Dockers. ‘What’s the score?’ Violetta, a fellow volunteer, enquires. Striking, mysterious, weary, V’s face has a story to tell. She is the type of woman Paul Kelly writes songs about. ‘Five goals down, quarter-time,’ I reply, shaking my head. Bradley kicked two early goals to set Freo on their way. Their forward pressure has been excellent, forcing our defenders to turn the ball over. Thomas is our only likely looking forward. James patiently reaches the front of the queue. He’s a regular. From Northern Africa, James is tall and narrow as a tree. His skin’s so dark it’s ashen. James has tribal markings dotted across his forehead. He is regal in stature; warrior like. I see him grasping a spear and shield, proudly leading his men across the desert to battle. I wonder why he is here. What’s gone wrong for him? James is a Hawk. He’s happy today after their win over Sydney. He doesn’t go to games – he can’t afford the price of a ticket. He listens to footy on the radio. James likes Mitchell. He’s a strong leader. It’s the same reason he liked Vandenburg before him. North fight harder in the second quarter. Thomas kicks his third while Petrie features. We’re running more and our defence holds firm. We match Freo with two goals for the term and trail by 23 points at half-time. The men eat quickly and begin filing out of the dining room. One who reminds me of North Melbourne 1975 premiership ruckman, Barry Goodingham, collects his belongings – backpack and cardboard box bed – and heads off. A bust of Blessed Mother Theresa of Calcutta, founder of the Missionaries of Charity order, watches over the dining room. Prayers and scripture passages adorn the walls. A sign in the courtyard warns against fighting, swearing, and bringing alcohol or drugs onto the premises. Due to the recent rise in drug related violence, Sr Jovier, Superior of the Melbourne house, has recently brought in a rule banning men under the age of forty-five from sleeping in the rooms upstairs. Complaints from neighbours have increased. Freo are dominating the third quarter. They’re moving the ball quickly, making the right decisions. Bradley and Pavlich are kicking goals. In contrast, North are indecisive and our skills poor. Freo kick ten goals for the quarter, equalling their club record. The lead is 70 points. Felix joins me in the dining room for the clean-up. He is new to the refuge, having arrived from Cape Town, South Africa, ten days ago. Felix has a sing-song voice, round face and a smile that stretches to both ears. He has a three year, temporary work visa, and has come to Australia to ‘make a difference’ in his life. If he doesn’t find work soon he will be deported. I ask Felix if he has chosen an Aussie Rules team to follow, however, the question is lost in the clamour from the kitchen. He thinks I’m talking about the FIFA World Cup kicking off soon in his home country. Felix thinks the Socceroos will go well. A latecomer slurps on his soup and joins in the conversation. ‘Get on the Tigers, mate. They had a win yesty. One for the manic depressives,’ he chuckles. His beard and cowboy hat give him a washed-up country singer look. Freo are easing off in the final quarter and not for the first time this year, North are faring better when the game is gone. We outscore the Dockers and the final margin is 61 points – our fourth defeat by over ten goals this season. The evening meal is over and the men head off into the cold night. A long
Melbourne Winter awaits them. As it does North Melbourne. FREMANTLE 6.5 8.8 18.12 21.13 (139) GOALS BEST CROWD: 36,175 at Subiaco Oval The Jason Daniltchenko Award 3 – Thomas Round 11 Just when you think all hope is gone, footy gives you reason to believe again. When one victory brings your season back from the cliff’s edge. That happened on Saturday night. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was supposed to be at home in Warrnambool at an Old Collegians footy club reunion. Catching up with old mates, having a few, and embellishing past glories. Like the 1994 reserves premiership and the nude drinking sessions that followed. Macca’s naked rendition of ‘The Ballbearing Bird’ in the front bar of Mac’s Hotel, is Warriors folklore. Let your imagination take you with that one. Unfortunately, I was forced to cancel the three and a bit hour journey deep into Victoria’s wild south west after a tiring week at work had left my body aching. Teaching Year 9s how to write an English essay or Yr 11s the hidden theological messages of Luke’s Gospel isn’t as easy - or as much fun - as it sounds. So I spent the weekend suspended in a sort of weird limbo. Longing to be elsewhere and thinking constantly about retired, middle-aged Warriors and their nakedness. I almost didn’t make it to Etihad for the game. It was cold and wet and a cosy night watching ABC British crime programs - while grabbing scores on the walkman - was pretty enticing. In the end, I decided I had to gain something from my lost weekend and set off for the game. I dragged Linda along with me. She’s been saying we need to spend more time together. Well, here’s your chance, I said. Linda’s no sports fan, although she’s entered her office tipping competition and has developed an inexplicable leaning towards the Bulldogs. We arrived five minutes in. I honestly can’t recall the last time I was late for a game of footy. I regularly miss the start of faculty meetings, however, the footy? Never. North were on: winning clearances, spreading wide, running hard. Hansen was aggressive up forward; Ziebell was crashing in. Thomas and Swallow kicked two goals each. We had seven by quarter-time. The Lions were flat, unable to match North’s spirit. Fev’s last minute mark and goal on Thompson stopped the quarter from being a complete disaster. North by 34 points. Brown, obviously carrying an injury, kicked an early goal for Brisbane, however, the second term was much like the first. We broke from defence easily and hit targets further up field. Our forward pressure forced errors. Boomer and Swallow were everywhere and Cunnington kicked his first career goal. Fev kicked another late goal – this time a snap from 40 – and the lead was 36 points at half-time. Linda wasn’t saying much, but she