AFL Grand Final: Two old guys banish our demons

 

 

 

AFL 2023 Grand Final – Two old guys banish our demons

 

As I make the pilgrimage from Melbourne’s CBD down to the hallowed turf, I’m not alone. While this should be obvious – I’m heading to a completely sold out Grand Final, and either a roaring chorus of black and white or the rumbling of maroon and royal blue fills every inch of my vision – I’m accompanied mentally.

 

Wayne Harmes’s tap. Barry Breen’s wobbly point. Anthony Rocca’s dismayed face. The pin-point precision of Dom Sheed’s drop punt. Not all of it is doom and gloom, as in comes the fateful bounce in front of Stephen Milne and the gentle flick of the Sherrin from Darren Millane. All of these ghosts of AFL history accompany me on the walk to the 2023 AFL Grand Final.

 

I’ve only been alive for a couple of decades, but I’m well versed in what a Grand Final can mean for my beloved Collingwood Football Club. In my lifetime, which I know pales in comparison to those living through the ‘70s and ‘80s, I’ve been alive for six Collingwood Grand Finals in my time. One win. One draw. Four losses.

 

It’s what makes this usually delightful stroll down Elizabeth St following a queasy lunch along Birrarung Marr and up to the MCG such a nervy one. In the cacophony of noise and colour that joins in on the journey, no black and white people adorn smiling faces. Nervous chatter fills the perfect spring day. Nails are bitten, eroding down to the cuticles like their teeth form one collective, salt-filled wave that continues to crash upon it. Grimaces are the best exchanges. Nobody looks like they’ve had too many blissful REM cycles in the past few days.

 

The air shifts upon reaching the MCG. As the colosseum comes into sight, people look up at it, in understanding and awe. Although I walk this path with my father, who is one Collingwood supporter who knows Grand Final turmoil much better than I, we all feel alone in our thoughts about what the ‘G has in store for us today.

 

Past the well-wishers and the final good-byes (Dad is in standing room directly below me as I perch up on a nosebleed seat) it all becomes real. The roar of the Collingwood army when the Pies run out is enough to make the Shane Warne stand shake, nervous trepidation the predominant emotion.

 

Despite this baggage that clings onto all of our brains, begging to once again receive the attention it yearns for, it’s difficult to deny the beauty of the stage we have in front of us. The sun is beating down on Melbourne, the MCG completely filled from an hour before the first wobbly bounce. The decadent array of black and white into Brisbane’s fan bays makes the MCG look its sparkling best. Then, the game so many of us have feared is underway, and all thought is swept up in the grass below us.

 

The start is exactly what the Pies needed. Without the trusty spearhead of McStay, and instead the makeshift defensive focus of Frampton in his place on Harris Andrews, we needed to get the scoreboard rolling before the Lions awoke from their slumber. Through a fortunate Daicos free kick directly in front, we do.

 

The following centre bounce shows the difference in tactics McRae’s men take into the decider. Instead of previous weeks’ wars of attrition they committed to, outlasting opponents and relying on their superb backline to grind out wins, Collingwood have chosen attack today. It’s made clear when a chaotic passage of bumps, taps and knock-ons see the ball land first awkwardly in the hands of McCreery, who looks to be moving too fast to even compute that he is about to deftly set the ball up to Bobby Hill.

 

Bobby. He becomes the mantra of the day, of the moment. His straight shot sets him off on a course he may never had imagined, even when watching highlights of Cyril Rioli’s 2015 Grand Final heroics that morning. In a smaller forward line that begins to rely so heavily on the tree-trunk legs of Mihocek, his presence draws whispers, murmurs, screams of adoration throughout the day. It all starts with a measured conversion to give Collingwood an early break.

 

This initial frenzy is soon prevented, Brisbane playing the role of the measured cop to keep the Collingwood rioters at bay. The game falls into a pattern, Brisbane beginning to take marks and find short corridor kicks that opens up the way they want to play – a built-up transition that explodes into long and direct kicks towards a forward line that is incredibly potent.

