Round Four: Battle of the Basketcases: Part One

Well as Boris the chicken can no doubt attest, one week you're the rooster, next week you're the feather duster. There were to be no Whoppers for me this week, I went from the perfect 8 to a miserable 2 correct selections in Round 4 as the favourites tumbled like dominos. A great week for Hungry Jacks, they won't have lost too much money giving away hamburgers, that's for sure.

By the end of round 4 it became excitingly clear that one of the longest running questions going around, one that has been pondered by football fans old and young, rich and poor, from the north, the west, the south and the east since 1995 seems set to be finally answered at the end of this season: that question being, of course, is Richmond or Fremantle the biggest basketcase in the AFL? I don't want to imply that other clubs haven't had their moments. St Kilda has a cutlery drawer overflowing with wooden spoons; Carlton in recent years has been a bit diabolical; Fitzroy in their dying days were a barely competitive figure of pity; and the less said about the Brisbane Bears the better- at one point they recruited Warwick Capper in order to give themselves more credibility as a football club! It's true, I swear. Nor do I mean to imply that it has always been so: Richmond in the depression and war years was a team not to be messed with, while in the 1960s and 70s they were an absolute powerhouse. I'm sure any Western Australians in the house will be able to confirm my understanding that South and East Fremantle were equally credible outfits back in the day. But boy, oh boy, the Tigers and Dockers should really come equipped with a canned laughter track these days, it just seems to be one sitcom moment after another, off-field and on.

Let's take as a starting point 1995, the season Fremantle entered the competition. They were welcomed with open arms, as their entry meant that the AFL now had an even number of teams and we were thus spared from the bye. Some would argue that that is still Freo's greatest contribution to the AFL. Somewhat less welcome was the Dockers' introduction of the totally unnecessary "home and away" jumper concept- Freo is completely to blame for the collective loss of sanity that resulted in such monstrosities as the Port Adelaide Phallus, the West Coast Gay Pride Flag, the Collingwood Magic Eye Magpie On A Bar Code, and the Hawthorn Number Seven in the Ninth at Flemington, amongst others. Check them all out at http://www.footyjumpers.com/, hours of fun for the whole family. The Dockers also introduced to the AFL an appalling dirge of a club song based on the Volga Boat song, of all things. I'm still staggered to this day that Port Adelaide somehow managed to come up with a worse one.

While Freo were distracting everybody in 1995 with their terrible song and array of sartorial atrocities, Richmond were on a rare high, making the finals for the first time since 1982. They also made the finals in 2001. Freo, for their part, has played finals in 2003 and 2006. That's it. Two finals series each for the two sides in 14 seasons (2 in 27 years for Richmond), with a preliminary final being the best result for both (2 in Richmond's case). By comparison Port Adelaide, which entered the comp two years later than Freo, have played in 7 finals series, finished top three times, played in two Grand Finals and won a premiership. The draft system and salary cap were supposed to even out the competition in order to avoid an English Premier League scenario where only a handful of clubs can ever hope to win. This had been the case in the old VFL, where only five different clubs won premierships between 1967 and 1989. The system has largely worked, every club has made it as far as a preliminary final since 1990 and only Freo, Richmond and the Bulldogs haven't played in a Grand Final. Every other team has played finals regularly, and worked out how to rebuild a team in the down years in order to get back in quickly. So why have the Dockers and Tigers been so consistently bad?

Answer one- recruitment. Freo and Richmond have made an artform out of abysmal work at the draft table and in picking up other clubs' rejects. You wouldn't have thought it possible to make a worse selection at number one than Richmond's 1987 choice of Richard Lounder, who played four games in total. But you would be reckoning without Freo's decision in 2001 to trade draft picks 1, 20 and 36 for Trent Croad (the Dockers also got Luke McPharlin). Croad played 38 games for the Dockers and then returned to Hawthorn. Pick one ended up being Luke Hodge, who was last year's Norm Smith Medallist; pick 36 ended up being Sam Mitchell, who held the premiership cup aloft as the Hawks captain. And Croad got a medal too (pick 20 didn't work out, but it's fair to say it was a better outcome for Hawthorn than it was for Freo). Both the Tigers and Dockers have let players go who have gone on to star at other clubs- ex-Tiger Ben Ottens won a premiership at Geelong, ex-Docker Adam McPhee won a best and fairest at Essendon- and have picked up good players from other clubs who have promptly become a shadow of their former selves once at Punt Road or Subiaco- Kent Kingsley, Mark Graham, Dean Solomon, Jeff Farmer, Chris Tarrant, the list goes on.

This is clearly not a discussion that is going to be able to be concluded in one Wrap. We haven't even gotten onto coaches yet. That might have to be the subject of next week's outing.

So, Round 4. It kicked off under lights up at Brisbane with the Magpies being the visitors, in desperate need of a win to get their season back on track. It looked pretty ordinary for them at quarter time down six goals to two. But a stunning fightback saw them pour on 11 goals to 4 in the next three quarters to record a stirring fighting win to level their 2009 record at 2 and 2, the same as Brisbane. The same 2-2 record is also that of Sydney and Carlton, after the Swans recorded a somewhat surprisingly easy win over the Blues in a game most expected Carlton to romp home in. Bad goalkicking from Carlton was a major factor in the result, with Brendan Fevola the main culprit with 1 goal 4. At the MCG it was a huge upset with Port Adelaide running away from the reigning premiers Hawthorn in the second half to record a 30 point win. Hawthorn's premiership defence is looking decidedly shaky at 1 and 3, while the Power are shaping up as a very hard team to tip.

The Saturday night fixtures saw the season's frontrunners both record very good wins (these, incidentally, were the two matches I actually managed to tip correctly). St Kilda handed out a fearful hiding to the hapless Dockers, keeping Freo goalless in 2 quarters and restricting them overall to a paltry 4.4.28 while chalking up 111 points of their own. At the end of the match the Saints' percentage was up to a whopping 200%, while the Dockers was down to a woeful 56%. And Freo's week got even worse when their assistant coach Steve Malaxos made an astonishing gaffe on live radio, telling stunned listeners that morale at the club was quite good because players were playing pranks on each other "dressed in Ku Klux Klan outfits". It subsequently emerged that the outfits in question were more Blues Brothers than KKK, but surely Malaxos will never be allowed near a live microphone again without an alert club official standing by armed with an electric cattleprod. Over in Adelaide, Geelong toyed with the Crows for three quarters before running away with seven goals to 2 in the last quarter to rack up an impressive 48 point win. Best afield by a country mile for the Cats was the magnificent Gary Ablett Jr, who recorded a lazy 46 possessions in his 150th game. Amazing to think that when his father retired, we wondered if there would ever be a player as naturally skilled ever again. Now the next great debate- once the Richmond vs Fremantle dispute is resolved- will be which of the Gary Abletts is/was the better player.

Sunday afternoon saw not one, but two affronts to the good name of AFL football. Two incredibly shoddy encounters in which skill went completely out the window. One took place at Docklands, where North Melbourne prevailed narrowly over Essendon in a very poor game indeed. At a rough guess 50% of kicks missed their targets, 75% of decisions made were the wrong ones and 100% of Essendon fans there wished they hadn't bothered turning up. The game will probably be best remembered for the first ever freekick awarded for a deliberate rushed behind, against North Melbourne's Daniel Pratt, one of the villains of the previous week's Chookgate. Not having a great season, young Pratt. The other shocker was across town at the MCG, where one of Richmond or Melbourne had to open their accounts for 2009 (barring a goalless draw). In the event it was Melbourne's young brigade who prevailed, putting the final nail in the coffin of Richmond's 2009 finals chances and Terry Wallace's Punt Road coaching career. Wallace may yet last out the season but in terms of a longer future at Tigerland he's a dead man walking.

One game left to complete Round 4, and over in the west the Eagles recorded a super impressive victory over the previously unbeaten Western Bulldogs. A great comeback for West Coast after their shellacking at St Kilda's hands one week earlier. With two impressive home wins the Eagles look to be re-establishing the Fortress Subiaco of old, but will need to discover some away form as well if they're to be a finals contender in 2009.

So after four rounds there are two teams who look certain to play finals (St Kilda and Geelong) and two who look to be gone (our friends the Tigers and the Dockers). Everyone else is still very much in it, and there's everything to play for going into the Anzac Day round. So be sure to join us here for the Wrap of that, and for Part Two of Why Freo and Richmond Are Perpetually Awful. Perhaps it's because the Dockers and Tigers don't think about the game enough, this should take care of that! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nK45rcLk27k&feature=related

Round Three: A Rubber Chicken, A Frozen Chicken and a Whopper

Clucking hell! Did the feathers fly down at Arden St in the lead-up to Round 3 - several Kangaroos wound up with egg on their face as an attempted yolk went down very poorly and fowl tempers resulted. Rather than feeling cock-ahoop, the Roos were walking on eggshells as poultry-related puns filled the air like a bunch of happy chicks at a hen's night. So, what was it all about? I'm not even sure that I know. A rubber chicken named Boris? A poorly-conceived in-house video involving a frozen chicken and a slightly misogynist rap track that somehow ended up in the public domain? A mass team apology to the women of the nation? A very, very strange event indeed.

But an event that had a catastrophic effect on the morale down at North Melbourne. For a club that managed to survive ex-skipper Wayne Carey's massively publicised affair with his vice captain's wife in a toilet cubicle, North Melbourne came awfully close to being torn asunder by Chookgate. The players involved were said to be on the verge of retirement, the sponsors were said to be on the verge of whisking their money away, and Germaine Greer was said to be on the verge of flying in to compulsorarily enrol the entire squad in Womens Studies 101: The Feminine Mystique, Boris the Chicken and You. Perhaps no wonder then that the Roos never looked in contention against Hawthorn, the Hawks able to chalk up a much needed first win for 2009 to belatedly launch their premiership defence.

The team they defeated in last year's decider, Geelong, is starting to get their own campaign off and running and they were able to take the points over Collingwood. The Cats certainly didn't have it their own way, however, at quarter time the Magpies were well up and had they been able to kick a bit straighter could have had the game in the bag. It wasn't to be, though, an eight goal to nil second quarter from Geelong put a whole new complexion on the match and when the final siren sounded it was the Cats' Easter eggs who were going to taste sweeter.