did insist she was enjoying herself. During the break, I explained to her even though we were miles ahead and playing much better footy - the best we had played all season - victory was no certainty. We never put teams away, I told her. This is because we don’t have a killer instinct. We’re too nice. Just like me. She yawned. When Hansen slotted a set shot from an angle after the resumption, our lead was seven goals and even a doubter like myself was thinking percentage booster. Ours is the second worst in the competition - behind the Tigers - thanks to the reasons mentioned above and also because we’ve received some sizable hidings this year, including the previous two games. It was about this time the Lions began to take the game on. They started to free players and create more energy and run. Johnston was setting things up from defence and Fev kicked three more, Brown, two. North didn’t look tired – we just couldn’t get the ball. The margin was 13 points at three-quarter time and my doubts had returned. The Lions were coming hard at us and our season was on the line. A loss from a seemingly unbeatable position would have been shattering for the club. Coming back from a loss of this sort would be difficult. It was a big test for our new coach and young team. Brisbane dominated the last term. Johnston had no opponent but his own ball. Black and Power, quiet all night, lifted. Clark kicked the first. Rich was awarded a free and a fifty after Pratt gave the ump a serve, and he put it through. Our lead was a point. Twelve minutes followed of the Lions attacking, North defending, and the small crowd winding up into a frenzy. Our best chance came when Hansen marked twenty metres out. He panicked, played on, tried to grubber the ball through, and missed. Deep in time-on, Brisbane came again and the ball fell to Thompson who was sat on by a pile of players. He had no chance of getting it out, yet was pinned for holding the ball by some bald headed idiot. Buchanan kicked the goal and the Lions led for the first time. There were three minutes left and we looked gone. Somehow North shoveled the ball forward and it landed in the arms of Greenwood. Tough, courageous, honest, but hardly a goalkicker, Levi had only one previous career goal. As he stood 30 metres out on the wrong boundary for a left footer, I didn’t like his chances. Greenwood went back, hunched over the ball, crept in and dropped it
on his boot. The kick looked terrible. I thought it was flopping left
and out on the full. But the Brisbane cheer squad behind the goal didn’t
cheer or give Greenwood the finger. They watched in silence. And the
goal umpire didn’t move; he watched the bloody ball sail over his bloody
head. From the bounce, Brisbane scrambled forward and Black was pinned for holding the ball. It was a bad call – possible a square-up for Thompson – but who cares. The free kick was cleared to the wing and Hamish took a strong mark. The siren sounded and we had won by a point. Everyone ran to Greenwood.
Our season has hope again, and my weekend had been salvaged. And Linda
was there with me. NORTH MELBOURNE 7.5 10.10 11.15 12.18 (90) BRISBANE 2.1 5.4 10.8 13.11 (89) GOALS North Melbourne: Swallow, Hansen, Thomas 2; Cunnington, Harvey, Lower, McIntosh, Greenwood, Wright. Brisbane Lions: Fevola 5; Brown 3, Buchanan 2, Rich, Brennan, Clark. BEST North Melbourne: Swallow, Hansen, Harvey, Goldstein. Brisbane Lions: Johnstone, Fevola, Rich, Brown. CROWD 19,100 at Etihad Stadium. The Jason Daniltchenko Award 3 – Swallow North Melbourne versus Carlton This is our grand final. Win tonight, we’re 6 and 6 and in the hunt for the finals. Lose, and wave September good-bye. It’s Carlton: successful, arrogant, smug, salary cap and draft cheaters. The club that tried to take us over during the ‘90s. I’ve been excited all week. The club’s been talking it up, telling all Roos to get to our only Friday night game for the year. Off the train at Southern Cross an hour before the first bounce and the thoroughfare is packed; a moving sea of people. And not only with Carlton. There’s plenty of royal blue and white. Northerners have heeded the call. I meet my good mate, Gavin, former AFL umpire and typically antagonistic Carlton man. He drops the regulation jibe about Carlton fans doing the right thing and boosting North’s gate takings. We hook up with Hughesy, as arrogant Carlton as they come, his brother, Mick, and brother-in-law, John. We head inside to catch the pre-game entertainment North has arranged to celebrate 25 years involvement with Friday night footy. The usually atmosphere devoid Etihad is buzzing. The stadium is filled with fire-cracker smoke – interesting, considering the roof’s closed - and John Paul Young is belting out ‘Yesterday’s Hero’. Former captain John Law is being interviewed on the boundary line, while The King, The Krakouers and Arch watch from the stands. Hughesy’s done it again with the tickets and we’re sitting ground level, a few rows back from the Carlton bench. There’s a smattering of Roos around us. The game starts and Carlton are winning the clearances. But their delivery forward is wayward. Thompson and Pratt rebound. We’re running, spreading, getting numbers to the contest. We’ve come to play. The umpires are rewarding the first player in for the ball. We’re racking up the frees and Hughesy and other Blues are out of their seats. What the f-k is that for?! Thomas and Warren – in for the injured Hale – kick the opening goals. Thomas gets another. Bastinac snaps one. We’re all over Carlton and lead by four goals. Carlton lack flow. Wells is standing Judd at the stoppages and then running off him. Gibbs keeps kicking to North. Setanta looks like an Irishman who has never played the game. Betts is the only helper doing any work and he kicks their only goal in time-on. North by 21 points at the siren. I want to get loud but can’t go too early - we’ve had too many fade-outs this year. Into the second quarter, Thommo and Firrito continue to set us up. Boomer is running Carrazzo ragged and Warren, Thomas and Bastinac keep the goals coming. We’re ferocious at the man with Cruize Garlett leading the tackles. We lead by 40. Hughesy’s written the Blues off. He blames their