by Drubbing
A 2 week break is surely a time to reflect on the season so far.
Ok, now that's out of the way, I can't say all of Freo's wins this season have been pretty. If we were brutal, we might say at least a couple of them were as easy on the eye as Susan Boyle's uglier sister. The Richmond game was a fair example; less a spectacle than a monocle - only the one eyed could get any joy out of the way it played out. That makes 50% of us Colonel Clink, and the other 50% The Penguin.
The game against Brisvegas was another. More frustrating than a 15 year old trying to master the one-handed bra strap undo. With the results just as embarrassing at times. Not so much for our inaccuracy, as Brisvegas' complete inability to stem the purple onslaught. If it were a medical emergency, Bris would be the holding onto its own spurting jugular with one hand, as it tried to juggle a Sherrin with the other.
Perhaps it was cruel joke, and already confident of victory just by turning up, Freo simply wanted to be the first team to win on behinds alone. But I can understand them having trouble kicking goals, it was played at a ground most of the team had only seen from Chris Connolly's holiday snaps. The game was a bit chaotic on both sides. Jonathon Brown had to rove up the middle of the ground just to get a stat, and he looked a bit lost, his GPS probably failed at the half forward line. I never saw Fev til the last quarter, because Elvis had him beautifully wrapped up and served on a plate so often, Matt Preston was making his way up there for a tasting. While we couldn't hit a barn door with a barn, the midfield caused a riot. They goosified, trousered and generally dacked the opposition. I'm only vaguely miffed at the Smirkin Merkin for upping to the doggies and denying me working in a lame Aker Dacker gag.
Then there's Sydney. Not a team renowned for turning on a footy clinic, more a bunch of blokes who look like they're all roped together, and drag the other side along in a rolling maul to the grim death. Watching the Swans play anyone is like footy Twister, and at the SCG, it's played on an even smaller surface. No wonder Paul Roos never looks stressed, he's barely able to raise a pulse through self-induced boredom. Add the wet day we played them, and you've got a soap juggling festival to raise the monotony a couple of notches - to comatose.
North Melbourne probably weren't looking forward to the trip over, and Freo didn't disappoint them. There was a lot more of the same tight-in bashing and crashing, with Freo's goal radar still malfunctioning a bit. Until the third quarter. Then they tore the Roo's so many new ones, James Brayshaw has asked the AFL to access more of its pokie money to (aptly) get a team of proctologists in to patch things up. Acker got worried all over again, but thankfully he'd been gagged from talking to the media.
That brutal 3rd quarter was pretty much a microcosm of what Freo are about this season; the sheer, unrelenting attack on the ball, or the opposition unlucky enough to have it. What I liked when watching replays is how often they tap the ball out of packs, instead of pulling them in. That's confidence. Confidence that 3 or 4 other blokes are there to win it, and do something with it. And more often than not, there are. And if there isn't, there is the next time.
I had some cracking notes on the Adelaide game, but they got shredded in a freak accident with Chris Judd, and what sounded like the whining of high-performance propeller that hasn't been oiled enough by the umpires.
Despite the lack of polish here and there, I'm liking what I'm seeing from the young Fremantlians. While we may be missing out on a bit of champagne football, they make up for it with plenty of WWF smackdown action. I've not seen so many men cut down so quickly and so often since the last time I watched Saving Private Ryan.
I had a few notes about the St Kilda game, but Chris Bloody Judd got a hold of them and even after stapling them back together, they weren't salvageable.
In the recent past when Freo played exceptionally, they did it with hard running - usually from half back because the midfield didn't have consistent grunt; it was a less contested style of footy. When teams sussed out how to stop them running, they stopped running. That's changed. Freo now pretty much try and tackle the turf if so much as looks like going anywhere. Applying fierce pressure when they haven't got the ball, they give other teams less room to run and play their own game.
Freo have been relentless. There is no other word for it. Harvey has obviously demanded there be less than a coat of paint between the opposition with the ball, and the man about to plant that man's face to the ground. When Freo do have the ball, they seem to find a way of finding a team mate through more heavy traffic than a truckies convoy on its way to parliament house during a fogged-in bus drivers strike. And the fumbles are giving way to some slick and fancy handball work.
It's beautiful to watch, I hope the young blokes can keep it up, as it makes for a bruising season. Winning, and still looking like you're not playing your very best footy is a sign of a team with both ability and desire to win, and capable of getting it done.
It is mayhem. It is being unleashed. Finally.