The shellacking of the round took place on Saturday at the MCG when St Kilda demonstrated that they are going to be a genuine contender in 2009 by destroying the West Coast Eagles to the tune of 97 points. Another sizeable margin over in Adelaide, where the Power belted the Demons. Port looking ominous, Melbourne still winless in 09. And up north in the wet the Lions were able to end a five year winless streak against Sydney, taking the game by 33 points.

The best game of the round (and not just in my opinion) was the clash between the Bombers and the highly fancied Blues. After eight years in the wilderness, most pundits have Carlton firmly pencilled in as a finalist this year, if not a top four contender. Essendon, on the other hand, is generally regarded to be in yet another rebuilding year. And a few minutes into the second quarter, that conclusion looked to be accurate as Carlton skipped out to a 27 point lead. But then came the Bomber comeback. Led by skipper Matthew Lloyd, whose poor early season form had led many to writte him off, the Dons rattled on seven goals for the quarter to go in two points up at halftime. The second half was a blinder, goal for goal right up until the final stages. With the seconds ticking down, the Blues had one last roll of the dice as Marc Murphy ran the ball into their attacking zone. But a brilliant tackle from Paddy Ryder allowed the Dons to sweep the ball away and the siren sounded on a magnificent Bomber victory. The red and black army across the nation launched into celebrations, but despair for the Bluebaggers. I can only assume that the response of the Canberra Carlton supporters group was reminiscent of the aftermath of the Battle of Isengaard which, for those not following, was the big battle in the Return of the King. From Lord of the Rings. Because they're like orcs. Refer to the Round One report.

Just two games left to conclude the superlong Easter round. Over in the west Fremantle were desperately hoping that the Adelaide Crows would be terminally weakened by Bock-inalia but it wasn't to be, Adelaide holding on for a gutsy win to keep the Dockers rooted to the bottom reaches of the ladder. With this result I was getting quite excited - I'd tipped seven winners out of seven for the first time in years! If the Dogs could get across the line against Richmond I'd be not only showered in glory, but the proud recipient of a Hungry Jacks Whopper! So I was cursing the Dogs in the first quarter as they sprayed shots to the right and the left as the Tiges skipped out to a 16 point lead. But if there's one certainty in the AFL in 2009, it's that Richmond will find a way to blow a winning situation. As the game went on the skill gap between the two sides became evident, much to the frustration of Richmond supporters whose early season optimism must have just about evaporated by now. The Tigers players mentally disintegrated as one, with handballs universally finding the opposition and kicks universally finding the bloke in the second row. It was a mercy for Tigers' fans when the final siren finally sounded with their team 57 points in arrears. And of course it was all good for me - one Whopper coming my way!

So that was Round 3- it started with a frozen chicken and wound up with a tasty burger. Who knows what Round 4 will bring? (Well, OK, everyone does because Round 4 has already been played, but let's suspend disbelief and pretend that it hasn't). See you back here soon for the Round 4 Wrap.

Round Two: Krusty, Ringo, Capper and Diamond John Brumby

Talk about coincidence- in Round One's wrap I wrote about Poochie the ill-conceived cartoon dog, then lo and behold there he was stinking up the joint in the following night's Simpsons episode! Having seen the episode again, I stand by my comparison of Krusty's promotion of Poochie and the build-up to the Cousins-Judd rematch. But then again I am a hardcore Krusty the Clown fan, and after two decades of the Simpsons almost everything can be referenced to him or one of the other characters. Take the Beatles semi-reunion (Paul and Ringo) that took place in the lead-up to Round Two, a great event for those there but what charity were the Fab Two benefitting? Meditation for Kids! All I could think of was Krusty out the front of the Motion Sickness Benefit telethon, overcome with emotion, "Waugh...you should see the bus they came to the studio in!" Speaking of Ringo, that name is also one familiar to viewers of longrunning soapie Neighbours, who after thirty odd years are clearly running out of convincing names (Ringo's offsider is named Zeke, and Toadfish Rebecchi is still living on Ramsey Street too). Ringo and Zeke, as it turns out, are right into their footy and I was lucky enough some months ago to switch on the telly to see the boys lining up for Erinsborough for the Grand Final with none other than legendary four-time Richmond premiership coach Tom Hafey on the sidelines as the guest coach! Pretty tough on Erinsborough's actual coach, who had evidently got the team to the grand final and then been shunted aside for the big game. But super entertaining viewing watching Tommy nod sagely on the sidelines at every Ringo mark or Zeke drop punt. The best AFL guest spot on Neighbours since ex-Swans pretty boy Warwick Capper turned up circa-1987 in order to try and recruit Kylie Minogue as a Swanette.

And it's fair to say that Richmond fans wouldn't mind getting Tom Hafey back in the coaches' box, even in a guest capacity. After their abysmal Round One appearance, many feared that their trip down the highway to Geelong would be yet another chapter in the longrunning series that is Cat Goes Medieval On Tiger. But surprisingly this time around the Tiges were very competitive and gave Geelong a genuine scare before the Cats got home. The game started conventionally enough, with the Cats well up at halftime and seemingly home and hosed. But an eight goal Richmond third term had them up by a point at the final change. The Cats were able to pull away in the last to record their 44th victory from 47 outings (a pity one of the other three was a Grand Final). But it's far from clear this year whether the Cats have the aura of invincibility that they've carried over the last two seasons.

One team that does seem to be growing such an aura though is St Kilda, who pulled off a hard fought win interstate against the Crows. Adelaide stuck like a limpus to the Saints for three quarters, but the visitors were able to run away with it in the last for a rare win in South Australia. And there was an unhappy postscript for the Crows, with their 2008 best and fairest Nathan Bock arrested the next night for (allegedly) drunkenly striking his girlfriend. All in all Round Two not one the Crows will remember fondly. Nor too will the Jones family of Melbourne; first son Nathan was part of the Dees' defeat at the hands of Collingwood, then his father was bashed in front of his other son after the game by a trio of cowardly louts. Happily violence among spectators is a far less common occurrence that it is in other codes ie. European soccer. But Victorian Premier John Brumby, much like his Springfield counterpart "Diamond" Joe Quimby, knows a populist issue when he sees one. Whereas Diamond Joe might declare a bear patrol tax, Diamond John promptly declared a summit on AFL spectator violence, much to the mystification of AFL CEO Andrew Demetriou who wasn't informed. Hopefully this misguided bit of nonsense will fade away by midseason.

Two Saturday night fixtures in Round Two. In Melbourne the Blues sparked even more excitement in their already over-excited supporters (and hello to everybody at the Canberra Carlton Supporters Club, who I maligned in last week's Wrap) by defeating Brisbane in a thrilling encounter. The Blues are starting to believe that their long decade out in the cold is about to come to an end. Up in Sydney there was a shock result, with defending premiers Hawthorn going down for the second time in 2009 at the hands of the Swans, in a result few outside the red and white faithful would have picked.

Another shock result over in the west on Sunday, with unfancied West Coast giving the Power a right bath. Perhaps Port's latest abysmal clash jumper was to blame for their poor showing, we all know the Power have a troubled history in this regard. Check it out here- http://www.portadelaidefc.com.au/tabid/6038/default.aspx?newsid=70982. And where exactly is the clash between the existing Eagles and Power jumpers, anyway! Won't somebody stop the change jumper madness, there's a challenge for you Brumby!

Two very different matches back in Melbourne to complete Round Two, at the MCG the Bulldogs prevailed over the Roos in a lowscoring armwrestle encounter to keep their unbeaten start to the season alive. The Dogs had to really fight for it after North pulled their way back to just two points down after being nearly five goals down. Across town a small Docklands crowd was treated to a fine display by a young Bombers side which, despite nil returns from veterans Matthew Lloyd and Scott Lucas and many a skill error, convincingly defeated the massively disappointing Freo Dockers. It looks like being another long season for the Purple Haze, two rounds in and they're already all but gone. But many encouraging signs this week for Essendon supporters after their insipid Round One performance. Perhaps best of all was the performance of two Bomber debutants: David Zaharakis looked great and is the first Z I can recall in the AFL since Bulldog Zeno Tzatzaris way back in the '80s (please drop a comment if there's been one in the meantime); and Essendon has finally got on the Irish bandwagon with young Michael Quinn who's been in the country all of about twenty minutes but looks to be a player. Quinn looks about twelve and sounded in interview like a Gaelic version of the Pimply Faced Kid, but by all accounts he's far less temperamental than his compatriot Setanta O'hAilpin over at Carlton which can't be a bad thing. Good signs for the future of Windy Hill.

And so concludes the Worst. Wrap. Ever. Hope you enjoyed, hopefully Round Three will appear very shortly also.

Round One: Like Poochie The Ill-Conceived Cartoon Dog

There's a great moment in the Simpsons from a few years ago starring the legendary Krusty the Clown. Unusually attired in a dinner suit, he stands before a microphone and solemnly intones, "Once in a great while, we are privileged to experience a television event so extraordinary, it becomes part of our shared heritage. 1969: Man walks on the moon. 1971: Man walks on the moon...again. Then for a long time nothing happened. Until tonight". Krusty was talking about the introduction of poorly conceived cartoon dog character Poochie onto the longrunning psychotic children's cartoon Itchie and Scratchie. But the general overblown sentiment fitted perfectly with the buildup in Melbourne to the season opener between Carlton and Richmond and, more specifically, the rematch between ex-Eagles premiership teammates and Brownlow Medallists Ben Cousins and Chris Judd. Nobody reading a Victorian newspaper or watching Channel Ten's prematch leadup could possibly doubt that this match was indeed the biggest television event in human history. And the sense of anticipation among fans of the two clubs involved, cellar-dwellers both in recent years, was at fever pitch. Richmond fans in particular were at last daring to dream that finally, finally, their three decades of mediocrity were about to come to an end. Surely this was to be the beginning of something wonderful.

