Sunday 30 April 2017

Fortress Shithole

It's hard work being the sort of mid-range obsessive who just has to be there whenever possible, and for the first time since the day Hawthorn humped us in 2015 I was forced to accept defeat due to family reasons infinitely less important than the one that kept Jesse Hogan out. After a golden run through 2016 where nothing stopped me, it was back to my nightmare scenario for the 12th time since 2007.

Like a player propping his career record up by being dropped before the team loses, I was 1-10 in those games with two hundred point losses so it didn't seem like such a bad idea to concede for once and watch from my loungeroom. Even the win came in the days where the best you could do for 'live streaming' was radio via the AFL website, meaning that today could very well have been the first Victorian win I've ever watched live on TV. Didn't like it, won't be lining up to do it again anytime soon. Until we started machine-gunning them in the third quarter I felt out of it, like I was watching a video game. The only way you knew it was real was that if a game featured as many remarkable blunders and fantastic fuck-ups the publisher would be offering refunds.

As hated as Docklands has become over the years there was something not at all right about seeing a Melbourne team playing there on TV. I suppose if there was any day to miss out it was a 40,000 crowd full of Essendon fans. I'd have been forced to sit within a few square metres of another human, and if it had been one of the Back The Boys/Kill ASADA/I would like to wear James Hird's Arabian Goggles types who then booed Hibberd there would have been at best terse words, and at worst I'd have been glasses.

To continue the theme of good things happening when you chicken out of a game, neither Dwayne, nor 'Derm' or Tony Shaw was involved in the call. Maybe they should release the roster of callers in advance so you can decide whether or not to go to the game based on the prospects of somebody yelling complete shite for four quarters. At least with Channel 7 you know when BT's coming on and can psychologically prepare for amazing tripe, Fox Footy just mysterious foists overheated lunatics on you without warning.

There was more than a hint of bitterness in my loungeroom as I treated it like an interstate game, standing over the television when I was nervous, and slumping on the couch when it all got too much for me. The only thing this scenario offers you that going to the game doesn't is the chance to over-celebrate a modest win without anyone else seeing it.

I didn't have to be perched high (as high as you get) in the stands to recognise that I'd seen the first five minutes before. Dominating the inside 50s, and looking like a world class team in every aspect other than converting opportunities into goals. Then after smashing the door down, this time for only one point, the ball goes down the other end and they kick a goal. It's like going to see a classic band, you know you're just going to get the classics every time. The difference is that when it's the Rolling Stones you want Jumping Jack Flash, while we've all had enough of battling our hearts out to kick goals and being astonished when we score more than a hundred.

With Pedersen doing a capable job in a ruck division that has a higher casualty rate than Spinal Tap's drummers, and McDonald Sr. sensibly used as a pinch-hitter at defence stoppages, Watts was free to play one of his best games. Sure his last goal came from a free so offensive that if it happened to us we'd still be complaining about it 10 years to the round later a'la J. McDonald vs Port in 2007, but that made up for half a dozen red hot shockers like Sam Frost being given a 50 for walking sideways and Clayton Oliver being done for handballing. Just to prove it could go both ways the umpires also missed a blatant throw in front of our defensive goal, but what do you expect when part timers are expected to leaf through a 4000 page manual of vague rule interpretations before every game. No wonder they just start making it up and guessing that a player has thrown it. Which is ironic considering it happened in the very same week we went for a sook to the AFL about how Oliver's handballs were being adjudicated.

Unable to make a goal in the traditional fashion, and with both teams rushing to turn the ball over to each other as quickly as possible, it took the usual surprise intervention out of nothing from Garlett to get us on the board. A lovely goal it was too, taking advantage of a pair of dud Essendon handballs (and in this game it's important to confirm which team stuffed up, because there were a few times where we did and it still led to scoring opportunities), to nip in and screw through his kick from an angle. He then proceeded to do a shit bloke nudge into the side of an opponent, which is a much more efficient way of getting under their skin than risking suspension for punching them in the head.

It was the best moment of a quarter that was laden with some of the sloppiest football ever - including gifting their second goal via Hunt handballing it straight into the hands of an opponent. Which made it appropriate to see Mark Neeld giving sage advice to John Worsfold. Given how long it was between wins against Collingwood, is this the first time we've ever beaten him as an assistant coach? What a blow to his sparkling record of masterminding Melbourne losses.

Probably the only moment of proper class started with (surprise!) a turnover, and ended with Lewis feeding Watts to casually thump through the second goal from 40 metres on the run. Near on everything else was just plain bad - including the dual decisions not to pay a 50 when the same player knocked the ball away after a free against. Remember when Jack was having a troubled off-season and getting around with hair like 2000 Eminem? And we thought - secretly in my case - that he was going to follow up his career best season with a stinker? Whatever he did it has well and truly been forgotten by now, and he's proven a very good forward option when not being used in the ruck due to the latest mysterious injury.

One of the key suspects in the early festival of dripping slurry was Tom McDonald, whose often unfairly maligned kicking was quite right to be publicly slated at first. I'll still fight anyone to argue he does more good than harm, but some of his long kicks were ridiculously optimistic. Still, I'd rather go down trying to create something than be caught in an endless loop of kicking sideways and backwards waiting forever for an opportunity then turning it over anyone. Then in the ultimate Jekyll and Hyde performance he played 15 minutes of the third quarter that might have been the best of his career. His brother was reasonably good against a barely one dimensional forward line, so if playing him and the once again impressive Frost allows McDonald to become more of an attacking weapon then I'm prepared to go along for the ride. As long as they understand that if he's roaming around the half-forward flank then we're going to get slaughtered on quick turnovers and have a Plan B ready to be ripped from the envelope at a moments' notice.

It took a while for Joe Daniher's exhibition of peg-leg kicking to warm-up properly, only offering us one missed and an out on the full early before exploding into something approaching the day Justin Longmuir kicked 0.7 for Freo. In the end the only way he got a goal was after originally playing on and missing before being helpfully dragged back to kick again by a sensitive, helpful field umpire. Conversely Christian Petracca, now on at least 1.5 legs and playing a fantastic game as a full-time forward, was converting from the boundary line and finding time to turn around and mock some humanoid on the other side of the fence as part of his celebration.

Not long after Truck's poised finish, Daniher missed three in five minutes. Other than Hogan kicking seven against St Kilda I can't even remember the last time we had a key forward take seven shots in a game, and here this guy was on 0.6 with one out on the full at quarter time. Given our luck with playing people back into form it's a surprise he didn't bob up to kick five straight in the last quarter and win the game single handedly.

If you though the first quarter was a blight on our great game (and for those of you growing up in the "footy is shit because we don't have nine awesome matches every round", let me assure you that it was no picnic in the past either), you'd have walked out by half time. The AFL website highlights sensibly choose to play down the disastrous aspects of the contest, but Fox Sports has no such qualms and helpfully packaged up one minute of football so bad it should have been taken to the tip and thrown into a landfill. In summary:

  • Garlett stormed through the middle and for reasons unknown lobbed a handball forward at the sort of height you'd expect from a kick, as if Pedersen was on a hard lead
  • Some Essendon guy who must be shit because he's in #49 intercepts, and tries a lazy pass that is spoiled in the middle of the ground
  • T. McDonald and Oliver actually manage to connect with useful handballs Bugg kicks it over Garlett's head and straight to a Bombers' defender.
  • Essendon finally manage to go forward, before Frost smothers their attempted last kick inside 50.

It was awful, especially the Bugg kick, but calling the video 'worst patch of play in 2017?' is optimistic, it's not even the worst patch of play by us and we're apparently a fringe top eight side. That might have looked worse because it involved so many players - though the Frost smother was delightful - but far worse was the goal we conceded immediately after the trifecta of Daniher Duds when Vince played on to himself, ran a couple more steps, then tried to pinpoint a pass into a nest of five opposition players. Needless to say that didn't work, and he was quite rightly left with hands on head wondering what in god's name he'd just done. He must have changed his mind at the last minute, otherwise what's the point of playing on to yourself if you're not either going to trot off or punt it as long as possible? It was the low-point of another less than stellar day for Bernard, who must be hearing the Grim Reaper rounding the corner and coming after him.

Daniher had yet another chance immediately after which could have put them in front, and this miss was the best of the lot because it came from that diabolical 50 against Frost. This bastard played on so blatantly that Sam just shuffled across a bit to cover the space, was run into, and because the umpire was so slow to call play-on he decided that Frost was in the wrong and paid the 50. Which is the sort of decision that would be on every footy talk show for the next week if it happened to a big club. It marched him to 30 metres out and he missed again. Sensible people probably poured scorn on him, I stood there thinking "he's going to kick the winning goal after the siren".

It was truly dire stuff all round, and as much as it hurt me not to be there I was starting to see the benefit of not leaving the house to watch an endless parade of disasters. Of course at this stage I was still not expecting to win, so assumed that I'd only have had to trudge home in defeat anyway. It still baffles me that we started as favourites, having only had moderately more rest than the Bombers and without two key players. The bookies knew best, Essendon were not only untidy from the start but hit the wall with a vengeance in the third quarter. By the time we joined in halfway through the last term the game was too far gone.

Appropriately in a segment at the end of the Collingwood/Geelong game (no Lynden Dunn = no Pies) called "The best stuff" they didn't manage to find a solitary thing to show from this game. There were even highlights from a match that was in progress, but nothing from us. Of course there were worthy contenders, but it felt right not to score a mention after contributing to a first half that was such a spectacular tribute to butchery that all 44 players and three field umpires should have been presented with a meat tray.

Even our kit man earned his share of the chops, half the players had numbers touching the solid line above the white, and half had them below. Sizzle Sr even seemed to have two at different levels, like Milhouse Van Houten's eyebrows:

We only played one quarter, but it was an exciting one. Eight goals to two, starting with Neal-Bullen setting up Garlett for a gift in the square, then Tom McDonald wandering forward and kicking some sort of weird close-range torp almost immediately after. The best part of the McDonald goal was not the awkward defender's finish, but the vision Oliver had to give it to him. Forget sending a video to the league of all the times he's been rorted by the umpires this year, package up his sixth sense handballs and provide a copy on DVD/Blueray/USB to every Auskick player in the country. Last week I asked if our endless supply of handballs were damaging enough, that one sure was.

