Fremantle v St Kilda at the Dome...it was real danger game. Not because Round 4 has become the cut off point for teams making the finals, in the minds of most football experts and some particularly slow children, but because of what was going to be happening at either end of the ground. At one end there was Hayden Ballantyne and the other end was Stephen Milne. The good and the evil face of football niggling. Each player on their own make the ground a dangerous place to be (particularly if you are a giant of a man from Geelong with the sensibilities of a little girl) but together on the same ground the possibilities for destruction were very real.
Scientist from around the globe had flown in for the game and there were two major theories about how the night would end. Firstly, their niggling energy would cancel each other out and everyone would be in for a dull night but wake the next morning with the planet in good nick, well relatively good nick.
The other much more alarmist and therefore more popular theory was that they would suck each other in, creating some sort of vortex in the centre of the gerund that would grow to envelop everyone at the ground and eventually the entire universe.
There was a third theory but that involved reattaching a shard to the dark crystal and the two players joining together again to form one really fancy puppet in a polo neck...but that was a bit far fetched.
Scott Watters thought he could ignore the problem and told his players not to touch, talk or even make eye contact with Ballantyne. Ross Lyon took a different approach and sent McPhee over to throw himself on the grenade (secretly hoping it would blow up).
But something happened that no one had predicted. There was a third niggler.
Ryan Crowley, the Godfather of the niggle, had been overlooked. While the Saints players were running around, desperate trying not to talk to Ballantyne or let him see their tears, Crowley snuck under everyone's guard. He ran amok up forward and opened Fremantle's account with some high quality goosification of three Saints players, before lobbing a handpass over to Zac Clarke in the goal square to finish things off.
The Saints crowd weren't happy, they rarely are, but they didn't have to spend too long booing at shadows. Michael Barlow made an early bid for the red vest with a kick n that went straight to Ben McEvoy and then straight back over Barlow's head to give the Saints the lead. Nick Dal Santo followed that one up to push the Saints out to an 8 point lead and Fremantle were starting to look like they might be struggling to keep Ross Lyon's excellent record in Fremantle v St Kilda games in tact.
But everyone had forgotten about Crowley again. He swooped in when the ball carried over the pack, rolled round onto his left then for some reason snapped it with his right.
It was handy goal to get, Fremantle were getting smashed in the middle despite having nearly half their best midfield in the centre (the most they've had in 18 months). There was plenty of fight in them though and the Saints were Hollywooding it up around their goals to give Freo a chance to re-organised.
A bit of an unfortunate incident with Stephen Hill, the football and a nervous tick saw Vhitey finally get a look at the footy to kick a goal, which seemed to fire the Dockers up a bit.
They took control on the middle and got the ball straight down to Chris Mayne. The crumbers were ready but Mayne held onto it and drilled the ball straight through the goals to get Freo back within a few points.
It was a big loss for the Saints. They'd had plenty of the footy and looked threatening but they couldn't shake the Dockers and were looking suspect under pressure.
Luckily for the Saints, Zac Dawson is really nice bloke. Feeling bad about the way he left the club he thought he'd make one last gesture to the fans and passed the ball straight to Sam Gilbert. Gilbert very graciously dobbed the goal and the Dockers were 7 points down when the quarter time siren sounded.
Scott Watters was filthy his players hadn't made more of their opportunities. He stormed down the stairs, climbed on his milk crates and gave his players the evil eye. Ross Lyon wasn't as concerned about his players as he was about contracting Hepatitis as he made his way through the angry St Kilda supporters to get to the ground. Once he was there, and the blood work check out, he made a few points to the players about not kicking the ball straight to a St Kilda player, particularly deep inside their fifty metre arc, then he braced himself for the return journey up what the locals had dubbed 'the river of shame'.
It was a quiet start to the second quarter. The nerves had settled, the pre-game mystery meat sandwich had stopped moving and most of the Saints supporters had had their fix and quietened themselves down but some of the players were still playing silly buggers with the footy, ruining it for everyone else.
Eventually Michael Johnson decided enough was enough. He took a gamble that Micky Barlow could beat pretty much anyone and booted the ball long. He was right, Barlow outmarked Hayes then danced around Polo before seeing a massive bloke with a white and purplish jumper on. Sandilands was his name. The long arms went up, the ball fell into his giant hands and then he went back and slotted a big goal.
Everyone seemed to like what they'd seen from Johnson and the game started to open up with both teams going on the attack. It wasn't always pretty but it was much more fun to watch as the Saints desperately played for the love of their former coach and the Frematle players desperately tried to maim as many St Kilda bastards as they could get away with.