apparent complacency on Robert Walls, who declared in today’s Age Carlton are a certainty for the top four. I’m surprised Carlton players would read a broadsheet. Gav makes a sarcastic comment whenever a free goes Carlton’s way. I’m getting a bit chirpy. When Juddy comes to the bench I enquire how his Environmental Ambassador role at VISY is going and also congratulate Houlihan on a great career. Hughesy reminds me these tickets are complimentary, so I should shut the f-k up. Carlton is sparked into action. They’re making use of their clearances. Gibbs and Judd now hit targets. Betts is dangerous – he sharks three for the term. Setanta and Waite mark and goal. Thomas kicks his fourth and breaks Carlton’s momentum. He’s giving Joseph a hiding. Our lead is 17 at half-time but the Blues are back in the game. Arrogance is returning to those around me. Hamish and Wrighty kick majors and the lead has stretched to five goals midway through the third term. Hughesy is slumped in his seat, arms folded, head on his chest, sulking like a little boy. He flags the idea of leaving early. We’re missing easy shots. Hansen is the main culprit. This game should be over, but it’s not. Kreuzer gets a free and a 50m penalty. He goals and the Blues come at us again. Betts kicks his fifth and Waite, his third. Margin, 8 points. The Carlton army are on their feet. We work it forward again. Thomas and his new opponent, Browne, go at a loose ball. Thomas spins the Blue around with a solid bump, recovers quickly, and knocks the ball to our advantage. He runs forward, marks in the pocket and converts the angled shot. The three-quarter time lead is 13 points. The last quarter is perfect. Just perfect. Thommo’s having the game of his life. He and Firrito keep doing what they’ve been doing all night. Boomer gets it on the wing, gives a handball, gets it back and drills a goal from forty. It’s a Boomer special. He celebrates and shoves it up Carrozzo. I’m up, giving a full-throated roar to the closed roof. And I’m giving Hughesy the send-off because he’s leaving early and dragging with him Mick and John who’ve been sitting quietly and contentedly all night. And I’m questioning the example he’s setting for his infant son. And Lance Whitnall is sitting behind us, and I…don’t say anything to him. Thomas kicks his seventh. He’s had the game of all our lives. I’m up again and screaming to the young Carlton couple beside us that I’ve run out of space in my Record to record his goals. The final margin is 29 points. Every Northerner in the stadium is celebrating.
Making the type of noise rarely heard from our supporters. Tonight is
special. We didn’t fade; we made a stand and produced on the big stage.
We’ve won our grand final. NORTH MELBOURNE 4.5 8.8 11.11 14.13 (97) GOALS North Melbourne: Thomas 7; Bastinac, Warren 2; Harvey, McIntosh, Wright. BEST North Melbourne: Thomas, Thompson, Firrito, Garlett, Warren. Carlton: Betts, Gibbs, Judd, Simpson. The Jason Daniltchenko Award 3 – Thomas
Nephew Lukey and I once again ventured together into Etihad Stadium where we met up with former work colleagues of mine, and various others on the centre wing, Medallion Club. There was an even spread of Kangaroos and Power in our group. With the rain falling outside on a dreary Melbourne Sunday and the top tier closed, there appeared to be more people on the field than spectators in the stands during the warm-up. Lukey and I agreed this was a danger game. We were coming off very good wins against Brisbane and Carlton and I feared a drop in intensity from the team. Port had lost five in a row and were due for a win. My fears were founded during the first quarter. Port dominated possession early and appeared determined to break their losing streak. Pearce was darting in and out of packs. Port kicked accurately into the forward line where Schulz marked strongly and kicked two. We were flat and turned the ball over. Thomas, the hero from last week, was proppy. Warren and Cunnington got us moving late in the quarter and goals in time-on gave North a flattering 5 point lead. We pulled slowly ahead in the second term. Port stopped running and couldn’t get the ball past centre-half forward. In contrast, North started to shake the lethargy. Boomer burnt off Cassisi, Swallow tackled strongly and Hansen provided confident leads. He kicked his second and we led by 13 at half-time. Lukey and I felt we had seen off the Port challenge. Seven goals to five in the third quarter saw our lead stretch to 29 points. Boomer kicked one of his specials and Campbell and Garlett goaled on the run. I like Garlett – he works hard and produces when given the chance. I don’t know why he’s in and out of the team. Hansen’s confidence continued to grow and he kicked two more. Swallow and Ziebell provided the heavy work around the packs. Schulz kept Port in the contest with three for the quarter. Pratt replaced Grima as his opponent. Hitchcock kicked his third. Motlop received Bronx cheers from North supporters whenever near the ball. Not because he is a former Kangaroo who spent most of his time in the physio room before shrugging his lazy shoulders and sauntering off to Port. More for the fact he didn’t give a shit. Disinterested and obviously unfit, the only energy he exerted for the quarter was when yelling at teammates for not kicking to him. Firrito and North supporters gave him an earful. I love the way footy fans have a sharp sense of when we are being insulted by piss taking players or clubs; or administrations considered to not have the best interests of the game as their priority. This stems from our belief that we own this game – more so than the players, clubs or the AFL – and are protective of it. We don’t like it when we, or the game, are disrespected. Five goals up going into the last quarter should’ve been the end of it. We should’ve been thinking percentage booster. But you’ve heard me say this before. Port challenged. Schulz kicked his seventh in the game of his life. By then almost all of our defenders had tried to contain him. Motlop – can you believe it – kicked two. I hate it when the footy gods reward those undeserving. The margin was fifteen points, Port were coming and we were fading – again. Then Boomer took over and it was game over. He repelled attacks, set up goals and kicked one of his own. Boomer collected 13 touches for the quarter – all effective - in a magnificent captain’s effort. He is a superstar! North steadied and Hansen kicked his fifth. Final margin, 36 points. Lukey and I ventured home satisfied and relieved with a 7 and 6 ratio