This was the break we needed, and with neither Watson nor Goddard doing anything useful (except developing a bald spot in Goddard's case) we were left free to romp around unchallenged and build a match-winning lead. There were still howlers out the yin yang, but the more times you get players 40 metres in the clear of an opponent the less chance of even the most turnover prone players giving it up. Even after those two goals Essendon clung to us like an unflushable nugget, and when Daniher finally converted I thought "here we go". But then Petracca gathered a ball in tight space in front of goal and kicked it like he was Aaron Davey (according to the commentary "The Bombers fans are livid!" But how could you tell from how they normally act?) and all was seemingly ok again. Until we conceded almost immediately from the bounce.

To continue the theme of umpire bashing it was a weird day for bouncing. They'd let them off at obscure angles and wait to make sure the ruckman who'd been disadvantaged wasn't able to cover the extra ground to get to it before recalling it. So just like you can now play the system by giving up the chance and hoping somebody's pinged for deliberate, ruckmen can now be aware that there's no point trying their heart out to get to a wonky bounce because they can get a recall by standing back and doing nothing. Then there was a slightly wonky bounce that barely left the centre circle and which Pedersen got too first that they decided to re-do. I'm a traditionalist at heart but just throw the thing up. Which for no apparent reason one umpire did in the last quarter. Good for him, there should be more of it.

I'm so used to other teams putting us away in a sharp burst of violent football that it was heartening to see it go the other way for once. In the last five minutes of the third quarter we kicked four goals and the Bombers were cactus. And four set shots too - cop that complaints about our goalkicking. Don't go looking for any of these goals in the AFL website highlights, they were obviously not important enough to qualify.

I can see why they wanted to cover up the last one. Confirmation that the umpires were on the piss came just at the right time for us, when right at the end of the quarter - in the sort of time we're normally battling hard not to concede - Watts completely misjudged a leap at the ball and was given a free for some alleged infringement. We weren't anywhere near comfortable, and the Chris Sullivan Line remains elusive as it has for every game in six years except the Carnival of Hate and Gold Coast away last year, but his goal temporarily calmed my nerves.

Any fears of a shattering reverse were quickly calmed, when first Watts kicked another of the set shots that you'd put your life on the line for, then Bugg found Hannan on his own in the square to put the margin to nearly 40. Even in my dark, Round 6 1992 damaged heart I knew Essendon couldn't win from there, but it didn't stop me shitting it royally when they whipped through two quick goals .

By the time the weary Essendon player was too scared to rush a behind, and instead sliced the ball out on the full in the back pocket at near right angles the AFL had achieved their dream of players being both tired and confused. Jordan Lewis - who had earlier confirmed his place on every montage for the week by reversing into a goalpost - converted with one of the most casual set shots from an obscene angle that you'll ever see and it was very much officially over. They got a couple of consolations, before Viney capped his best game of the season by setting up Hannan's third.

The only thing that soured the last quarter, other than my blood pressure going up and down like a rollercoaster whenever they kicked a goal, was a piece of shocking acting from Vince when lightly elbowed in the head. He went down like that bloke in the 2002 World Cup, clearly thinking that the umpires had had such a 'mare that they might just pay anything. For once the confused whistleblowers did the right thing and called play-on. We deservedly conceded a goal from it.

To confirm that it is most certainly a new day, the win lifted Dom Tyson above Martin Gleeson (who looks like he's about 14-year-old, so god knows how he's managed to lose so many games) in the current player win/loss records. This means that for the first time in god only knows how long none of the top five are current Melbourne players. We've still got six of the top 20, plus the SME and Jeremy Howe but Martin has now played more for Brisbane than us so it's their fault more than ours.

2017 Allen Jakovich Medal votes
This was difficult due to a wide range of contenders. A number of worthy players have missed out on the lower numbers, but that's the way it goes. No doubt some of them will make up for it by scoring default votes in a game where we play like shite.

5 - Jack Watts
4 - Christian Petracca
3 - Jack Viney
2 - Clayton Oliver
1 - Jordan Lewis

Apologies to T. McDonald after the ultimate Jekyll and Hyde game, Salem, Frost, Jones, Hibberd, Pedersen, Tyson, Garlett and Hannan.

The competition favourite is on the board, but with Oliver continuing his Donny Brasco style tour of inside work Viney only slices a vote off the lead and still finds himself with plenty to do in the final 16 games (plus finals? Jesus, let's not get too excited we were about to put our head in the oven last week). For now Oliver's closest rival is the ultimate utility J. Watts.

(Note: Leaderboard now updated to rightfully show Hunt as the leader in the Seecamp).

16 – Clayton Oliver
12 - Jack Watts
9 – Jeff Garlett, Jayden Hunt (LEADER: Marcus Seecamp Medal for Defender of the Year)
6 – James Harmes, Neville Jetta, Nathan Jones, Christian Petracca
5 – Christian Salem
4 - Michael Hibberd
3 - Jack Viney
2 – Max Gawn (LEADER: Jim Stynes Medal for Ruckman of the Year), Dean Kent
1 – Sam Frost, Jesse Hogan, Jordan Lewis, Jake Spencer

Aaron Davey Medal for Goal of the Year
It's a decent field, with Garlett's opening goal and the Petracca set shot from the boundary line both strong contenders. But even though the sting was right out of the game by the time he did it, I'm going for Jordan Lewis. Not since the 70s would a man have kicked a goal from that sort of angle with so little fuss. No running around, no theatrics, just holding the ball on an angle and casually stroking it through like he was sinking a two foot putt.

Watts vs Geelong still leads the overall competition, but for Jordan's weekly prize is an all-expenses paid breakfast with the person who puts the highlights together so he can understand why in god's name this kick didn't make it either.

Essendon's Daniher focused banner was well designed, and obviously provoked the Bombers into kicking like they were 50-year-old men so that was nice. But ours not only had the obligatory giant picture of the milestone man, but in one of the nicest touches seen on a banner in recorded history we had this from Nifty's kid. Stick your comedy routines up your arse, (though I did like St Kilda's one pre-taunting Hawthorn about giving up their first round pick) this is the good stuff. Dees 5-1-0 for the season

<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-lang="en"><p lang="en" dir="ltr">Here&#39;s a special message on our banner today for <a href="">@melbournefc</a> from Nalani Jetta <a href="">#goDemons</a> <a href="">#raisehell</a> <a href=""></a></p>&mdash; Demon Army (@DeeArmy) <a href="">April 30, 2017</a></blockquote>
<script async src="//" charset="utf-8"></script>

Next Week
Speaking of Hawthorn, rapidly plummeting towards handing St Kilda the #1 pick, they get their chance to return to the MCG and start making amends next Sunday afternoon. The way we're travelling there we might try to get it transferred to Docklands. For all the Hawks fans that will turn up now that the rush is gone they could apply to hold it at Glenferrie Oval.

Now even with our injury issues, surely on a full week rest we're going to win. I'm not going in expecting to condemn them to another 80 point loss (because that was lies madness) but I refuse to accept that their rag tag bunch of survivors are going to climb off the life raft and topple us - especially if Hogan returns. Of course, nobody plays a side back into form better than us so stored tinned cans of food in your secure underground bunker just in case.

The two hyphens are a given, Neal-Bullen couldn't even get the ball to butcher it effectively this week and Kennedy-Harris has failed two chances to impress in the ones. Back to the windswept tundra of Casey Fields to see if they can get the ex-Scorpions a win already. Not even concerned that my ins don't balance with the outs - there are coaches paid a fortune to work this stuff out.

IN: Kent, Stretch
OUT: Kennedy-Harris, Neal-Bullen (omit)
LUCKY: Melksham, Vince
UNLUCKY: Trengove (racking them up by the dozen in the VFL, and should get a go eventually. But not here), Kennedy, Harmes

Final thoughts
The building blocks are definitely there. The rational part of my brain says that even with off-field drama and surprises losses to Freo this list is doing enough to keep it respectable this year and hopefully lure the extra players we need to have a proper, unencumbered bash at the eight or better next year. Doesn't take much to shake my faith though, by this time next week I might be back to wallowing in self-pity and declaring that the end is nigh. Such is life as a Melbourne fan. At least we're in the eight after six weeks for the first time since Ivor Warne-Smith.

Tuesday 25 April 2017

Reinventing hell

As I watched the depleted Dees slowly slip away in the last quarter like a patient taken off life support I had some sympathy with the late Marylou Cunningham Belles, whose obituary said: 'She was also a lifelong Mets fan, though surprisingly that wasn't what killed her'. But then again she would have been alive for at least one, if not two, Mets world championships so stuff her. When following Melbourne does kill me sometime in the next 1-65 years I'd like it noted that I never even got that. Now I know how Bulldogs fans felt all those years.

I've come out of last night with my bundle reasonably intact. We went in with injury problems, we suffered more, we could still have won with more experience. You could say that it was unfair to come so close after being down to two on the bench, without a ruckman for three quarters, but to that I would say:

I'd like to preface the following remarks/lengthy whinge by saying that I don't blame the players. A handful of them played like they were on heroin, but even they tried hard in the circumstances. On another night, with perhaps three left on the bench rather than two we might have dragged their lifeless carcasses across the line for an epic victory. But it was not to be. The part of it that's truly unfair is how many times we've been turned over by sides who have lost one or two players, but when it happens to us the remainder could do no more than put up a valiant fight before eventually caving in. Not that it stopped at two injuries, Petracca was playing on one leg, and various other players were coming to the bench in the second half looking like they'd been mugged. Forget 'bruise free footy', we've gone the other way. It will pay off eventually, but not before our medical insurance bill grows to the GDP of a small country.

