If you were one of the 18k people at this match and were hoping for some high-quality football, I don’t know what to tell you. Because it was an absolute crapshoot from start to finish, and whilst St Kilda came away with the points, that was only because the points had to go to someone.
If there was justice in the world, both teams would’ve been sent home by the Marvel tenants at three-quarter time, the scoreboard reset to 0-0, and each of the 46 players who participated would’ve been refused dinner by their partners and told to stand in the corner and think about their actions.
The Good:
I’ll start off with the good points, as I don’t think I’d have the will to complete this piece otherwise.
It was a pretty solid outing for Luke Davies-Uniacke, who I’m starting to feel increasingly sorry for, truth be told. 23 contested possessions, 11 clearances and a collection of delightful sidesteps and spins to evade oncoming tacklers was a monster effort, and even though you could also argue that his 10 turnovers brought the brilliance of his game down a few notches, he was far and away the best North player on the field and arguably the best overall. I’d also like to be the first to say that it’s brilliant to see him back at his best, having seemingly shaken off his injury problems of this year (touch wood).
For the Saints, Jack Sinclair ran around and did his own thing, as is now somehow customary. For all the talk of the future of the game resting on the shoulders of damaging half-backs, and the attention you’d think that would bring, he seems to slip under the radar against most opponents. He also has a weapon that not many others could boast about; his ability to hit 15-25m targets with low, hard kicks regardless of pressure. Perhaps it’s a matter of timing the moment of contact better than everyone else, or perhaps it’s a skill only possessed by those with spectacular calves. Whatever the reason, I often found myself groaning when Sinclair pulled off these kicks, in the realisation that he’d not only gotten his team out of a tight spot, but actually started a potential attack. Eight score involvements for a half back is a bloody good effort, though he did move through the middle as the game tightened up, as well.
There was also some quality in how the key defenders at each end went about their work. For North, their soon-to-be-departed (allegedly) full-back Ben McKay put in a decent shift, accumulating intercept marks at will and proving once again the truth of the difficult-to-grasp concept that it often pays to look ahead at where you’re kicking the ball before you actually kick it. As a North fan, it hasn’t escaped me that McKay’s only really good games for the year have come against the Saints (twice) and the Bombers, and this leads me to one of two conclusions;
- That both clubs have been in his manager’s ear about a contract and he’s actively taken it upon himself to showcase the best aspects of his game against them
- That he really hates a red-black colour scheme
Continuing the theme of competent tall defenders was Callum Wilkie, who somehow still feels underrated despite the entire football community now being painfully aware of his ability, particularly those teams that have seen him stand in the way of many of their attacking forays. He moves with the urgency of the sloth out of Zootopia, but as always, he kept a strict leash on anyone who was matched up on him, with ten intercept possessions, six one percenters, and most importantly, a calming presence in the Saints’ defensive 50. If I had to pick one player for North to have next year, he would be on the shortest of shortlists.
The bad:
As for the bad aspects, well I’m not really sure I could encompass everything in a couple of short pages. There were rubbish decisions in transition from both teams. There were fumbles. There were substitute bungles (Jack Ziebell over Hugh Greenwood). There were some horrific kicks for goal too, particularly from the Saints. Even the goals that did go through often deviated whilst in the air, spinning and floating at angles that most certainly didn’t do anything to enhance the aesthetic reputation of the sport.
I’d also like to touch here on an umpiring decision that I found rather difficult to understand. The umpiring was touch and go all day, and everyone at the ground was left thinking ‘what was that for?’ on more than a few occasions. However, the most contentious call was saved for last.
With St Kilda up by three points deep into the last quarter, Luke Davies-Uniacke burst clear from a contest at half-forward, with an open 50 ahead of him, until he was called back to the scene of the contest by a field umpire, who’d spotted a holding free kick to Rowan Marshall against Eddie Ford during the preceding contest. I’d like to stress that I didn’t see what happened due to my position at the ground, and only saw the replays of this free. But to put it bluntly, it looked bloody soft, and it looked like Marshall had put more mayo on his physical reaction to the contact than Nan does on her New Years’ potato salad.
It wasn’t the reason North lost, and for all I know the Saints would’ve scored another one anyway, given North were out on their feet, (as they are in every single last quarter) but for God’s sake, it’d be nice to not be sabotaged by such a soft free when a potential scoring shot at such a crucial time of the game is imminent.
Further musings:
The consequences of this 9.15.69-9.7.61 result are pretty clear. The Saints have maintained their inexplicable grip on the top 6, and progress into a final five game block absolutely riddled with booby traps. If they do make finals from here, they’ll have well and truly earned it, but as it stands, their performances in recent weeks, including this game, have just raised more questions about the fortitude of the group and the effectiveness of Ross Lyon’s famously dour gameplan. They look disjointed, tired and lacking in confidence. And with no Max King, it’s a long and arduous climb from here just to pitch their tent at September base camp, let alone to scale the actual peak.
For North, it might not appear that the consequences are that great, but the monkey on this football club’s back regarding how to win is now the size of the one that climbed the Empire State Building. It’s at the point now where I, a numb fan who is expecting to lose regardless of scoreline, am concerned for the careers of Sheezel, Wardlaw, LDU and all the other talented blokes at Arden St. At what point does a club’s losing mentality become fully enshrined? At what point do the players go beyond the point of being able to turn to their teammates, say the phrase ‘we’re going to win this,’ and actually believe it? The first step is a gruelling preseason to ensure adequate fitness to run out a game, but this club is broken. More broken than anyone in the mainstream footy media, except maybe Damian Barrett (I know, I know, blasphemy and all that) has admitted.
And that’s all the analysis I’ve been able to manage, as the nihilism and depression have now unfortunately well and truly set in. That Princess Bride quote comes to mind: ‘Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something.’
Till next time.
