Round 6 – Carlton v Brisbane: It’s happened again. Calamity at Docklands

 

I had an eventful weekend. As I’ve had a virus most of the week which prevented me from undertaking my regular running program, my in-house medical adviser (no relevant qualifications, but well-versed in old wives’ medicine) was adamant that I had failed the fitness test for Friday night’s A-League semi-final. As I had already forked out $50 for a ticket, I resisted this diagnosis, so I fronted. The redoubtable Ms. F was duly vindicated when City succumbed three injured players to nil (as well as one bloke sitting a few rows back from the fence choked up with a virus), and Victory scored three goals to nil.

 

Since I spent most of the night awake and coughing, disturbing her sleep in the process, I was reminded several times in the next day or so, “you shouldn’t have gone.”

 

Saturday was consequently a quiet day, football watching, most of North-Richmond and GWS-Hawthorn, with bits of the Bulldogs-Saints and the two one-sided Saturday night matches.

 

Yes, Peter B. I did fall in to the LB promotion (selectively), so I watched in horror as the Bulldogs demonstrated the heavy burden that is the weight of my money. Happily, Adelaide and Fremantle justified the exercise. Separately North (or was that Richmond) proved a reliable conveyance, but then Adelaide spoilt what might have been a particularly good day. I needed them to achieve a winning margin of 42 points or better, which they carelessly squandered at the end.

 

The major delight of my sporting weekend was Sunderland’s improbable and extremely fortunate 2-0 win at Everton, which gave them a bolter’s hope of survival in the Premier League. As the Young Master – controller of the Foxtel remote – was watching something on ESPN, this match was experienced vicariously through the comical pages of the Sunderland supporters’ website.

 

There is a continuing source of dispute between the partners at Chez Fuller over the proprieties of Mothers’ Day. Since both our mothers are dead (though they are often in my thoughts), I feel I have no role on the Day, that this is a matter for her ladyship and the offspring. While this exists as a source of continuing tension between our two nation-States, we have not yet felt the need for a break of diplomatic relations.  In any case, I was disinclined to expose our very young grandchildren to my virus. So I was off to Etihad – the Temple of Doom – for the second time in three days, although these are my first two visits there since August 2014.

 

For most of the afternoon, it had the characteristics of a typical Carlton game against a fellow struggler, the Blues making heavy weather of things, but looking like they would probably win, unconvincingly. This looked more probable as the third quarter progressed and Carlton tortuously crept to a thirteen point lead. From this point, 17 minutes of elapsed time remained, during which 90% of the play was in the Brisbane forward fifty, and they scored 3-4 without a reply from the Blues. The quarter ran beyond 35 minutes because of a 3-4 minute delay when Robertson (Brisbane) collided with the fence and was knocked out. Happily he recovered quickly and although he was removed from the field on the motorised stretcher, he was sitting up as he rode off. Brisbane clearly used this delay to re-group, while presumably the Carlton players discussed which players were visiting their Mum for the post-match meal and which pub the others were going to after the game, and whether Mitch Robinson should be invited.

 

Brisbane began the final quarter with similar intent, and scored two early goals to stretch the lead to an insurmountable 21 points. Thereafter the Blues dominated the play, pulled back a couple of goals but the bird had flown. This has to be as bad as it gets, bearing in mind, we were hosting an interstate side, which is the only alternative contender for the current worst team in the competition.

 

I can’t remember when I have left a Carlton game early. Maybe it’s my Catholic upbringing, the need for penance in the face of whatever I  might be guilty (consciously or unconsciously) that has kept me watching till the bitter end. Even yesterday, it wasn’t the dire state of the game from a Carlton perspective, but the fact that the delay made my train-bus connection problematic. Had I endured till the (very bitter) end, I would have faced an hour wait at the end of my train trip. In the context of my current health and the current health of my team, that identified the limits of my loyalty.