In modern football, entire months go by where nothing really happens, where the status quo is more or less maintained. In the 2021 grand final – in the time it takes to put the kettle on – a 57-year-old curse was buried. Halfway through the third quarter, the Western Bulldogs had kicked eight of the last nine goals. Marcus Bontempelli was playing himself into grand final folklore. Like a tiny bouncer ejecting a bikie, Caleb Daniel slung the biggest man in football onto the astro turf.
The Demons were being outplayed and outcoached. Their defenders, the best in the competition all year, were pointing fingers, shaking heads and under siege. On SEN, Gerard Healy was laying into Christian Petracca and Clayton Oliver. “I was shitting myself, to be honest,” Petracca later said. “We were probably one goal away from the game slipping away,” the coach, Simon Goodwin, conceded.
Bailey Smith has the kind of mane you see in the mounting yard at Saratoga. He has 350,000 Instagram followers. But at a crucial stoppage on the wing, he had butter fingers. His pocket was picked by James Harmes, who weighted a perfect kick to Bailey Fritsch. He looks like an articled clerk. But he’s a lovely set shot. Goal. Deep breath. Game on.
He wasn’t recognised in Norm Smith medal voting, and was left out of most best player lists, but ruckman Luke Jackson was a key cog in every passage of play that sealed this premiership. For the initial three-goal thrust, he was matched against Stefan Martin – about to turn 35 and playing his second game in three months. The All Australian captain and the hero of the preliminary final deferred to the teenager. “He’s the perfect matchup for Stef,” Max Gawn told his coach on the bench. In the space of a minute, with Bontempelli off resting, Jackson won two centre square contests. Petracca, moving like a speed skater, waltzed out the front of both stoppages. He finished with 40 disposals, two goals and 24 contested possessions. In the history of football, only Gary Ablett Jnr has managed those figures. Ablett did it in front of two lifeguards and a dog on the Gold Coast. Petracca did it in the most important game in his club’s history.
The second thrust came in the dying seconds. The mad minute, Melbourne fans call it. This time, Jackson was matched against Tim English, who looks like he should be climbing beanstalks. This time, Bontempelli was back in the middle. This time, Beveridge came down to the bench to try and calm things down. All year, he’d spoken of tidal waves. He’d unleashed one against Port Adelaide a fortnight earlier. He’s often at his deadliest when his side is three or four goals down. But there was nothing he could do. This grand final was done.
As Petracca dribbled his preposterous goal, the social commentator and Senate candidate Jane Caro fired out a tweet. “Dear most Aussies, who are the Dees? What is this thing you all care so much about?” Her answer came in the next few days, as footage emerged of Melbourne fans in lockdown. Every one of them is inured for disappointment. Their reactions veered from sullen silence, to relief, to incredulity, to utter certainty, to unbridled joy. It brought to mind George Graham at Anfield in 1989 – “Isn’t it lovely to have moments in your life where you think, ‘oh, nothing can beat that. Nothing’.”
Ten weeks later, in the first week of summer, they gathered at the MCG. It wasn’t like the drunken euphoria at the Whitten Oval in 2016, or the bonnet-hopping mayhem on Swan Street the following year. It was clearer, more sober. It had surely sunk in by now. They started cheering four or five seconds before goals. They gave Neal Daniher a standing ovation. This time, the coach wasn’t bumped off stage by the mayor.
In round one last year, just over 20,000 people turned up to the opening game against Fremantle. There was nothing particularly flashy about the Dees at that point. They looked tighter and more organised down back. They were finally hitting targets. They had a charmed run with injuries. They were winning in a host of different ways – grinding out wins, blowing teams away early, adjusting at half-time and storming home in the second half. They built the foundation, finally became trustworthy, ironed out some mid-winter chinks, and then went whoosh.
Question marks remain over many of their major challengers. Luke Beveridge, looking like a sergeant-at-arms of the Bandinos, has called for a revolution. But what he really needs is a ruckman. So does Chris Scott. Brisbane and Port Adelaide keep throwing away home finals. Richmond can start anew after a 2021 where nothing went right. But their best player is coming off a lacerated kidney. He’s no longer the Champion of the Colony. The four leading candidates for that are all playing at the MCG on Wednesday night.
Many Melbourne people, including the captain and coach, hinted that there was something a little underwhelming about burying the curse so far from home, that what they really coveted was a flag at the MCG. “Dynasty” is the most misused word in football. They have all the pieces, and all the motivation, to pick up where they left off in Perth. The first few weeks, you suspect, will be a giant victory lap for fans. But then comes the hard part. Then comes the winter grind, the challenge of being hunted, picked apart and copied, and of trying to replicate 30 minutes of almost perfect football.