Let the ongoing misery that comes free with your membership not detract from the fact that we were four goals up at three quarter time, or that we completely dominated the first quarter in every aspect other than converting inside 50s or stopping Riewoldt from snapping goals out of his arse. It was an odd night, for a quarter where we couldn't stop getting the ball into attack I still couldn't believe we ended it in front. Conversely I've rarely been so convinced we were about to blow a four goal lead at the last change. And I expect to give up every three-quarter time lead of less than 47 points - it's just this time I didn't think it would probably happen, I was convinced.

After years of spitting at the sub rule I can't complain that injuries cost us. They did, but it happens. There have been games where we won because the other side fell apart like cheap imported crockery, just not in front of 85,000 people as we sat delicately poised at 2-2. There was still plenty we did wrong that had nothing to do with half the team gasping for oxygen by three-quarter time. After going on ad nauseum about how missed shots are not transferable I can't go on about how we should have had 30.5 from when we were on 35 inside 50s to 10, but the way we were playing it's not inconceivable that if we'd found a reliable route to goal the first might have been the beginning of an avalanche.

The problem was the players we lost, I wouldn't wish injury on anyone but I could think of at least four players we could have stood to lose for 3/4 of the game ahead of Spencer and Smith. Not that either of them were playing out of their skin when they went down, but it blew our structure to buggery and left Jack Watts playing another heroic innings in the ruck. When he saw Spencer go down he must have been saying "not again", like Liam Neeson in one of those films where his family mysteriously keeps getting kidnapped.

In a surprise change of policy we've stopped gifting unknowns and journeymen career-saving games, and instead all our losses have come as a direct result of the opposition's superstars running riot. Now we've been done over by Selwood, Dangerfield, Fyfe, Cotchin, Riewoldt, and one of the most influential 35% disposal efficiency games you'll ever see from a one-legged Dustin Martin. Shows yet again - as if you needed any further proof - how important the very top end of a team is. We're nowhere near the level of having one of the above yet, let alone multiples. Give it a couple of years for Oliver and Petracca, but for now we keep battling away with a young team and have to expect random highs and ridiculous lows. Last night wasn't even the latter, we left with plenty of excuses but a lot of issues as well. We can get a lot of touches, but unless it's Oliver barging through a centre clearance or a rebound out of defensive 50 how many of them are damaging?

It's talkback caller level simplistic to say we handball too much, but bloody hell we do. Between Jones, Viney, Oliver and Tyson they had 31 kicks and 72 handballs. Other than the quick handed Hamburglar, and with respect to Viney's best performance of the season, it wasn't getting us anywhere fast. No wonder they were trying Petracca - pre-injury - and Salem in there as well. Sure, you don't want as much kicking in the wet but let's not pretend we don't play like this every week. Conditions or not, most of the time you could only get a midfielder to kick if they were heaving the ball long into the forward line and expecting Hogan or Garlett to do their Shaun Smith impersonation.

Our defenders like kicking, which is often terrifying but makes sense because god help us all if any of them other than Jetta starts trying to do dinky little handballs, but once there's any kind of pressure further than 30 metres from goal everyone goes to water and tries to get rid of it as soon as possible. It's like the whiteboard in team meetings reads MIDFIELDERS = HANDBALL, DEFENDERS = KICK, FORWARDS = GOOD LUCK. Usually the only way we'd get a decisive kick out of the middle of the ground was when a player had no other options and just thumped it at goal in the hope of something happening. It rarely did.

At least Hogan was back to provide a target. I shudder to think how Weideman would have gone in the same circumstances. Jesse wasn't spectacular by any means, but I was just happy he returned from his WA tour in one piece. I expected his trip home to look like this:

I'm not sure how he got the leave pass to go home when he was rubbed out for cracking the sads and biffing somebody, but I guess that's the sort of NQR compromise we're forced to make to keep him. He did his job on the scoreboard courtesy of a couple of gifts, and provided a better target than we had the last couple of weeks, but given the way he burst onto the scene by making Alex Rance look silly in the same game a couple of years ago he's not progressed much further since. Now that Freo are seemingly good again should we expect him to be slapping in a trade request at the end of the year so he can displace Shane Kersten and take his rightful spot alongside the Unmade Bed? Somebody spread a propaganda campaign that Fyfe won't there so he doesn't start dreaming of being paid a fortune to accept bullet passes on the tit from a fully functioning midfield.

His cause wasn't helped by playing in the wet, or alongside a second gamer who soon departed with broken ribs, and nor did it help that we kept thumping the ball long instead of trying to spot targets. Only Jack Watts - now only much maligned by people you wouldn't want to sit next to on a bus - bucked the trend, thinking about what he was going to do next in the second quarter and finding Salem with a perfect pass. I'd say they should have that passage of play on a video loop for the rest of the week, but what chance 3/4 of the list pulling it off?

After battering them from pillar to post for 10 minutes we were two goals down. Another game in a long line where we've come out strongly, wasted our chance to knife the opposition before they could get going and lost in the end. Both goals came from turnovers, reminiscent of the first time we played this fixture and they would have only kicked about four goals off their own bat. The difference was that night we had ruckmen, an intimidating forward line and 21 fit players remaining after Kent blew his hammy.

It took McDonald marauding forward and thumping a long goal to get us on the board, which was helpful because it didn't look likely that any of our actual attackers would get one. It was the first of a trio of running goals by defenders - next Hibberd, then Hunt - that came as a welcome change to every other long kick inside 50 being instantly mopped up or swept away. The measure of our success was that nobody managed to frustrate Alex Rance into thumping a defenceless player in the back of the head. He had to settle for playing a mighty game, marking everything that came near him. We're still 2-1 up on him (and indeed Richmond) in the lifetime of this fixture but that doesn't help right now.

If nothing else we get confirmation that when Essendon were pumping their players full of mystery drugs, Hibberd got something from the good batch. Having played two competitive games in around 18 months he died in the arse in the last quarter when unable to rotate, but until then he'd played a great game coming out of defence. On the other side of the WADA debacle, Melksham played like he was still suffering side-effects from his dose of elephant juice. He did another lovely tap-on and was angry, but that's not doing much for me. It's time for him to discover what life as a mid-range Melbourne player is all about, traipsing across Victoria playing at shithouse VFL venues with gale force winds blowing in all four directions at the same time.

It's a shame Milkshake hasn't demonstrated an aptitude for kicking, because at the moment the only thing separating Bernie Vince from the stereotypical view of Tom McDonald is the lack of outright howlers. Instead it's death by a thousand cuts. If you're going to play as the loose man who's not actually a defender but can be relied upon to hit targets (role previously occupied by Davey and Watts) hitting the targets is a pre-requisite. I like Salem no matter where he plays, but we might be getting a bit ahead of ourselves trying to play him as a midfielder when he could do a far better job as the trusted kicker than Vince is right now - and will be there long into the future. For all my propaganda about more kicking from the midfield - as long as it's reasonably accurate and doesn't just set up turnover goals - somebody's generally going to have to get it out of defence to them in the first place.

Once Smith departed with his ribs displaced and lung punctured, and Watts was forced into the ruck as good as permanently, we basically played without a half-forward line. Garlett flits in and out doing good things but can't be relied upon to play four quarters, so we could have done with somebody else down there with a bit of life about them. Whatever indiscretion Dean Kent was dropped for, it was not worth Kennedy-Harris' comeback performance. As much as people like to racially profile JFK as a small forward he's definitely more of a midfielder/half-forward, but didn't show anything last night that suggests the seniors is his level. It was one thing playing well against the Carlton seconds at Casey Fields, but after returning from injury he didn't seem to be banging the door down to get a start. He could get another go eventually, but will need to put together a string of games in the seconds. Now watch them double down, pick him again next week and leave Kent to wither and die on some rocky VFL outcrop.

Absurdly because of how bad we looked going inside 50, but appropriately considering how many times it happened, we were in front at quarter time. The second goal came from one of these newfangled deliberate decisions where the player is pinged for badly disguising trying to rush it over the line. What a load of old bollocks. It was a correct application but of a stupid rule. What was wrong with the rushed behind? If teams want to concede points then let them. Imagine how many times we walked into seven or more point plays after rushing a point because we had no idea how to craft a kick-in? It's just another unnecessary interpretation for umpires to get slaughtered over and people to moan about on talkback radio.

By all means ruthlessly ping deliberates around the ground, but if teams want to give up points let them. If they can convert the kick-in to a goal via a spectacular end-to-end move that's got to be more appealing to viewers than endless debate about what players are or aren't allowed to do. At the time of writing I was watching the other Anzac Day game and Leigh Matthews said it was good for the game that players had no idea what they were allowed to do. There's proof that the rules are in disarray if you ever needed it. Maybe they should hold a Constitutional Committee and rewrite them from scratch? I'd stand on a pro-early 2000s ticket with this as our theme song. Ironically a Richmond player had dashed out of bounds under little pressure like an NFL player going for the sidelines to stop the clock a few minutes earlier and went unpunished. Maybe they were just trying to square up for that?

The go-ahead goal came from a perfect Watts set shot from distance, especially impressive considering it had been pissing down for much of the quarter. Just goes to show what we missed by having to use him in the ruck for the rest of the night. I don't know why it took so long to try Frost instead, Richmond had one dangerous tall forward and another who was as useful as an oak table so we could have spared losing Sam for a few minutes to give Watts time to rest/become a target up forward. As it was we ran him into the ground and can't be far from him keeling over and dying if any more first rucks get hurt.

In the second quarter we weren't as good at getting the ball inside 50 a ridiculous number of times, but this time managed to score the first two goals instead of conceding them. First Petracca took advantage of probably the only Neal-Bullen disposal to hit the target all night, then Hogan got another from a free, before Salem added another from a perfect Watts pass and everything was starting to look Melbourne. Even though we'd lost Smith and Spencer by this point we'd finally harnessed the momentum enough to start building a lead that would somewhat insulate us against a last quarter fadeout.

After Hibberd romped down field to kick a goal we were 12 points up shortly before half-time, which lasted until approximately seven seconds before the siren. ANB got confused about what to do with a ball rolling towards the boundary line, and instead of either picking it up to try and disguise taking it out or just hammering it up the line and hoping to be pinged in a less damaging position he just shoed it straight across the line 30 metres out. Not that it diminished from the stupidity of it, but he wasn't to know there was only seven seconds left, and neither was the Richmond bloke who risked a debacle by playing on but just beat the siren.

