Cold night, cold vibes

Round 17, 2022
St Kilda 4.4, 7.6, 9.8, 10.70 (70)
Fremantle 4.3, 6.4, 13.8, 17.9 (111)
Crowd: 21,652 at Marvel Stadium, Saturday, July 9th at 7.25pm
By Lethal

These are the types of games that when the season is done and you look back, are going to jump off of the page, good, bad or ugly. A fork-in-the-road, an 8-point-game, a do-or-die game. At home at Concrete Stadium. We simply haven’t had many of them over the last 9 years – certainly not in Melbourne. So many times on this blog we’ve mentioned how, even though 2020 happened, the crux of the Saints faithful hasn’t bonded with this group. These are the nights for that to happen, one way or the other.

Tom and Matt were late and understandable withdrawals, and would be taking in the game via Channel 7. Do I go it alone? I hadn’t faced this conundrum in a long time and the digitisation of ticketing was somewhat of a blocker in fobbing off a couple of social club tickets to non-Saints mates. It was a game time decision.  

I scarfed-up and left the house to jump in the car. 

If you had spoken to me at half-time of this one, as Rory (RWB ambassador) did, you would’ve seen me pretty damn chuffed. I didn’t have high hopes for us against the Top 4 bound Dockers, especially after Dougal went down with a knee last week. Not even the mention of Pierce being scratched really sparked my hopes up. The Dockers are just too disciplined, too big up forward and in the engine room they have aces that we don’t have. 

But if you had spoken to me at half-time, I was pretty chuffed at how well the Saints had played. We had witnessed Sinclair with a sneaky Banger Harvey impersonation, shimmying not once but twice laterally, before lofting a beautiful sausage through in the second term. We had witnessed the Saints with some incisive, considered cutting and thrusting through the Dockers defensive zone to set up 16 first quarter inside 50s. The centre was ours; we were well on top of the clearances. Seb Ross was using his jets to good effect, bursting clear of stoppages and (remarkably) finishing off with spearing drop punts into the forward 50. 

For all that goodness, we ended up a measly 8 points ahead at half-time. 

In the cold, cold, cold light of Sunday and taking in the decisive third term replay on Kayo, it was that lack of ruthlessness and polish in the first half that left a really bittersweet taste in the mouth. Our 2020 footy as much as anything is proof that scoreboard pressure counts for so much, especially when up against more credentialled opposition. We weren’t able to go for the jugular in the first half. As much as we were transitioning the ball with more fluidity, the second term in particular, resulted in a lot of shallow entries. As a result, we had several shots from near or on the 50 metre arc. Skunk, Winx, Ryder amongst others all failing to convert from reasonably tricky distances and angles. Skunk’s first of the night gave us a 14 point buffer. As far as the scoreboard goes that was to be as good as it got for us. There were only a couple of minutes and change left before the main break when he kicked that and yet we still coughed up another soft goal to give them new life before half time. It would come in the most frustrating of ways too: ‘arm chop’ is how the umpire described it at the time. I think Rory Lobbe was as surprised as anyone to receive it. It was a clean Silky Wilkie spoil. 8 points at half time.

But the real thorn in our side through the night was some of the calamitous ball handling and disposal out of the back half. Pour one Jameson out for poor Darragh Joyce. The Irishman had a real night to forget. His attempted handball across goal in the first term was easily chopped off by Banfield and duly swept through for a goal. Gresh too was guilty of a terrible turnover, this time bursting through the centre and straight into a cul-de-sac of onrushing Dockers, before looping a handball over them to ugh…more Dockers. Turnover, bang, goal. These clown-like moments didn’t seem to puncture the Saints enthusiasm or appetite for the contest through the first half. This may have been the half in which Steele, Crouch and Ross as a trio put together their best half as a unit, especially when you consider who they were going up against. The Saints powered on. But those unforced errors served to keep the Dockers afloat when they should’ve been on the ropes. Saints fans have seen this movie umpteenth times before. 

