“The trait that marks out most champion teams,” the Guardian’s Jonathan Liew wrote of the Alex Ferguson era at Manchester United, “is the ability to take, and take brazenly, the thing that you do not deserve.” Carlton is nowhere near a champion team. But they pinched one on the weekend and they knew it. They ran like Jerry Seinfeld with a marble rye, leaving howls of derision and allegations of a Vic-centric conspiracy in their wake.
“The VFL has done it again, and sided with their own,” wept one scribe in The West Australian. After several hours, lots of whataboutism and hundreds of different camera angles, it was fairly clear the ball had brushed James Aish’s forearm. But touched balls off the boot are almost impossible to adjudicate properly in real time. The ARC is next to useless in such circumstances. It was an error but it was no conspiracy. Fremantle’s coach was keen to move on. The fanbase and the Perth press, which can be indistinguishable at times, were slower to acquiesce.
They were certainly entitled to be aggrieved, or at least bewildered, at the dissent decision. Back in 2022, we wasted a month bickering about the rule. Decisions came down to the most pettifogging details. What angle were the player’s arms at? Was his facial expression a belligerent one? Was there a curse word thrown in? It was grade 6 stuff.
Then it just went away. It was the un-rule. Brad Scott shrugged his shoulders, jutted his jaw and moved on to the Essendon Edge. Oh well, as you were, gents – berate to your hearts content. On Saturday, with 44 seconds left on the clock and with Fremantle having dominated clearances all afternoon, abuse was apparently unacceptable again. Whenever there’s a close finish, one now has to factor in how thin-skinned the adjudicating umpire is, and how potty-mouthed their half back flankers are.
But for everyone involved – Carlton, Fremantle and the umpires – this marvellous mess of a finish came down to how well they managed their moments, and the hitherto disciplined Dockers strayed. You wouldn’t cancel all plans to watch them but they’re an honest, well organised outfit that defends and denies.
There’s some big bodies in there, they didn’t give Carlton any elbow room. They restricted one of the most potent attacks in football to just nine goals. But they lost their way in time-on. Josh Treacy dropped two marks that would have bought precious time and territory. And Luke Jackson, an outstanding player all year, erred by not forcing bulk stoppages, instead whacking the ball inboard where Carlton had all the numbers.
It wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing but it was the most interesting and controversial contest of the South Australian festival of football, a weekend that showcased some sublime talents – the purring Port Adelaide midfield, the foraging Tom Liberatore, and the preposterously talented Harley Reid.
According to journalist Tom Morris, the AFL has plans for three Gather Rounds – one in Victoria and Tasmania across the Labour Day weekend, one in Sydney over Easter and another one alternating between Adelaide and Perth. That’s a lot of gathering.
There comes a point, as Mark Robinson posed in the Herald Sun, where we have to ask how much football is too much, and whether every weekend has to be some sort of festival or commemorative round. Many metropolitan and country leagues don’t start until next Saturday. By that time, there will have been 40 AFL games. From Holy Thursday to the final match of Gather Round, there were 17 games in 11 days (just two of which were without footy). The AFL, Robinson said, needs to take a breath and give us a chance to miss it.
But try saying that to a Carlton supporter. Yes, their Blues caught the right breaks. But what was once such an unreliable team in close-finishes now trusts, organises and executes better than almost any other side. The way Patrick Cripps brought a dead ball to life, the way Zac Williams slalomed through the Dockers’ half back line and the way Curnow and Cottrell brooked no doubt with their set shots was indicative of a maturing, nerveless team.
Carlton coach Michael Voss had the look of a man asking: “what the hell just happened?” The wry smiles and the relieved laugher of his players answered his question – not exactly grand larceny, but the perfect heist, perhaps helped by a less than competent constabulary.
