Every instinct

Round 9, 2021
St Kilda 0.7, 3.11, 4.13, 5.17 (47)
Geelong Cats 2.1, 4.2, 6.6, 10.8 (68)
Crowd: 26,712 at Marvel Stadium, Friday, May 14th at 7.50pm

A few weeks ago it was considered outrageous that we’d be given a Friday night match (and a Saturday night following). This Friday night had all the air of a group that had set itself to take a big scalp on the big stage and reannounce itself to its fans and the rest of the footy world. Wins against a flat Hawthorn and an unconvincing Gold Coast were enough to think we might give this a shake (but still only 26,000 to turn up).

What we got a was a microcosm of St Kilda from 2000 onwards; ultimately an example of attaching ourselves to a Saints team through attrition. All those nights we spent at Colonial Stadium watching high-intensity losses and faltering finishes of a team featuring a young Roo, Lenny, Dal, et al.; watching Roo take charge of “the worst game ever” from centre half back and Daniel Wulf run in and hit the post, right through to Ben Long and Paddy McCartin bringing back a team to level with GWS and a ballooning Stuv kick going just too high for Jake Carlisle in the last seconds, and the umpire missing an over the shoulder call.

But there was all the other side of this century rolled into it too. This club has been coming down from the Riewoldt generation for years, and – neatly coinciding with the turn of the decade – finally was able to experience the present and look to the future. It’s 12 years on from 2009 – 11 including 2010 – but it’s starting to feel old. Or part of a different era, at least? Of course there are hallmarks, but we’re not quite entirely consumed by the comedown of the Grand Finals and the Riewoldt generation. Also, the past never dies. There is something about the Cats. That rivalry of the 2000s has never gone away for us, while the Cats have gone to a decade since that has featured a premiership, another Grand Final, and constant finals appearances. The navy and white hoops perennially represent trouble.

Yes, you can find traces of history in everything if you look hard enough, but there was simply too much going on here. We had Round 14, 2009 wheeled out during the week as you’d expect. That’s an afternoon that really just now brings a sadness, that that group of players never saluted, and the frittering away of multiple shots on goal on Grand Final Day of that year, down by one goal when the siren went despite huge pressure and not doing much wrong around the ground (our final score was 68 in the 2009 and 2019 Grand Finals; Geelong last night kicked the same).

Would have, could have, should have. The tone was set early with Marshall missing. And then Max King. And then Membrey. These weren’t hard shots. Max King would have torn the game apart, but for poor kicking. Bad kicking is bad football, and his ability to take in 10 marks can co-exist with his ongoing want to shank set shots. Our equivalent of a toe-poke moment in the third quarter (see how much lower the stakes are for us) ended up with our Messiah tripping over his own feet. Membrey was right there but, given his chest mark drop just before the siren a couple of minutes later, who the hell knows how that would have turned out. Tuohy glided through and away without breaking stride. Lonie’s effort backing into two oncoming Cats deserved so much more than that, and, watching the replay, deserved BT to actually call him as “Lonie”, not “Higgins”). Anyone who watched Front Bar would have seen Heath Shaw talking about the 2010 Grand Final Replay smother. This felt like some sort of horrible reverse 2009 toe-poke and smother mash-up.

The roar and groan was the anguish and frustration of a supporter base learning in real time that tonight is not its time, and this is not yet its not yet its time. Maybe soon, but there’s more waiting required.

***

For a few days at least, Max King is his own topic of discussion. Goal kicking is something that can be fixed, and we should note that he has been building towards a performance in which his presence genuinely becomes a cause for anxiety. He’s now kicked 13.18 this year (and 35.38 in his career). He took 10 marks in an otherwise towering performance, let alone what he’s shown he can do at the fall of the ball or moving through opponents in the forward line. He is still 20 years old and has played 26 games, having missed effectively the entirety of his Under 18 year with an ACL and almost all of 2019 due to the recovery and then a syndesmosis injury. He is way, way ahead of where he should be, or where anyone else would be. He remains our next Messiah. He’s a tall unmissable forward, he grew up as a St Kilda supporter, he wears number 12.