For the third quarter in a row we opened up threatening to destroy them, kicking the first two goals in quick succession before settling back into a arm-wrestle. Things were going so well for us that even after they got their first of the quarter we responded immediately, with a goal created almost entirely courtesy of Oliver bashing through a pack at the centre bounce. Then we flipped the usual script by being the team who turned one goal against into two for, when the next bounce ended with the ball flying inside 50 and Hogan's whinge about not getting a free-kick somehow ending with him in the perfect position to soccer through another. Still didn't think we were going to win, but we were starting to build a decent sized wall to defend behind.

Like last year there was a good old fashioned melee, and again both Nathan Jones and Jack Viney came out with lighter bank balances. Jones is now not only the most fined player in MFC history ($21,750 and counting), but has also drawn level with noted mentalist Rod Grinter as the most reported player in club history. Chunk might have done $20k in fines, but he's trailing Grinter 31 games to one in actual suspensions. As far as Richmond vs Melbourne fights went it really lacked the wide-eyed lunacy of Kent/Dunn and the comic relief of Bugg/Gawn.

The dust-up was the cue for Richmond to lift, and they spent the rest of the quarter battering our line for a last goal to bring the margin under 20 at three quarter time. Once more there was an inevitability about us conceding, and surprise surprise the siren went with one of them about to have a shot. He missed, but I knew we were still stuffed. It's not every day a team comes back from that far down at three quarter time, but this was against a decimated side whose most important players had run themselves into the ground. If they suffered a few mishaps we were a chance, but as long as they had 20+ players upright it was over.

We could have done with a massive, pissing, sideways rain. And if the match started 30 minutes later we'd have got it. Our lot were already slowing to a crawl before the break, and hit 0 km/h not long after the resumption, so at least it would have dragged Richmond down to our level. It probably wouldn't have helped us get the ball out of defensive 50, by then we were working with 20 battered survivors who barely had 40 operational legs between them. If it was a boxing match the referee would have stopped it for our own protection five minutes in.

What I didn't get about the last quarter was why we didn't use Hogan in the middle, or realise that Watts was going to lose the majority of ruck contests around the ground and set up to defend the tap. The closest we got to doing something else at centre bounces was using Garlett when he was practically the last player left who could still run at any speed, but the game was shot by then. Our coaching staff must have realised we were going to fizz at some point during the quarter, so even an early goal might not have saved us. On a night where long kicking into the forward line had delivered us four marks inside 50 and not much on the scoreboard we could have had Hulk run through and bowl a few pricks out of the way to make a statement. Instead we did the traditional Melbourne thing of wandering meekly off the edge of the cliff like defeat was inevitable.

The set up at the stoppages gave me the shits, maybe they had plans which fell apart because the players were too stuffed to execute them, but at the same time maybe nobody thought that the worst thing for us in that situation was fast breaks and forgo to leave somebody out the back to stop an opposition player swooping through and picking up a loose ball? There was one perfect tap from a boundary throw in to a player dashing past that should go on the 'highlights' reel at AAMI Park alongside Watts' pass to Salem - this time as a cautionary reminder of what not to do.

They battered us for the first 15 minutes of the quarter, and even though we couldn't for the life of us get the ball out of 50 in any way effectively we did a good job to stop them from going past us and into the distance. Once they narrowly hit the lead they clammed up a bit, giving us a shot of pulling off a miracle if we could pull a goal or two from our arse. We tried hard, only for Riewoldt to take a contested mark on an obscure angle and do exactly what you'd expect one of the best forwards in the competition to and convert as if he was 20 metres out directly in front. It may have been his first real full forward style goal of the night, and it came at just the wrong time for us. We had another couple of forward thrusts, with one golden opportunity for Garlett to cut the margin back to less than a goal with plenty of time remaining, but we didn't have enough up front and down we went.

It was all for nothing as the game was already stuffed by that point, but I loved Sam Frost cutting Riewoldt in half with a 'tackle' at the end. It might be a controversial viewpoint, but I just like Frost in general. At the moment he's a mile ahead of Oscar McDonald in every aspect, and has enough years left in him that we can afford to develop Sizzle Jr elsewhere until the grim reaper of serious injuries arrives to haunt one of our defenders.

This is the point where people start getting nervy and start a fundraising campaign to bring back Roos, but let's not act like Richmond fans just yet. I have no idea what they've been doing with selection for the last few weeks, but let's not pretend we didn't sook about the last guy's team choices either. Maybe not in Year 1 though, when we were so grateful just to have him that we'd put up with anything. Now we expect more so the coach cops it in the neck from day one, which is an occupational hazard of being in charge of anything but the most rock bottom slop side.

2017 Allen Jakovich Medal votes
Another week of toil and struggle. I have confidence in the top four, but not necessarily the order. If Hibberd hadn't died in the arse late he was certainly on the way to a rare five vote performance on debut. The last spot was a raffle, feel free to exchange Frost for any other player and keep your own version of the leaderboard.

5 - Jayden Hunt
4 - Michael Hibberd
3 - Clayton Oliver
2 - Jack Watts
1 - Sam Frost

Apologies to Petracca, McDonald, Viney, Salem

The committee has decided to temporarily exclude James Harmes from Seecamp contention, but are open to reinstating him if he ends up back in defence. As for the Stynes, back in the days before the 10 hitout average rule came in you'd think Jack Watts would be the unlikely leader but he's only only about 6.5 so that's unfortunate for him.

14 – Clayton Oliver
9 – Jeff Garlett, Jayden Hunt
7 - Jack Watts
6 – James Harmes, Neville Jetta (CO-LEADER: Marcus Seecamp Medal for Defender of the Year), Nathan Jones
5 – Christian Salem
4 - Michael Hibberd
2 – Max Gawn (LEADER: Jim Stynes Medal for Ruckman of the Year), Dean Kent, Christian Petracca
1 – Jesse Hogan, Sam Frost, Jake Spencer

Aaron Davey Medal for Goal of the Year
Impossible to go past the lightning Salem handball to Hunt in the third quarter. One of those handballs that at full pelt you think had to be a throw, but it was legal and Hunt's finish in his newly AFL approved novelty headband was perfect. Replay also revealed the classy tap from Watts to keep the ball moving when it was going over his head.

For the weekly prize Hunt wins a full-day headband workshop with Carl Ditterich, to try and get the thing to stretch ever further until it looks like a small towel draped across the forehead. It went close to snatching the clubhouse lead, but after hours of soul searching we've opted to stick with the Watts long bomb against Geelong.

It's the annual draw for the joint banner. And what a nice banner it was too. The editing was definitely left to us because there were no spelling errors - and the person in the Richmond cheersquad waving a 'Dusty 4 Ava' banner was banned participating. Unless their name is Ava and they're hoping for a quick and dirty legover with the Tigers superstar. I doubt you would need to put together a banner to set that up. Dees 4-1-0 for the season.

Crowd Watch
Maybe turning up late for once, getting inside just in time for the commemoration and banner run-through, played to my advantage because I walked straight in via the sort of queue you'd usually get at a game against Gold Coast. Only once inside did I realise that there was a huge crowd there - our biggest home and away attendance since 1964, and the second highest for any game I've ever been to. Suffice to say I never tried to use the catering or bathroom facilities. Who'd have thought there would be a day you'd have to queue for a whizz at a Melbourne game?

Now that this game has momentum - though I bet there would have been 30,000 less there if Richmond were 0-4 - and is creeping towards the crowd the actual Anzac Day game gets I expect Eddie to finally fulfil the prophecy I've been flogging on here for years and give us the arse from permanent home status on Queen's Birthday. I don't mind it, keep the game and give them the gate every year when we've got the home Anzac Day Eve match. Every cent counts, but I'm sick of taking their charity.

The weird thing about this game is that after the solemn and well-observed pre-match ceremonies the moment the first siren goes it's straight back to hokey crowd promotions that even the NBL would refuse to get involved with. I'm not expecting them to replace the man kicking for cash while being cheered on by somebody dressed as a cardboard box with a recreation of the Battle of Long Tan, but they could have replaced the segment where people are shown tooling around on their phone in the crowd for a week with promo for Legacy or the RSL, or basically anyone remotely connected to the idea of being shot at. This is not a shot at Richmond, I can't remember what happened last year but we probably greeted quarter time with an irony free round of Hogan's Heroes.

Commemoration Corner
Unlike that bloke from SBS who got himself the sack last year I'm all for paying tribute to troops both past and present, but the wearing of special jumpers is a bit over the top isn't it? Not that you'd have known from a distance that we were wearing one, especially because in a minor design flaw the image of the bugler looked like more like a drawn on arse crack unless you were looking at it from two foot away. I presume some of the funds from selling them goes to the RSL, and if not that's even dodgier.

Next Week
Speaking of hell, it's Essendon at Docklands. We've gotten away with not having to play them there for a few years, but our luck has run out and it's time to shuffle up to the back row and sit in close proximity to conspiracy theorists and 9/11 style truthers. Drink every time one of them reminds you that we were on some sort of gear as well - and look how well the cream has done for Jack Trengove, did it have Agent Orange in it? Journalists please note - if there are boos when Melksham gets a kick don't automatically assume they're coming from Essendon fans.

Apologies to the sunshine and lollipops faction who only want brightness and positivity (as if they would be reading anyway), but I just assume we're going to lose now. Still don't think Essendon are anything more than a midtable mediocrity this year, but neither are we so it should be a good game but ultimately they're going to run us off our feet. The following changes have no hope of getting up due to all the injuries, but a man can only hope:

IN: Kent. Pedersen, Kennedy, Hannan, Lewis, Bugg
OUT: Kennedy-Harris, Melksham, Neal-Bullen (omit), Smith, Spencer, Petracca (inj)
LUCKY: Tyson, Vince
UNLUCKY: Max King (EDIT: Err that would be Mitch King - sorry, I was on the Jesse Hogans when I wrote this) and Lachlan Filipovic by default as the only real ruckmen left, no matter how unprepared for senior football. And Angus Brayshaw in general, who is one clubbering blow to the head from a low-flying seagull away from having to retire.

