Round 4, 2005

 

 

Friday night football was returned to its pioneer and rightful owner as Eddie, the sado-masochist he is (as Bucks could surely attest), watched in disbelief as Collingwood conspired to lose the very winnable against the undefeated Rooboys. In the process, Malthouse spoilt his perfect record against his former protege, the Junkyard Dog. Shinboners Shitscared returned in abundance as North, faced with being clear favourites against the Cold Pies after evading the quicksand in the Sydney swamp and unleashing hell on the Saints, became nervous again, and, like Steady Eddie, stuttered their way to an unconvincing 3 point win.

 

Some key points from the game:

1.      the utter lack of respect shown by the Collingwood brains trust to North half forward Corey Jones, who booted 2.1 and seemed to have as much free time as a CFMEU shop steward on a rainy day in the last term; Jonesy this year has bulked up big time and has adopted the Dean Laidley philosophy to football, that is a propensity for intense, barely-stifled anger - note the way Jonesy roughed up noted protected species Rob Harvey in the last round, a sign that the young Roo means business in this competition and that Harvey no longer commands the respect he once did (rightly or wrongly);

2.      other than the afore-mentioned, Malthouse coached brilliantly, especially given the untimely exit of the rampant Anthony Rocca, and if Licuria and Tarrant had not displayed the prowess of a 1st class honours graduate of the Jade Rawlings School of Goal-Kicking Incompetence, a Collingwood miracle would have been complete;

3.      Shannon Watt is to football as sex is to a eunuch - an utter waste of time;

4.      the General Leigh this week fared less well against the big block Alfa Rocca. Like an Alfa though, the Rocca will now be stuck up on blocks for eight weeks with no sign of imminent return - General Leigh on the other hand will just need some minor re-tooling;

5.      the renaissance of Glenn Archer - it seems that burying the hatchet with his former captain (one Duck) has helped him re-focus his mental energies more appropriately on the season at hand;

6.      gongs for Brent Harvey, who evidently has shrugged off last year's question marks over his fitness with a fine individual performance full of some of the hardest running seen this year, and Scott 'BP' Burns, the quiet achiever; and

7.      the wonderful form of ex-Docker Jess Sinclair, a vital cog in the North back half - denied a spot in the 2003 all-Australian team by that almighty king-hit on new teammate Lance Picioane, Sinclair seemed to spend most of 2004 commiserating over his act of brutal maleficence. For someone with the physique of an 8 year-old Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jess displays a lot of courage and is clearly not afraid to throw around whatever weight he does have, sort of like a Jack Russell on amphetamines. 

 

At the SCG, the battle of Good (SA Lair Flair) and Evil (the Sydney Swamp) saw a triumph for the forces of Good. Neil Craig followed his heart and not only played free-flowing football, but also used his brain to outsmart the Swans in the process.

 

It was as if Paul Roos had made a deal with the SCG curators to preserve the state of the ground by not having any players run on the delicate centre wicket area. Instead, the Swans spread the Swamp beyond the backline to the middle of the ground. Playing a zone defence can be annoying enough to watch, but a zone midfield is even less appealing. Ostensibly skillful midfielders literally stood in their positions like chess pieces waiting for something to happen. The swamp spread so far that the SCG began to resemble Yoda’s home planet of Dagobah. So bad did it become that on the one occasion in the third quarter when a Swans player actually took a mark and played on in the midfield, he was greeted by ironical cheers from Swans supporters. I kid you not.

 

The Crows, on the other hand, as if to thumb their noses at this nauseating anti-football, tried the exact polar opposite in defensive tactics, by playing the best playmaker in the league (A. McLeod) as a loose man across half back. Not surprisingly, McLeod created numerous rebound opportunities, as he conducted a clinic running around the red and white witches hats that were scattered throughout the centre. Once the game was safe, Welsh and Thompson finished it off with some classic South Australian razzle dazzle in front of goal, as if Good was dancing on the grave of Evil by going for banana goals and three bounce runs in the forward fifty.

 

All of which added up to another revival of Crow passion in the Bill O’Reilly Stand – and an awakening of the sleeping giant within the teeming SA masses that is CrowMania. As one overcome South Australian correspondent put it: “Only two words can describe this: Un Believable”.

 

Your correspondent was then fortunate to witness the glorious aftermath, as Crows supporters stuck it up their Sydney hosts by descending en masse to nearby bars in the inner East, which must have been a shock to their usual clientele, who would have been used to well-groomed Gay Pride rather than the rough-and-ready Pride of SA taking over their watering holes:

 

 

Clearly offended at comments propounded in this column last week that the WA Derby was a poor second cousin to that Ornament of the Game (i.e. Showdown), the Indian Ocean Pretty Boys attempted to match it with Crow Power and put the “lair” back into “flair” on Saturday arvo against a Bulldog side which, frankly, rapidly threatens to become as predictably unexciting as a Peter Harvey sign-off (.…. Canberra).

Fox Footy has essentially become the de facto porno channel, now that Judd and friends are beamed live every second week to Foxtel subscribers. In fact, not since a screaming Paris Hilton adorned the computer screens of many a young perv have so many people had such a passionate urge to self-abuse at the sight of such sensual stimulation, as was served up by the Eagle midfield on Saturday. 

