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Paul Roos must have some good contacts in the Qantas baggage handling department. Not only is he able to get his collection of giant jackets on the plane and his massive hair piece, but somehow he managed to sneak the Sydney Cricket Ground on as well.  From there, there must have been some sort of hydraulics involved as he loaded it onto the roof rack of his Land Rover, then dumped it in the middle of Subiaco Oval. 

Overcast, muddy and with some strange old people behind the goals that refuse to die, from the opening bounce he’d suckered Fremantle into playing a home game at the SCG.  Congested, bogged down, going from ball up to ball up. It was either the work of a genius or just a case of Fremantle having most of their side sitting up in the ground stand comparing moon boots but the free flowing, exciting football that the Dockers normally use to beat their opponents into a bloodied pulp was nowhere to be seen.

Had they been wielding a seven foot by five foot ruckman, it might have been a good thing but, with little left in the ruck cupboard and half a midfield, it wasn’t the best set of circumstances for the young Dockers.  

Courageous as always though, they didn’t their best to fight it through. The Swans got an early goal but, failing to realise that the fifty metre line at Subiaco is actually fifty metres and the oval is shaped like an oval, they piled on the behinds with ridiculous shot after ridiculous shot.

It looked like being a long, dreary day for the Fremantle supporters, watching a huddle of purple, red, green and white swarm around the ground waiting for the umpire to randomly hand out free kicks to Adam Goodes but then all of a sudden, the sun came out. Well, the Son Son.

Michael Walters had been honing his craft in the WAFL for a few months and wasn’t going to see his big chance go to waste with a game of floodball. He started his run with some dazzling play in the forward pocket. Matt de Boer had just bowled over six unsuspecting Swans defenders and set Walters up for an easy goal when Bang! he was clobbered over the head by a typically cowardly Malceski.

The Sydneythetic umpire refused to book Malceski but did concede a free kick and Walters drilled the goal. Fremantle were on the board.

The umpires quickly had the reply though,giving Sydney their second goal but Walters was on the job.

Fremantle had started to open the game up a bit, Luke McPharlin and Greg Broughton were dashing out of defense, Dylan Roberton was just dashing  and Matt deBoer was knocking down so many Swans he was in line to win a stuffed Pink Panther prize.

But it was Sonny Walters who brought the crowd to their feet. Appearing from nowhere, he swooped in on the footy, grabbed it with one hand, threw it onto his boot and landed it in the arms of Paul Hasleby in the goal square. Even if Hasleby wasn’t a good mark for his size he would have taken the grab. The goal was a given and Fremantle had their second.

Seeing how easily things fell together when they kept the moving, denying the Swans a chance to play stacks on the mill, Fremantle kept up the pace. A clever kick out of the middle from Ibbotson found Michael Johnson who delivered one of his trade mark flat and hard passes into the forward line. To most it looked like the pass was to no one but, once again, a bolt of purple came from nowhere. Walters stuck his arms up and somehow the ball stuck.

He sauntered back, took his kick and drilled another goal to give Fremantle the lead going into the first break.

The Swans weren’t happy. They hadn’t come all the way from the other side of the country to play football - at least, not Aussie Rules football. They made a vow between themselves to work harder to crowd around the footy, dive on it at all costs and if a player was ever on his own for his team mates to rush to his side, then dive on top of him to force a ball up.

But for all their promises, the Swans didn’t have any answers for the devastation of the Walters - deBoer double team, likely to be one of the greatest combinations since the Longmuir brothers.  Speed, skill, balance, poise under pressure, it was all there  - and de Boer was alright too. Walters summoned the ball to him once more and burnt off his opponents before spotting up deBoer on the lead. de Boer’s hands were quick and he gave the ball to Mundy who went long down the guts straight into the waiting hands of Michael Johnson. MJ kicked the goal and Fremanbtle were out to a 9 point lead.

The game was about to slip Sydney by. Fremantle have thrown off the shackles of stop start footy, they were gliding about the ground with as much space as they wanted, leaving the red & white pack desperately searching for something to dive on in the absence of a footy.

Even at just 9 points down, the Sydney players were starting to look despondent. Then they remembered something - Aaron Sandilands was sitting up the grandstand buggering up the view of an entire block of seats.

Without a guaranteed thump out of the centre, Freo’s midfield weren’t sure where to stand, what to do or who to mouth of at; leaving them dangerously exposed to Sydney’s special brand of ‘football’.

The Swans got a clearance out of the middle and the umpire made sure it was converted into a goal.

It turned into a strange tug of war. Fremantle would try and open the game up, excite the crowd, entertain the tv viewers, kick some goals then Sydney would try and stand in the way of anyone, anywhere being entertained in any possible way.  It was tight tussle too, broken up only by a particularly bald umpire’s refusal to pay a holding the ball decision unless it involved an eighteen year old Fremantle player in a bear hug.