Was it worth it?
A marginal yes - for the atmosphere, the record setting crowd and the brief, spectacular moments when we were the better team and converting the scores to prove it. We'll look back one day and etc... etc...

Final thoughts
The first two weeks (well, the middle bit of Round 1 and the last 15 minutes of Round 2 anyway) were a nice teaser of what's it like to be a real team, now the incredible injury luck we rode through 2016 has ended and we're hurtling back towards earth like a faulty plane. That's ok if you never really expected much this season anyway. Now that I'm back into my comfortable space of thinking we'll lose and being surprised by wins I can concentrate on development instead. Maybe we'll spring a surprise, get a run on again like last year and I'll be left as wide-eyed and horny as a 5-0 Tiges fan. If not, then no drama - 2018/19/20 are the real key years.

As much as I'm expecting the season to die in the arse from here there are still going to be good weeks. Maybe we'll have to wait but this is not 2012-13, we will eventually get a run on in a game, convert and hopefully obliterate somebody. Other than injuries all the issues I have with the team are the sort of thing that could be ironed out during the season, we just need a few weeks of clear air without anyone crucial being hurt or suspended to work on it. I'm feeling a sense of disappointment, but what would following Melbourne be without one of those?

Sunday 16 April 2017

Touching cloth

In July 2014 I wrote a post entitled "A return to traditional values" after yet another debacle of a loss against Fremantle, where it was suggested that we could wheel out whatever coach we liked and it wouldn't matter because Ross Lyon "has got us on a leash like we're at a fetish club". In 2017 it's new coach, same result.

The numbers don’t lie, Lyon is now 15-1 against us since that we got his coaching career off to a hot start in Round 1, 2007. Even last year when we had Jesse Hogan manually removing Zac Dawson from contests like he was shifting a cardboard cut-out we unconvincingly wobbled to victory against a four win team. Now both Hogan and Dawson were gone, and our forward line reverted to the toothless, directionless rabble of the pre-Hulk years. Our most potent tall forward turned out to be The Spencil. I love that guy, but if that was the case no bloody wonder we unexpectedly lost.

Indeed it was unexpected, even I thought things would get uncomfortably close but that we'd eventually get over the line. It was meant to be an afternoon free of the myriad pressures of relocating to an actual god honest house for the first time in my life, instead I was left trying not to blow a gasket, before eventually blowing a gasket. Moving is a painful process, and I should know because I've done it enough, so if there was ever a day to put my hand up, admit defeat and stay home this was it. But I desperately covet that Nathan Jones bobblehead doll, and even though I've passed the Florence Nightingale stage of having to hover over the club like a typhoid patient that may die at any moment without constant attention the idea of not being there to see games live still affects me emotionally.

So, down went the sticky tape and off I went for the last time from Demonblog Towers IX. A location that covered the entire 2015 and 2016 seasons, making it probably my most successful residence since my return to Southbank (Towers VII) from the end of 2010 through 2012. From now getting to the footy is going to a baffling and traumatic ordeal, but it's not like I'm going to stop going so I'll just have to deal with the consequences.

Because my entire life’s philosophy is based on making things harder than they need to be, I ratcheted up the degree of difficulty by taking my kid to her first game. It was as much because I felt guilty leaving Mrs. D at home to deal with her in a half-packed house while I escaped the chaos as anything. My footy life started with a win and has gone 238-4-363 since, maybe she’ll enjoy the reverse and turn defeat into great things. Like refusing to get involved in footy, or risking being struck from my will by supporting GWS. Ironically that 2014 post about Freo owning us so comprehensively that our players should have had anchors tattooed their foreheads came the week she was born and I shamefully snuck out of the hospital to watch. At least just under three years later when we lost to the Dockers again we scored more than 50.

Some may think this was a cynical attempt to get her off to a good start with a win, like when Dom Cassisi retired the week Port played us at near rock-bottom because he knew he'd go out on a high, but you and I have been through enough to know that no win is guaranteed in my book. It was more the happy set of coincidences with the moving, what I thought would be a pitiful crowd (and didn’t I pay for that later by sitting in the car park for 30 minutes waiting for people to merge from eight different directions), and my mum agreeing to make her latest surprise return to the fold to act as babysitter in case little Hashtag lost interest and started screaming at the big screen to play Peppa Pig instead. This came in handy deep in the last quarter when I started to suffer internal combustion from the tension of the comeback and the knowledge that we were going to find a way to stuff it up.

The lessons about being over-confident against supposedly lesser sides still hasn’t been learnt by everyone. The players might have taken heed, but there were still queues of fans who deep down must have known a disaster was on the cards but tried to be outwardly butch and suggest we'd romp to victory. Even with their win over the reigning premiers a week earlier I tried to console myself that young teams might be able to pull that sort of shit off at home but it never translates away. Which is how you think when you follow a side that made the surprise to instant let-down transition legendary. In fact I was packing it from the moment Freo won, and probably would still have been if they’d lost. New eras and new coaches be buggered, we are still a mental outfit and finally got what we deserved from the Carlton game.

World War III might be about to break out, but on Saturday 15 April 2017 the organisation on the highest level of alert was the Kent Kingsley Klub after we missed two chances (including Tomas Bugg of all people nearly screwing one through from the pocket), only for Freo to go down the other end and kick a goal from the boundary line through Shane Kersten. He never got another, instead we were tormented by the Unmade Bed Cam McCarthy and a running cavalcade of unsung goalkickers and players you’ve never heard of but who will probably be collectively nominated for the Rising Star this week.

When Hannan missed a relatively easy set shot it looked like another round of last week’s peg-leg style goalkicking was on the cards. We dragged it back to a reasonable level by the end, generally by having the shots from barely outside goalsquare range, and if we had to grab the lead back then lose it again I’m glad we got in front via a set shot and lost by missing a speculative long range bomb rather than the other way around.

Sanity was briefly restored by the Spencil, marking at the top of the square and converting a kick that none of us were 100% confident of. In the international history of Dockers and docking, that should have started the footballing equivalent of this:

... but to paraphrase baseball coach Casey Stengel, the football public want to see goals and our defence are doing everything they can to help. It wasn’t just their inability to clear the ball for 20 minutes of the third quarter (punctuated only by brief trips back to the centre after goals), or the numerous howlers by hand or foot but the way they still look like they have no idea where they’re supposed to go when the other team have the ball. It’s very easy to play forward against Melbourne, just run into acres of space, put your hand up and wait your turn. Players should be able to take a ticket like a supermarket deli as they enter 50. We’ve obviously had much worse times defensively, but that was usually because we were subject to brute force entries where you could stand anywhere and it didn’t matter because the ball was always down there anyway. Now we have raised expectations and it’s killing me watching a second year of what feels to the untrained eye like a gigantic technical flaw going unchecked.

I don’t purport to know enough about tactics or football in general to start a futile Sack Rawlings Facebook page, but for the second year in a row having players woefully out of position when defending any attack launched at more than walking speed is costing us. Last year it usually happened when the defenders pushed up, turned the ball over and were left trying to work out where the damn zone started and finished but this time it’s just open slather chaos whenever the ball exits the attacking 50. It’s not solely the fault of the backmen, free players run in waves all down the ground while they are desperately trying to organise who’s supposed to be standing where. By the time it arrives they’ve run around in circles so much that the other side are gleefully queuing up to take a mark. There was a moment yesterday that I wish I could have taken a photo of, and which I hope will be shown on any number of footy analysis shows that I'll be refusing to watch this week, where four Freo players were standing on their own inside 50 with their hands in the air and not a Melbournian in sight. If somebody got a picture it would become as iconic in the history of Melbourne vs Freo games as that one from 2013 where three of our players contested a mark against each other. I’d say this is just what the Dockers do to us – and have been since that fateful night in ’99 when Tony Modra ripped us a new ringpiece at the MCG – but it happened last week, and about 10 different times in 2016.

The next thing you knew Tyson took advantage of a 50 metre penalty to kick out on the full, and not long after we were two goals down. Nervous adjustment of collars commenced across the MCG, as 20,000 people said "here we go again" at once. For all the inaccuracy it is an indisputable fact that we've been better at Etihad Stadium than our home ground so far this year, and we haven't played any particularly good sides at the 'G yet. How's your confidence level going? Mine was never that high to begin with. The second goal showed how important it is to find a real-life superstar who can consistently do ridiculous things, Fyfe going back with the flight of the ball and marking despite a concerted effort by Dean Kent to try and spoil by spinning around and ramming Fyfe in the breadbasket with his buttocks. Talk about relying on the top end of your team to carry the rest - they had five players with less than 10 disposals to our one, and it didn't do them any harm.

Just as I was about to lose all hope we got one of those centre bounce moments that make life worthwhile, Spencer taking advantage of Freo's 2nd string ruckman performing one of the worst run and jump combinations at a ball since 1897 to effortlessly smack it into the hands of The Hamburglar, who kicked long and for the first and possibly last time all day found one of our forwards in front and winning a contested mark. Watts converted, and I mistakenly thought we were back in town. As much as I love Jack, and have come to accept that he will have moments where it looks like he's taking things too easily, even I cracked the sads when he followed up this goal with a lazy snap towards an unguarded goalsquare soon after. That opportunity was set up by Garlett, who has been fantastic so far this year after a rocky second half of 2016, and his work to make the opportunity deserved more than a casual ping around the corner.

Going into quarter time three points down shouldn't have been an issue, but given all the times I've seen Freo beat us at the MCG I could hear sirens blaring and see red lights pulsing everywhere. Could we not just have a day where everything goes right and we stomp a side from siren to siren four times? It doesn't even have to be the elusive 100 point win, just 60 or so will do. Arguably we did this against Brisbane and Collingwood last year, but even then there were large patches of slurry - especially in the Lions match where we fell into the age old trap of trying to play like millionaires when not even remotely qualified.