and the week off ahead. Round 14 sees us travel to the Cattery where
we have received some awful hidings in recent years. Call me crazy, but
I think we’ve got a bit of a show. NTH MELBOURNE 4.2 6.7 13.12 19.15 (129) BEST The Jason Daniltchenko Award Geelong versus North Melbourne ‘Confident?’ I ask the Roo beside me, taking my usual seat, front row,
Melbourne end goals. Geelong 5.3 8.4 12.9 14.14 (98) GOALS BEST Official crowd: 25,159 at Skilled Stadium Sydney Swans versus North Melbourne A match report for this game was not written. As it was a typically
boring Swanzzzz game, there wasn't much worth writing about. We lost
and Petrie broke his foot for the third time this season. He
should never have played.
Richmond versus North Melbourne The Eureke Game Despite the fact the Tigers are aiming for five wins in a row for the first time since KB was running around, and we were put to sleep by the Swanzzzzz last week, and Petrie and Thomas re-join Anthony and Ziebell on the injury list, and Edwards has been brought in which is never a good thing, I reckon we’ll beat the Tigers today. They’re due to drop one - a month without a loss is un-Tiger like - and we need to win to keep in touch with the Eight. We should be too talented across the ground. I’m relieved to see Grima back in. He has the athleticism and strength to handle Jumping Jack Riewoldt. The rain settles in for the afternoon during the warm-up and when Goldstein begins at half-forward, Hansen and Edwards in the square and Campbell our only small forward, I wonder out loud to my mates Steve and Dom if we’re a bit top heavy in these conditions. We’ve taken our seats second tier, Ponsford Stand, city end. There’s a good crowd in. The first quarter is pretty even. Cousins is winning around the stoppages and Deledio is clearing easily from defence. King kicks the first goal of the match. Adams and Boomer are enjoying the slippery and wet conditions. Adams is full of run and kicks 1.2 for the term. Firrito, playing on Cuz, drifts forward and kicks a beautiful set shot from the boundary. We hit the post twice and lead by 5 points. Cuz and Deledio continue winning clearances early in the second term. Jack slips away from Grima and kicks his first to the delight of the Tiger Army. His second comes just before half-time. North look better as the quarter progresses. Goldstein and Hamish control the ruck and Swallow is feeding off their dominance. Firrito’s throwing his weight around. Greenwood is having a ball. He looks like the proverbial boy on the beach, hungrily digging deep into the wet sand and building castles in the sky. He’s doing the job on Cotchin whose frustration boils over and he cleans up Wright. He’ll get weeks for that. Adams kicks his second and with four goals to three for the term, our lead has stretched to 14 points at half-time. Steve’s a Roo who has brought the family up from Warrnambool. He’s allowed his young son Fraser to adopt the Tigers in what Dom considers a form of child abuse. Fraser’s a bit quiet during the main break and Steve thinks we’ve got the Tigers’ measure. I agree, but with Deledio’s influence so far, I’m still wondering if our forward line is a bit tall. Dom’s a Bomber and admits he didn’t go to the debacle against the Eagles at the Docklands last night. He watched from the comfort of the couch before crying himself to sleep. Fortunately for him, he possesses that generic Bomber arrogance and is quick to add, ‘We’ll be back’. He’s looking forward to round 19 and ruining Carlton’s season. I needn’t have worried. Goldstein and Swallow combine to drive us forward during the third term. Campbell darts and swoops and kicks two. Pratty slips forward and goals. The Tigers spend the quarter either chasing opponents or turning the ball over. Their only score comes when Jack hits the post. He needs help up forward. Richmond don’t need another lone star like Richo. The lead is 46 points at three-quarter time. Game over. Any intensity in the match has gone in the final term. Swallow completes a Eureka Medal, best on ground performance. Goldstein and McIntosh have given Vickery and Graham lessons in the art of ruck work. Adams kicks his third, Hansen, his second. Riewoldt kicks his third in what has been a pretty flat performance from the Tigers. Some of the army leave early. They don’t look too disappointed – maybe they were expecting a loss. Five in a row was just too much to contemplate. The 50 point margin is our biggest for the season. We face the struggling Bombers next week, and with it a chance to move into the Eight. It’s a game we should win, however, Dom reckons the Bombers are a good chance. Richmond 1.5 4.7 4.8 7.11 (53) GOALS Richmond: Riewoldt 3; King, Collins, McGuane, Nahas BEST Richmond: Cousins, Deledio, Tuck, Martin The Jason Danilchenko Award North Melbourne versus Essendon My mate MOC (his initials are M.O’C.) has been tormenting me our whole lives. He’s a typically boastful Bomber and has been shoving the perpetual success of his football club – and the relatively humble trophy cabinet of mine – down my throat since school days in Warrnambool. I still recall him laughing mockingly at me the Monday after the ’78 GF. We were in Grade 2. Some school yard scars never heal. These days, MOC, wife Sandy and the kids are on the Gold Coast hinterland. His back shed is a shrine to Hirdy and the twin boys are developing their banana kick over the in-ground pool. Poly pipe goal posts lean to one side on the spare block. Our jousting continues through regular emails and texts that refer disparagingly to the prospects and performances of our respective clubs. Until this season, one of MOC’s favourite topics was Arden Street’s down trodden look. He feels robbed of comic material by our gleaming new facilities. Phone calls contain a minute or two of small talk - how’s life? family? work?