The Purple Baron took the lead role in the dynamic duo, cleverly tapping the ball over the pack while making it look like he had dropped a mark.  de Boer knew what was going on though and snuck around the back, ran onto the ball and belted through a goal in the Hayden Ballantyne stand.  The crowd were excited, a little bit relieved, and a decent cheer squad away from chanting deeeeeeeeeeeeee Boooeeer but there were dark forces at work.

Against the flow of play, with the help of the umpires and with high degree of luck, Glen McGlynn was paid a ‘mark’ then given a fifty, on the half time siren, to give the Swans back the lead. The crowd’s jubilance was drastically reduced.

Mark Harvey wasn’t happy either. He didn’t get around in his Top Gun sunglasses just because they made him look cool. They were a metaphor. He wanted his players to take risks, to be bold, to get on the highway to the dangerzone (and also to be wary of harmful UV rays).

So, after threats that Chris Scott and himself would re-enact the volleyball scene to further get the point across, the players agreed to take a few more risks and use their skill and raw talent to force the Swans into a game of football.

Of course, there’s a lot of risk involved in risk taking and Fremantle’s first attempt to open up the game saw them come unstuck when McGlynn jagged another goal to put Sydney 8 points up.

Freo hit back through the exquisite diving skills of Adam McPhee but they couldn’t shake the Swans. Bevan kicked the replay, as Fremantle started getting bogged down in the floodle.

But while every time Fremantle looked to be ready to break the game open, Sydney managed to block it up again; likewise, every time Sydney looked to block the game up, Fremantle would break it open.

And break it open Anthony Morabito did. As Sydney tried to push the ball into the pocket to force a boundary throw in, the Freo Rookie said ‘enough is enough’. He grabbed the ball as it was about to go out of bounds and threw it onto his giant boot. Scientists are still trying to work out how it was able to get through the goals from that angle.

Team mates ran from everywhere, it sent the crowd into fits, even the Sydney players were trying to hold back their awe. The only person not impressed was Chris Mayne who lent over the fence and yelled ‘mate, you’ve got no f***ing left.’

The rest of the team weren’t as harsh though, or as foul mouthed. They were inspired.

Kepler Bradley plucked the ball out of a ball up and belted it through the goals to give Freo back the lead. Then Hasleby, who’s a good mark for his size, took a screamer over Malceski and jailed it to give Fremantle a 10 point lead.

The Freeee-oooooo chant rang out around the ground as the crowd sensed a second half paddling building but as quickly as they’d pegged out a lead, the Swans wrestled back control of the match and killed their momentum.

When the three quarter time siren sounded, the Swans had crept back to within 3 points, setting it up for a classic last quarter. With Fremantle at full strength, the game would have been over an hour ago. With Freo at three quarter strength, the game would have been over 45 minutes ago but with the youngsters and sundries filling out most of the Dockers side, it was clearly going to be an even contest right through till the final siren. 

Still, Fremantle were confident that they could comfortable account for the Swans in the end. They just needed to keep taking risk and running hard; and if they kept tackling as hard as they had been, they were bound to get at least one holding the ball free kick by the end of they day.

They get a lot of things wrong at Fremantle.

The Swans kicked three of the opening four goals and took a ten point lead. The Dockers were looking tired, they were looking out of touch, they were looking like they were about to be rolled in an embarrassing end to their day.

They needed to lift, they needed someone to lift them - but Pav was out of tricks, Walters was spent, Bradley was buggered, Hill had come down with a case of the second year blues and de Boer was on the bench doing a concussion test. Where were they to look?

There was really only one answer.

He’d been around the ground, in and out of the play, it was Schammer, Go Schammer, Yo Schammer, when he snapped one against the flow of play.

The little master had stemmed the bleeding, Fremantle just needed to kick on and drag themselves home. They’d lifted though. The dash was back and so was the dashing.

Roberton went for a run down the ground and set his sights on Nic Suban, the kick was a beauty and Suban took a grab 10 metres out from goals. Unfortunately the ten metres was ten to the left.

The crowd went quiet, the Sydney players looked tense but the Fremantle players were celebrating, well, the ones who weren’t jogging back to their positions.  

It turns out that they call Suban ‘Angles’ around the club. He can kick goals from any of them. The ball went straight through the middle and Fremantle hit the front with 5 minutes left to play.

But while geometry is all the rage down at Fremantle, time keeping is not their forte. They seemed to think they could milk the clock for the full five minutes, chipping the ball around, letting Sydney play their pack to pack game and generally giving up on the whole idea of attack.

They almost pulled it off too but Sydney are the masters of slow football and with just a couple of minutes left, they suckered Fremantle in and scored a goal. Then they did it again. Winning by 9 and all but forcing Fremantle to accept a home final come September.