Of course, much like Poochie the dog's ill-fated venture onto the small screen, it all ended in tears for the Tiger faithful. What a horrendous night it turned out to be for the Richmond Football Club, basically everything that could have gone wrong went right ahead and did so. It really wouldn't have surprised at all if at the end of the game one of the MCG light towers had slowly toppled over and hammered Richo into the ground like a tent peg, Wile E. Coyote style. Of all the nights for the Tiger playing group to lose their collective minds and nerve, the season opener in front of a full MCG and massive television audience just wasn't the night to do it. With Canberra receiving its customary excellent free to air television service (an 11.15PM delayed telecast), myself and some others gathered at our local venue, Eastlakes Football Club, along with a throng including, to our horror, the Canberra Carlton Supporters Club. Without wanting to be needlessly cruel about their appearance or mannerisms, I would suggest that if Peter Jackson is short of a few blokes to play orcs in the upcoming movie version of The Hobbit, he might want to give the CCSC a call. The expatriate bluebaggers took up location right in front of the main screen, then proceeded to hurl seven shades of abuse at every Tiger player from the moment they set foot on the arena. The Tigers weren't doing anything much to provoke their anger though, they opened with a Richo poster from a kickable distance, then dropped an easy mark in the back line (which led to a goal), then disintegrated completely. Their skills were absolutely deplorable. Carlton by contrast looked like a Lambourghini competing in a street race against a Lada-like vehicle from a country which no longer exists ("Put it in 'H'"!). Cousins was doing his best but his ex-teammate Judd was winning the duel (such as it was) on points easily. The points margin grew wider and wider the longer the game went off, and the screen started to show Richmond supporters trickling out of the stadium (sent on their way with many a bronx cheer from the CCSC mob). Then, as if things hadn't gone quite badly enough for the Tiges, who had been completely humiliated on the field, it all got a lot worse. With the game long since lost, Cousins embarked on one final stretching effort which resulted in his dodgy hamstring giving up the ghost. As he limped off the field the heads of Richmond fans nationwide collapsed into their collective hands, another forgettable season looks to be on the cards. But there was much whooping and hollering from the CCSC boys and their brethren across the planet, Carlton do indeed appear to be coming back after a very dark decade or so.

After such a massive promotional buildup for the Carlton/ Richmond game, the Grand Final rematch the next night between Hawthorn and Geelong came as almost an anti-climax. The Cats have had a long dark summer to reflect on their 2008 Grand Final disaster, and one gets the impression that they are a team on a mission this year. They certainly swept all before them in the Preseason Let's Give The Kids A Run Cup which, for the first time in years, I actually got to see some of on television. It should be noted I was in a bar on Kuta Beach in Bali at the time, probably in direct contravention of the government's travel warnings (which are surely best treated as a serving suggestion). I was not at all surprised that there was better AFL coverage available in a foreign country than in the national capital. The Hawthorn-Geelong rematch was won narrowly by the Cats, small revenge for last year's defeat. Both teams look to remain at a standard well above that of the chasing pack.

One team who do fancy themselves as a potential challenger to the Cats and Hawks is Collingwood, who surprised everybody by declaring at the start of the year that they were aiming for a premiership in 2009. This was a most unusual statement for a club to make. Normally clubs stick to the "one game at a time" line right up until actual Grand Final Day, when they might admit that they do indeed hope to be premiers come 5PM or so. The Pies' quest for glory got off to a sticky start though, with a narrow defeat at the hands of the visiting Adelaide Crows. President Eddie McGuire reacted furiously to the defeat, pointing to the free kick count which showed Adelaide four ahead of Collingwood. Presumably all of the four frees resulted in Crow behinds, as four points was indeed the final margin.

Two Saturday night fixtures in Round One: oop north it was the coaching debut of Michael Voss, the man who stood up Essendon, Carlton, Gold Coast and West Coast to take over his old team. And he got off to a winning start against the Eagles, who would have been watching the Carlton-Richmond game and drooling over their two lost champions. Down south it was the Saints against the Swans, a fixture that in years past has guaranteed an absolute stinkfest of low scoring and dismal football. This year it was by all accounts a bit better than that (I didn't bother tuning in), the Saints prevailed fairly comfortably. It looks like the Swans might finally be on the slide after umpteen years up around the top, but they've shown before that it's a mistake to write them off prematurely.

Last year the Melbourne Demons had a fairly abysmal season to mark their 150th anniversary, it started with a 100 point shellacking in Round One and never really improved. This year the Dees were determined to avoid the same fate and were more than competitive against the Kangaroos. North prevailed in the end, but it was a performance which will give Dees fans hope that there is light at the end of the tunnel. For supporters of Essendon and Fremantle, however, the tunnel looks to be fairly long indeed. Essendon have a shocking record against Port Adelaide, and the Power had little trouble in racking up another win to the lopsided bilateral ledger. The Bombers now acknowledge that they followed a foolish recruiting path in the years 2002-5, picking up dodgy bitplayers and journeymen from other clubs at the expense of youth. Nice of them to finally admit it, but a tad frustrating to many Bombers fans who were saying that at the time! We feel a bit like the rest of the world (and residents of the blue states) pointing out to the Americans that, yes, it's great that you can now acknowledge that GWB shouldn't have been allowed anywhere near the White House (or indeed a pair of sharp scissors) but most of us were saying that back in 1999! That felt really good. The Dockers got soundly smashed by the Western Bulldogs over in the west. It doesn't look like Freo is going to threaten this season or any time soon. We'll have to wait to see whether the Dogs are genuine contenders or merely another Poochie.

That's it for this week, let's hope that this weekend serves up another spectacular round of the great game. Hope your team's a winner, see you back here for the Round Two wrap.

The shadows are lengthening, the temperatures are dropping, the leaves are falling and the sense of anticipation amongst football supporters across the nation - nay, the very globe itself! has reached fever-pitch. Just one more sleep until AFL Season 2009 kicks off! And although the return of the footy is a cause for celebration every year, this time around it's fair to say that it's going to be particularly welcome. It's been a long, hot and painful summer across the nation, both in the sporting arena and, more seriously, in the Victorian bush. The unrelenting heat took its toll upon our ageing cricketers, who slumped to dismal defeat against the South African visitors. At the Australian Open tennis, fluffy yellow balls were combusting on mere contact with the playing surface, as players and spectators alike gasped for oxygen, and flag-painted faces representing proud nations from all five continents gently sizzled. And of course nobody will ever forget where they were when the news came through that the state of Victoria had caught fire. Yes, all in all, it was a summer to try and forget.

But throughout it all, the prospect of footy's return kept a smile on the weariest of faces. Well, perhaps not on the face of Carlton's feisty Irishman with the curiously capitalised name, one Setanta o'hAilpin. At the hottest point of the summer, Setanta lost it completely at a pre-season inter-club training session, turning on teammate Cameron Cloke with unrestrained fury. It was as though Setanta was Shane McGowan, perenially booze-addled frontman of The Pogues, and Cloke a barman with an upper-class English accent who'd just announced last drinks at a St Patricks Day function. Check out Setanta's meltdown here, although you'll want to ignore the bulk of the attached comments- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqx0GzUOmEw. Great news for the tabloid sub-editors, who'd had the headline, "Setantrum!" saved up since Setanta had first gotten off the plane from Dublin.

But Setanta was but an spicy entree for the main course that was, for the umpteenth summer in a row, Ben Cousins. When last we heard from Cousins he had been suspended by the AFL for a season for bringing the game into disrepute, after a long string of drug-related public disasters had culminated in him being sacked from the Eagles. The big question on the lips of footy pundits was a) whether the AFL would let him back onto the footy field; and b) could Cuz find a club willing to take him on? The AFL ummed and ahhed for quite a while before begrudgingly giving him the nod to part a; but part b proved far, far more difficult than Cousins had probably anticipated. Not that he did himself too many favours, turning up to a hair-test (hair can apparently indicate recent drug use) without a single hair on his entire body long enough to conduct the test. Yep, not one on his entire body. Here's where we all feel good about whatever line of work we're in and thank whatever God we believe in that we weren't on duty down the beauty salon the day Cuz wandered in and requested one waxing with the lot. Of course it could have been worse, imagine trying to give that particular service to "Plugger" Lockett, Barry "Festival" Hall or Cam "The Big Hairy Cat" Mooney! Or better yet, don't.

"Bald-gate" was enough to cause sponsors' jitters at first Collingwood, then St Kilda and finally Brisbane, all of which withdrew their interest in getting Cousins on board for '09. It looked as through the former Brownlow Medallist, Eagles captain and premiership player was going to have to ply his trade at a lower level for the remainder of his career. But then, like a Fairy Godmother armed with a cocktail frock and impeccable timing, the Richmond Football Club entered from stage left to whisk Cuz-derella off to the ball. It was all a little indirect, of course. The Tigers originally requested that the AFL allow them to put Graham Polak, who had come off second best from a mid-2008 collision with a Dandenong Road tram, on the long-term injury list. This alerted delerious speculation among the yellow and black faithful that Cousins may have been on his way to Punt Road. However the AFL's refusal to adhere to the Tige's request seemed to be the final nail in the coffin - Richmond only had two picks in the preseason draft and had stated that both were earmarked for young recruits. However the club leadership had reckoned without the fury of its fans. Tigers' supporters had gritted their teeth through year after year and decade after decade of on-field mediocrity and off-field buffoonery. They had seen Number 1 draft picks blown on the likes of Richard Lounder and Anthony Banik who had come and gone without any greater impact than becoming answers in the sporting round at your local pub trivia night. Now here was a proven champion being offered to the club on a platter, and the club was saying, "Trust us to pick someone who might eventually be half as good"? Hell, no, damn it!" A spontaneous march on Punt Road by hundreds of disgruntled fans led the club to very quickly see the error of their ways, their policy was instantly reversed and a stunned and delighted Cousins was soon standing before the flashbulbs wearing a yellow and black jumper.

And tomorrow night he'll be wearing it in anger for the first time, the preseason shenanigans notwithstanding. On the other side will be his ex-Eagles teammate Chris Judd, these days captaining Carlton. The Blues are pretty excited about their prospects this year, after enduring a couple of very trying seasons they're running on the slogan of "We're Coming!" And perhaps they are. All will be revealed when the 2009 season swings into gear, bring it on!
How's that, an entire Wrap done with only two clubs mentioned! I'll see if I can get to the other fourteen in weeks ahead. See you back here next week when we dissect Round 1 and answer the questions that will inevitably arise. Until then, be sure to steer clear of Setanta.

Grand Final: Deja Vu All Over Again

Hey, anybody still remember the 2008 AFL Grand Final? Despite my best intentions, I’ve managed to replicate last year’s faux pas in covering the entire season (with the exception of that ten week gap) before taking off overseas before the main event was given its due. Anyway, in the hope that a late and probably largely inaccurate recollection of the big game is preferable to a continuing wall of silence, the following is provided.

