Melbourne v Fremantle Fremantle arrived in Melbourne on a Thursday night to a lepers welcome. After a bad game two weeks earlier, they were kicked around, spat on, mocked and ridiculed - and that was just by the few who didn't shun them. When they ran onto the MCG things didn't improve. Despite a handful of faithful Freo supporters behind the goals waving the flags they stole from an Italian brothel, they were greeted by a mixture of arrogance and indifference that only a Melbourne supporter can produce. It's no way for a footballer to have to live. Being treated like third class citizens, not fit to have their boots studded by even the lowliest of boot studders, was having an effect on the Freo players. Despite the desire to atone for their sins, Fremantle started the game like a team still doing their penance. They let Melbourne take the ball out of the centre at the opening bounce with little fanfare and kick a goal in the opening minute. Fremantle were taking the leper attitude too seriously and had self colonised themselves. They got one back with a handy free kick but it was more of the same to follow with two more quick goals going the way of Melbourne. Fremantle were in trouble. If things kept going like this they'd never be allowed back into normal society - they'd be shunned for ever. They needed someone. Someone to lift them up. Someone to show them that there was always hope. And that someone came. A man with long hair and crazy ideas, that didn't always do things the way people thought they should be done. A man of humble origins….named Jeff. After being pushed in the back, ridden into the ground and hackled by the supporters who used to worship him, Jeff decided he was going to make it a day to remember. A quick handpass from Matthew Pavlich gave him his chance and, despite being deep in the pocket and facing the wrong direction, he dropped the ball on his boot and kicked a goal. He wasn't going to be pushed around any more. This was his ground, a hundred thousand people had filled it just to chant his name in years gone by and he was claiming it back on behalf of Fremantle. The defenders were all for Jeff's bold plan. They had their fill of seeing the ball floating over the head a fortnight ago and put the clamps down on Melbourne. Then the blokes in the middle joined in. They lifted their intensity and aggression. They fired up and started playing like Jeff. Then the forward line jumped on board. Luke McPharlin had caught the Farmer bug bad and started running amok. He pulled down four screamers in a row and kicked four goals for his trouble. He was a menace to the Demon defenders. Unstopable. Making it an even bigger nightmare for Melbourne was the ever growing presence of Matthew Pavlich. He was getting his hands on everything and feeding the Fremantle forwards like a IV drip. Medhurst was getting in on the action as well, kicking a goal and setting up a couple. It was a football clinic. Bar for a couple of umpire inspired goals from David Neitz, it was all Fremantle. They'd clawed back Melbourne's early lead and then climbed over the top of them to go into the first break 12 points up. As Chris Connolly fought back a smile on his way to address his players, he would have been rehearsing his quarter time speech and trying to remember to emphasise the key message - don't choke. A good start was a long way from a good game and the Dockers needed to push forward and keep playing imaginative football. An early goal to Hasleby settled the Fremantle nerves and the run on play that contributed to it suggested that the trachea was and truly open. Another iffy free kick against Shane Parker saw the Demons get one back but it was just another item to add to the long list of reasons for Fremantle to gee themselves up. Showing he could do it on the ground as well as in the air, Luke McPharlin went the bolt from the goal square as Fremantle brought the ball through the centre of the ground. Andrew Siegert spotted him up and gave him the lace out, sponsors logo to the camera treatment. The perfectly timed move by the Fremantle brains trust had paid and early dividend and, as McPharlin kicked his fifth goal, the Freee-oooo chant started to go up around the MCG. Fremantle were out to a 20 point lead and Jeff's dream was becoming a reality. But he's an ambitious man and just as the Dockers footy had gone up a few notches, so did Jeff's dreams. He wanted goals. Not the airy fairy goals that head shrinks like to talk about, the ones where the umpire sticks his two fingers out and the crowd go mad for. He started stalking the footy. Watching it's every move and waiting for his opportunity to strike, and with the Dockers winning the contests all over the ground, that opportunity didn't take long to arrive. A big kick from Antoni Grover to the goal square saw Justin Longmuir get the sit on one of the Melbourne stooges, Jlo couldn't quite bring it down but The Wiz was lurking. He snapped up the crumbs in the pocket, ran around to open up and the angle, and split the middle of the goals. The Freo supporters went mad but were nearly drowned out by the noise of Melbourne supporters uncomfortably shuffling in their seats. It still wasn't enough for Jeff though. Freo brought the ball out of defence after a rare forward thrust from the Demons. Farmer got the ball at half forward. He had McPharlin and Pavlich to kick to in front of him but he wanted this one to hurt. A goal was going to put the Dockers up another six points, a long goal on the run from a former favourite son was going to put them on the mat. He ignored the leads, had a couple of bounces and then unloaded from 45 metres out. The umpire gave him the signal he wanted and Freo had Melbourne down for the count - 32 points in front and going strong. Fremantle had awoken. Shivers were going down the spines of coaches around the country as the Dockers became a skilful, polished football team. Everything was finally clicking together. If there was even a remote chance that any one else would be prepared to wear the hideous white and purple clash jumpers, you'd swear it was a different team to the one who'd been at the G two weeks earlier. They were a well oiled piece of machinery. Then tragedy struck. Justin Longmuir was taken from the ground with a badly corked thigh. The big icepack was out and the Fremantle ruckman was out of action. They'd gambled by playing only one ruckman and they'd lost. Jeff White started tapping the ball at will. He was bee bopping