Max’s big six

Round 10, 2022
Adelaide 1.5, 4.8, 6.13, 9.15 (69)
St Kilda 2.1, 3.3, 6.4, 14.6 (90)
Crowd: 28,783 at Adelaide Oval, Saturday, May 21st at 7:00pm

As predictable as Round 7’s slow-motion-car-crash loss to the Power was in Cairns, the win over their cross-town rivals on Saturday Night at the Adelaide Oval was thrilling. Not because the Saints’ structures suddenly clicked into place; not because the team started where they left off from Marvel last week; not because my Democracy Sausage contained a little extra something-something. Big players played big and some of the residual belief found in last week’s blitzkrieg at Marvel had seemingly stuck.

Even for them the Saints start on Saturday night was frightful. I had dedicated a decent portion of the early part of election day to sweating out a hangover, and then predictably attained enough snacks to sink the Titanic in anticipation of a Saints/Federal Election double-header. I had stress-eaten my way through copious amounts of popcorn as the Crows leaped ahead in the clearances 8-3, notching up the first 9 inside 50s. The Saints would finish the quarter with a measly 9 of their own after being on the back foot almost exclusively. Flashbacks to that fateful, humid, greasy night in Cairns flooded back as the ball mimic’d a bar of soap early. In one of the few promising forays forward, Gresham scythed through the centre corridor only to completely shank the drop punt into fifty, and a lumbering Marshall then comically juggled the pick up, taking 2 or 3 bites at the cherry, before coughing up the handball. It didn’t scream inspiration. King, of course, made a mockery of all this shortly before quarter time in going back with the flight and dobbing his first set shot of the night. This was only to be the beginning. “Get it anywhere near the bloke and he’s going to be hard to beat” claimed Ricciuto. On this night, that statement actually seemed reasonable – despite the Saints every effort to butcher the footy. 

It’s been well documented that more than ever, trust issues have come to the fore for Saints fans in 2022. The demolition at the hands of the Dees thwarted this process even further, just as the Media was coaxing Saints fans into starting to believe. And the false-start against the young Pies set us on our heels psychologically from Round 1. Obviously any Saints fan who was old enough to fully absorb the near-misses of The Lyon Era has grappled with this for several years at least. But, even more so, the relationship with this particular group of players has been such a peculiar one. In 2021, with hopes mostly high, the fans started to finally witness the likes of Hill, Dougal, Butler, King and the rest, having only cheered them on from afar via screens. And though the highs of 2020 were high there was still something missing. We had to see it for ourselves; seeing it under the ferocious heat of packed footy stadiums. Wins like the one on Saturday night, especially in defiance of the odds, and our history, and our current inadequacies, especially when our big players play big help forge bonds with the fans that actually only strengthen in time. 

Max King is only 21 years and 10 months old, and yet – as Chris Scott noted last week – he is probably the best young key forward in the game. Some would say he’s already in the top handful of forwards overall. King’s year had been a slight tease to this point. He’s had some telling games, whilst also still working through the rigours of playing against uber disciplined defences week after week. On Saturday night there was a ruthlessness and a undeniability that we hadn’t witnessed before from Max, especially not over a full four quarters. 5 contested marks, 6 marks overall and 6 goals. This is a performance that I think, in the deep recesses of most Saints’ fans minds existed, yet there’s been a tentativeness to actually let those beliefs breathe. He was playing on Nick Murray, hardly a Glenn Jakovich figure in the game, but the ruthlessness and the quality of the Max’s marking spoke of a guy who backed himself to mark and kick anything. Tellingly, aside from Max’s sixth, all of his set shots came from within 30 metres or less.

On form, on play, on connection, on general structure this was a sub-par performance – even going by the eye test, and with no access to anything resembling professional sports analytics at hand. Even when the Saints came out of the gates full of gusto in the third quarter, it only seemed to accentuate the raggedness of our structures between the arcs. By three-quarter time, I felt like we had emptied our clip. The Crows, replete with some sharp, nimble forward/midfielders, seemed to be collectively licking their lips at the end-to-end flow of the game. We were lucky to win the quarter in the end with the Crows scuppering opportunities left and right, on their way to 2.5. 

Dwayne Russell did his best to set the bad juju in full flight at three-quarter time, positing “We know they’re finals worthy, but are they top 4 worthy?” – pipe down; that’s tantamount to a hate crime for any rusted-on Saints fan. (Was this the most Bad Juju Saints Broadcast Team yet? Dwayne, Adelaide FC Director Mark Ricciuto, and ex failed part-time Saints Goalkicking coach guy Ben Dixon). Yet, the Saints were clearly not listening. Windy with possibly the most composed and precise kick of the night, setting up Max for the first major of the final term, with a sensational place kick that had the purity of a sand-wedge onto a manicured green. (Funnily enough, as King remarked, we probably had our best game kicking the ball specifically to King. Hill’s dime swinging a drop-punt into the fat-side of the forward line in the third term was probably the pick of the bunch. Wood’s arching left-footer in the first term was also a beauty). Max had 5, the Saints had 7 and we were within 3 points. Shortly thereafter, Naz’s moment came, dashing into space and side-stepping around one. He wasn’t able to cash in, but suddenly the momentum was fully with the Saints. Adelaide’s mosquito fleet, notably Rachele and Rowe, among others were stubbornly keeping the Crowe’s in touch though – with some great Selwood impersonations to boot. 

