Round Ten wrap

Yes. Well. No eight out of eight this week, or any week so far.
The Crows played like tits on a shrub, bombing the ball forward
with no plan, no hope and no sense that they had ever
played the game before. Craig sensed the anger and dropped
the usual spin – we will learn from this – he normally gives
after every loss. “If you or the fans are confused, then so am I,”
he said. ”That was the worst performance of the year… including
the Melbourne game.”  He’s lowering his bar, nearly week by week.

The only solace Adelaide fans could take from that awful display
was that Brisbane’s win put Port back on the bottom rung.
Port had climbed one spot from hell with their unexpected win
in Darwin against a heat-struck Richmond… but only for a day.
Daniel Motlop was good in that game, once Primus shifted him
to the backline. He has space and time, there, to use his cunning
to create forward thrust. This has happened a couple of times now;
Motlop is a waste of space in the goal square but looks like Johncock

Or McLeod on the halfback line. If Primus puts the forgotten Brett Ebert
on the other back flank, and uses Chad Cornes as a permanent sub
for the second half, this hopeless team could start to construct
a few more wins before the season is over. In Perth, Fremantle
proved they are just one big mountain. The little hill, Jonathon Griffin,
had 38 taps but not to advantage and did little on the deck. St Kilda
have woken up in spite of Brendon Goddard and Sean Dempster
being put to sleep and spending the night in hospital with thick heads.

Thank god they can still move their limbs. Sydney came home in inches
in a thriller at Etihad against North, but everything else blew out.
Carlton, Geelong, Collingwood and Hawthorn continued along
their merry way against lacklustre Melbourne, Suns, West Coast and
the Dogs. Rodney Eade and Neil Craig will have an uncomfortable week.
The hyenas have started to howl. I’m down again in the weekly tipping,
but gained some points in Gigs’ Ladder Ladder. The Saints are climbing,
Richmond and Freo falling, with more to come. The world is beginning

to assume its expected shape. That’s the secret, I suppose, of tipping,
punting, predicting – to be in enough tipping comps, DreamTeams,
season ladder comps to gain something, anything, each week,
to remain connected with the game. If you just follow one team,
seasons become short, hard, sour. And sometimes expensive.
I was held up a car-crash queue for twenty minutes on Port Road
at noon today and then held up for another fifteen minutes
on Tapley’s Hill Road because a train signal was stuck on flashing red.

Each driver had to stop and think about breaking the law
before they crossed the line. And that included myself. I arrived
at my seat in AAMI Stadium five minutes after the game had started.
I missed Paddy Dangerfield’s only goal and the first of only four disposals.
I also missed the chance to lay my bet with the stadium bookies  –
Adelaide to beat Brisbane by a margin of 21-40. Thank you god,
for imparting your message in such a foolish way. Later,
at the press conferences, Michael Voss was a cat licking cream,

wide-eyed, relaxed and happy. He enjoyed every question
and treated each journalist as if they were honourable scribes,
the bearers of intelligence. Aahh, victory is so sweet. It relaxes
the brow, makes life seem sensible and right. On the other side,
Craig stayed and stayed in his conference – staring down defeat.
He couldn’t win the match but he wouldn’t lose the talk.
“No, I won’t stand down,” he said. “If the job is harder
than I want it to be, so be it. I will not shirk my task.”

He was predicting a very bad week. “I’m not in a popularity
contest, Michelangelo,” he said. “I have a job to do and I will do it.”

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