- followed by an hour or so of footy chat, laced greedily with light-hearted jibes. Needless to say, the Essendon v North Melbourne fixture is eagerly awaited each season and is prologued with a week long exchange of insults. It’s the one game of the year we just have to win. Despite flicking MOC a series of texts this week predicting huge winning margins in our favour, I have a nagging doubt about tonight’s game. The Bombers have lost six in a row, and supporters and the media have turned on the coach. Nothing suggests they will win, but I can’t help think they’re due to reverse their losing trend. Beware the footy club under siege. We disposed clinically of the Tigers last week and should win convincingly tonight. Victory will leave us out of the Eight by percentage. With upcoming games against the Bulldogs, Fremantle and St.Kilda, we cannot afford to drop this one. And we shouldn’t; but I just have my doubts. We’re a club that prefers to be the hunter, not the hunted. Listening to pre-match on the car radio, that nagging doubt develops into a sick feeling as the withdrawals of Grima and Pratt are announced. Grima will be especially difficult to cover. Harding and debutant Speight take their places. MacMillan is also playing his first game. For Essendon, Prismall replaces Lonergan in the selected team. MOC’s pre-game text predicts a 15 point Bomber victory. I meet up with a group of Warrnambool boys and we take our positions, standing room, ground level, northern end. An average size crowd is in, but there’s a good buzz about the place. Being the lone Roo, I would normally receive a solid verbal lashing, however, with the Bombers in equal last place on the ladder, the boys don’t fancy their chances. Much of the humour is directed towards the Bombers. Reimers receives a bit of attention when he lines up on the wing wearing pink boots. Our task is made even more tricky when Wells injures himself in the warm-up. We start the game a player short and it’s halfway through the first quarter before Hale, who has already played four quarters today for North Ballarat, is ready to go. North begin well with a goal to Warren in the first minute. Essendon settle through the run of Davey and also Watson, who is winning clearances. Fletcher has started well on Goldstein in defence. Hansen hobbles off with a knee, however, comes back later in the term. He is hampered by the injury for the remainder of the night. The Bombers kick the next four goals, including one from debutant Hardingham with his first kick, and you can see their confidence rising. Already Grima and Pratt are being missed. Edwards and Speight kick late goals to bring the margin back to10 points at quarter-time. The Bombers look sharper in the second quarter. Watson continues to dominate; Greenwood can’t get near him. Reimers kicks his second and jokes about his footwear cease. More goals come and the Bombers around me are swapping high-fives. North are playing fitfully. We spend most of the quarter defending. This is interspersed with passages of attractive attacking play. Edwards kicks his third and takes two hangers. The second leads to a goal to Warren on the siren and somehow we’ve outscored the Bombers and trail by 9 points at half-time. The momentum swings back and forth in the third term. At times, Essendon threaten to take a decisive hold on the game. Watson and Winderlich run through the middle and delivery forward is accurate. Hardingham and Gumbleton mark strongly and kick goals. Reimers kicks his third. The lead extends to four goals and a better team would have put North away. North hang in there. Swallow and Greenwood lift. Our delivery forward is scrappy at times, however, Warren seizes his opportunities and kicks his third. Late goals close the margin to three points. We have the momentum. The last quarter is thrilling end to end stuff. Not a zone in sight. We claim the lead with the first two goals and the Warrnambool boys fear another fade-out. However, Essendon won’t lay down. Watson continues to push them forward. Hardingham kicks his fourth in a fine debut. The Bombers again threaten to pull away. North come again. Rawlings and Thompson make desperate saves in defence. Swallow and Harvey will their limping team on. Edwards kicks his fourth. We have a goal disallowed and Boomer is dragged down running through half-forward. When Greenwood goals the margin is three points with 40 seconds left. From the bounce, North bullock the ball forward. The Bombers rebound to the centre where Watson takes a settling chest mark. This is fitting - he’s played a magnificent captain’s game. The siren sounds and the Bombers celebrate. I turn my phone off. North Melbourne 3.5 8.5 13.8 18.11 (119) GOALS North Melbourne: Edwards 4; Warren 3; Swallow, Hansen 2; McIntosh, Urquhart,
Greenwood, Smith, Speight, Adams, Greenwood. BEST North Melbourne: Swallow, Harvey, Edwards, Greenwood, Rawlings. Official crowd: 30,330 at Etihad Stadium The Jason Danilchenko Award 3 – Swallow Western Bulldogs versus North Melbourne During half-time, a craggy old Northerner wobbles up beside me and rests on the railing. He’s wearing a Kangaroo beanie and needs a walking stick to stay upright. We get to talking and his voice is like a firecracker as he offers his opinions on our team. He doesn’t hold back. Rawlings has gotta go - turns it over too easy. Firrito’s a goer. Has a dip. The new boys? That Anthony’s a player - gotta get him fit and back out there. Cunnington has a crack, but makes poor decisions. He tells me he’s been a club member for 52 years. Born and bred in working class North Melbourne, he went to games at Arden Street with the old man as a kid. Stood on the terraces in the outer and walked home crying pretty often during the dark years when we hardly won a game. He’s seen them all play. Carey’s the greatest ever Kangaroo. Best to have played the game full stop. Better than Ablett; more consistent. He reminds me of a gnarly, old boxing trainer. Somewhere between Johnny Lewis and Micky from Rocky. I can see him holding the lumpy heavy bag for some busted up, tattooed brawler. Both still hoping for their shot at glory. Their yellow brick road; they’re Apollo Creed. At three-quarter time, we trail by five