An unwillingness from umpires to not pay holding the ball or incorrect disposal against Geelong players, yet pay a mark clearly dropped at their half-back and then get sucked in by Gary Rohan’s dive, giving them a goal. When I think about this the more indignant parts of me scream that they’ve been doing it since Tom Hawkins hit the post in the second quarter of 2009 (and including to the point where several minutes of free rides from the 2010 Qualifying Final was compiled for YouTube; now sadly taken down). Brad Hill legged and holding the ball, Ratugolea awarded a mark with Ryder in front. Max King hit the post to bring the margin back to 10 points in the final term and firmly wrestle back the momentum but hit the post, and the ball went straight up the other end to the guy who hit that post in 2009, who kicked the sealer. Straight through.

The umpiring generally was enough to draw out an aggressive comment from a St Kilda coach. The last time that I really remember that happening led to Whispers in the Sky, but it’s still refreshing to have someone who is universally respected across the AFL landscape and having a crack at the AFL also be the coach of St Kilda. I think he is getting very attached to the team and the club.

For all of those wayward decisions, the St Kilda Football Club will raise us all of those set shots and missed opportunities that when into the 0.9 start and the 5.17 finish (not that we need any real reminding or convincing). King tripping over, Membrey dropping the chest mark (I smacked the seat next to me twice and my hand remains sore but in a stable condition), Ben Long being unable to land the ball anywhere near the advantage of Josh Battle charging goalward, Hunter Clark fended off an opponent and kicked over the top of the leading Membrey’s head.

The best and worst thing is that nothing really needed to change around the ground, at all. For all intents and purposes, this was our best performance of the year. Again, how much can a team rely on a 33-year-old ruckman at his third club? More than it does Rowan Marshall, who might be our second most important player. His loss in the third quarter coincided with a drop in share of the footy, but even while Crouch was off the ground and without Zak Jones, we still had the opportunities on goal. They were good chances all the way throughout, too. Whereas the 8.15 scoreline against the Suns made perfect sense because our ball use and movement going forward meant so many of the shots were rushed or from difficult angles, this 5.17 was purely waste.

***

Geelong always appeared to have another gear. The no-frills rebound that led to Hawkins’ first goal, the combination of their widely-acknowledged bigger bodies that ties in with their game style, but the addition of Isaac Smith and Higgins with Cameron, Hawkins and Rohan up forward gives them a rightful confidence they can move the ball a little more quickly. Menegola’s care-free goal off a step at that crucial moment early in the last, Rohan making the most of his gift chance, Hawkins putting the sealer straight through without a care.

And yet, we were sitting back in our usual seats, having lost lost to Richmond here in our last prime time outing by 86 points, and had the team that beat the tigers last week by 63 on the ropes. We could be going 5-4! Maybe we’re back! Some short-term redemption, at least, for a horrible three-out-of-four weeks. Instead, we left the ground like a loose cable snaking around and spitting our sparks and smoke. It’s draining and exhausting in the moment. It’s a fucking whirlwind and it’s overwhelming. It’s frustrating, comical, infuriating and embarrassing. A volatile mix of pride and frustration and indignity.

These are the games that get you attached to a team. Matt said it was a surreal night at the footy. It did feel that way. Things get surreal when they matter again, and as you learn to trust a group with representing the St Kilda Football Club, as you feel a pang of disappointment as you learn Rowan Marshall is out of the game and that Brad Crouch is being assessed. After coming down from a cagey walk in the post-game crowd crush and the tram trip home, thinking about umpires and Geelong and missed shots at goal and 2009, and after going over Friday night again and reliving it through writing this, I land back here on a Sunday evening in 2021, thinking about Max King and Rowan Marshall and Dan Butler and Jack Higgins and Hunter Clark, and that rather than pulling us down, the timeline for this team is now unfolding in front of us.