By now the result and basic facts of the game are well known: Geelong managed to replicate the efforts of the NFL’s New England Patriots by concluding an almost perfect season with a disastrous stumble on Grand Final day. Hawthorn played the role of the New York Giants to perfection, ending a 17 year premiership drought and giving long-serving club champion Shane Crawford the perfect send-off. The Hawks’ tactic of rushing behinds at every opportunity resulted in a bizarre Geelong scoreline of 11 goals 23 behinds –not since the Roos of 1977 kicked 9 goals 22 behinds to tie Collingwood (North kicked a lot better the following week) has a team kicked quite so badly on the big day, although the all-time classic shankers remain the Bombers of 1948 who produced an appalling 7 goals 27 behinds to tie Melbourne (and got done a week later in the replay). In 2008 the Cats will also rue a number of missed “gimme’s” of the sort that any given week in the two seasons preceeding would have been snapped up like a heavily discounted fridge at a Boxing Day sale. 2001 Number 1 draft pick Luke Hodge edged out sentimental favourite Gary Ablett Jr for the Norm Smith Medal for best on ground, thus denying the Ablett family a singular slice of history in becoming the only father and son team to win the Norm Smith Medal, let alone in matches for the same team against the same opposition. And the extent of the jubilation in the east of Melbourne was matched only by the extent of the desolation in the Corio Bay vicinity, as Pivotonians mourned the end what looked just a couple of weeks previous like a dynasty set to rival that of the Mings.

For mine, the match was chiefly memorable for the number of déjà vu moments it produced – it was like watching a compilation of famous Grand Final moments from yesteryear. Cam Mooney’s brilliant snap from an impossible angle in the first quarter was Daicosian in its delivery, but whereas the Macedonian Marvel’s 1990 effort was the signal that it was going to be Collingwood’s day, Mooney’s goal proved to be the highlight of both his and his team’s day. In the second quarter, as Geelong completely dominated play but were unable to convert their dominance into scoreboard rewards, one was flashed back a decade to North Melbourne’s similar effort against Adelaide. Like the Roos of ’98, the Cats of ’08 will be ruing some of their misses. Brad Ottens spurned the opportunity to handball to one of about three teammates racing into goal, then missed from 25 metres. Cam Mooney proved that there is no such thing as a certain goal by somehow missing from the goal-square after the halftime siren, he’ll probably prefer watching the replay of his first quarter goal.

More moments of déjà vu? What about Cyril Rioli’s unbelievable second and third efforts to win a free kick when hopelessly outnumbered by Cats on the wing? His uncle Michael Long would have been watching proudly, no doubt recalling his own virtuoso performance out there on Grand Final day 1993. But the déjà vu moment par excellence for the Wrap came when Hawks coach Alistair Clarkson adopted Kevin Sheedy’s 1984 masterstroke of swinging the unlikeliest of characters into the forward line. In 1984 unfashionable backman Billy Duckworth (and to a lesser extent Paul Weston) were brought forward and ran amok amongst the hapless Hawk defence. How sweet it must have been 24 years on for the brown and gold faithful to see that tactic brought on board. Clarkson’s blunt instrument of choice was the portly figure of ex-Power premiership player Stuart “Mountain” Dew. Not since the 1970s halcyon days of Rene “The Incredible Hulk” Kink and Mick “The Galloping Gasometer” Nolan has there been a figure quite as rotund as Dew’s running around in September, although Derek Kickett did turn up to preseason training in 1994 with Sydney resembling Augustus Galoop from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory following a long summer of comfort eating having been dropped from the ‘93 Essendon flag side. Dew had been talked out of retirement by Clarkson, and his selection and frontwards deployment duly proved a masterstroke as he bagged two goals and set up another. But given that Cats coach Mark “Bomber” Thompson had a bird’s eye view of the original 1984 move – having been on the field at the time – it is fairly amazing that he didn’t pick it earlier.

I was watching the match with an increasingly excited Hawks fan who, like many of his compatriots, steadfastly refused to believe that the game was in the bag until the final siren sounded. Every time the indomitable figure of Gary Ablett Jr came near the ball my friend had visible palpitations. If anyone was going to get the Cats across the line it was going to be the little bald guy, as courageous and inspiring as his father was nineteen years before him. But once more it was déjà vu, not even Ablett at his peak could deny the Hawks on this day. As the shadows on the MCG lengthened, a series of late Hawk goals ensured that the upset of the 21st century became a reality.

The final siren for season 2008 sounded, sparking jubilation amongst Hawk players and fans alike. Many would have entertained serious doubts not so long ago that they would ever see another Hawthorn premiership, given how close the club came in 1996 to becoming a velcro attachment on a Melbourne jumper. For its longest serving player and ex-captain Shane Crawford, this truly was the sweetest victory of all. Not even the most shattered Cat fan could have begrudged Crawford his joy as he stood on the dais and bellowed “That’s what I’m talking about!!” to the global television audience.

But if the Hawks were ecstatic, the Cats were gutted. What a time to produce such an un-Geelong-like performance. Very hard to put a silver lining on a loss like that to end a season of almost unparalleled dominance. But perhaps the previously inexplicable 86 point shellacking the Cats suffered way back in June against Collingwood is now just a little more explicable. Good news, of course, for Essendon fans – 2000 remains the most successful single season in AFL history. Woo-hoo!

As mentioned before, the Norm Smith went to Luke Hodge for a masterful performance on the halfback flank. Some felt Ablett was stiff to miss – if his televised reaction was anything to go by, Ablett himself was in this camp – but really, given the Hawks’ ultimate winning margin, the medal really had to go to a Hawthorn player.

And that was it for season 2008, one of the most entertaining seasons I can remember. Bravo to Hawthorn for pulling off one of the most unexpected premierships of them all. Commiserations to Geelong for the final result, but kudos on another season of gloriously entertaining football (and full credit to the Cat fans for resisting the temptation to trash the eastern suburbs of Melbourne, Xavier College Muck-up Day style). The bar has been set very high indeed for season 2009, we will await it with baited breath.

Thanks to all the readers, particularly those who encouraged the Wrap’s return after the midseason slump. We’ll see how we go next season. In the meantime, I commend to you “Balls of Gold”, a marvellously entertaining read focusing mainly but not exclusively on cricket. Find it here- http://www.ballsofgold.blogspot.com/
Have a great summer all.

Grand Final Pre-Match: Attack Of The Bagpipes

With the Brownlow out of the way, attention was free to turn to the big day itself. The major question in the lead-up for the players and supporters of the competing teams was, as always, who was going to be the hard luck story this time? There’s always one bloke who has been in the team pretty much all season but, through injury, suspension or the dreaded “team balance”, doesn’t get to run through the banner on Grand Final day. Probably the most notable omission in recent memory was that of Derek Kickett from the Essendon premiership side of 1993, after he’d played every game in the season up to that point. Kickett took his dropping very badly, walking out on the club and bearing a grudge against coach Kevin Sheedy that by all accounts has lasted to the present day. There was redemption of a kind for Kickett, who went on to play on Grand Final day a few years later with Sydney (they lost). For most players, however, the opportunity to play in a Grand Final knocks but once throughout a career, if at all. Getting dropped is a truly shattering experience. Last year it was Cats ruckman Mark “Blakey” Blake who felt the sharp edge of the axe, with former skipper Steven “The Shining” King given the opportunity to play in two premierships in consecutive weeks (VFL and AFL) before skipping off to St Kilda. This year Blakey’s position was not in danger, but one Cat still had to miss out and it was speedster David Wojcinski who was the unlucky player. At least Wojcinski had the consolation of having taken part in the previous year’s Grand Final demolition of Port. Over at Hawthorn, nobody was dropped from the winning preliminary final side but ruckman Simon Taylor must have been feeling a bit stiff – he’d played the bulk of the home and away season only to be “rested” for the finals. He’ll be feeling well and truly rested by next season as he hasn’t been given a run since. Melbourne turned on a beautiful spring day for the Grand Final parade, a bigger than usual crowd out resplendent in the contrasting colours of brown and gold/ navy blue and white. To their credit, both Wojcinski and Taylor were able to resist the temptation to push one of their team-mates in front of a tram to boost their own chances of a late recall.

The big day itself finally dawned, excitement nationwide was rapidly approaching fever pitch. But before any on-field action could take place, one more big question remained to be answered – what would the pre-game entertainment provide? Would it be another cause for national shame, like Angry Anderson and the Batmobile in 1991, or the squadron of crotch-grabbing Michael Jackson impersonators in 1993? Would it be a corporate travesty, like the 1986 unveiling of a giant Elders IXL flag? Would it be overly ambitious and thus doomed to failure, like the giant inflatable Wayne Carey of 1996 that buckled at the knees, which inadvertently provided a metaphorical glimpse into Carey’s off-field future? And what about the singers? Would they be utterly predictable, like Mike Brady doing Up There Cazaly or Mark Seymour doing Holy Grail for the billionth time? Would they be a tediously mainstream “artist” given the gig due to a cross-promotion with the televising station, like Guy Sebastian in 2004 or Natalie Bassingthwaighte last year? Or a one-hit wonder like Bachelor Girl in 1998 (indeed, so forgotten that they don’t even make it into Wikipedia’s list of Grand Final artists, but I know they were there, I’ve got the footage)? Or a totally left-field selection that somehow worked, like the Seekers in 1995 or Dame Edna in 2005? And regardless of who they got, would they be crucified by the sound system, like Maroochy Barambah in 1993?