goals and a long season is beginning to weigh on our young team. The old fella silently disappears. I don’t expect to see him again, but he reappears a few minutes later breathing darts all over me. We’re standing on the flank, behind the Bulldogs members’ section, ground level, but it doesn’t stop him sharing his opinion about their team. Been a bloody disappointment, this lot. Soft. A few Bullies give us a glare. He keeps going. Hall’s a sniper; king-hitter. Cooney’s alright. When Gia kicks his fifth in the last term, he tells me his son used to play with him at St. Paul’s, Altona. Dominated back then as well. The Bulldogs are running over North, but he isn’t impressed. The score line’s flattering. Shut up! he yells, when Bulldog supporters rip into the umpires for giving us a dodgy free. North wilt and the Bulldogs kick nine goals to two in the last quarter. The final margin is 71 points - a behind greater than when the teams played in round 9. Cross has worn Swallow down and collected 10 tackles. Bazza finishes with seven. We’ve received half a dozen thumpings to higher placed teams this season. Give us a few years, the old fella says. We’ll be right - we’ve got a good coach. He wishes me all the best and wobbles off into the largely Bulldog throng and out into the cold and wet late afternoon. I hope we meet again. I’ll keep an eye out for him. Earlier in the day, I arrived at the ground and bumped into cousin Nick and his boys. They were up from Hamilton for the half-time Auskick game. Nick had the job of goal umpire. He and the other dads carried the look of flustered tour guides as they herded the boys to their reserved seats, so I took my leave and found my spot. Nephew Lukey had pulled out so I was on my own. He was too crook to go to school on Friday, so his mum said there was no way he was going to the footy. In the first half, we started each quarter well. Our pressure was good early in the first term and Wright pounced on turnovers to kick two goals. However, as it’s been all season against the better teams, the Bulldogs’ run and forward targets took over. Griffen and Cross won clearances and Jonno provided sparkle up forward. He’s always been good to watch. Jonno goaled and Gia and Hall kicked two each. McIntosh was on the end of an attractive passage of play late in the term and brought the margin back to 17 points. Boomer started the second term in a pocket and goaled twice to bring North to within a few points. Murphy and Williams started to run from half-back. The latter crept all the way in and goaled. Gia and Hall scored again. Much of the term was played between the half-forward lines until Adams kicked a late goal to have North within 15 points at half-time. The second half was a debacle. Thankfully I had someone to talk to. On the walk back to the car after the game, I’m carried along by the river of Bulldog support. I receive pats on the back and genuine good-lucks for next season. I spot a young girl I taught a few years ago and she gives me a shy smile. It’s good to see she’s still on the Bullies. The Roos have lost again, but I’ve had a good day. Like the old fella
said, we’ll be right. Bulldogs 6.2 9.3 13.7 22.11 (143) GOALS Western Bulldogs: Hall 7; Giansiracusa 5; Griffen 3; Higgins, Johnson,
Higgins, Grant, Wood, Jones, Moles. BEST Western Bulldogs: Boyd, Hall, Morris, Griffen, Williams, Picken Official crowd: 28,038 at Etihad Stadium The Jason Danilchenko Award 3 – Adams North Melbourne versus Fremantle On the platform at Reservoir, an old-timer in a kangaroo scarf gives me a wink. Hope we win, he says. We’ll be right, I reply. His lunch is packed away in a red vinyl TAA bag. The thermos is sticking out the top. At Croxton, a grandmother knees the pram into the carriage. Saturday
arvo baby-sitting duties won’t deter her from the footy. Her blue and
white scarf is tied around the handles. I catch her eye and she returns
a knowing smile. Her granddaughter gurgles. I’m confident today. Grima, Wells, Pratt and Garlett are valuable inclusions in what is our last shot at September action. The urgency of the situation should lift North to victory. In contrast, Freo have lost Sandilands, Tarrant and Ballantyne to injury. I take my seat under a welcomed sun in the forward pocket, lower deck. The top deck is closed, but the roof is open. There’s a hint of spring in the air, the atmosphere is light and a small but happy crowd is in. The bloke beside me is up for a chat. He shares my confidence and suggests Freo may be suffering from a bit of letdown after last week’s Derby win. Bearded and chiseled, he reminds of an Antarctic explorer. He’s brought the family along and mum’s pulled out the homemade sandwiches and is handing them around. The daughter has the boyfriend in tow. North start well. Grima runs off Pavlich and collects the first kick of the game. He finds Wells who delivers long to Hamish who marks strongly and kicks the first. A minute later, Wells fails to chase deBoer, who scores Freo’s first. Such are the joys and frustrations of Wells’ career. We dominate the remainder of the quarter with direct and positive rebound football. With Ballantyne missing, Freo go to Pav every time they attack. We double-team him and Grima and Rawlings clear easily and link with McMillan and Harvey. Bastinac kicks three. Wright and Edwards are dangerous and also score. Wells takes a screamer. Freo have had three effective stats in their forward line. North by six goals at quarter-time. The second quarter is the most entertaining I’ve seen all season. Freo are shocked into action. They feed off Bradley’s ruck work, control the clearances and the corridor and sweep forward quickly and thrillingly. Haselby and Bollenhagen work hard in both directions. North defend ferociously, however, eventually succumb to late goals. The margin is 11 points at half-time and the game is in the balance. During the break, I head to the flank, standing room, ground floor. It’s a position I’ve frequented lately and usually find a few hard-core Roos to bond with. I keep a look out for an old fella I met last week, unfortunately, he’s nowhere to be seen. The first ten minutes of the third term will decide the outcome of this game. I expect the