I walked out of the stadium a couple of minutes prior to the final siren. I wanted to beat the traffic home and the final quarter had become a real bloodbath. The arctic wind rushed through a more cavernous Corporate Stadium. What a game of two halves. Brayshaw, relatively inactive to half-time, had 23 touches in the second half. Will Brody kicked two sublime goals and really injected himself into the game. Fyfe was getting involved, though he was mainly on the end of some catastrophic turnovers. 

The talk of the media after the Blues game was of the Saints newfound swashbuckling ball movement. This was somewhat laughable. The cut and thrust that the likes of Hill and Sinclair initiated for the Saints was present for about a quarter and a bit on that night. The decisive element though (particularly in the first half) was the intensity that the Saints were able to bring in their front half. Even as the Blues took control during the second quarter, and as the influence of Hill and Sinclair was being stifled, the Saints were able to stem the bleeding by generating two consecutive goals courtesy of great forward pressure. From their 7.6 to half-time, 5.2 were from forward half turnovers. Those “easy” opportunities are what good teams are able to do to keep their boat afloat even against the flow of the game.

Absent those quickfire opportunities on the back of turnovers, the Saints rely so heavily on their forwards taking contested marks to generate shots on goal. Of course, some of this can be put down to the key forwards needing to work more to try and create space for each other. Too often, Marshall and Max, or Paddy and Max, or Skunk and Max are paired together near the pocket, only for both of them going for the mark. Rarely, do they block for each other. Those layers to the forward play of this team still seem lacking. 

The other end of the ground though I think will bear the brunt of the mid-week review though. Joyce (at least once), Ross, Battle, Paddy (in a St Kilda jumper), Silky Wilkie, Webster, Highmore were all guilty of some horrendous decisions and disposals coming out of the back 50 in that early third term. As much as the Dockers had taken the Saints centre square dominance personally and ramped up their pressure, the way the defense in particular wilted was terrible. Coming into the game it was easy to envisage Lobbe wreaking havoc, marking everything vaguely kicked into the sky in the Freo forward 50. Yet the Freo third-term onslaught began with Seb electing not to give a simple handball to Steele in the back pocket, and then flubbing a right-foot kick feebly into opposition hands. Schultz’s resulting kick flicked straight to an unmarked Lobbe. He kicked truly. The die was cast. 

(Perhaps the most lol-worthy of this cavalcade of defensive mistakes was Wilkie getting called to play-on, just as Battle was running behind him for some reason. Wilkie gave the handball just as Battle’s opponent was tackling him. Battle fumbled and then handballed a simple handball at Joyce’s shoelaces and Joyce turned inboard from the boundary line to whack a kick 25 metres straight into the corridor of the Docker’s forward 50. It was hard to comprehend). 

The twist of the knife in this game was that, as much as the air had been sucked out of the side with an avalanche of 5 or 6 Dockers goals in quick succession, the Saints suddenly won a couple of centre clearances. Skunk Membrey was the beneficiary of another Crouch clearance. It was a gigantic set shot; the chance to keep a flicker of hope alive. Goal. Another centre bounce, another clearance for the Saints. SnagsCoin did his customary throwing of himself forward and duping the umpires into an in-the-back decision. One of countless atrocious decisions for the night – though one of the few that went our way. SnagsCoin’s speculative, arching, high shot from 50 sailing high and true. As it dropped, Mason Wood swooped along the goal line and clunked a brilliant grab. Goal. Margin was back to 18 points and Saints fans dared to entertain the thought of a revival. 

What would transpire over the remaining 2.5-3 minutes of the third term was a blur and ended up with the most collectively livid Saints crowd I can remember through 3 decades of going to AFL games. As the momentum had sneakily shifted, Silky Wilkie smothered Taberner’s kick. Taberner had been gifted a free-kick after a pathetic in-the-back decision following an aerial contest about 55m from the Saints goal. Take note. Anyway, Wilkie smothers the ensuing kick and the ball makes it’s way to Butler in the left pocket. Butler had been active all night; his appetite for pressure was up (he’d finish with 6 tackles and two goals). Instinctively he swung onto his right foot. It arched, it carried the 30m easily. Just skinny. Back to 17 points. That would be as close as they would get. 