and scatting all over Michael Johnson who doing his best but basically just swatting air. All of a sudden, the Dockers couldn't get a kick. The magnetic boards were going into meltdown as Connolly tried to pull something from the fire and Daniher tried to cash in. There wasn't a lot the Freo players could do but run hard and hope the ball would bounce their way. But wasn't enough though and the momentum started to shift. Melbourne locked the ball up in their forward line and Freo didn't get a look in. Two goals to Holland and Green and Fremantle's lead wasn't looking quite as strong. In fact, unless they could get the Mr Miyagi treatment on Justin Longmuir's leg, the Dockers were gone. The siren gave Fremantle a chance to regroup and formulate a plan. It might have been a great first half but they were in strife. They lined the players up against a wall and realised that none of them were close to Longmuir's height. Having left the stretching rack at home, Fremantle were going to have to rely on a big rev up from the coach, some dodgy bounces from the umpires and a serious knee injury to Jeff White if they were going to come close to winning the ball out of the centre. Thoughts of boosting percentage had been replaced by hanging on for dear life. It didn't take long for the worry beads to come out in the third quarter with Melbourne getting their hands on the ball straight away and Ben Holland dobbing a goal in the opening minute. Woe was Fremantle. It took a bit of brilliance from Pavlich and McPharlin to ease the tension slightly but McPharlin's kick was a relic from two weeks ago and he sprayed it across the face. Just when everything seemed to be going Melbourne's way there was a ray of hope. A Melbourne trainer went where she wasn't supposed to go and Fremantle were given a free kick. Heath Black put it through for the goal McPharlin should have kicked and Fremantle were back out to a three goal lead. If they could convince her to do that another 5 or 6 times, Fremantle were going to be a chance. Unfortunately she wasn't up for it and Melbourne continued to move the ball out of the centre unabated. The goals started piling on Neitz and Yze put on a two quick ones. Peter Bell tried to kick a steadier but it was just a blip on the Melbourne radar. Robertson kicked one, then Neitz kicked another one, then Robertson kicked another two. It was a massacre. Fremantle had gone from five goals up earlier in the game to being two goals down. The had no answers. They were gone. But while the Demons were busy counting their goals and patting themselves on the back, something was happening on the Fremantle bench. Justin Longmuir had dragged himself up and was calling for the hacksaw. He'd had enough of this route and was prepared to try and stop it one legged. The doctor refused to give it to him though, so Jlo called for a couple of bandaids and a bottle of mercurochrome. He dabbed a bit on and slapped on the bandaids, then ripped the nearest player off and headed back onto the footy ground. Sure, he could hardly move and was propping himself up on other players, but he was determined to turn this game back around. He started off in the forward line but he soon grew tired waiting for the ball to make its way down he dragged himself up the ground. The adrenalin was starting to flow again and he took control of the ruck. He made White look silly by swatting the ball out of the air, then headed for a rest in the goal square. The players could see him struggling to move and it inspired them. They started running hard again, they were winning the ball again. They were back. As they ran the ball forward, Paul Medhurst got into some space. He took the ball and spotted up a lonely figure in the forward line. It was Justin Longmuir on the bolt from the centre. The kick went to the top of the square and, with the courage of an Anzac, Jlo through himself at the ball, took the mark and crunched into Jared Rivers. He was hurting but he didn't care. He went back, kicked the goal and Freo were back in the game. Not only were they back in it, they started to control it. With a fired up Longmuir running rings around Softy White, Fremantle ran rampant in the closing minutes of the quarter. Pavlich took on three blokes, beat them and kicked the goal to put Fremantle back in front. Then Antoni Grover put one through after the siren for a 7 point lead. It was inspirational stuff. The Dockers were feeding on each other to rise to the challenge, they'd come through the worst of it and were just one more good quarter away from one of the great victories of all time. Letting his heart muscle do most of the work, Longmuir lined up back in the centre when the last quarter got under way. He won the tap out of the centre and Freo were on the march. It was a nervous sort of march but having the ball was a good sign. Then, before the commentators had a chance to say 'you get the feeling that the first goal will be all important', Paul Medhurst had a ping at the goals. It was a long, high kick. The sort of kick that small blokes with a big leap love. From out of nowhere, Jeff Farmer flew across the goal square and came down with the footy. The goal was a mere formality and Fremantle stormed ahead to a 13 point lead. Fremantle were back in charge of this game, something the umpires didn't like. They set up Holland with a gift and were fixing to do a St Kilda in Tasmania number on the Dockers. It was a worry, but with Fremantle having a ruckman once again, it wasn't going to be easy to put these Freo boys down. Even for someone with a whistle in their mouth. Peter Bell started to go silly. He was getting kicks all over the ground. He was laying tackles, he was taking marks, he'd grabbed the flag and he was storming the beach and his players were falling in behind him. Heathy Black was lucky enough to be on the end of a Peter Bell handpass. He snaffled it up, ran to the fifty and unloaded with the often talked about raking left foot. It was a thing of beauty and the resulting goal had the Dockers out to a two goal lead again. Was that going to be enough? Jeff Farmer didn't think so. Not happy with just his 5 for the day, he started weaving some more magic - kicking back to back goals and putting the last nails in the coffin of his old club. The Demons rallied to kick a couple of late ones but a steadier for Hasleby and a wink from the Wizard had Freo home by 14 points. A great day to be a Docker.
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