Baby you have travelled for miles

Round 20, 2021
St Kilda 3.1, 5.3, 7.7, 12.9 (81)
Carlton 5.1, 10.1. 15.2, 18.4 (112)
Crowd: Zero at Docklands, Friday, July 30th at 7.50pm

At the end of a week of unrelenting slow-motion footage of swimmers’ immediate reactions to their placings, their families back home, Abbey and Hamish being just that little bit too over-the-top about it all, the Matildas, the Boomers, Jess Fox, a spiralling COVID outbreak, and, on Friday, COVID at the Olympics, and then a sort-of-bombshell announcement that Clarko would be leaving the Hawks in a few weeks, Carlton’s review being handed in, Gary Ayres being sacked by Port Melbourne, David Teague maybe being sacked as a result of the review and also Clarko being officially available, and Sam McClure – who had run alongside Caro with the Clarko story – confidently saying on SEN the Carlton coach next year would likely be one of Clarko or Ross Lyon, St Kilda was playing Carlton at an empty Concrete Dome.

No matter that St Kilda’s season was on the line. A win would have us in 8th place ahead of the rest of the round. Between flicking across to the main 7 channel to see Sam Kerr, Teagan Micah, et al’s heroics, we were treated to the worst 31-point loss known to science (aside from the 1997 Grand Final, which “in another, more accurate way” was infinitely worse. Touché Justin.).

Three wins following the Adelaide-in-Cairns calamity and the bye, and we looked like we had the season back on track and a more definable game style. After the Brisbane win, we were suddenly favourites for a finals place, but losses of a combined 18 points to Port and West Coast put us in the awkward Mathematical Chance category on the final turn and reminded us that we probably wouldn’t capture any real sustained positive momentum this season.

Because this is the team. It either picks and chooses when to go, or it simply can’t. Hell, even parts of the team – Brett Ratten in the 7 pre-game talking about how the midfield was down last week made me think that given the number of bounce backs throughout this year – the first West Coast match, the post-bye mini-run – that after two weeks and that performance, Steele, Crouch and Dunstan would be primed for a big night. The late withdrawal of Paddy Ryder hurt immensely, in the sense that we might rely too much on a 33-year-old specifically playing with Rowan Marshall. Jack Silvagni was placed in the ruck given the lessened threat and a Carlton backing their mids over ours. We won the hit-out count 70-16 but effectively broke even in the clearances.

Steele had eight tackles at the beginning of the second quarter and finished with 36 touches. He looked genuinely disappointed in the moments following the siren. Crouch got a lot of the ball, and so did Dunstan, but for a second consecutive week their influence again felt well below what it should have been (According to Wayne Carey, Dunstan was going at 0% efficiency with his first eight touches, but this has been disputed).

Max King picked up where he left off. He looked – looks – unstoppable with space in front of him (not that he needs a huge amount at his height). Three tall marks and three goals by quarter-time, giving it to Weitering as he put through the third. A spurious free kick on the quarter-time siren offered the chance to needlessly break his goal kicking confidence – he was on a run of 17.4 from set shots over recent weeks and into that moment, and he hooked the ball trying to make the 50-metre-plus distance.

No matter – he kicked the next one with minimal fuss. The problem was that it came in the last quarter and we were back to the bad old days of April and May, of large losses and a complete breakdown of play. I’ve been thinking about what exactly to write for this part but like those performances, this was comprehensive. Without needing to rack up massive numbers, Walsh, Cripps, Kennedy, Dow and yes, Silvagni took control of the stoppages and it went from there. Another smashing at the Concrete Disney Store, another team that just seemed to disappear in-game. Dunstan multiple times kicked low balls into the 50 that gave zero St Kilda forwards a chance, ignoring the fact that the most dangerous Saint on the ground had given us nine demos in the previous five quarters on what might work. Kent, Butler, Long and Higgins had few moments of impact. Brad Hill demanded the ball off half-back but to no discernible end.

Zak Jones was trying to make things happen and again barrelled his way to the footy, perhaps trying to occasionally do just a little too much once he got it. Sixth-gamer Leo Connolly proved to be the most creative Saint with multiple dashes and slicing through traffic in attempts to make something, anything, happen.

The first quarter saw commentators – for the first time in a long time – openly willing an individual Saint to an exciting performance. That goodwill and anticipation for Max was a distant memory by the final moments of the second term. Webster lost his bearings as James Brayshaw uttered “Saints have the numbers”, and a Carlton kick that was slammed into an open forward line bounced perfectly for Fisher, who neatly gave off to Williamson. His kick on the half-time siren went through, and we’d quietly blown our season.

***

Sharman kicked his first goal as the Matildas stormed their way through to – and then held on for – a famous win. I only just caught it – I’d spent most of the lead-in to the game, quarter-time and half-time following the Matildas’ quarter final.

Outside of the team events, the Olympics is feel-good junk food, or at least is presented that way. We don’t follow individual athletes like we do a club – St Kilda has existed for 148 years and represents more than the sum of its parts. Its on-field history; the experiences of its fans and the collective. But at the Olympics, everyone’s a hero, everyone has done a nation proud, everyone is an inspiration, and according to 7, we’re almost expected to be celebrating just like Ariarne Titmus’s family or the students at someone’s old primary school, to the point where it can wrongfully dilute the passages of athletes like Saya Sakakibara.

I haven’t not watched any of the Olympics; in fact, I have watched and listened to a lot of it. And enjoyed it (but not so much the presentation). Part of me was perhaps waiting all week to watch the Saints and feel smug about how much more real the attachment is. Another showcase from the next Messiah – I was there from the start! Only footy can do this!

Following St Kilda post-2011 has just been a dour lifestyle choice rather than an observable journey. While I’m fortunate enough to be in a position to be able to pay for a souped-up membership every year, it’s silly of me to put pressure on myself (however subconsciously) to feel or experience (and then write about) every match in a horribly fatalistic manner. Friday night is the “every week” in the “I watch the Saints every week”. Sometimes that’s ok. Not every medal winner has to be an incredible inspiration, nor was the “entire country” jumping up and down in the lounge room. But I did take a few minutes out of my day to go to the lounge room and watch Jess Fox in the C-1 final. And I got a thrill out of it!

***

BT tried winding up the prospect of a potential upset with seven or so minutes left. Indeed, there was a minute or so in which the intensity clearly lifted (maybe it was just BT’s slightly-louder commentating) and it appeared we may have the momentum and just a four-goal margin with plenty of time left. The ball fell to Billings for a second set shot in the quarter, on the right side for his left boot that we all assumed several years ago would become a weapon. He missed. In that moment he may have perhaps been a victim of BT trying to keep viewers on 7mate rather than whichever of the others was showing the Olympics, but the connection between this team, its players and this season seemed to fall apart at that point.

Only a run of late goals prevented this from being the eight goals-plus margin that it absolutely should have been. The umpire himself had just given up by the end, paying a free at the top of the square in the final minutes to Jack Higgins while Cooper Sharman claimed the mark. In the spirit of a game played at a lower intensity and in a duller atmosphere than the pre-season match between these teams at the same venue, he left it to the players to decide who should take the kick.

After the bronze medals of the week – some upsetting, some uplifting, some bemusing – and the close-run silvers, and the GOLD FOR AUSTRALIA, and Alastair Clarkson, and David Teague, and Sam Kerr, and 20 rounds of a season, St Kilda is 13th on the ladder.