It was a day for false dawns, when Harmes put us back in front at the start of the second quarter I thought - not for the first or last time - that we'd put everything back in place and were going to romp to a comfortable victory. By the end of the quarter it looked like that again, but not before our loose goose backline gave up more easy goals. In the middle of their first two, Kent kicked one from the boundary line after eventually convincing a photographer to piss off out of his way, proving that some players are better kicking from ludicrous angles with the pressure removed rather than directly in front. The kick came from a moment that was so ridiculous we will probably steal it, somebody called E. Hughes desperately trying to kick the ball forward from a pack and accidentally putting it on out on the full closer to goal than where he started. Give up a pick in the high 20s for that man.

As if to say "stop complaining about free players inside 50, we can concede goals any way you like" the reply came when the ball was pulled back from the boundary line for the very unforward-like David Mundy to hold his ground and mark against Jetta (his weekly appearance as the last line of defence) and a quickly closing Sizzle McDonald. I resolved to stop being sucked in by goals, because we'd only give them back the moment Freo got the ball in any sort of open space. Of course the moment I lowered my expectations we began to romp away to a comfortable lead. Then when they went back up we died in the arse.

The first came from Petracca, the master of manoeuvring in confined spaces, then after Viney missed the gift of a rare 100m penalty and Freo stuffed up a pair of chances for a steadier we played what passed for a golden five minutes but still wouldn't have been spat at by a good side. Two of the three goals had Garlett's fingerprints all over them, setting up the first and kicking the last after another predatory chase/tackle inside 50. Now we had them spooked, and the 15 players they had who were relying heavily on the other seven to carry them were shitting themselves with or without ball. All it lacked was either one killer blow, or at least getting to half-time with the big lead intact.

The whole game was MFC Gold, from losing while favourite, to being beaten by the Dockers at the MCG, but their final goal of the quarter was the moment most worthy of instant elevation to the long since shuttered club Hall of Fame. We’d just put together one of the least impressive seven goal quarters you’ll ever see, but it was seven goals nonetheless that opened a 27 point margin heading towards half time. Realising this our players went into shutdown mode with what must have been two minutes to go, but unable to pull off enough clean disposals in a row to run down the clock they turned the ball over. Freo, being an equally inept team, then fell apart trying to attack and gave the ball back to us with free players streaming forward everywhere – for once our Achilles heel situation working for us – and after some hesitation when the players wondered if they still had the green light to try and attack they walked right into a rope-a-dope scenario. The attack petered out due to a lack of proper targets, Freo whipped down the other end, found Lachie Neale standing in the middle of three Melbournians like he was the middle point of a triangle, and he kicked what turned out to be a reasonably crucial goal after the siren. I didn’t see the ad for Melbourne Experiences today, after the Carlton game they must have realised it would seem sarcastic.

It was a great day for professional Josh Tynan lookalike Neale. After 96 games we enabled the first four goal haul of his career. He only kicked seven all of last year, but we’re here to help players make lifelong memories. Arguably even worse was allowing David Mundy – sent forward presumably because like Vince they’ve lost interest in him as a midfielder – to rack up only his second three goal performance in 255 games. I’d love an unusual player to kick four for us – other than Daniel Ward inexplicably doing it against Brisbane 15 years ago, a youthful Nathan Jones against the Lions in 2008 and Sam Blease’s mysterious five against St Kilda it’s hard to come up with many irregular goalkicking performances by our lot. One day Petracca’s going to kick six or Hunt will unload four long distance bombs, and then you’ll know we’ve made it.

It’s simplistic to blame Jordan Lewis and Jesse Hogan for playing a part in the result by not being there, but it’s not without some merit. Of course it didn’t look like they were required when we were opening up a near five goal lead, but we could have done with Lewis’ experience when the tide turned against us in the third quarter and Hogan as a target full stop. Even if Jesse wasn’t kicking goals he would have been marauding the half-forward line getting involved and setting up others. Instead he was sitting in the stands, probably fanging for a gasper and cursing the MCG’s no smoking policy.

It’s not the smoking, I wouldn’t care if he was cycling uppers, downers, steroids and substances usually only found in oven cleaner if he was playing well, but I still just don’t trust him. When he signed the contract extension I thought that would be all I'd need to fully embrace him as one of ours, but the punch – which was admittedly light on, played up for all it was worth and not worth more than a week – has unleashed the beast again. Maybe this is what happens when you’re landed with a player who is anointed as the chosen one. It might just be a defensive stance so that if he turns out to be serviceable, or dicks us and returns to Perth in a couple of years I won’t feel as hurt. This is not an SEN style provocative statement to try and get publicity and boost my audience, as much as he (incoming cliché alert) straightens us up and draws heat away from other forwards there’s just something that doesn’t sit right with me. I would appreciate if he could wait until he’s back and firing to send over payslips demonstrating that he could easily afford to have me killed.

While writing this in an otherwise empty house, with a computer that won't connect to the internet so I can post the damn thing, I followed Tom Lynch of Gold Coast rattling home five first half goals against Carlton. That’s who I dream of, somebody who treats Blues defenders with contempt by thrashing the pants off them, not petulantly lashing out at the most pissweak provocation ever. It's hardly a controversial decision to say I’d have Lynch in a second, but that’s not going to happen. If we’re going to pick at the corpse of Gold Coast – who after all their trials will probably still reach success before us – what I would very much like to do it swipe the SME Killer Steven May and stick him in our backline. I can't explain why, but I have a major fetish for that guy.

While Hogan and Lewis might be at fault in their own way for what happened – though like umpires screwing you on days where you give away a dozen goals from turnovers, they can’t be blamed for those who did play stuffing it up from a winning position – you can’t lay any of the blame for this on Gawn. Once we went from "oh shit knee" to "oh good hamstring" then back to "oh shit hamstring" and found out he was gone for 12 weeks we had to confront the reality that this was going to open the door for Jake Spencer to become the man. Which admittedly he was well on the way to doing before Maximum stormed into the team like a runaway elephant in mid-2015. People forget this, and instead concentrate on him dropping the ball in his run-up in 2009 or scuffing one of the worst kicks ever along the ground against GWS in Canberra in 2012. Jake's come a long way from there, and while he lost the hitout battle against Sandilands here I thought he played his role really well and chipped in with Gawn-esque goals.

I don’t have full time figures, but at the half he'd had many less hitouts than Sandi but almost as many to advantage so I’m confident in saying he will massacre some lesser ruckmen over the next three months if he stays fit. And if he doesn't stay fit, well that serves us right for drafting rookie ruckmen with years of development required instead of plonking a mature body ruck on the rookie list just in case. Even if he stays fit and totally loses form what are they going to do? King and Filipovic are nowhere near ready, and as game as Watts is at the bounces you can’t string that out for more than a few minutes at a time. In Spencil we trust. Just always have a player running past for the optional handball when he gets it.

We've got more trouble than players needlessly getting themselves rubbed out. Both Tyson and Vince have both got the Heather Mills-McCartneys, and Viney still can’t get near it a month into the season. Despite Jones doing an ok job on him Fyfe still killed us, and I'd have used Viney on him instead. He needs something to help him break out of his funk, and if somebody had to be dragged around in Fyfe's wake we may as well have used the guy that needed to be taken to where the ball was rather than wasting Jones. There’s already talk about a staged exit from the joint-captaincy, which is stupid if it's not working the best thing to do is just pretend we’re going on as normal until the end of the year and let Jones do everything. He’s used to that.

Neale’s goal scared me to death. I’m generally a nervy character when defending any lead under the Chris Sullivan Line (and even then it doesn’t become real until the last quarter) but there was a definite sense that it shifted things. That shouldn't have translated through a 20 minute break, but it did and how. I didn’t know a surprise Heritage Round had been declared, but it was an unwanted flashback to the days when Neeld’s motivational speeches made the team run out after half time to be violently mowed down the moment the siren went.

Harmes, who has been very good the last two weeks after I whinged about them picking him, had a chance to cancel out the late goal at the start of the third, but after he missed one of those American bombs that obliterates everything for miles dropped on us, leaving Freo to mercilessly shell bedraggled survivors for the next 30 minutes. Speaking of returning to traditional values, it's been a while since I've seen us so panicky and inept at extracting the ball from defence on such a grand scale. Usually we get slaughtered on the rebound but this time the Dockers expertly executed a press so heavy that we never got the chance to turn it over on the run because we were pinned down inside 50 and unable to exit with anything more than a big, terrified hoof which usually came straight back. Whenever Freo kicked a goal I thought that at least it gave us the chance to escape from defence and craft something, but the moment the ball crossed halfway it was on for young and old inside 50 again.

After their first two goals we had a chance to reply, and as we were still in front Kent's sloppy handball to the goalsquare which rolled over before Watts could get a foot to it was received with big smiles and all-round "oops, sorry!" because it looked like we were turning the corner. Turning straight into an ambush as it turns out, the ball went down the other end and stayed there. There was an element of luck in the rampage - how many times did they get a novelty bounce in their favour? - but like we briefly found out against Geelong you make your own luck with insane pressure. We went to water under it and they merrily ran around yelling Heave Ho until we were as good as dead.

We were so loose that at one point they worked a goal courtesy of three different kicks to spare players increasingly close to goal. The only surprise was that they didn’t also have somebody standing alone on the line for the cheap handball over the top. We were like a frightened caterpillar, curling into a ball to protect itself only for a big boot to come down and squash it anyway. By halfway through the quarter they were in front, which was distressing enough, and by the end four goals in front after kicking eight in a row. If it wasn't Round 4 there would have been a riot.

I remained hopeful, if not confident, that we could pull off a comeback but it should never have got to that in the first place. When they were walking all over us it looked like the Grimgove era where the other side would get a roll on and nobody stepped up to take control and settle the team down - which is ironic because the leadership group had about 50% of the list in it those years. I'm not surprised considering Jones had his hands full trying to quell Fyfe and Viney is on another planet at the moment. Could I say again, with no prejudice against Viney who I do love dearly, how much I hate the idea of co-captains?