In the event, the entertainment in 2008 fell somewhere in the middle of the poles. It kicked off fairly unpromisingly, with a handful of drummers scattered around the stadium evidently seeking to evoke fond memories of the Beijing Olympic opening ceremony. The only problem there was that the Chinese were able to muster hundreds of drummers beating in perfect synch, whereas the AFL version was on a massively smaller scale and therefore much less impressive. I saw one poor embarrassed looking bloke standing in the aisle somewhere high in the Southern Stand, trying to carry on drumming while being upbraided by a disgruntled patron standing behind him carrying a cardboard tray of half strength beer! It would never have happened in China. Once the drummers had been moved sideways, attention shifted to high above the MCG where a team of female singers were perched precariously on the top of the scoreboard. I can’t tell you what they were singing as I was overcome with a massive case of vicarious vertigo, and had my head between my knees as I gripped firmly onto the nearest piece of heavy furniture. Once we had mercifully returned to solid ground, it became apparent that a ring of acrobats had appeared, balancing on long flexible poles. From a distance (ie. from the top of the scoreboard) it must have appeared as though Vlad the Impaler had been put in charge of the pre-game entertainment this year. While the acrobats bounced around on their poles, the stadium speakers erupted with a blast of noise from the main feature act, Powderfinger, which fortunately didn’t have the effect of startling the lady singers off the scoreboard roof. Powderfinger performed “Baby, I’ve Got You On My Mind” before teaming up with ex-Cold Chisel Ian Moss and, in a probable Grand Final first, a bagpipe ensemble. The assembled supergroup performed the AC/DC classic “Long Way To The Top” which, astute Wrap readers will recall, briefly filled in for the National Anthem some weeks back.

Bagpipe-enhanced versions of the two club songs came next, and how much better does The Toreador Song sound with a bit of skirl and a wailing under-drone? The way it should always have been! Then, with the huge crowd present and uncountable extras watching at home at the very limit of their entertainment capacity, the 2008 premiership cup came into view! For the second year running the cup was treated as a form of short range airborne missile; last year it was subjected to a motion-sickness inducing acrobatic routine; this year saw it attached to a flying fox type device which launched from the top of the grandstand down to the centre of the oval, emitting a worrying amount of sparks over the tightly packed patrons below. Upon reaching ground zero in the centre circle viewers were treated to a huge explosion as fireworks exploded (and don’t they work well in the daytime?), and plumes of smoke billowed forth, presumably suffocating the poor acrobats still balancing on their poles. Truly spectacular stuff. One can only imagine how the AFL will be able to top this next season. They're going to have to tie the cup to a giant arrow and get that bloke from the Barcelona Olympics to fire it into the stadium Robin Hood-style.

Finally, once the smoke had cleared and the surviving shell-shocked acrobats had dragged their wounded brethren to safety, the players were free to run onto the ground for the first time.
Massive banners were raised to the heavens, exhorting the players to feats of unparalleled endeavour. I think I must have been in the bathroom at the time, as I don’t recall the exact wording of the messages. Or who sang the National Anthem, for that matter, possibly it was done instrumentally through the medium of bagpipe this year. I, like everyone else, was far too keen to see the ball finally bounced on Grand Final Day 2008, and at long last it was time for the big game to commence…
More to follow.

The Grand Final Part One: A New Hope

Well, good news for death and taxes. If a team that's won 42 matches out of 44 can't take the premiership, there are indeed only two certainties in life. By now, of course, the result of AFL Grand Final 2008 is universally known. The seemingly indestructible Pivotonian Empire has been defeated, its Death Star of indomitability blown to shreds by the Rebel Alliance of the Eastern Suburbs (with Chance Bateman playing the role of Chewbacca, or possibly one of the Ewoks). The guard has been changed, the torch has been passed, and the city of Melbourne is draped in brown and gold. Down the Avalon Highway, however, things are pretty grim. The ecstacy of the 2007 droughtbreaker must have seemed like an all-too distant memory to Cats fans on the Sunday morning following this year’s decider; the bitter déjà vu of all of those losses in the mid-90s would have been flooding back like an uncorked bottle of cheap Spumante.

But at the start of Grand Final week, all of that was still to come. The air was filled with the scents of spring and the glorious anticipation of an imminent battle royale. And nowhere was this more the case than the garden state of Victoria, whose populace was over the moon at the prospect of an all-Victorian Grand Final for the first time since the Almost Invincibles Bombers put the hapless Demons to the sword way back in 2000. In the years following, supporters of neutral Victorian clubs to whom an interstate side’s victory was anathema were faced with either getting behind Essendon in 2001 (unpalatable to many), or Collingwood in 2002-3 (unpalatable to all), or then picking the lesser of two evils in the three years following as both Grand Finalists hailed from the northern, southern, or western wastelands. Last year’s Grand Final at last gave neutral Victorians the opportunity to get behind a team that most were at worst ambivalent about, belting a widely despised interstate outfit in a most popular outcome. But it just hasn’t been the same without two local (or semi-local, in Geelong’s case) sides going up against each other.

And the prospect of these two sides doing battle whetted the appetite in a way that few other prospective match-ups could do. For Hawthorn and Geelong took part in one of the all-time Grand Final epics back in 1989, truly a match for the ages. Nostalgia for all-things 1989 (Tiananmen Square- bad; Seinfeld and the Simpsons begin- good; ACT Legislative Assembly established- indifferent) flooded back as memories of the great game hammered the airwaves. For those who somehow missed all the references to it, the 1989 Grand Final came after years of disappointing one-sided Grand Finals (although 1984 wasn’t too bad). It featured a Hawks side in its seventh consecutive Grand Final, up against a Cats side filled with exciting players. It featured violence from the outset, with Mark Yeates crunching Dermott Brereton who was somehow able to remain on the ground and kick a vital goal, despite vomiting profusely. Ironically, in years to come Brereton would go on to become a minor television celebrity whose contributions on a range of reality shows would cause a similar reaction from the viewing public. But no more so than his ex-Hawk team-mate Robert (Dipper) Dipierdomenico, who achieved fame post-footy career by becoming the face and voice of dodgy garment retailers Dimmeys of Richmond and Forges of Footscray. On the big day in 1989, Dipper achieved immortality for playing on despite a punctured lung which, if he had taken an hour or so longer to get medically treated, would have cost him his life (and all of those post-footy sponsorship endorsements). But the man who stood head and shoulders above all others on that fateful day way back in the ‘80s was the great man, Gary Ablett Sr, or “God” to his many followers. After the Hawks had bolted out to a seemingly insurmountable lead, it was Ablett’s sublime skill and sense of occasion that got the Cats back into it, piling on goal after goal in an unmatched individual performance. When the final siren rang with the Hawks clinging on by a single straight kick and with every player on both sides on the verge of exhaustion, few could have doubted that they had witnessed a modern day classic. Could we dare to dream that the 2008 encounter would provide a worthy sequel, a la the Godfather Part II or The Empire Strikes Back? Or were we fated to endure a Blues Brother 2000, a Ghostbusters 2, or even, god forbid, a ghastly unwanted latter day remake along the lines of Inspector Gadget, Get Smart, the Mod Squad or The Dukes of Hazzard, which would serve only to sully the memory of the original?

That question wouldn’t be answered until the Grand Final was played on the Saturday. With a whole week to fill until the big day, there was plenty of opportunity to hand out awards to the deserving. The naming of the All-Australian team always leads to a bit of controversy, selection is a highly difficult process with so many deserving the honour of gaining a gaudy jumper never to be worn on the field of battle. This year fourteen teams saw their players gain representation. The Cats not surprisingly contributed the most, although their seven players picked represented a loss of two from their astonishing nine the previous season. The two sides not represented were the hapless Demons, to no great surprise, and Essendon, which was outrageous. Surely the emergence of ruckman David Hille as a genuine star should have got him in ahead of one of the beanpole chancers from the west? Apparently not. Not quite as big an insult as that dealt to Collingwood back in 1996, when not a single Magpie was named in the AFL’s Team of the Century (don’t get Eddie McGuire started on that one), but still worthy of rancour among the Windy Hill faithful.

No time to dwell on such matters, as the eagerly awaited Brownlow Medal count needs addressing. As detailed in my last Wrap, which went up about a month or so ago, the Brownlow Medal has been severely criticised for its many structural faults. However, it remains the only opportunity for viewers at home to tune in and pick faults with the outfits worn by the players’ WAGs, and to enjoy the sight of those not in the running becoming progressively inebriated as the evening wears on. I myself many years back made the unwise decision to join in a drinking game based on the votes received by various players. Unfortunately I drew James Hird’s name out of the hat and can’t recall anything about the count beyond about Round 12. I believe he actually went on to win that year. This year Hird wasn’t going to feature, and the count wasn’t being broadcast in the ACT anyway, so I was in no personal danger. It was felt to be a fairly open field this year, plenty of players were strong possibilities but there was no outright runaway favourite. For the second year in a row the great Gary Ablett Sr’s son Gary Ablett Jr was widely fancied, as was diminutive Roo Brent Harvey. The long-suffering champion of the long-suffering supporters of a long-suffering team, Tiger Matthew Richardson, was the sentimental favourite. Some felt that Cat Jimmy Bartel was a show at going back to back, while others thought Bulldog Adam Cooney might become the first AFL Number 1 draft pick to win the coveted medal. But before we got to that point, there were 22 rounds to count through, as well as untold hours of red carpet footage of players arriving with WAGs in tow. Truth be told, many tune in just for this alone. There have been some absolute fashion disasters in the past. Who could forget Nathan Buckley’s partner’s diamond encrusted G-string? Or Andrew McLeod’s wife painting his number (23) on her back with glitter – she was lucky none of the Mad Monday-affected opposition players got confused and tackled her to the ground! I am reliably informed that there were no such catastrophes this year, at least among the female contingent. There haven’t been that many historical fashion faux pas’s among the men, mainly because it’s pretty difficult to get a tuxedo wrong unless the lengths are done wrong Mr Bean-style. The two that are probably most memorable were both worn by winners: Graham Teasdale’s luridly coloured velvet tuxedo in 1977; and psychotic dwarf Tony Liberatore’s appalling Nagee tie in 1990. Nagee (I have no idea about the spelling) was a poor man’s version of Dimmeys of Richmond and Forges of Footscray which is evidently no longer in business, it’s possible that the publicity generated by Libba’s tie was the final nail in their coffin. This year, for reasons known only to himself, Saints skipper Nick Riedwoldt paid tribute to Teasdale by wearing a velvet suit himself, but fortunately Riedwoldt’s version was at least black. The real fashion atrocities were committed by the barbers – how bad are Generation Y haircuts? Dermott Brereton’s 1989 permed mullet was a better look than some of the dog’s breakfasts going around these days!

