So. Already we’re at Round Two of this year. It honestly feels like hours after Round One wrapped up. Isn’t it funny how the final week before the season commences drags on in much the same manner that your slightly weird uncle talks about his new central heating system, and yet the weeks within the season fly by at the pace of an Aldi cashier’s scanning.
In this Perth-based contest, there was North Melbourne, aiming to continue their conquest of the state of Western Australia following their convincing but at the same time mightily unconvincing victory over the Eagles in Round One. On the other side of the proverbial ring stood Fremantle, striving to arrest the momentum against them and assert themselves following a loss to the Ross Lyon-coached St Kilda. (The jokes and metaphors you could conjure up about that result are endless. Take your pick)
Much like both of these teams’ games last week, this doesn’t really appear a mouth-watering proposition. The Dockers have named a fairly dour, defensive lineup, with dudes like Darcy, umm… (alright, that’s the only D-player I could think of. Sorry) fronting up. North have continued to back their young players in and have what could be reasonably called an exciting squad, but no one really gives them much of a chance in this one. Freo have pantsed the Roos in their last three meetings and will surely bounce back at home after the horror show of last week.
I’m told the weather in Perth was about 28 degrees at opening bounce time, so I can only imagine that Freo fans were settling in with their parkas and beanies to combat this unseasonably chilly weather, thermoses (thermi?) in hand. A mood of mild intrigue sets over the stunning Optus Stadium, ball meets turf, and we’re underway.
It’s a scrappy first quarter, and neither team can really get any meaningful possession chains going. Nick Larkey kicks the first for the Roos. A positive start but Freo fans aren’t too worried. However, following on from this occurs a bizarre flurry of goals for North. They’re playing with dare and abandon and suddenly they’re 22 points up. I can only speculate that at this point some Freo fans were reaching under their seats for their game scripts, Robin Hood Men-In-Tights-style. (If you get this reference, you have my utmost respect). Their mildly escalating fears are seemingly unfounded for the moment, though. Sam Switkowski and Michael Frederick restore some order to the scoreboard and the margin at QT is a modest 10 points.
The second quarter begins with a bang, North’s Curtis Taylor atoning for his late miss last week with a ripper of a set shot from 50m. This is about as eventful as the quarter gets, though, as the two teams engage in an extended tussle of what those on the wrong side of the Barassi Line call aerial ping-pong. Look, I will happily admit that those people sometimes have a point with that moniker. It can be boring at times. But you can’t call footy boring and then with a straight face turn around and watch a bunch of solidly built men in a big line throwing themselves at each other. I mean, that should really be the scenario that pops up when you look up the meaning of that old stones-glass houses adage.
At half-time, each team has furthered their score by a goal and change since the first break, Freo superstar Andrew Brayshaw is single handedly keeping his team in it with some desperate efforts, whilst North youngster Harry Sheezel is picking up where he left off last week off the half-back flank. Scores at half-time: North 32, Freo 24, or in aerial ping-pong terms, North are serving at 30 and Freo are 15.
Half time also sees North activate their sub. Daniel Howe comes on for Paul Curtis, who is indicated as having taken ill. Perhaps some dodgy prawns at the hotel buffet haven’t sat too well with him. I know the feeling.
The third stanza, as some erudite types like to say, sees a little more end-to-end action. The teams trade blows and goals. The Freo ruck duo of Darcy and Jackson (could be a bookshop name, that) is gradually working North workhorse Todd Goldstein over, and momentum seems to be building in Freo’s favour. This is compounded when Freo bring on their sub, club stalwart Michael Walters.
Just the sight of Walters jogging the boundary in his warmup shirt is enough to strike jolts of fear into the hearts of North fans, and poetically, it doesn’t take long for him to make an impact. Running full pelt with the flight of the ball, he marks and duly converts a difficult snap on his non-preferred right foot. (A massively underrated skill, I might add). The margin is two points, and Freo fans are expectantly waiting for their boys to run over the top, game scripts comfortably within reach. Unfortunately for them, North’s Jaidyn Stephenson hasn’t read the script, duly bouncing through a goal from 60m from an advantage situation. Much like Cary Elwes in Men In Tights, Freo are momentarily taken aback. North attempt to capitalise on this with two meaningful forays forward, but come away with two behinds for their efforts. Luke Davies-Uniacke has particular cause to be upset at Cam Zurhaar, who spurns an opportunity after his teammate bench-presses an opponent and delivers a lace-out pass.
At 3QT, the Roos lead by 10. A weird atmosphere has taken over the stadium. For Freo, they’ve looked for all the world like their talent would begin to tell, and cracks have certainly appeared in North’s defensive structure, but it hasn’t clicked for them yet. For North, unlike last week’s game, there’s no definitive feeling about where this game might go. At the commencement of the final quarter, it’s fair to say that the ‘mild’ intrigue that was present at the beginning of the game has intensified to ‘substantial.’
The final quarter: North hang in there for long periods, and at the 20-minute mark, they’re up by 20 points following a lovely Davies-Uniacke finish. Clarko is pumped on the boundary line. Could they be home? Short answer: Nope. Long answer: If North’s game were metaphorically represented by a journey from Perth back to Arden St, North have broken down at Caroline Springs and are unable to call RACV. The Dockers have cut the powerlines and are coming.
It begins with Jaeger O’Meara (what a name). In a moment of inspiration from previously listless coach Justin Longmuir, O’Meara goes forward and kicks two quickfire goals, one from a Caleb Serong pass which was either genius or pure luck. I still haven’t worked out which. And when key defender Brennan Cox snaps truly from the top of the goal square, the margin is a solitary point. The Freo crowd are in a Freo frenzy. North, like last week, are hanging on for dear life, and this time, there’s no crowd to back them.
All sensible fans of the two teams, myself included, are in their own ways attempting to stave off the undesired result for their team. Some have steel crosses and are trying to exorcise the other team’s life force. Some are hyperventilating into a brown paper bag. Some are crossing fingers, toes, wires, legs, eyes, whatever they can find.
The ball is locked in Freo’s forward half. A rightful deliberate (sorry, insufficient intent) decision goes against Curtis Taylor and Freo reload once more. The ball is punched to ground, deep inside the 50, North substitute Daniel Howe ends up with the pill, and tumbles it towards the boundary line. An extremely questionable strategy given he had a veritable hectare of space out that side in which to let the ball roll, but anyway.
As the ball rolls at odd angles over the boundary near Freo’s attacking 50, the final siren blares. And temporary drama of the highest order ensues. There’s no doubt it’s deliberate. (sorry, insufficient intent.) Dockers fans scream for the free kick to be paid. The Dockers players ask the umps, almost pleadingly. The umps congregate to discuss. North players celebrate wildly and then, noticing the hullabaloo, temporarily stop in their tracks. A better impersonation of a deer in headlights you will never see. But they need not fear. The ump did not blow his whistle to pay the free before, or on, the siren. Thusly, the records will show a North Melbourne win. In AFL terms, 11.8.74-10.13.73. In aerial ping pong terms, game, set, match.
As always, the coaches have much to ponder. A. Clarkson has his second win in as many games at his new club, and may or may not be be experiencing the onset of a stress-induced heart condition. For J. Longmuir, perhaps he’ll see his team near the bottom of the ladder at the conclusion of the round and consider consulting his evil twin for ideas. Come on down, J. Longmire.