Both ends were going so badly that I'm surprised we didn't rip out the old T. McDonald to full forward move for the last quarter to try and get somebody down there to take a mark using the element of surprise. Even Frost, who was very good one-on-one but got lost in the same black hole as everyone else when the ball came in quickly, would have provided a target that nobody else was offering. Turns out that wasn't necessary, first Watts and then gloriously Spencer turned out for big marks right in front of goal in the first couple of minutes and the comeback was on. Then it was off/on/off/on/off again. In the classic Melbourne style we mounted our comeback on death or glory footy, then when we got close enough reverted back to doing what had got us so far behind in the first place.

It shows how well they thought Melksham was going that after James Harmes probably did the best job in the traditionally graveyard-like defensive forward position since the Ricky Petterd era, they sent him back in the last quarter and Milkshake forward. He almost kicked a goal from the same spot where Pedersen kicked the sealer against Carlton in 2015, but that may have been his only touch for the quarter. No doubt Harmes has rolled himself into playing the forward role for the next few weeks until they lose interest and send some other victim down there to wither and die. On the other hand I’m happy to explore alternatives to Jake the Snake. Suffice to say his role in the comeback was minimal. He might go well in bruise free slopfests where he gets two hours to size up every disposal, but under heavy pressure there were no lovely tap-ons and not much lovely anything else.

Freo were on the run again, courtesy of a Hunt-style long bomb from Petracca, and even as we couldn't help but gift them opportunities they were stressed out under the weight of the comeback and didn't take advantage. But I knew they would eventually. Weideman had played more like Weetra all day, so when he got a free kick right in front of goal I think everyone knew what was coming next. Having been so accurate from set shots until now he was so surprised at getting a kick that he missed. Sam has got a lot of time to develop, but without Hogan (who should punch himself next for missing two games where we were dying for a target) to take the focus away from him has looked way out of his depth.

He shouldn’t have even been playing given how much better Tim Smith was last week. Goodwin said Smith was dropped because they were doing “something else” with the forward line. Apparently that was the innovative move of kicking long to Garlett against two defenders or just plain old roosting it as long inside 50 as possible straight to a defender. Harmes conquering the death seat was the only success, and that was just a straight swap of him (and occasionally Bugg, but that didn’t bring much) into the role that has killed Brayshaw rather than anything to do with the talls. I don’t give a rats what the behind the scenes explanation is, they flubbed this decision and Weid needs to go back to the VFL and get some form before coming back for another go. He’s a 19-year-old key position forward, senior experience is great but there’s no need to force it on him unnecessarily. If not Smith I’d have gladly had Pedersen in that role, but clearly he’s seen as nothing more than spare parts and will undoubtedly be chopped at the end of the year.

Garlett expertly created another goal to get us back within a kick with plenty of time left, only for the ball to ping straight out of the middle and to some mystery man called Brady Gray, who may very well have been another player appearing under an assumed name for all I know, for the instant reply. I knew it still wasn't over, but it felt like it. If they got the ball forward they scored, we had no such guarantees. Salem kept us afloat with a well taken kick along the ground, but deep in my Melbourne Supporter Depression Syndrome diseased heart I knew we were still going to lose even if we got in front.

In the middle of all this, with my tension reaching absurd levels at the thought of us pulling off another ridiculously undeserved comeback, I heard a commotion to my left and looked over to see some kid bawling his eyes out after royally necking himself trying to run up the stairs. A few years ago when I was a confirmed shit bloke without any parental instinct I might have told the kid to hush up because there was a thriller afoot, but now here I was like Hulk Hogan in Mr. Nanny trying to get him to identify where his parents and/or legal guardians were so I could let them know. Fortunately they were right in front of us, so it didn’t take long to alert them and get back to my seat. For some reason, probably related to the tension of the last quarter, I gave the kid a pat on the shoulder and said something like "hope you’re alright buddy" on the way back up the stairs. It was literally the first time in my life I’ve ever called anyone ‘buddy’ (what’s wrong with 'Lance'?), and I hope it’s the last. By the end I was considering adopting the same position on the stairs and having a sob too.

I hadn’t been listening to the radio all day, thinking to myself at the start that it should be unnecessary to have to know how much time there is left in any quarter, but the tension of being within a kick prompted me to remember that I had it in my bag. With no earphones I was forced to adopt the old radio to ear look like it was 1985. It was still tuned to the Tobin Brothers after I'd had to find an alternative to escape Liam Pickering on SEN last week, and do you think those miserable arseholes ever once said how long there was to go? This is not the era of the Channel 10 five minute warning, we know you have access to the TV coverage, just give us a hint every once in a while. At one point Gerard Whateley, who I quite like other than his strange fetish for a horse, said something happened "as security guards start ringing the MCG". Just give me the god damn time pal. I stand by previous comments, probably made after that St Kilda debacle that killed Jimmy Toumpas’ career, that while I never want the players to know exactly how long is left I as a fan want to know to the second. Even the countdown clock on the fence that's supposed to run down to the last minute now didn't appear. Even fence sponsors don't want to be involved with us?

After struggling to get a touch all day, and already missing one set shot from practically the same angle, Viney showed that while he might be desperately out of form he’s still a calm character by marking one of Neal-Bullen's few accurate kicks and converting to put us in front. Which was ace, but I just knew there was more to come. Obviously it was too early to stack the backline, but if we could win out of the centre and keep the ball down our end we’d be fine. The concern was that the moment it crossed halfway towards Freo’s goal we were horribly vulnerable. It would have been a good time for Spencer to get any sort of tap, to advantage or not, but the Dockers won it and the countdown to disappointment began.

No doubt somebody’s reflex blaming Spencil for losing but centre bounce hitouts are as overrated as inside 50s. Blaming a ruckman for a loss because he didn’t win enough hitouts is like blaming the car for a speeding fine. Other than those few magical times when the ruckmen sticks it into a midfielder’s mitts with a perfect hit the whole thing is pot luck to the point where if Spencer goes down we may as well put Tomas Bugg in there and concentrate on what happens at the fall of the ball.

I knew the 10th lead change would not be the last, for a game where we 'only' conceded 106 points my confidence in our ability to keep them out was next to nil. Even when it was going well I said "we'll never get away with playing like this against a good side", and as it turns out we wouldn't get away with against a middling-to-shit one either. We held out for about 60 seconds before Freo went forward in waves again, fresh as if it wasn't the 30 minute mark of the last quarter, and found two players goalside of McDonald and Frost. As Frost's despairing backhand punch towards goal fell short, The Unmade Bed got a touch so light that it's surprising they didn’t go to the video to confirm it, the mask of sanity slipped and I freaked out in front of Junior (my kid, not Oscar McDonald), banging the seat in front of me and yelling “FUCK!” before quickly lying to her that it was all a game and I was having a wonderful time indeed. Meanwhile all my internal organs were about to explode.

Remember last year when some anonymous arsehole was calling rogue video reviews once all the players had gone back to the centre? I presume he was too scared to get involved here because there was so little time left. Still with no idea of how much time there was left (the replay shows 90 seconds), and hands too shaky to manage a change of radio station, the sign of Freo rolling half their side back into defence was a good indication time that it was almost over.

Despite setting up to try and absorb pressure Freo won the clearance, and it ended with one of their players having a shot on goal. In a moment that would have rivalled James McDonald vs Port in 2009 if it had happened to us it rolled wide and was called deliberate. Now, he may very well have been trying to kick it out of bounds because that would waste more time and not give us the ball back, but how you can adjudicate that from a shot towards goal is criminal. This is the second time we've benefited from one of these after the Gold Coast win last year, and on the day it happens to us I will turn beetroot red and probably snap the top of a seat.

We recovered from Vince's NQR decision to kick the ball wide towards the boundary line to force a Dockers player to kick the ball out of bounds on the half-forward flank. It set up Harmes for the last opportunity. Knowing that he was unlikely to find a marking target inside a completely congested 50 and probably not seeing Jetta storming down the middle all on his own he took off, hesitated about whether he really should pass after all just long enough to be put off his kick and missed. Fate and destiny are a crock, but in those milliseconds I knew he'd miss because we just had to lose. It's not his fault, for all he knew there might have been five seconds left and he'd have ended up looking like a poon for running the clock down.

They managed to avoid making a hash of the kick-in and it was clear we were stuffed. Eventually at another stoppage 70 metres out from our goal I had to resort to Twitter, and the ever helpful timecheck posts of @demonsbeth, to find out there was only seven seconds left. First instinct was to cop a ban by hurling the radio off the top deck, but I’d already disgraced myself in front of immediate family so I just conceded it was over, turned the thing off and vowed to nod furiously in agreement the next time a politician tries to defund the ABC. As Kurtis Blow helpfully reminds us whenever we get upset, these are the breaks, but try telling me that at the siren. Thank god for having to be a responsible adult, because I could have kicked an inanimate object to pieces.

2017 Allen Jakovich Medal votes
This was so hard. 186 is the gold standard for rancid performances, but even then Jordie McKenzie was the standout alongside four others lucky to get a run. This time I have nothing, everyone who got a vote would be lucky to score one if it was a merit-based system. But it’s not, and keep that in mind when somebody wins the competition by a razor-thin margin. The top three are the most deserving, after that it was a crap shoot.

5 – Jeff Garlett
4 – Clayton Oliver
3 – James Harmes
--- Roll the dice, throw the dart, train a circus animal to make a random selection ---
2 – Christian Petracca
1 – Jake Spencer

Apologies to Frost, Hunt, Jetta, Salem and Watts – all of who could have featured in the 2 or 1 by default.

With two more players scoring their first votes of the season this leaderboard is looking kookier than ever. Oliver’s lead extends, but the even nature of the competition means even fading favourite Jack Viney is only two and a bit BOGs away with 18 games and a maximum 90 votes left. Based on voting patterns from previous years The Hamburglar and five-time champion Nathan Jones would have to be favourites from here.

Meanwhile Garlett enjoys an unprecedented appearance on the podium, and despite winning his votes today as a forward Harmes still qualifies for the Seecamp at the moment and moves into a tie with Nifty Nev. Any more of playing as a forward and the organising committee will be forced to meet and discuss his eligibility.