Once the spectacularly attired lads and lasses were finally off the red carpet and seated, the count at last got under way. And in a move that finally proved the Wrap’s theory that the AFL has been operating all year in a time-space continuum variant to that experienced by the rest of the human race, AFL CEO Andrew Demetriou kicked off by reading the votes for Round 2 ahead of Round 1. Once he’d sorted himself out and got into some sort of order it was a former winner, Simon Black of Brisbane who’d saluted in 2002, who got off to a flyer. Black polled four best on grounds in the opening eight rounds, but was closely shadowed by Cooney, Richo, and Hawk Brad Sewell. The AFL would have been stressing in the middle rounds that one three ineligible players – dual ex-winner Adam Goodes, or Hawks pair Buddy Franklin and Sam Mitchell – would cause embarrassment by “winning” the award, but fortunately they fell off the pace in later rounds. Young Ablett made his move in Rounds 10-13, picking up 11 from a possible 12 votes, but still trailed Black by a single vote going into Round 15. Popular favourite Richo was eliciting roars of approval with every vote received. Black moved to 23 votes after Round 16, but failed to receive another vote for the night. Richo and Ablett both got to 22 after Round 20, with Cooney one vote behind. The tension could have been cut with a knife as the counting for the final two rounds got under way. Richo was clearly loving the attention, mugging to the cameras like a ham actor playing a minor role in a Gilbert and Sullivan musical. Ablett, on the other hand, was grimacing with pain when votes didn’t go his way – he clearly wanted to be taking the medal home at the end of the evening.

Black, Richo and Ablett all failed to poll a vote in Round 21, but Cooney polled a perfect 3 to move into the lead for the first time all evening. When none of the leaders were able to trouble the scorer in Round 22 it was Adam Cooney of the Western Bulldogs, the No 1 pick of the 2003 draft, who had won the honour of the 2008 Brownlow Medal at the end of a thrilling count. It transpired during his post-award interview that: Cooney had spent the bulk of the day enjoying “Mad Monday” with his Bulldog teammates, many of whom turned up en masse to congratulate him dressed in an array of inappropriate costumes (although thankfully nobody took a leaf out of Fev’s book); he had been locked out of the venue during the counting of several votes after a door had locked behind him while taking a nervous but necessary pitstop; he had recently proposed to his girlfriend, utilising a Burger Ring as an impromptu engagement ring. Clearly a man with a future in post-footy entertainment, he could easily become the next face of Dimmeys of Richmond and Forges of Footscray.
More to follow.

Finals Weeks Two-Three: The Wrap Of Brotherly Love

While footy is a team game, the skill and brilliance of individual players goes a long way to ensuring that the stadiums are full (although not in Sydney), and that the AFL remains the number one footballing code in Australia. So it is only fair and right that the players have the opportunity to receive due recognition at the end of every season. There are varying methods through which this can be achieved. All of the newspapers and TV shows have their own awards, distributing cars, hampers and cruises for two to winners in a wide variety of categories. The AFL’s official award has since 1924 been the Brownlow Medal, named after a former Geelong administrator and awarded to the “fairest and best” player. This designation caused some red faces a decade or so ago, when in consecutive years the award was “won” by ineligible players – first in 1996 North’s Corey McKernan shared the winning number of votes with Michael Voss and James Hird to no avail, then in 1997 the Dogs’ Chris Grant won outright but had to watch from home as the medal went to Old Father Time Robert Harvey (then a sprightly young man). And the Brownlow Medal is a very arbitrary award. It can seemingly be won only by midfielders (and blond ones at that). While it is true that a number of truly great players have won Brownlow Medals, such as Dick Reynolds, Michael Voss, James Hird, Robert Harvey, Nathan Buckley and Chris Judd, a number of medals have gone to those who would otherwise have faded deservedly into obscurity (Brad Hardie, Graham Teasdale, Shane Woewodin), or to others who spent far more time pacing nervously in the corridor while the tribunal weighed up how long their latest suspension should be than would seem fitting for someone supposedly the “fairest” player in the competition (Tony Lockett, Robert Dipierdomenico, Tony Liberatore). It is also frequently pointed out by the footy commentariat that many of the genuine greats of the game never won a Brownlow (Ted Whitten, Ron Barassi, Leigh Matthews, Wayne Carey, Gary Ablett Sr etc. etc.).

For all of these reasons, moves have been made in recent years to promote an alternative award as the jewel in the crown: the Leigh Matthews Trophy, or Most Valuable Trophy as voted by the players. On the surface, this sounds great. Any award voted for by a player’s peers must surely have a resonance greater than one voted for by the little men in tangerine/aqua/cerise. However this year’s MVP award process has demonstrated that there is no perfect system; there will always be bugs in the ointment. The 2008 AFL MVP award went to Geelong’s Gary Ablett Jr, his second straight win. No problems there, Junior is undeniably a champion who can do things few others can, and can virtually win a game single-handedly. However the voting process revealed all kinds of anomalies. Unlike the Brownlow Medal, where the votes are cast by the umpires on a round by round basis, the MVP voting is done by the players in two stages; one where the players can vote for their team-mates, and one where they can’t. The list of players is also limited to three per side, therefore meaning that the hapless Demons get the same representation as the all-conquering Cats. It’s a bit like the Australian Senate in that regard, with Melbourne playing Tasmania to Geelong’s New South Wales. What this meant in practice this year was that Geelong couldn’t fit the reigning Brownlow Medallist Jimmy Bartel into its list of three, opting instead for Ablett, Joel Selwood and Cam Ling, the latter fresh from his Olympic pole-vaulting triumph. When it came to the second round of voting, all kinds of interesting statistics emerged. First, hardly any of the Collingwood players bothered to vote. Those who did snubbed Lance Franklin completely, despite (or possibly because) Buddy having carved them up on both occasions the two sides had met. Then there was the brotherly love factor. Sydney’s Jarryd (Jared? Jarred?) McVeigh has had an outstanding season, and lifted his game to a new level. But is he now among the game’s elite? Hell yes, according to the Essendon players, who gave him a ringing electoral seal of endorsement. Purely coincidental that his brother Mark is at Windy Hill, and evidently has a Tammany Hall/ Zimbabwe-style touch with his teammates when it comes to “suggesting” the correct way to vote. As does Brisbane’s Troy Selwood, whose Lions brethren voted en masse for Geelong’s Joel. Joel must be a little disappointed that his other two brothers Adam and Scott, both at West Coast, couldn’t between them manage an Eagles’ bloc to get him across the line. Frosty conversation around the Christmas dinner table at Chez Selwood this year, perhaps. So while the end result of the MVP was not unpopular, perhaps the off-season will provide opportunity for some tinkering of the voting system.

Four matches have been played in the finals series in the two weeks since I last got around to posting, let’s quickly run through them. The first encounter saw the battered Bulldogs regroup to take on the Swans at the MCG, in front of a thankfully larger (although still disappointing) crowd than that at the previous Swans’ final. The match started inauspiciously, if amusingly; with the players lined up and the crowd standing to attention for the national anthem, the distinctive strains of AC/DC’s “Long Way To The Top” blasted forward instead. Some would argue it would make a better anthem anyway. The game itself proved tight in the first half, but the Dogs ran away with it in the second, putting through ten goals to four for an easy 37 point win. A highly satisfying victory for Bulldogs’ coach Rodney Eade, who was previously at the helm of the Swans. Sydney will be pleased that they were able to carry their finals campaign into the second week, but will now have to think hard about how to stay competitive as their playing list ages – the fickle Sydney market will not take kindly to any “rebuilding years”.

The Saturday night fixture of week two saw the Saints take on the Magpies, and my Collingwood brother-in-law and I decided that the Ainslie Football Club might be a venue offering an appropriate atmosphere. Ainslie was certainly not lacking in sporting atmosphere; screens left right and centre offered a smorgasbord selection of AFL, rugby league, rugby union and even English Premier League soccer (complete with a table of drunken English football hooligans). But our attention, and that of many others, was firmly fixed on the Pies and Saints. It’s fair to say that amongst supporters of other clubs, Collingwood does not rank highly as a “second team”. Indeed, they’re commonly known as “the filth” by many. Even I would normally be loathe to be associated with the black and white, but as my brother-in-law hails from the more socially acceptable “Sinn Fein” membership wing of the club, rather than the great unwashed and unreconstructed outer, I was able to put negative feelings aside (mainly dating from 1990) and come along. However the overwhelming majority of neutrals both at Ainslie and elsewhere were firmly hoping to see the Magpies get trounced. And everyone bar my brother-in-law went home happy as Collingwood put in a shocker to go down by 34 points, season over for the Carringbush. The final margin didn’t really reflect the skill gulf between the sides, but had St Kilda kicked less accurately (17 goals 4 behinds) or Collingwood more so (9 goals 18) it might have all panned out differently. It wasn’t to be, though, Saints skipper Nick Riewoldt was unstoppable up forward while the Magpies didn’t have any clear route to goal. Towards the end the cameras flashed up shots of the Collingwood cheer squad leader “Joffa” looking totally despondent, followed by Magpie El Supremo Eddie McGuire looking similarly glum. This was greeted with a huge roar of applause from the pro-Saint gallery at Ainslie, as were shots of banished Pies Alan Didak and Heath Shaw sitting in the crowd in their suits. But the most miserable looking Magpies of all were two kids aged about six who were sitting with Eddie McGuire – evidently they’d won a competition of some kind with a prize of attending a final with the Collingwood President. If only they’d won it the previous week! For Pies fans it was a case of what might have been, if only Shaw and Didak had stuck to lemonade back in July. They’ll dine out over summer on being the only team to beat Geelong during the home and away season, but what a frustrating way to end the year.

And so to the Preliminary Finals, just four teams left with everything to play for. This time last year Geelong very nearly slipped up against Collingwood, and their fans were once again biting their nails as the Western Bulldogs took it right up to them. The Dogs dominated large stretches of play but their inability to convert opportunities into goals ultimately cost it dearly. The Cats never really dominated the match, but their finals experience really showed as they were able to soak up relentless Bulldog pressure before sweeping the ball to the other end and inevitably scoring another major. The eventual margin of 29 points was probably about right. Geelong advance to the Grand Final to defend their title, all over though for 2008 for the Doggies. The Bulldogs will rue their inaccurate kicking, but perhaps their major problem was that 2008 was simply not a great year to be a contender – in any other season the Dogs would have been a genuine chance, but this year they were clearly not in the top two. The Bullies are now the unwanted holders of the title both for longest premiership drought (since 1954) and longest wait to appear in a Grand Final (since 1961, although it should be noted that the Fremantle Dockers are yet to appear in a Grand Final and almost certainly never will.) So 2008 will join 1998, 1997, 1992 and 1985 in the Bulldog pantheon of lost preliminary final years.