The quarter would finish with Marvel ringing in a chorus of boos from Saints fans after a hilariously bad sequence of umpiring, ending with Butler remonstrating with the umpire and Michael Fredericks kicking truly from 25 metres out. Butler had remonstrated after not being paid holding-the-ball for a chase down on Clarke, and then the Dockers being paid holding-the-ball only 5 seconds later. It was an incredible sequence. Yet things had been building up to that point, especially since Lobbe was paid that fanciful free-kick for chopping-the-arms late in the second term in front of goal when the Saints were well on top. I don’t think I dedicate many “column inches” on this site to the umpires, but there’s no doubt that they had an extraordinarily bad night and that their incompetency helped in shaping the momentum of the game at various times. It made the game hard to watch. (Though I find myself evening saying this when watching neutral games too). When the Saints were down 17, Crouch laid a perfect tackle on Hughes who had taken him on with possession. The ball spilled loose. No call. They were 20 metres out from the Saints goal at the time. 

It finished as a 41 point loss, though it felt like so much worse. The night had promised so much at times but the Saints toppled over all too easily. 

Jack Billings’ 150th. He started the game on the bench, or at least it felt that way. The first time I noticed him was when he watched Darcy’s speculative snap bounce through in the first term. I’ve officially found myself in the phase of watching Latte and just feeling sorry for him. Each game you’ll see him bob up to get a few chip kicks up the line on the back flank. He looks so diligent in trying hard. When he kicked a junk-time goal versus the Swans 3 weeks back, he urged his teammates to fight it out. “Come on!”. Jack is likeable and he has his moments swinging onto a left-foot snap here and there, but it’s a running game as ever, and he moves like he’s in quicksand. No matter where you place him on the ground, he looks mismatched. The game demands severe adherence to closing down and exposing spaces in rapid flurries, over and over and over. Jack doesn’t seem physically at the level.

The Dockers looked like scoring most times they’d go into the forward 50. They started the game with 7 scoring shots from 10 inside 50s in the first quarter. And you can’t solely point the finger at the likes of Callum, Darragh, Tom and Josh. When you watch the Dees, the Cats, even the Dockers (on Sat night!), you’re struck with how consistently they can plug up space in their back fifty. Midfielders bust a gut just in the hope of occupying a space in a grid that may deter the opposition from entering the corridor. And they do this instinctively and feverishly. Fyfe was afforded an acre of space to lead into untouched. The Saints mids were back, but they just hung around the 50 metre arc. No attention to detail; no game sense. 

Against the Blues, a Blues outfit minus Jacob Weitering (and no Liam Jones of course), Max King was mainly used as a decoy. Skunk Membrey ended up with 4 and Marshall had 12 marks for the night – a rare night in the BEST for RoMa in 2022. And even despite playing sacrificial lamb, Max ended up snagging 3 of his own. It seemed like a game within the game that the Saints had won. Brennan Cox is no Glenn Jakovich and yet he’d be very pleased with his night versus Max on Saturday. Max had started so well in the first term, kicking an early set shot, but there on out the Dockers clattered him, crashed every aerial contest, deprived him of air space. Max King is the least of the Saints’ concerns. He’s the first true beam of hope for the Saints in a decade. Watching him in the flesh, it just becomes disheartening at times how he seems reluctant to lead at the ball. He seems hellbent at running back deep and calling for the ball long. It seems to play into the opposition’s hands a lot of the time.

At 9-7 their fate is still technically in their hands. And yet I think subconsciously it’s become evident that the Saints are going to need the Footy Gods to shine down on them to help in their pursuit of a finals berth. Approaching the mid-season break at 8-3, the gauntlet of big challenges on the horizon was more than evident. The way they’ve taken on those challenges has been revealing.

They need D-Mac back – a true soldier and selfless competitor. They need Paddy Ryder to find some life in his legs. Winx needs to pull out some flaming hot quarters. They need Seb to keep turning on the jets out of contests. They need a few more Nasiah flashes of brilliance. Butler needs to keep down impressions of the roadrunner. They need to stop shooting themselves in the foot with their disposal. They must win on Friday night versus the Dogs.