11 – Clayton Oliver
9 – Jeff Garlett
6 – James Harmes (CO-LEADER: Marcus Seecamp Medal for Defender of the Year), Neville Jetta (CO-LEADER: Marcus Seecamp Medal for Defender of the Year), Nathan Jones
5 – Christian Salem, Jack Watts
4 – Jayden Hunt
2 – Max Gawn (LEADER: Jim Stynes Medal for Ruckman of the Year), Dean Kent, Christian Petracca
1 – Jesse Hogan, Jake Spencer

Aaron Davey Medal for Goal of the Year
With apologies to Viney's co-captain's goal at the end and Kent's kick from the boundary line in the second quarter I'm opting for Petracca starting the avalanche by gathering a bouncing ball, rotating in tight space and snapping truly from 35 metres out past a defender rapidly charging him down. For the weekly prize Truck wins a full oil and lube job at that massage place on [practically every corner in suburban Melbourne] that's open suspiciously late and only ever has men emerging from it.

It’s another win to the Dees here for a lovely Jeff Garlett 150th game banner. I’ll even forgive the text crashing into the graphic of him in the left corner because I'm unbelievably biased towards everything we do. Bonus points for keeping sponsors happy  by working a mention of him into the ad on the other side. Maybe get the cheersquad to negotiate the back of jumper sponsor deal?

Freo's effort was not bad, including an old school slogan that referenced us and how they were going to win without going over the top and trying to do humour that an Australian sketch comedy show would turn down. The only issue was that it scanned terribly, and I reiterate my offer to provide a consultancy service to any cheersquad in the competition where I'll edit their novelty slogans so they're not as clunky. My weekly manifestos may be error-riddled, but I'll provide a money back guarantee on three line slogans.

P.S – On the occasion of his milestone I was thrilled to discover Jeff Garlett’s son is called ‘Nason’ – presumably after that Richmond bloke with the worst set of white boy dreadlocks ever seen.

Crowd Watch
There was an outrageously large crowd there for a game against Fremantle, and maybe it was just because I was in traditional enemy territory at the top of the Ponsford with the Dockers cheersquad directly underneath making plenty of noise but it felt like there were a ridiculous proportion of Freo fans around.

The problem with taking normal people to a game is that you’re compelled to sit reasonably close to the front, which means having to be surrounded by strangers talking a tremendous amount of shite. Take for instance, the lady sitting next to me in the first half. I eventually had to move before bringing my family into disrepute by getting into an argument with her. She was of the "just kick it!" school of thought, majoring in breathless panic about any kick that went sideways or god forbid backwards. The switch can end in disaster, and didn’t we collectively hold our breath when The Spencil tried one across goal that nearly rolled through for a point, but if you can’t see the purpose of it or think back to a time when a perfectly executed one has set up a goal-scoring opportunity you're bonkers.

There was a moment of unfortunate karma when after screaming her head off about us kicking sideways, Freo got the ball and did exactly the same to open up five loose players down one side of the ground. The good news for her is that there was also plenty of kicking it long into the 50, usually into the arms of a waiting defender. The worst thing – other than outing herself as a knob by loudly chastising the first Jack Watts error she could find – was when she’d be screeching like a mad fishwife for them to go forward while they were dinking sideways kicks across the defensive 50. It’s one thing to want to try and roost it onto Garlett vs the world, but even somebody as tactically dim as I can see that the last thing you want our defence to do is turn the ball over into the middle of the ground. What a helmet. Better to stay silent (random outbursts notwithstanding) and have people think you're an idiot than open your mouth and remove all doubt.

The many Dockers fans present were well behaved, including the three gentlemen in front who were desperately trying to inject class into the occasion by drinking wine out of plastic glasses, but in a blow to traditional stereotypes it was our lot doing all the stuff you’d accuse opposition fans of being terrible humans for doing. One person held a clearly baffled child up for the benefit of the TV cameras, and another made me look like Father of the Year when he’d jump to his feet and celebrate our goals by screaming with a baby strapped to his chest.

On the way back to the car I’m sure a Fremantle supporter was talking to me when she turned and yelled, “HEY! GO FREO!” across the MCG concourse. I looked to make sure there wasn’t some other sucker standing behind me, but no. God knows why she picked me out of the hundreds of Demons fans miserably trudging out, and obviously I didn’t respond with a venomous spray due to a) being a family man and b) still not being 100% sure it was at me, but if you follow a team that’s been wank for its entire existence and rubbing it in to Melbourne fans (and we’ve only been that way for about 60% of ours) is what floats your boat then god bless. Just don’t be surprised when somebody eventually stuffs a rolled up Footy Record into your gob.

Matchday Experience Watch
I was outraged (relatively speaking) at the allegation that the players don’t choose the songs played under their name in the Melbourne Music segment. This came to light after Neville Jetta’s 'choice' of Working Class Man lit up the MFC Twitter community, now it turns out that it might be a pro wrestling style swizz. If it’s a work I'm not sure how Bernie Vince ends up with Ring of Fire of all songs. At least Nifty got a classic track, I doubt any players give a red hot toss when they’ve got bigger fish to fry but I’d punch on if anyone even alluded to me listening to The Flying Dickheads in front of 30,000 people.

The level of seriousness you’d take in choosing your song is probably a good indicator of who's going to be an AFL player and who's going to be a fat porky blogger (it’s a wonder they don’t set the kids this task at draft camp, then automatically DQ anyone who doesn’t just go "play what you want, I don't care"), but how about something to bring the house down instead of Triple J dross that sounds like the vocals are coming from inside the singer’s oven. To any players reading, I will spit in the face of societal norms and go back to regularly wearing a footy jumper bearing the number of the first player to get this played at the MCG:

Ironically that’s also the song from the "Is losing fun? What are you having fun for?" scene from Moneyball, but that’s just a coincidence.

Corporate Corner
No wonder nobody will pay to get their name on the back of our jumper. The other losers in the same position are Gold Coast, and now that they’re officially back in town and everyone loves Rocket Eade again I've no doubt sponsors will be clambering to get to them before us. It’s time to start searching for brands that share the same core values as us – United Airlines, the coal industry, big pharma, Exit International. Somebody with a logo that will still look good in black and white “LOL @ Melbourne” montages on AFL 360 must have a few bucks to spare. Shame you’re not allowed to advertise cigs anymore, we’ve just turned up the perfect spokesman.

Next Week
Richmond may turn out to be significantly better than expected this year, but if there's even a time to rip out an upset victory and set their fans off on another round of despairing talkback calls this is it. It’s silly, and yet again is probably more self-preservation than anything, but my confidence is totally shot. Pre-season I’d have expected us to be in exactly the same position as now – only having lost to St Kilda and beaten Freo – but going into this game on a high against another side in the same boat. Now the Tigers flying (pending a hilarious surprise loss to Brisbane) and we’re back to rifling through drawers trying to consult the instruction manual.

The good news is that search and rescue teams have located the VFL and play starts on Monday, so we might get a decent look at some our other players under real-life conditions for a few weeks until they take a break for a state game or two.

Hogan is an automatic inclusion, and Hibberd will be too as long as he makes it through without tripping on an exposed sprinkler head and breaking his arm. So that’s two definite changes, but as much as it’s tempting to open fire on half a dozen players I'm going to remain calm and restrict myself to two more. The same people who'll tell you Weideman has to play because Hogan is back are probably the same who thought he should play this week before Freo are shit and he can rack up a few goals. He is crying for a spell, and if I don’t see him as OUT on either Thursday or Friday night I'll complain on the internet. I reiterate in case you’re ducking in and out of this post (and I don’t blame you) that it’s not a call on his long term future, it’s just that he needs to get a kick at a lower level.

After Neal-Bullen, Tyson and Vince made a joint bid for the most total disposals for the least effective impact I’m dumping two of them, and only holding Bernard because dumping Melksham means there’s a lack of alternatives to take his place. Tyson can accumulate but has been horrendous this year, it's time to give Brayshaw a proper game in the middle instead of hanging out on a flank desperately trying to get involved.

IN: Hogan, Smith, Hibberd, Brayshaw
OUT: Melksham, Weideman, Neal-Bullen, Tyson (omit)
LUCKY: Hannan, Vince, Viney
UNLUCKY: Pedersen (hey, I just like him alright?)

Was it worth it?
For family bonding and giving my kid a seven year headstart on when I got involved in this ridiculous pastime, yes. For the enjoyment of the sport and any sneaky hopes I had of playing finals absolutely not. As Hashtag had absolutely no idea what was happening on the ground (though she did clap at several appropriate times), her highlights seemed to be trying to push the emergency button in the lift, eating chips and when the siren went off and she called it the horn. If you could introduce the guy writing this in 2017 to the original 2005 model there would nearly be fisticuffs at how much my life has changed. I’d win the fight by TKO when he wound up in a ball sobbing after being told what was going to happen from 2007 on.

Final thoughts
It had been a long time since I'd felt such pent-up rage after a game. But only because of the off-season, because six competitive games ago in Round 22 against Carlton I was several times angrier.
We've played one big burst against St Kilda and Geelong, fallen over the line against the Blues and won three quarters here but lost due to 30 minutes of inattention. I’m not fooled by the 2-0 start, my predicted ladder might already be in MFC third quarter style disarray due to Richmond being good and Hawthorn/Sydney starting poorly but I remain comfortable in predicting we were no better than a 7th to to 11th placed side if everything went right. Which it hasn't, for both controllable and uncontrollable reasons, but this is what’s going to happen for the next couple of years. Mid-table mediocrity feels shithouse at the moment, but it’s a necessary step considering how far back we’re coming from.

What happened yesterday doesn’t shake my belief that we can be very good soon, but not this year.
What we will do is knock off a couple of good teams this season that will give a hint of what’s to come, but we haven’t developed a ruthless killing machine yet. That’s Goodwin and Co’s challenge, they’ve got the parts they just need to assemble them. The goal this year is to get games into the best kids, develop Plan Bs to cover the potential loss of the important spine players and do enough to convince good, ready-made players to sign up for the ride. This was total bullshit, but retain your bundle for now and let’s see how they respond next week.