And so to the penultimate match of 2008, the preliminary final between Hawthorn and St Kilda. The last time these two sides met it was the Saints who prevailed, coming back after being well behind at half time. And they were once more well behind at half time in this match, but there were to be no repeats of their earlier heroics. Although Buddy Franklin had a rare shocker after his blitzkrieg performance in week one of the finals, the Hawks had an army of battlers willing to step up in his stead. The forgotten man of the Hawks’ forward line, “The Other” Mark Williams, booted five, while Franklin’s straight man Jarryd (Jared? Jarred?) Roughead got four. Spiritual leader Luke Hodge was inspirational, remaining on the ground after having his ribs crunched and spitting blood in a manner reminiscent of Hawks legends Dipper and Dermie in the ’89 Grand Final. And Chance Bateman’s wild beribboned locks may make him look like a hybrid of Boy George from Culture Club circa 1984 and the Paddlepop Lion, but he can play. Just as well.
With the final result not in doubt after half time, the Saints’ attention turned to the fact that game 383 was going to be it for Old Father Time Robert Harvey. With his departure an era has finally ended – Harvey was the last remaining VFL player and the last left from the 1980s. An amazing achievement of longevity, tarnished only by the lack of premiership success. At least Harvey did get to play in a Grand Final back in ’97, the year he won the first of his back to back Brownlow Medals. But in recent years the Saints’ record in Preliminary Finals has rivalled that of the Bulldogs, with this year’s loss going alongside those of 2004 and 2005. 1966 must seem a very long time ago to the red, white and black brigade.

And so, after 25 weeks and who knows how many games, the 2008 season has come down to one fixture, and it’s the one we wanted. The reigning champs, Geelong, versus the worthy challengers, Hawthorn. Last time these two sides met in a Grand Final it was a modern day classic. Can they do it again? Let’s hope so. See you back here after the Grand Final for a comprehensive Wrap of the big day, plus a bit on the Brownlow if I get around to it. My tip- Geelong by 6 points, Buddy for Norm Smith.

Finals Week One: The Inexplicably Naked Wrap

Finals time! And the excitement was palpable, right across the big brown land. Well, maybe not quite so much this year in Western Australia, given the lamentability of both of their representatives. And Queenslanders were a little bit iffy. But South Australians (barring those of the Port persuasion) were abuzz, Victorians were like kids on Christmas Eve awaiting Santa Claus' arrival with a bottle of beer and a glass of milk for Rudolph, and New South Welshmen...well, evidently somebody forgot to tell the citizens of New South Wales that the finals had begun, and, what's more, that they were actually hosting one. Perhaps their attention was diverted by the stunning implosion of their state government, although the resignation of their police minister two and a half days into his term for dancing in his underpants Mick Molloy-style didn't happen until later in the week. Who knows. Fortunately there was more than enough excitement in the remaining states and territories to make up for the apathy of the Premier State (with its brand-new ex-garbo Premier), and nowhere more so than in the nation's capital. Hollowmen, spooks, pencil-pushers and fireworks retailers one and all could talk of nothing else in the days leading up to the weekend, and yours truly was anything but immune. I could only have been more excited if Essendon had somehow contrived to be involved. Maybe next year. Probably not. At least I was able to relive the glorious days of yore through an encore screening of "Bomber Blitz", in which the Almost Invincibles of 2000 laid waste to the rest of the competition like the Roman Empire conquering the known world (apart from one small village of indomitable Bulldogs).

No team has been as successful as the Almost Invincibles until Geelong this year. But there are a couple of important differences between the two sides. First, Essendon in 2000 not only won the premiership but also took home the preseason Sponsor’s Product Cup. Geelong couldn’t manage that in 2008. Second, the Bombers’ sole loss was in a gritty nailbiter against a team which flooded for dear life. The Cats, on the other hand, got blown off the park by a team which tackled for dear life. Third, Essendon had no genuine rivals in 2000 – Carlton, which had played spoiler the previous year and posed during the 2000 season as a potential threat, fell over in week one of the finals and didn’t make it to the Grand Final. Geelong, on the other hand, has a genuine challenger in Hawthorn. A Cats flag this year may still be the most likely outcome, but it is anything but a certainty.

The Hawks were the first team out of the blocks in the 2008 finals series, with their long-awaited bout against the Western Bulldogs taking place at the MCG on the Friday night in front of a bumper crowd. After all of the attention Buddy Franklin had gotten after reaching his ton the previous week, many had wondered how exactly the Bulldogs would be able to stop him running amok. It proved, like the sound of one hand clapping as a tree falls in a forest, to be an unanswerable question. Buddy dominated this final like few before him; booting eight goals, giving away three fifty-metre penalties, and drawing a declaration from normally unimpressible ex-Lions coach Leigh Matthews that he “must be from another planet”. The Dogs never looked a chance and were duly defeated by 51 points. A fair bit of re-jigging to do for them before their next final, but all smiles at Glenferrie as the Hawks booked themselves a week off.

Saturday afternoon bloomed beautifully in Canberra, so it was with some regrets that I spent it indoors watching Adelaide play Collingwood in the first elimination final. In the good company of my Magpie brother-in-law and my one and only Crows buddy, the salubrious surrounds of Eastlakes Footy Club proved a fine venue for probably the best of the weekend’s finals encounters. The crowd at Footy Park was a tad disappointing, given that this was guaranteed to be the only final played in Adelaide in 2008 the AFL would probably have hoped for more than the 37, 685 who showed up. Perhaps Crows supporters were still in shock after the Saints had committed daylight robbery the previous week and taken fourth place from them. Certainly the Crows players looked shell-shocked in the first quarter as the Pies leapt from the blocks and opened up a convincing early lead. However the second quarter proved a reverse mirror image of the first, as the Crows lifted their intensity and piled on seven goals for the quarter to go in at half-time 12 points up.

At this stage it became apparent to the three of us that an advertisement for a certain Canberra carpet emporium that had played repeatedly during the first half could no longer be ignored. It should be noted that the background noise of patrons and pokies prevented us from clearly hearing the dialogue. The ad featured an animated couple speaking with a fairly harried-looking salesman, requesting a carpet impervious to the rigours of two preteen boys (who promptly appeared, one pouring a bottle of tomato sauce over the other). We’d all seen this ad before, so far nothing out of the ordinary. However, at this point in the ad the salesman’s eyes swung abruptly to the right as if he was on parade, and a naked gentleman swung into view (mercifully from the back), with hands nowhere to be seen and his whole body shaking as though he was operating a jackhammer. What in God’s name was this? Was it a poorly conceived attempt by the advertisers to provide a practical indication of the robust stain-proof quality of the carpets? Or was this the work of a disgruntled ex-employee, who’d stayed up many nights plotting his revenge through the medium of manga? Whatever the case, it didn’t look like something that should have been going to air on a Saturday afternoon. We had visions of the Channel Ten Canberra switchboard melting as hordes of infuriated bureaucrats registered their umbrage, and the ad subsequently failed to appear for the remainder of the match. Later that weekend I managed to see the ad complete with sound, and it emerged that the man was in fact shivering with cold, and wanting to buy a warm carpet. Fair enough, Canberra does experience pretty cold winters. But three fairly obvious questions remain unanswered: 1) why was the guy naked in the first place? 2) why, once he found himself devoid of clothing, was his first retail destination a carpet shop rather than, say, somewhere selling pants?! And 3) how was he proposing to pay for the carpet? He didn’t appear to be carrying a wallet, and if he was in possession of a credit card I for one don’t want to know where he was planning on swiping it. Valid questions all, along with the small matter of who in their right mind approved the ad to go to air. I will follow up this matter, and advise in due course.

While players from both sides were unaware of the scandalous product going to air in the nation’s capital, they were aware that they had one half of football left in which to ensure that their 2008 season remained alive. With only one team able to progress, a massive effort was required. And it was Collingwood who were able to prevail, first putting through seven third quarter goals to reclaim the lead, and then holding the Crows at bay with a further five in the last. A fantastic interstate win for the Magpies, and a great recovery from their bitterly disappointing Round 22 loss to Fremantle. But a shattering exit for Adelaide, who had fourth place and the double chance all sewn up last week until the Saints came along and nicked it.

To Saturday night, and the real talking point of Week One of the finals – the absolutely abysmal turn-up at the Sydney-North Melbourne elimination final. If the AFL were a tad disappointed at the attendance in Adelaide, they would have been guttered to see just 19,127 people bothering to show up at Homebush in Sydney’s west for a sudden death final between two fairly decent teams. There were a couple of mollifying factors, however. First, it was raining and Sydney folk don’t like going out when it’s wet. Second, Homebush is miles from anywhere, particularly nice bars and restaurants to go to after the Swanees play. Third, North Melbourne couldn’t draw a crowd if they were equipped with a full painter’s easel and the talent of Da Vinci. And fourth, while promotion for the game was completely non-existent in the lead-up, curiously ads for it ran in both Sydney and Canberra for a day or so after it had been played. The old time-space continuum strikes again! All of this contributed to the lowest finals crowd since 1902, when spats and hats were the go for the stylish supporter and most spectators arrived at the ground by dray. The ragged handful of fans who did make it to the game were treated to a hard fought encounter. Kangaroos burst out of the blocks early, with the first four goals of the match. However the Swans were able to peg them back and hit the front early in the third quarter, before running away with the game with thirteen goals to five after halftime. Supporters of North, who just a fortnight earlier had been pegged as a genuine premiership threat, must have been left spinning by their side’s blistering quick exit from the finals race. Certainly that Round 22 loss to Port Adelaide will go down as one of the most expensive home and away defeats in history. But all good for Sydney, who managed to defy the doubters for another week.

