David Foster Wallace once wrote that Michael Chang had the unhappiest face he had seen outside of a graduate creative writing program. A few years ago, I was on a city loop train when a group of Carlton fans alighted at Spencer St. Suddenly, I was confronted with an entire carriage of Michael Changs. I have never seen a more miserable-looking bunch. GWS were basically playing with 16 men and were 100 points up with a quarter to run. The Carlton fans had seen enough. Their team had broken them. They had lost faith, hope, interest and, in some cases, their marbles.
On Monday mornings, the players would issue tortured apologies. Former player Mark Maclure would appear on AFL 360 like a man contesting a parking ticket in the Magistrates Court. He would bemoan “20 years of rubbish”. What do they stand for, he would ask? What is in their DNA? After one game, the Herald Sun’s Mark Robinson questioned whether the Bluebirds, Carlton’s former dance troupe, would have tackled harder. After one of their players had transgressed, the entire playing group visited Ravenhall Prison. “One thing they lack,” Patrick Cripps said - presumably in reference to the inmates - “is a bit of purpose and direction”.
Well, the dark days are gone. Carlton fans are smiling again. They have a new coach, president and chief executive. Their team is playing an old-school, eminently watchable brand of football. Their captain is arguably the best player in Australia right now. They are undefeated, and appear to have a pretty soft draw ahead.
By jove, they did it the hard way on Sunday. Early on in the second term you could not have written a ticket on Hawthorn. They were seven goals down. They were being decimated out of the centre and in the air. But methodically, they chipped away at the margin. They are very much a team which relies on its rebounding defenders and Carlton started playing right into their hands. The Blues were bombing, the Hawks were spring-boarding off half back, and the most remarkable of comeback wins was on the cards. In the end, a desperate diving mark from Jacob Weitering secured the Carlton victory.
There is nothing particularly sophisticated about how the Blues play. Michael Voss basically says: “Here’s our game style – good luck beating it.” They back themselves to win at the source, kick long to their tall targets and fight like buggery to lock it in. But, crucially, they have implemented a defensive press. In the past few years, they have been unable – or unwilling – to work defensively. The acquisition of George Hewitt – a big-bodied, no-frills midfielder who guards space and works both ways - has been crucial in this regard. He had nine clearances , complementing the work of his captain.
On Sunday, as has been the case all season, Patrick Cripps was the dominant figure. In the last few years, it seemed as if the game may have passed him by. He was beaten up. He had been asked to do too much. He usually had two or three opponents hanging off him. He had a broken back, for heaven’s sake. “I can’t believe how badly he’s aged,” Leigh Matthews said.
This year, he is noticeably leaner. His shoulders are no longer wall-papered. He is more willing to drift forward. He is still only 26. Yesterday, despite the close attention of Jaeger O’Meara and James Worpel in the second half, he still managed 31 disposals, 11 tackles and six clearances.
Carlton’s win capped off a remarkable round of football, highlighted by the Showdown on Friday night, and Geelong’s rollicking comeback 24 hours later. For too long, Showdowns have been treated as an afterthought on the eastern seaboard, and by the host broadcasters. From go to whoa, this one was completely bonkers. It finished with Jordan Dawson, who had been excellent all night, reverse swinging a set shot from the boundary. He has played just three games for the Crows but they will remember him fondly for decades.
Geelong’s comeback, and the game itself, was just as remarkable. Last year, the two sides played what may have been the dullest league game this century. Indeed, the Buckley-Scott era saw some truly ghastly affairs. But this was a cracker, with the Pies slamming on nine third term goals, prompting the infernal “Collingwood” chant. But Geelong are often a dangerous proposition when they are four or five goals down with a quarter to play and the coach releases the shackles.
Collingwood suddenly looked very young and very brittle down back. Jordan De Goey, a menace all night, was now nowhere to be seen. For the first time this year, they resembled a Nathan Buckley team – playing safe, chipping sideways, overthinking things. Geelong smelt blood in the water. The captain did what he has been doing for 15 years. In the space of half an hour he had been chased down, harangued, booed and pensioned off. He then helped drag his team over the line and was seen off with a guard of honour. It was just another night at the office for Joel Selwood.
But Sunday was about all about Carlton. In the next five weeks they play Gold Coast, Port Adelaide, Fremantle, North Melbourne and Adelaide. Michael Voss urged restraint. It is early April. The competition has not had time to figure them out. And Carlton fans are used to being teased, seduced and let down. They’ve watched hitherto useless clubs – clubs Carlton treated with contempt back in the day – get their act together and win premierships. But, for the time being, they are entitled to revel in it. That glorious theme song of theirs was blaring. Carlton has its swagger back, and football is all the more interesting for it.
