The AFL has always had high hopes for St Kilda and Fremantle. They sucked up much of the best talent at the turn of the century and brought the country to its feet when they went head to head at Subiaco Oval a few years ago, in what many regard as a showcase for football...particularly the members of the Longmuir family.

But when they lost that game, the Saints started their downward spiral of whinging and cheating. Cheating and whinging. Going from one of the most watchable teams in the league to the most likely to be kicked out of the competition without anyone actually noticing.

Just 20,000 of their supporters put their heroin needles down for long enough to bum a ride to the Dome to shout obscenities at the Dockers. And not surprisingly really when you consider that the dingy back alley where they shoot up is probably drier, better lit and has more grass in it than the Tesltra White Elephant.

Yet for some reason, despite the Saints lack of support from anyone in decent society, or perhaps because of it, the umpires still have an infatuation with St Kilda which is fast putting to shame what they feel for the Eagles.

As is customary, the game was started with a free kick against Fremantle and from that point on the umpires appeared to have been under the belief that someone had invited them to a rave - thrashing their arms about wildly in their bright yellow outfits, blowing their whistles nonstop and leaving reality behind them for the night.

Even with all the help the umpires could muster, it still took St Kilda 10 minutes to put through their first goal as Ross Lyon slowly woke up to the fact that he could occasionally use the umpires in his flooding and send a couple of his own players past the centre line.

Gilbert kicked a second Saints goal when Grover was done for standing perpendicular to the light of the moon during the winter solstice – a definite no no during a leap year.

Fremantle had to earn their kicks the hard way and when Ryan Crowley picked Pav out in the pocket, Pav ushered his opponent out of the way, took the grab and opened the Dockers account. But it's much easier getting your kicks the easy way and St Kilda were gifted another two in reply while Fremantle’s young players lay in pools of their own blood at various locations around the ground.

When Mark Harvey had managed to get all his players rolled from the ground and replaced them with more conscious types, Fremantle started looking much better. A quick clearance from the centre saw Byron Schammer drill a pass onto the chest of Ryan Murphy and Murphy's skills briefly return to him so he could slot through the Dockers second.

The siren sounded before the umpires and St Kilda could cause any more damage to the sport, and Fremantle went into the first break 15 points down.

As the players walked to their huddles, Peter Bell couldn't hold it in. He gave the umpires a foul mouthed tirade so blue that the nearby Chris Mayne saw his hair go from a young Garfunkel to a Blonde on Blonde Dylan.

It seemed to take a bit of the wind out of the umpires too. When the second quarter got going they were much less likely to ping Fremantle players for breaching Druid Tribal laws and tying their boot laces in an incorrect fashion. And didn't St Kilda's scoring dry up as a result.

Still desperately wanting to be Paul Roos, Ross Lyon continued to waste some of the best tall talent in the country by making them stand around in huddles to try and prevent a game of football breaking out, while Fremantle struggled to find grip on a surface which has claimed three NASA lander modules in recent years.

In the interests of moving the ball on, the umpires eventually broke from their decision to take Peter Bell's advice and administer their duties with great professionalism and diligence. and handed St Kilda a couple of easy goals despite Ryan Crowley being beaten off the football with his own spine.

To their credit though, Fremantle didn't get sucked in. They ran the gauntlet and continued to play to the rules that are handed out at the start of the year in a little booklet entitled – “Laws of the Game”.

They tackled ferociously, they threw themselves at the ball, they took the man on and they showed a spirit that few clubs on the end of such a crucifixion would have been able to maintain.

And, after a while, when their persistence and endeavour started to pay off – once again came the return of the dessert menu at an Australia Day Barbecue – Pav – Pav – Pav.

He chipped on over the top, he booted one from back in the cheap seats and he made a fool of the St Kilda Football Club when he played on from the pocket and snapped his third in a row.

When the siren sounded for half time, Pav had taken Fremantle from the pale end of a shellacking to within 7 points; and in a game against St Kilda, they still had until twenty minutes after the siren to kick them.

Fairly happy with how his players were handling themselves, Mark Harvey opted against the ravenous half time spray that he's made his trademark of late and went for a more targeted attempt to lift his players. He took a few of them a side, sat them down and read to them from Ron Barassis Football Clinic: Chapter 3 – the Drop Punt.

Shockingly, even without the motivational rhetoric of one of Australia's great orators, the Fremantle players returned to the ground with fire in their bellies and tigers in their eyes. When they ran they were mere blurs, when they tackled they were the bad guys in a wildlife documentary, when they kicked it went where they were looking and when they booted it long to Pav in the goal square – he stood there and marked the thing.

It took Fremantle all of two minutes to level the scores and when Josh Carr became Fremantle's recipient for their free kick for the quarter, he kicked Fremantle into the lead while Pav pitched in for him and made a couple of St Kilda players cry.

Fremantle were looking a million dollars. They'd hit their stride, they'd acclimatised to the local conditions and they were storming down the ground in waves. With no ideas on how to win the game, St Kilda were flooding so much that small group of Polynesian Islander in the crowd had to be relocated back a few rows.

It was going to be a tough slog for Fremantle but they had all the answers and were winding up for a comfortable win – that is until the umpires found their whistles again.

For no reason in particular, the rules changed again. Bizarre free kicks returned, St Kilda players seemed to be giving out fifty metre penalties to themselves and Luke McPharlin was taken out of the game by yet another St Kilda sniper with busy knees.

It was sad moment for football as St Kilda finally put through a goal after half an hour of having to play on their own merits. Not happy with giving them one, they went on to give them two more and all of a sudden St Kilda had found themselves back in the contest.

When the siren sounded for the last change, Peter Bell was going off again and Chris Mayne was in danger of playing the final term looking like the star of a movie with the word 'Funky' in the title. But even a fired up Peter Bell knew that there were much bigger obstacles to over come than the idiots in yellow.

They were 11 points down and St Kilda were flooding so much that Ross Lyon just walked down to the Fremantle forward line to address his players where they stood. Fremantle were going to have to get the ball, find a target amongst a sea of red, black and white, kick it straight, try not to offend any umpires, take a mark and then kick the ball between the two big posts. And they had to do it twice.

Fremantle offended the umpires early and spent the next few minutes trying to stop St Kilda from playing kick to kick as they attempted to break the record for clock milking. Eventually the managed to get the ball back, through some Byron Schammer tenacity, and they worked it down the ground carefully before Crowley snuck free and marked the ball 45 metre out. He sent the ball sailing over the goal umpires head and Fremantle had 20 minutes to try and do it again.

It was more of the same when the game restarted. Fremantle loaded up to their forward line only to be repelled by the Saints as they all but rope tied the Fremantle forwards while the umpires looked to see if Jeff farmer had his hands near anyone's back.

Eventually a lucky bounce saw the ball make an unusual appearance in the St Kilda forward line, their runner shepherded while Vhitey got a rare kick that wasn’t on a wing or in pocket and jagged a goal.

There was still plenty of time for Freo but they weren't having any luck. Their forwards were having to point to dolls to show the umpire where they were being touched by the groping Saints players hands, although it would have been easier to point to where they weren't being touched. Meanwhile Fremantle stuck to their guns and kept pumping the ball forward in the hope that someone could walk on water.

They couldn't though, and the siren sounded on time this year, albeit a little sadder at what St Kilda had done to football.