One game left to complete the first week of the finals, and it was the Qualifying Final between reigning champs Geelong and the last team left standing in fourth spot St Kilda. Nobody really gave the Saints much chance of beating the Cats, and it wasn’t any great surprise that Geelong were able to clinch a 58 point win without needing to get out of third gear. The game was competitive early in each of the first three quarters, but Geelong was able to dominate the later stages and only bad kicking kept them from establishing an unassailable lead by halftime. However they blew St Kilda away in the third quarter with nine goals to two – one of the goals being a gift from feisty Saint Steven Milne who ill-advisedly whacked a celebrating Cat right in front the umpire after a goal had gone through, thereby giving away a free kick directly in front. Too easy for Geelong after that, with only two sour notes coming from the match. The first was the loss of youngster Brent Prismall with a serious knee injury which will keep him off the field well into 2009, unfortunate as he had only just established himself in a super competitive side. The second was a bit of unpleasant after the siren conversation between Old Father Time Robert Harvey and Geelong’s Craig Lowndes-lookalike Matthew Scarlett, although nobody would elaborate on what the topic of discussion actually was. Quite possibly just how much Matthew Scarlett looks like Craig Lowndes with a bad wig. So a week off for the Cats, the Saints back into the pack to fight another day.

I’m aware that the Wrap is off on its own time-space continuum, with this week’s results going in after next week’s matches have already been played. So do please exercise some willing suspension of disbelief while reading, and imagine that the weekend just gone hasn’t actually happened yet. It will be a far more enjoyable read I’m sure. Until next week, please keep in mind if you're going out shopping that most stores and businesses do prefer their clientele to be fully dressed (although apparently not in Canberra) and see you back here for Week Two.

Round Twenty-Two: The Final Stanza

The demeanours of AFL fans arriving for work on the Monday following the unbelievably tumultuous Round 22 were somewhat disparate, depending on the fortunes of the club to which their emotions were tied. Cats supporters wore a now familiar expression of smugness blended with expectation, with only a small side serving of trepidation. Hawks supporters too were overwhelmingly positive, although perhaps just mildly more trepidatious than their Sleepy Hollow cousins. Bulldogs fans had an air of righteously aggrieved disgruntlement; the Crows faithful looked like they’d purchased a winning lottery ticket but seen it blow out of their hands and out of sight around a corner; Saints supporters looked like they’d wandered innocently onto said winning lottery ticket; and the barrackers of the Kangaroos and Magpies looked like they’d spotted the winning lottery ticket from across the street, but had been run down by a cement truck whilst crossing the street to pick it up.

Swans fans wore a new found air of confidence; supporters of the Tigers, Power and Dockers looked like survivors at the end of a zombie movie, emerging blinking into the sunlight after a very long night; Bombers, Blues and Lions' supporters looked as though they too had survived a long night, only to emerge blinking into a solar eclipse; and the few remaining unfortunates still waving a tattered flag for the Eagles and Demons just looked relieved that the whole miserable affair was at long last over.

The round kicked off over in the west, where the Dockers hosted the Magpies in a rare Collingwood foray away from the MCG. The late season Magpie resurgence had put them in the position of being a contender for the last final four spot and accompanying double chance, provided they could beat the Dockers and other results went their way. But it wasn't to be. The Pies chose the worst time possible to produce their feeblest showing for 2008, never in the match and duly beaten by a far more committed Dockers side. Freo fans must have been wondering what might have been if their team hadn't blown so many close games earlier in the season. With a massive outflux of senior players- joined by ex-Don Mark Johnson, ex-Port premiership player Josh Carr and troubled genius the Wiz Jeff Farmer- and with Rising Star winner Ryan Crowley on board, perhaps youth is the way forward for Fremantle. Surely after fourteen pretty abysmal years they'll get their act together sooner or later.

Collingwood's Friday night capitulation opened the door for North Melbourne to sew up fourth spot on the Saturday afternoon, provided they could account at home for a Port side which had massively underachieved in 2008. But, in another massive upset ,the Kangaroos folded like a cheap Taiwanese umbrella and got absolutely belted. Any unread observer wandering into the MCG would have leapt to the conclusion that the gentlemen in teal had everything to play for, while those in the blue and white stripes had one eye already on their Mad Monday festivities. A hugely disappointing way for Roos stalwart Shannon Grant to bring up his 300th, and coach Dean Laidley duly offered an apology to the Grant clan and North supporters in general. Port fans will hope that their 2009 follows on from their last performance in 2008, after their 2008 never recovered from their last performance in 2007.

Anyone with a spare $10,000 was given the opportunity to turn it into $10,100, easy as pie. All they had to do was put the lot on Geelong to beat West Coast at Kardinia Park. Given that the Cats had given the Eagles the mother of all shellackings over at Subiaco earlier in the season, this was as close to a sure bet as is possible in a two horse race. And so it duly proved, with the Cats ultimately triumphant by 99 points to equal Essendon's 2000 record of 21 wins out of 22 home and away matches. There were a few nervous moments for the big punters early, with the Eagles matching the Cats in the first quarter, but 20 goals to six after quarter time soon quelled nerves. The Eagles have shocked many by their plummet from 2006 premiers to 2008 godawful rabble, but with a priority pick coming and most of their off-field troubles seemingly behind them they're sure to bounce back next year.

A twilight game in the mud of Adelaide followed. While the Western Bulldogs were keen to go into the finals with consecutive wins, the failures of Collingwood and North gave Adelaide the opportunity to leapfrog them into fourth spot. And after a hard-fought struggle the Crows emerged triumphant by nine points, to the joy of their loyal supporters. The game's major talking point came in the third quarter, when a soccered goal was awarded to Crow Jason Porplyzia after a scramble in the goalsquare. The decision was greeted with apoplexy by colourful Bulldog Jason Akermanis, who performed an impromptu haka on the spot in an attempt to have the call overturned. The replay showed the reason for Aka's fury- he had clearly punched the ball through by hand. But the decision stood, and the Crows hung on to take the points and, seemingly, the double chance.

A huge crowd packed Telstra Dome on the Saturday night, not in expectation of a classic contest between the high-flying Hawks and the already also-run Blues, but in hopeful anticipation that one or both of Lance "Buddy" Franklin or Brendan "The Urinator" Fevola would bring up the first century of goals in a home and away season since the glory days of the 1990s (although Matthew Lloyd did twice manage the feat during the finals). A stern warning was issued in the days leading up to the match that any spectator daring to run onto the ground once the ton was reached would be heavily fined, banned from Telstra Dome for the term of their natural lives, and possibly forced to listen to Aka complain about his unrecognised punch. So it was no surprise to anyone that, within seconds of Buddy slotting through his ton late in the first quarter, the Telstra Dome pitch resembled Glastonbury at Festival time. Hordes of Hawks and bevvies of Blues flooded the ground, eager to pat Buddy on the back for a job well done. It took about a month or so to clear the ground, after which the Hawks were untroubled in racking up a comfortable 13 goal win. And the bloke at the other end? Well, he went goalless in the first half but then caught fire in the second, booting seven goals to bring him up to 99. But sadly that was as far as he got, with the Hawks' defence able to keep the ball from him in the final stages. At least Fev was able to drown his sorrows on the Mad Monday following. With his usual class Fev caused talkback consternation by appearing in Federation Square three sheets to the wind, clad in a pink nightie and with a sizeble "marital aid" emerging from his pants. All things considered, it probably would have been more appropriate if big Fev had worn said item on his head. But kudos to him for going so close to the ton, next year maybe.

One more game to complete a full Saturday program, and the league's northern outpost sides did battle at the SCG. While the previous weekend's results had rendered the result of this match immaterial, the Swans were keen to go into the finals on a winning note and duly did so, recording a ten goal win. The Lions looked tired and dispirited at the end of a season which had promised a great deal but wound up delivering very little. One Lion who had had enough was coach Leigh Matthews, who wound up his glorious reign in Brisbane ten years, four Grand Finals and three premierships later. At the same press conference the Lions main gun Jonathan Brown announced that he would be staying on at the club, after earlier seeming inclined to depart. Within 48 hours football's own Runaway Bride, former Lions skipper Michael Voss, had added the West Coast Eagles to Carlton, Essendon and the Gold Coast as clubs he'd stood up, instead accepting the Lions coaching spot. So a changing of the guard up north, we'll see how they get on without the great Lethal at the helm.

Two games on Sunday to complete Round 22, and the first had a bit of a wake atmosphere about it as the confirmed also rans of Richmond and Melbourne did battle. And although both sides have gotten September off, the on-field future for the Tiges looks a hell of a lot better than does that of the Dees after Richmond handed out an 80 point mauling. Still, the number one draft pick beckons for Melbourne, let's hope they use it wisely because they need all of the talent they can get.

And so to the final stanza of a round of pure poetry, Essendon versus St Kilda. Going into the match the Saints were reasonably sure of securing a home final, but required a most unlikely 95 point victory to steal fourth spot. Crows fans still maintaining a warm inner glow from the previous night's heroics would have felt only a trifle nervous at three quarter time with the Saints up by 61 points. But as the St Kilda goals started to rain down in the final term the Adelaide faithful would have joining their red and black brethren in exhorting the Bombers to pull their fingers out and show some resistance. But to no avail. Essendon was absolutely pathetic and unable to stem the tide as the Saints raced past the required 95 point mark and instead posted a record victory against Essendon of 108 points. A magnificent achievement by St Kilda, a massively disappointing end for a very mixed season for Essendon. Let's hope that in the off-season the Bombers brains trust turns its attentions to figuring out how to keep players fit, healthy and out on the field after 2008 broke all records for injuries.

Eight teams now eliminated, eight still in the race for the title. But can anyone stop Geelong or, to a lesser extent, Hawthorn? September 2008 will provide all of the answers and it promises to be an absolute belter. While the AFL's slogan for the finals, "History Is Coming", may break rules of grammar and possibly cause yet another tear in the time/space continuum, the sentiment it conveys is undoubtedly an exciting one for AFL fans of all loyalties. We shall watch with great interest.

Just time for news of our seventeenth team, the soon to appear Gold Coast outfit. And, after months of feverish speculation as to what nickname the side would adopt, it was announced that they would be known as the Gold Coast......Football Club. Yes, no nickname. Evidently the Gold Coast folks recognised that the list of suggested monikers they had provided really were quite abysmal. Although I will still be thinking of them as the Brandos. They did unveil their mascot however, one Gary Clifford Irons. As seen here, the jumper's not too bad but I for one hope that the actual shorts worn by the players will be slightly less Warwick Capperesque than those worn by Mr Irons- http://gc17.com.au/index.php?id=12&tx_ttnews[tt_news]=65&tx_ttnews[backPid]=11&cHash=0da7247434