 

As if wanting to aid in providing the ultimate in football orgy, and in a further repudiation of tagging, Rocket kindly decided against man-marking any Eagle on-ballers - almost like pitting Tony Montana armed with his “little friend” in a shootout/showdown against a tribal pygmy armed only with an especially vicious looking piece of watermelon. 

 

Sure, Gilbee, West, Cooney and B. Johnson were honest and capable for the Dogs, but when Michael 'Brazilian' Braun, Chris Studd, Ben 'Only With First' Cousins and Chad 'Fellatio Fiend' Fletcher accumulate over 120 possessions and 12 goals between them (not to mention the acrobatics that go with such a fine collective performance - Moulin Rouge eat your heart out), really the only thing left for any opposition midfield to do in such a circumstance is to follow the Pharmacist's orders and lie back and think of England.

Among the great acts of football showmanship at Subiaco were the following:

1.      A wonderful 55m running goal by Chris Judd, after he had cut a swathe through a disorganised Bulldog pack. Only two questions remain regarding Judd's future: (a) can he get any better?; and (b) can he pull an even better female accessory come Brownlow night 2005?

2.      David Wirrpunda, as always, showed again why he is the black Guy McKenna, but obviously took great umbrage at the spurious claim that only South Australians are capable of the extravagant and effervescent - Wirrpunda scored an outrageous 50m running checkside in the first quarter that got Western Australians so excited they thought Bondy had won another America's Cup

3.      An Ashley Sampi special over his shoulder under extreme duress in the forward pocket during the 3rd quarter

4.      Again, no significant tall timber at West Coast to speak of (like the Black Forest after the acid rain came down)

 

In other news this week:

a)    Brisbane gave up four crucial points against the bye this week (they wore old Fitzroy jumpers this week, but played like they were wearing the old Brisbane Bears “angry koala” guernsey);

b)     The Dees proved again they are too soft to win a premiership - early 2005 Brownlow favourite and not-so-poor man's James Hird, Cameron Bruce, was felled by the little G-train (Brent Guerra);

c)      Port's draw against Carlton confirmed Pagan's excellent head-to-head record with Chocko;

d)     To the Angry Docker Fan (gosh, never seen one of them before) who took umbrage at our pre-season prediction that this week would be their first win of the year: read it and weep - only 1 win after Round 4.

 

TigerWatch, Week 4: The pre-season prediction is being taken off the barbie and we’re reaching for the tomato sauce as we prepare to eat those words of 4 weeks ago predicting Tiger fans would turn after Sunday’s game against the Heave-ho. Unbelievably, the Tiges are now 3-1 after four rounds. However, the word April still looms large. April is of course the favourite month for Tiger fans - or more accurately, the least-worst month. There are still four more months in the home and away season for them to fall in a heap and incite their fans to turn. And nobody knows how to F.U.A.M.W. (F**k Up A Melbourne Winter) better than the Tiges.

 

The Cats turned back the clock to the best and worst of the Blight era with a game that was a mix of unaccountable indifferent footy in the first half, followed by some Chateau Mouton Rothschild 1945 vintage champagne football in the second. Essendon, meanwhile, once again faded out worse than a dodgy rear drum brake on a Lada Samara on a cold morning rolling downhill with a tailwind.

 

Bomber assistant coach Robert Shaw labeled his players soft for failing to “fly the flag” when Hirdy got crunched by Steve Johnson, who seems to alternate week-by-week from ballerina to enforcer for the Cats:

“What made this a great club is that Essendon people always stand up for each other but did we do that on the weekend? I’ve seen our blokes stand up to Wayne Carey, Glenn Archer and Micky Martyn and if that’s missing I say we’ve got a serious problem,” Shaw fumed.

Well perhaps Hirdy could start by flying the flag himself. From his recent forays into the modelling world, however, it looks like he’s more interested in flying the flag of Hugo Boss than that of the Dons. 

 

No doubt his team-mates would be first on the scene to rough-up any miscreant who dared put a crease in his new linen shirt on the eve of Mercedes Fashion Week, but biffo for football-related reasons seems a lower-order priority for them at the moment.

 

 

Hero of week: Neil “The Messiah” Craig - for saving the soul of football and banishing the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse, aka the Sydney Swamp.

 

Cult figure of week: David Wirrpunda - reminding us that checksides are for ALL Australians, and not just Crow razzle dazzle

 

Clanger of week (x 2): 

1. Chris Tarrant - for that kick and subsequent petty tanty in the final quarter, reminding us all that picking Sunraysia oranges for a living is still an option worth pursuing

 

2. Ex-Tiger and Eagle Peter Wilson had the temerity in his role as Fox Fornicatorium Commentator to declare Chris Judd's 55m super goal on Saturday a “misplaced kick to the top of the goal square.” Is this because:

a)   he is bitterly envious that such genius is the product of a Victorian, not a sandgroper?;

b)   he realises the “cork in the ocean” thing is starting to wear a little thin?; or

c)   he is a cretin?

Such heresy would never be sanctioned in South Australia - Neil Kerley would never have bagged Darren Jarman for kicking another 'fluke' goal, nor would he have disparaged Modra's flagrantly lairising attempts at another screamer. Instead, the silly old bugger faces West Lakes, kneels in respect and worship, and thanks God eternally that he (and God) is South Australian.