Some think the loudest ever noise at the MCG came after Leon Baker’s blind turn and goal in the 1984 grand final. Others insist it was Shane Warne’s 700th Test wicket. When Daniel Butler sealed the 2017 preliminary final, the crowd noise was measured at 127 decibels, louder than a jet engine.
But Blake Acres’ goal to put Carlton in front last night has to be right up there. The preceding passage helped. The preceding decade helped. Sam Docherty, whose shoulder had popped out of its socket earlier in the night, intercepted and drove the ball deep. All night, those long bombs had been gobbled up with glee by Steven May and Jake Lever. But when it mattered most, the Melbourne defence was off guard and outnumbered.
Carlton raised the roof, but Melbourne was the story. They’re big on the word “learnings” at the club. The coach loves a learning. The players love a learning. Everything comes with a learning – whether it’s Angus Brayshaw being knocked out, the Grundy trade, the inside 50 entries last week, or last night’s heartbreak. For the first 20 minutes of the first semi-final, it appeared they’d learned their lessons from the qualifying final. They were slow out of the blocks last week and it cost them dearly. This week, they were first to the ball, hunted in greater numbers, dominated in the air and on the ground. But they didn’t cash in. They didn’t put their foot on the throat during Carlton’s error-strewn third term. All night, May and Lever denied, thwarted, floated and pressed. May, in particular, played an extraordinary game, completely blanketing Charlie Curnow. But there wasn’t the same competence and coherence further afield. Their last five shots of the game were behinds. They had 10 more scoring shots. They had a goal annulled. They frittered away many others. They just couldn’t take a trick. Another game, another season, went up the spout.
This was a torrid final. They were two rutting bulls going at one another all night. This wasn’t fast-deck football and festival atmosphere we’ve been seeing at the Gabba. This was a brutal, toe-to-toe affair. It was Kossie Pickett, a missile of muscle, ironing out Patrick Cripps, clipping Mitch McGovern, giving away headless 50-metre penalties and looking like the man most likely to either blow the game open or earn a six-week holiday. There was carnage everywhere. Jacob Weitering had a bung hand, a bung leg and was seeing stars after a heavy knock in the final term. Docherty’s shoulder popped. Cripps was blindsided and manhandled all night.
On such a night and in the warm conditions, it was always going to open up in the second half for the power runners. Sam Walsh was an Energizer bunny, scampering from contest to contest. Max Gawn published a “Captain’s Diary” the year they won their flag and relayed James Harmes’ thoughts on Walsh. “That is the hardest player I have ever played on,” he told his captain. “He just runs, runs, runs. I am completely rooted.” Walsh ran further and harder than anyone else on the MCG last night. He streamed forward in the first 15 seconds of the final term to level the scores. He’s now played in two finals and been afield in both of them. Significantly, two of the other outstanding distance runners at the club, Oliver Hollands and Acres, were both pivotal at the death.
“It’s party time when we win and it’s a family loss when we lose,” the Carlton chief executive, Brian Cook, said earlier this year. Outside of premierships, and there have been plenty of those, and outside of the 1999 preliminary final, there can’t have been too many better Carlton parties than last night.