Freo briefly hit the lead with some brilliant 'quick hands' from Johnny Anthony, a clever kick from Matthew Pavlich and some sensible goal kicking from Tendai Mzungu but they lost it again when Paul Duffield misplaced his back allowing Stanley to mysteriously push him over from behind without infringing.
Chris Mayne leveled the scores to set up a brilliant second half but the Freo defenders had a stop work meeting a couple of seconds before the siren sounded, allowing the Saints to go into the big break with a one goal lead.
The two teams headed down to their rooms knowing that the next hour or so was going to have a huge impact on their season. Ross Lyon was keen for his players to stick to the game plan, defend hard and attack even harder. To run in straight lines and kick long to the forwards. Scott Watters also touched on those things but he also wanted to stress the importance that no one revealled the location of his village in case Gargamel used him and his friends to make gold.
It was telling when they returned to the ground. Fremantle were focused and determined while the Saints looked a bit confused and distracted as they tried to work out which end of the ground centre half smurf was.
All the big guns for the Dockers started firing. Mundy and Barlow started finding the ball and getting rid of it before they were belted, Stephen Hill was shaking his tags and causing havok in the St Kilda coach's box and Clancee Pearce was doing nothing to discount the rumours that hes actually a robot sent from the future to protect John Pavlich's mother.
John's father to be levelled the scores again when he jailed one early and Jack Anthony made a hero of himself, with a spectacular mark and a goal, looking like a handy foootballer for the first time in the purplish.
Freo had 6 point lead and were looking good things but it had been a long time since they'd been in front in Melbourne and some stage fright seemed to creep in. They started buggering around with the ball, falling over a lot and kicking to the boundary instead of down the guts.
They knew they were in trouble when Justin Koschitzke started holding marks and kicking goals and it didn't take long before the Saints were back in front.
Ross Lyon had been in this position before. His team losing momentum, in need of a spark. He'd brought Barlow and Mundy on from the sub bench to get things moving in previous weeks with good results so he thought he'd give it a go again. Mundy and Barlow were already on the ground so this time he had to pull new comer Lachie Neale out of the vest.
It may have been his youthful exuberance, it my have been that the Saints players thought there were two Ballantyne's on the ground and freaked the hell out but whatever it was it was effective. Fremantle’s focus on hurting St KIlda players returned and everything else just flowed from there.
Jack Anthony dragged a bit more of his career out of the furnace, Matt de Boer used his spoon bending concentration skills to get the ball to go where he wanted it and Zac Clarke kicked one of the greatest goals ever kicked by gangly ruckman with a ridiculously magnificent haircut since Polly Famer's short lived love affair with mutton chops.
When the three quarter time siren sounded, the Dockers had a 14 point lead and the Saints were looking very worried...and not just because Molly Meldrum kept leaning over the rail of his box. Scott Watters wasn't happy at all. Which is never a good thing because the players knew that could mean only one thing - a Scott Watters spray.
Oompa Loompa doompadee doo. I've got some three quarter time coaching for you. What do you get when you play your man loose. He runs way and you look like a goose....
Four weeks in and they'd had their fill of his bloody songs.
Fremntle didn't have t worry about Ross Lyon breaking into song or poorly choreographed calisthenics, they could set their watches by his three quarter time addresses. Many of them did just that because the ticking kept them awake.
But when they returned to the game, the Fremantle players looked like thoroughbred race horses. No insecurities, no confusion, they were there to do one job and then go home. They held the Saints back, defended their lead and weren't far way from completely breaking St Kilda to pave the way for a percentage boosting finish.
But unfortunately a few or them started to handle the ball like thoroughbred race horses (the hoofs make it hard enough to mark the footy but the metal shoes make it virtually impossible) and the Saints got two quick goals through Jamie Cripps. The game was back in the balance.
It was tight, it was fierce, it was going to be a battle to the finish, possibly even a controversial draw.
Nah, Fremantle weren't going to risk it getting to that. Stephen Hill stepped up, danced a dance through the middle of the ground, signed some autographs, filmed a commercial for a Japanese soft drink then guided the footy onto Clancee Pearce's chest. Pearce finished off with a goal and then took the ball back to the middle where Hill did it all again through Zac Clarke.
Stephen Milne managed to scrounge one back, confirming the theory that the nigglers would nullify each other (obviously that was always going to happen - why would ll the scientists fly in if they thought they'd get killed) but Freo were home. Greg Broughton kicked the sealer and the St Kilda supporters booed themselves hoarse. Presumably because their team didn't cheat enough.