 

It’s not one of their big forward names that gets them rolling when the time comes. Instead, it’s Zac Bailey, working to the outside of a stoppage and converting sensationally to rouse the combination of Brisbane fans and Fitzroy fanatics awake.

 

When he sneakily steals the ball from under Mason Cox’s nose, dancing around a hapless Murphy before snapping through his second in a barnstorming start to the Grand Final, he has given the Lions the lead.

 

In a sign of what was to come, this dominance could never be maintained. Although Brisbane suddenly looked invincible, weaving around opponents inside forward 50 and never missing in front of goal, the Pies brought a different mettle to this Grand Final that felt and looked different to other past failures. Just as Brisbane looked like taking a deserved lead into the first break, Mihocek snapped truly off one step, curling through a cracker from nowhere.

 

Minutes later, some punchy plays off half-back allowed Quaynor to find De Goey, who immediately turned his back on goal, let the siren sound and roosted home a massive major from beyond the arc. In the space of a couple of minutes, Brisbane’s invincibility had been book-ended by passionate Magpie surges.

 

They had to be disappointed with these let-downs, and they soon made amends in the second term. Cameron came into the game, while Coleman was instrumental yet again off half-back with his agility and pinpoint passing. With Daniher also beginning to unfurl and loom as a colossus, and with Murphy now off with concussion, Collingwood looked vulnerable, hanging on until the next round.

 

Fortunately, they kept finding the stamina they needed to dig through and hit back. Their second term jabs started with a long-range Hill set shot, before Brisbane’s burst was quelled when some clean centre clearance work ended in Crisp drilling a beautiful goal from beyond the 50. Despite these lifelines, it would take something special to erase Brisbane’s well-earnt second quarter lead. It came in the form of Bobby.

 

His third goal changed the course of the game. A well-weighted Maynard kick into the middle found the tiny pocket of space that Howe needed, allowing him to mark and continue running. His speculative roost into the forward line appeared to be perfect for Starcevich to intercept, but Hill had other ideas. As the Sherrin ducked into the sun, Hill took off, bringing down a mark that has quickly become a cherished Grand Final moment for many.

 

Minutes later he led Lester on a merry dance before snapping through his fourth on his left, invigorating the Pies. When Crisp capped off a brilliant term with another set shot after the siren, Collingwood had somehow managed to find themselves in front.

 

It could’ve been a hammer blow for Brisbane, who had been so efficient and brilliant in that term. The half time break only brought on more fear, as a first-half class only meant that hearts were being pumped up, ready to be shattered even harder.

 

It’s a cruel but intelligent game, is football. Just when it knows it has you hooked, it plays with you, torturing you. The second half of the Grand Final does just this to everyone, bringing a close to the first half shootout and instead turning the back end into an arm wrestle. Where surrounding Brisbane fans bobbed up in between our cheers for constant goals in the first half, we now all lean forward on our seats, refusing to stand.

 

The deadlock in the premiership term is broken by a 50-metre penalty that allows McCluggage to narrowly slide through his second. In that time, a string of Collingwood points threatened to create a buffer. This game was never destined to be anything but agonisingly close.

 

Despite Brisbane’s forward line being slowed down for the majority of the match, by the end of the third term they still look like advancing on Collingwood’s slender lead. It takes for some more Hill magic, marking in the pocket before wisely passing it off to Pendlebury, for something to change. For a player as perfect as Pendles, his goal kicking has always been an Achilles heel. In a masterful display from the veteran, he converted the shot to keep Collingwood just ahead at the final break.

 

Nothing changed in the final term. As the two teams turned home in a finish for the ages, it was still all about surges, but this time the scores meant so much more. For 20 minutes no one could kick a goal, both teams falling just short of creating iconic Grand Final moments to either confirm or encourage the premiership dream.

 

As the Pies began to consider shutting down the game in similar fashion to their previous two finals nailbiters, Cameron struck, keeping the ball alive deep in the forward line near the fraying nerves of the black and white Ponsford Stand before swatting a left leg through to kick a goal that put the Lions in front.