Those that had been anonymous were suddenly getting a sniff, and producing individual moments. Billings, virtually unsighted all night, followed up a dogged attack on the ball with a handball receive and deft right-foot pass. Sharman marked and went back with confidence from beyond 50. Goal. If it wasn’t that moment that made you a believer, it was Tex Walker flubbing a routine snap from 25 metres a couple of minutes later. Bad kicking is bad footy. The Saints may as well have trademarked that saying. Dawson would go on to kick the Crows back in front but St Kilda weren’t to be denied. Down by two points, with 7 minutes left, they found a way to four more majors. All of them came from towering marks. The height advantage was suddenly paying off majorly. Paddy Ryder (of the St Kilda football club) kicked the penultimate major and being the Spiritual Leader he is, his overshadowed RoMa’s final sausage. 

(Sharman’s goal from fifty was a deft reminder of his sneaky Cult Status potential. He’s overtaken Skunk as the true exponent of the leaning-back double-fist pump goal celebration. But Clubhouse leader Jack Hayes is still way out in front however. Windhager also getting hype here and there). 

Ratts labelled the game as a whole pretty bad overall. Many individuals lowered their colours or just didn’t have any sustained influence – Billings, Wood, Sharman, Jones, Naz, Paton, Mackenzie among them. Structurally, things looked ragged at times and of course, our woefield field kicking again tormented us. We finished with 73 clangers (73!). We had just come off our second win against the Cats in virtually a decade. They’ve been the gold standard when it comes to chalking up wins regardless of predictions and circumstances. Sceptics have continually bobbed up; questions about the inevitable age barrier catching up with their linchpin stars. Every year they find ways to win; they adjust, they grind. Often it’s not pretty, but there’s a relentless pursuit and inner-belief that they have enough each week. One or two Saturday nights in May doesn’t redefine a team, but these wins for the Saints have a glimmer of that appetite for winning. 

I’ve been one of the more vocal critics of Brad Crouch. With a big contract comes significant expectations, and the boy from Ballarat, in a return to his old AFL stomping ground, put in one of his more important and telling shifts as a Saint. Especially in the absence of our fearless skipper this was an important performance. Along with Gresham, he willed our midfield back into the fight in the second half and his wobby, feeble left-foot snap goal in the final term was just desserts. Both Seb and Crouch can often look outdated; cut from cloth from yesteryear when midfielders revelled at the bottom of the pack and often had more handballs than kicks. Unlike Seb, Crouch doesn’t possess a couple of extra gears in leg-speed, but his work in close was instrumental in the Saints finally establishing some ongoing field position and time in their forward half in the final term.

One of the understandable criticisms of this St Kilda side is the lack of margin for error in its makeup. Our better performances this year have been largely based on controlled, measured, disciplined performances of even contribution. We have often been as good as our bottom handful of players and this becomes especially noticeable against the heavyweight teams, who are able to put the blowtorch to how many of those guys can deliver under the heat. This performance on Saturday night was at odds with that. King, Hill, Wilkie were all sublime. Wilkie’s pouncing on Darcy Fogarty in the goal-square was breathtaking. And as David King was at pains to highlight, Brad Hill (in his 200th game) turned the game on its head and was almost becoming St Kilda’s sole path to quality shots on goal for portions of the game. Not only was Hill’s customary silky disposal into the forward line on display, but he was also proving to be one of the more clean ball-handlers and elusive customers in the greasy conditions. And in retrospect, some of those mad collabs between Hill and King, were what Saints fans had let themselves fantasise about coming into 2021. Coming to the footy and witnessing individuals manually shift this team into top gear when the need arises.

As the Saints upped the tempo and started to roll the dice with the ball a little more, inevitably the back six found itself in more and more 1-on-1s. This culminated in some epic duels between Wilkie and Tex Walker in particular. Wilkie had him in his pocket all night. Another quiet scalp for The Accountant. He’s become absolutely indispensable to this team. Acting captain Dougal Howard was pretty damn solid as well, particularly early when the Crows were flinging the ball forward with ease and frequency. 

“They’re scary good” proclaimed Dwayne before the final siren. Not sure about that one. Sometimes we are scary, sometimes we are good. Sometimes The Ben Long Experience is maddening. Jack Steele’s AC joint could’ve been the needle that popped the Saints season. 6 to 8 weeks without him was a diagnosis to dampen any win. 7 wins from 10, and with the Roos up next – even for the most traumatised Saints fan, this juncture of the season is laced with opportunity.