Things couldn't have gone better for Fremantle. They'd won the Derby a week earlier, all their players had pulled up fit to give them a full squad to pick from, they sold all the tickets to the game, the forecast was for rain but sunny skies cover Subi Oval and long time Fremantle & lanyard supporter, Beryl Hogan, made sure Peter Bell won the coin toss. It was such a perfect day that Lou Reed's lawyers were drawing up the paper work ready to sue the Dockers for breach of copyright. Then the footy started.

Things seemed to be going well enough at the start of the game, it was a bit scrappy as both teams got the feel of the game but then a disturbing trend started to develop - St Kilda were kicking goals. Maybe Hayden caught something off Peter Matera's brother last week but Stephen Milne seemed to be playing unopposed. He kicked a couple of goals. Heath Black Like His Heart kicked one too and then Hamill kicked one off the ground while Fremantle players were attending to the unconscious body of Byron Schammer, who'd been dropped by Guerra like an out of favour Longmuir brother.

It was a disaster.

The Dockers were getting their hands on the ball enough, they even had a few shots at goals but every kick they had seemed to be like a pencil at the Vatican souvenir shop - there was a Saint on the end of it. They were everywhere. Fremantle had thrown system and game plans out the window and were playing on hope. There wasn't much of it around but some hope was finally provided when McManus got free in the forward line and drilled a goal from 25 metres out. The siren followed a couple of minute later and Chris Connolly called his players together so he could tell them what they needed to do if they were going to catch up the 14 points St Kilda had on them. You get the impression the words kick, mark and run would have been given quite a work out.

The second quarter was a shambles. Nothing was happening for Fremantle. It was a quarter that was summed up best in one incident. Luke Penny tried to rush a behind by handpassing the ball through the Dockers point posts. The ball took a strange bounce and rolled along the goal line before Aussie Jones picked it up and the Saints waltzed away the ball. The crowd were outraged. People were jumping out of their seats demanding the goal umpire award the rushed behind to Fremantle's score. Some nearly jumped the fence, plenty gave him the James Hird to Scott McLaren treatment and a few were probably thinking through the logistics of decapitating a horse and leaving the dismembered head in the goal umpires bed while he slept. It was a pathetic, insignificant rushed behind - one that didn't actually ever cross the line - but it was like picking up a dollar ten place after a rough day at the races and provided a pathetic crutch. It would have been Fremantle's only score for the quarter, as it turned out they went scoreless. Poor decision making, poor kicking, poor running, in fact, any skill you can whack the word poor in front of, was to blame. St Kilda on the other hand were playing some top footy and kicked 4 goals and 4 behinds for the quarter, giving them a 7 goal lead at half time.

The Dockers went into crisis mode at half time and had to use all the tools available to them to turn the players' performance around. They replace the lemon cordial with the fruit cup, the Naval oranges with Valencia and Chris Connolly dragged out his Cuban cigars and did his world famous Winston Churchill impression to try and rev the boys up. It was an impressive arsenal indeed but you can never be sure just how effective these things will be. The signs were certainly good early though.

Justin Longmuir floated down into the forward line and was lucky enough to catch himself on one of Paul Medhurst's pin point passes into the forward line. Jlo obviously brought his old boots out of retirement because the ball didn't deviate and Fremantle had their second goal of the game. Freo won the ball straight out of the centre and Paul Medhurst wasn't quite as lucky as Jlo. He was on the end of a pass but it lingered in the air just long enough for Fisher to clean him up. Luckily Medhurst's centre of gravity these days is about a foot and a half under ground, so he took the mark anyway and slotted though another much needed goal. All of a sudden the 40,000 strong crowd came to life, the Freo chant went up and flags which had been put away for the day were being thrashed about everywhere.

Fremantle were finding space, tackling hard, hitting targets and generally looking like footballers. It was a revelation and despite being 5 goals down, they genuinely looked like they had a chance.

Then bloody Fraser Gehrig kicked a goal and spoiled it all.

Fremantle weren't going to let a balding, horse faced, West Coast reject stand in their way though. Matthew Pavlich put on a show of strength splitting the pack, he grabbed the ball and headed in the general direct of the goals. A couple of Saints feigned injuries just so they wouldn't have to attempt to tackle him, allowing Pavlich to run into an open goal and boot the Dockers 4th.

Of course in a footy team not everyone can bust packs and move like the wind but everyone needs to play to their strengths. Jeff Farmer wasn't seeing much of the ball in the forward pocket so he drifted up the ground a bit. He got Heath Black to drop him, scored a free kick, scored fifty metres, then he scored a goal. Fremantle were coming for them.

But there's a reason they sound a siren at the start of the game. Generally speaking, it's a good indication of when you have to start playing footy and when Milne and Gehrig put on a couple of goals for St Kilda, Fremantle hadn't made much ground from half time. Another goal to Medhurst and one to Gehrig kept the scoreboard ticking over but at three quarter time it was still a 38 point ball game.

When Thompson kicked a 60 metre goal 30 seconds into the last quarter, Fremantle were gone. The undefeated Sainst were double their score, the Dockers hadn't outplayed them all day and the energy sapping sun was also playing silly buggers with the light. It was going to be a long quarter, waiting for the inevitable.

Then the Longmur brothers sprung into action. First Troy, then Troy's brother Justin. Two goals in as many minutes and the Fremantle supporters at least, started to get s sniff of something. Putting their years of building a sense of blind optimism to good use, up went the Freo chant and out came the flags.

The Saints obvious got a bit worried, not a too worried, but enough to make them try and shut things down. Freo were feeding off the crowd now and playing with a bit of urgency. Sensing the ticking clock and the whopping great margin, Troy Simmonds got things back on track when Peter Bell fed him the ball at centre half forward. He took the mark, spun around and kicked a 60 metre goal off one foot. It brought the crowd to their feet. With the margin dropping back to 27 points and 10 minutes left to get them, no hope had suddenly changed to an outside chance.

Then a goal kicking frenzy erupted in the goal sqaure. Jlo kicked on from two metres out, Simmonds kicked one from one metre out. The margin was back to 15 points. The Dockers were on track for the biggest comeback since…well since the Western Bulldogs a week ago. Still, it was going to be a big Saturday night in Fremantle when the got up.

Then bloody Fraser Gehrig kicked a goal and spoiled it all.

The Dockers had quickly moved back to being an outside chance and as the clock continued to count down they drifted to no hope and soon to gorn. If only they'd started playing at ten past two when St Kilda had.