 

For the first time all day, those nightmares from my walk to the ground resurfaced. All I could hope for was that it didn’t happen again.

 

These same thoughts seemed to pervade the Pies as they walked back to the centre. A trusty alliance formed in the centre circle; Daicos, Pendlebury, De Goey, Cox. From there end, it was all calm. Cox won the tap, Daicos pushing in front of his Brownlow Medal nemesis in Neale to win the first touch and fire out a handball to Pendlebury. The master then swivelled onto his left, curling it inside forward 50. A well-timed spoil only came back to the hard-working Daicos, who appeared destined to thump the ball forward and encourage chaos.

 

At the last moment, De Goey’s voice changed his actions, his right hand instead grabbing the ball and his left instantly firing out a handball in mid-air to the Collingwood bull. There are many reasons why De Goey has been maligned over his career to date, but his ability to finish anywhere near goals has never been one of them. This kick off two steps slices through the crisp Melbourne air, never deviating from the centre of the goals and capping off a play that will forever be remembered in black and white history.

 

The ’G erupts. Pies fans jump up, their legs once again returning to work. Stomachs tremble. Hearts beat faster than an EDM track at 4AM on Brunswick Street. No one can smile, but joy causes many of us to simply open our mouths and scream. No one knows what to do, this is a game for the ages.

 

At the next centre bounce, it feels like anything can happen. For nearly an hour the game had gone into a holding pattern of tough, brilliant Grand Final footy. Now, the question had been asked – was it getting opened up in the final few minutes?

 

The next bounce didn’t give an immediate answer, as a bobbling call was eventually pushed out wide to the wing. Quaynor is first to it, picking it up smoothly and finding an ever-running Sidebottom deep under the Shane Warne Stand. We all rise to see him take it, before Berry continues out of frustration and drags him down. The outcry is immediate and in unison. The umpire has no other option but to grant us our wish. Sidebottom is marched down towards goal, Berry stood waiting on the arc.

 

Questions flow. Can he make it from there? Will the heat impact him? How exhausted is he? Is his age a factor? The old-timer has seen Pendlebury have his moment and wants his own. In the 2010 triumph, he was the last goal kicker as a teenager, a cherub of a powerhouse side. Now, he’s a leader, and now’s his time to make his mark. No one leads. He trots in, veering out to his right to sink his slipper into the Sherrin. Just like De Goey’s kick, it never looks like missing. The MCG shakes like it’s on the outer edges of a cyclone. Instead of debris flying everywhere, it’s bodies, hands, hugs, screams, tears. In an arm-wrestle of a match, it feels like this kick could be decisive.

 

This match still has one more moment for us all. Just when Brisbane look like falling helplessly short, a McCluggage kick finds Daniher, who has no time to miss by snapping through his third goal. Suddenly, the MCG becomes tense, the air thick. This Grand Final is not over.

 

This is when heroes are made. Quaynor throws himself at a rampaging Berry, impacting the kick and preventing it from entering Brisbane’s forward line. A free kick can be heard by no one, and advantage is paid. The result is that Daicos, much like he has all game, all year, all career to date, is as cool as a cucumber and deftly finds Hoskin-Elliott out wide. Relief fills the air, as much as it can with a minute left in the Grand Final. Collingwood completes the final moments as well as it has for all of McRae’s tenure, and the final siren brings the greatest noise ever heard.

 

Tears. Relief. Joy. Excitement. Disbelief. Hill may end up being the Norm Smith Medal recipient, but in our eyes, every Collingwood player is a winner that day. From my vantage point up high on Level 4, the Collingwood end is beautiful, decadent in black and white as players celebrate.

 

As I find Dad, embrace and slowly walk away from the MCG to other celebrations, I’m no longer accompanied by ghosts. Instead, the new memories I have made stay clear in my mind, etching themselves in forever more. There’s no way that can ever be replaced.

 

 

Read more from Sean Mortell HERE

 

Read more Grand Final pieces HERE

 

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