Dockers to continue their momentum and hope North have the legs to go with them. They have more than that. Beaten for clearances in the first half, we dominate in that area. Hamish relishes Sandilands’ absence and creates opportunities for Greenwood and Swallow. Garlett and Wells create run and carry. We attack constantly and Adams and Wright present well. Their forward pressure is excellent. Wright kicks two and Boomer produces his standard special from the boundary. Freo show little spirit. They are disappointing. North by 43 points. Early in the last term, I start chatting with a big redheaded bloke in a Freo jumper. Originally from Perth, he’s an engineer and moved to the Top End because you can make it big up there, mate. He’s more of an Eagles hater than a Dockers fan and declares Ashley Hansen the worst premiership player ever. I don’t have the courage to tell him he looks a hell of a lot like him. He and his mate are in town for a footy-fix weekend and going by their glassy, bloodshot eyes, they’ve given it a bit of a nudge. Tonight they’re off to the Magpies and Cats game and disappear before the final siren in the direction of the nearest pub between here and the G. North are enjoying a percentage booster for one of the few occasion this year. Rawlings has his own ball and Boomer kicks a couple more. Freo have gone for an early shower. Final margin, 54 points. September is still a possibility. As the players fan out and deliver DVDs to supporters over the fence and the club song drifts into the late afternoon sky, an old lady in a royal blue overcoat bustles up to me. Happy? I ask. Too right, she beams back. It’s amazing what we can do with a full team in. I tell her I like the look of Grima. Ooooh, he’s my boy, she says. I love footy people. North Melbourne 7.2 9.5 15.8 19.9 (123) North Melbourne: Harvey, Wright, Bastinac 3; McIntosh, Edwards, Hansen
2; Goldstein, Wells, Adams, Thomas. North Melbourne: Adams, Rawlings, Harvey, McIntosh, Garlett, Wells,
Bastinac. Round 20 North Melbourne versus St. Kilda
But Sunday night games carry a heavy 'work in the morning' dread. By three-quarter time, Mondayitis is well on its ugly way and you're thinking you should be home, ironing shirts, planning what you'll do with your Yr.8 English class, and having an early night. So, it's in this sort of mood, I have made my way through wet Melbourne streets into a darkened and sparsely populated Etihad for our last home game of the season. We're sitting ninth, half a game and a barrel full of percentage out of the Eight. We must win our final three games well and rely on Hawthorn to fall over in order to play in September. When we met the Saints in round 2, we were tarred and feathered by 104 points. Brady Rawlings had the look of a dead man ten minutes into the first quarter. I expect a better effort tonight. As does my new mate, the old fella I met a few rounds ago and have bumped into again tonight. We're leaning against the rail in my now regular spot, ground floor, on the flank. He's hoping for an honourable 5-6 goal loss. One full of grit with no sign of cowering on our behalf. He likes our young players, particularly Grima who reminds him of his own son - tough and competitive. The old fella is relying more on his walking stick tonight. He points to his moon boot and explains how a few months back he was minding his own business when an old dear mounted the kerb in her car and knocked him over. His ankle is stuffed and doesn't expect to be playing golf again soon. The first term opens and it appears both teams would also rather be home in front of the fire. The match has a sleepy look as if the players have played it over in their heads all weekend and now game time has finally arrived, they're too tired to do the business. Errors and indirect play are commonplace and the only indication of a game plan comes from the Saints who lazily apply their zone. North are sluggish but manage to capitalise on St.Kilda turnovers and Hansen and Wright kick goals. Milne and Hayes score for the Saints. We lead by 7 points, but should be behind. Ross Lyon must have slipped his players a few no-doze during the quarter-time break. The Saints control the stoppages and then the corridor through strong running by Hayes, Goddard and the hardworking Schneider. Peake is on the end of an attractive passage of play and goals. Milne kicks his second and Riewoldt kicks a few. He's looking good. Not a patch on the King, the old fella yells. In contrast, North have been on the camomile tea. As we have done all season against the better teams, we're sitting back and allowing the Saints to dictate the pace. The initiative and physicality we produced last week against Freo have disappeared. We look intimidated and already beaten. Our only goal for the quarter comes deep in time-on from Hansen who has three. Swallow misses on the half-time siren and the old fella shakes his head in disgust and heads out for some fresh air. Saints by 29 points. Despite doing many things poorly in the third quarter, we manage to stay in touch. We gift Riewoldt two goals from undisciplined acts. He is their only goal kicker for the term and kicks four. We miss a handful of not too difficult set shots, yet somehow manage to kick four goals through Hansen and Wright. We trail by 30 and the old timer and I are looking for a positive effort in the final quarter. We don't get it. North shrink further away from the contest and the Saints enjoy some kick to kick. It's pretty uninteresting stuff. Riewoldt finishes with 7 and the final margin is 52 points. The old fella and I distract ourselves from the last term fade-out by indulging in a bit of reminiscing. He tells of smuggling six packs of Melbourne under his duffle coat into Arden Street so he and his mates didn't have to drink that 'Courage crap'. Talk drifts to the Carey years. Greatest ever. Somehow we get onto that never to be spoken of day in '98 and cheer ourselves by focussing on Ali's pre-game lap. We lean against the railing and watch families hurry home. Shower, bed, school in the morning. Well, that's it for another season, the old fella sighs. See ya next year, he declares. All the best mate, I reply. He hobbles off into the night. .
