Round 3 – St Kilda v Essendon: Flirting with sainthood

 

St Kilda v Essendon

7:25PM, Saturday April 1

MCG

 

 

As we walked past West Richmond station, phones told us the Saints were already four goals in front. Late, because the Blues had been playing in the 4:30 slot and I’d protested we shouldn’t leave the TV until that had been resolved – which took until a final-minute, increasingly-predictable Lewis Young saving mark at the GWS goal-mouth. In our party of six were a Dons and a Saints supporter, but perhaps my friends view me as having an especially pitiful obsession with my team. While we figured out the rigmarole of all meeting again inside the ground using a combination of MCC, AFL Members and GA entitlements, the Saints already five goals ahead, I was encouraged into buying the ‘victory’ jam donuts that typical, for me, commemorate Carlton MCG wins – as in, I bought ‘6 for $15’ (which were shared) from a van on the usual concourse, even though the side that’d earned them were a thousand kilometres away.

 

And then I turned my attention to the birthday celebrations of those who might qualify as distant team no. 2. The concept of a ‘second favourite team’ is fraught and oft-challenged, of course. The glaring unbelievable element in Garry Lyon and Felice Arena’s Specky Magee series was a tweenage Melburnian protagonist who professed to barrack for something like five teams at once, for various convoluted reasons apart from broader publishing appeal. What those of us in the real world understand is that Specky, in supporting five teams, really went for none. And that anybody who gets too assertive about their second team throws commitment to their first into question. This week, I’m prepared to risk it.

 

In a largely irrelevant corner of my psyche, I’ve always considered ‘next preferred’ to be the Saints and the Bulldogs. The latter because of an uncle who played and a characteristically exciting brand, although these westward sympathies have lapsed somewhat as a result of recent success and the comeback mauling delivered to the Blues in ’21. The Saints, meanwhile, were the team my dad’s family traditionally supported (some still do), for a reason I haven’t researched in time – possibly an affinity for Trevor Barker. From my perspective, they’ve remained relatively benign and are ever-deserving of pity for their inability to cash-in on the sterling squad they possessed in the ’00s, as well as the fact the inglorious end to that era, when they clearly mourned a drawn grand final as a loss, came at Collingwood’s hands. I’m grateful, too, for a Saints clash providing one of my favourite football fan memories, when Etihad Stadium (or was it Telstra Dome?) rumbled dangerously from Friday night excitement as Chris Judd emerged heroically from the interchange with his broken nose swaddled in Voldemort bandages.

 

A Saints marketing blitz for last night’s Round 3 clash, including several weeks of ads adorning Kew Junction’s famous ‘Frydenberg’ hoardings, and pleas from club officials that “If you go to a single game this year, make it this one”, resulted in a turnout of 69,000. And yet I’ll grovel and admit the average St Kilda fan packs more emotion than those of other clubs. I’d even claim St Kilda supporters are the most ‘rusted-on’ in the league, for being unloosened by the WD-40 of underwhelming results and at-times cringeworthy supporter engagement, such as the ridiculously lethargic ‘O-o-h-h when the Saints’ that used to boom around their home stadiums after goals. Rather than premierships, the club looks to convince their supporters they’re on a good thing by holding aloft celebrity comrades – Bana, Meldrum, Warne, and supposedly famous MCG vandal Ed Sheeran. They’re galvanised by years of struggle, but commendably don’t do the ‘chip on the shoulder’ thing to a North Melbourne extent.

 

This year, the Saints look in the hunt for at least finals thanks largely to the psychological boost of Ross Lyon’s return and the reassurance that, though he dumped them a decade ago, they’d always orbited his heart tighter than Freo. The change of coach in a team that were solid in ’22, might’ve even reached finals if not for injuries, has also removed some of their burden for this season, lowering expectations beneath an appropriate mark. In saying this, they’ve already got a difficult injury list.

 

All sides are variously beneficiaries of player exchanges – even the crummiest list manager has a couple of players to hang their baseball caps on – but the Saints are truly a recycle superstore. The ‘Savers’ website doesn’t admit there’s franchise in Moorabbin. Without many heralded recruits, the current squad have made do with savvy pick-ups such as Mason Wood (last night’s hero), Liam Stocker and belated pre-season signing Caminiti. Their vice-captain, and possible MVP, is one-time mature-age recruit Callum Wilkie. Granted, toppling Essendon in the present (or the Giants!) shouldn’t warrant lathering on too much praise, but believers are allowed an assessment that reverting the Dons’ last quarter momentum and the sort of luck Jye Caldwell was having in front of goal exhibited the tide-turning ability that once got Israelites out of a similar bind. In true recycling fashion, it was a relocated, underappreciated Richmond small forward-line that helped to avoid the ignominy of a birthday bashing. Our group spectated from high in the nosebleeds, the sort of elevation where you get replays from the small widescreens hanging bizarrely from titanic MCG beams, because those iron pillars would otherwise obscure a view of the larger, distant board. I proved my relative disengagement towards even my second team by such acts as strangely nursing a Canadian Club through most of the second half. This morning, I had to watch the match’s relevant ‘Kayo Bite’ to feel confident of even writing this piece. Notable, and unappreciated last night: Mason Wood’s laser kicking, the blistering lengths of Dan Butler’s runs (as opposed to the ant scuttling I saw) and the historic collars on the birthday guernseys. Also, the fact that predictably, come final siren, the Channel Seven producers flicked from Jack Higgins (a leading goal-scorer), then to Eric Bana (emotional; either proud of his side or ruminating on Hollywood missteps), then, kind of beautifully, to the mighty, symbolic nameplate of Shane Warne’s vantage.

 

 

Sainters, best wishes for the rest of the year, within reason.

 

 

Little-known performer of the week: My dear friend C.M. who, rugged in a fleece and a Bombers scarf with new skipper Merrett’s badge, endured both the heights of his team’s comeback and the fall of the Saints’ response. Additionally, with Gandhi-esque qualities, he avoided retaliating to dear pest-friend H.M. crowing ‘Knock, knock’ lines provocatively into his ear (first response ‘Owen’, second ‘Oh when the Saints!’). It was a period, really, where C.M.’s strength of character was fully displayed, and I was made to reflect on how no friend would likely taunt me similarly in a context involving the Blues, for they’d know I wouldn’t necessarily also take Gandhi as a role model. Having said all this, I’d have felt sorrier for C.M. if he hadn’t happily agreed to getting to the ground late for his Bombers, definitely preferring the prospect of watching Carlton collapse to a less fancied side on TV. In sport, sometimes, you get what you deserve.

 

 

 

ST KILDA       5.4    7.5    9.7    14.8 (92)
ESSENDON     1.1    4.5    6.6    11.8 (74)

 

GOALS
St Kilda: Higgins, Butler 4, Wood, Owens, Caminiti, Gresham, Windhager, Hill
Essendon: Perkins, Caldwell, Shiel 2, Langford, Stringer, Menzie, Martin, Parish

 

BEST
St Kilda: Wood, Wilkie, Marshall, Ross, Crouch, Higgins
Essendon: Kelly, Ridley, Parish, Merrett, Shiel, Martin

 

Crowd: 69,255 at the MCG

 

 

 

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About Joe Sexton

A middling utility lost to the game too soon. Now a teacher and occasional fiction writer.

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