GOALS BEST Official crowd: 23,118 at Etihad Stadium The Jason Danilchenko Award West Coast Eagles versus North Melbourne It's late Wednesday afternoon - three days since we played the Eagles - and I'm under the pump. Struggling for air halfway through a crazy working week, I've managed to steal an hour or so in which to write this piece. I have to cobble together something worth reading, before shooting over to Linda's for dinner and the Ben Cousins doco. Here I go. As I do every weekend in Winter, I spent Friday night through Sunday listening to the footy on the radio, watching bits on TV and reading the articles in the papers. I also popped over and watched West Preston Lakeside and Lalor knock each other around in their 1st division NFL game. Almost as entertaining as the push and shove on the ground was the boozed-up verbal from over the fence. Talk about a shallow gene pool. By the time our game finally arrived late Sunday arvo, I was all footied out. Linda and I spent a pleasant afternoon having lunch at Studley Park Boathouse, followed by a stroll along the Yarra, where we came across a sign commemorating a world record dive many moons ago by one Alick Wickham. He dived from the towering cliffs into the Yarra in front 70,000 cheering spectators. That's a story worth researching later, I thought to myself. Anyway, I'm digressing. Our slim finals chances dissolved on Saturday thanks to Fremantle tanking against Hawthorn in Launceston. The AFL doesn't have a problem with Freo resting one half of their team, which begs the question: what if they do the same next year away to GCFC? The big boss may declare such a game plan sacrilegious, un-Australian and damaging to the brand in the new, more important territory. So, the main motivation for our boys on Sunday was to do it for Boomer in his 300th. Quite rightly, that proved to be enough. The match started over a coffee on Brunswick Street. Linda was keen to natter about the election and the mess Julia and her lot had made of it, however, this was difficult with the walkman in my ear. She let me be to do my thing. The Eagles started well in their last home game for the season, with Waters and Hurn collecting plenty of the ball and Wilson providing a target. Waters cleaned up Adams early. Cox was on top in the ruck and it was obvious we were missing Goldstein who was out with injury. The umps were looking after the home team who were awarded 8 frees to our 1 for the term. The Eagles kicked the first for the second quarter to open a four goal lead. They looked like good things. Eventually, we dragged ourselves into the contest. After wasting a handful of chances, we kicked the last three goals of the quarter and trailed by 2 points at half-time. Edwards had 3 and Swallow and Wells were performing in front of their home crowd. By the beginning of the second half, we were back at my place in Reservoir and I was well and truly into the contest - cooking pasta, pacing the kitchen and yelling at the radio. Linda was watching TV in the lounge. Swallow put us in front for the first time five minutes into the third quarter, only for Wilson to kick his third and fourth to again open up a lead for the Eagles. Hams kicked another, however, two from Wright and one from Warren after he attempted a Leigh Matthews on the point post, gave us a 3 point lead at the last break. We were threatening to break away. In a tricky move, Woosher started Cox and Nik Nat in the middle for the beginning of the last quarter. It worked early with the Eagles kicking two goals - one from Nik Nat - and threatening to ride home crowd support across the line. North were challenged and needed to lift. Boomer and Wells led the way, using the ball with intelligence and precision. Swallow kicked his third and Hamish marked strongly and converted. Thommo ran off his opponent and kicked straight from centre-half forward. Linda inhailed her meal and bailed. When Wright roved and kicked his fourth, the lead was 16 points and the 'Boomer! Boomer!' chant could be heard down the radio from the small yet rowdy North contingent. At the final siren, Eagles players formed a guard of honour for the little champ which demonstrated their class and the level of respect held for Boomer in the AFL. There you go. I hope I didn't lose you early. I better get off to Linda's - it's her turn to cook. West Coast 4.4 7.6 10.10 14.10 (94) GOALS BEST Official crowd: 32,007 at Subiaco Oval The Jason Danilchenko Award 3 - Wright
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