Tipping tomorrow’s Grand Final is a cinch. Sydney finished top of the ladder, and did so with the best defensive record since the 2009 Saints. They’ve got two of the top four Brownlow vote-getters (and five of the top 25), five All-Australians, and the Coleman Medal runner-up.
They’re playing a team from outside the top four, with no grand final experience in their 22, missing their injured captain, and unable to name anywhere near their preferred forward line, thanks to injury and the misdeeds of a sports scientist four years ago.
But that’s all way too rational to pass muster in a post-facts world. Especially in the most logic-devoid AFL season in history.
The Western Bulldogs in particular don’t conform to reason. In the finals alone they’ve torn up the rule book, winning in Perth, destroying the Hawks in “Chicago”, and then outlasting the Giants in New South Wales. That trifecta alone is a preposterous accomplishment. It becomes scarcely believable in the context of the season preceding it.
In a contemporary discourse hijacked by hyperbole, what the Bulldogs have done (are doing) requires almost a new lexicon. Modern sporting debate scatters around superlatives with scant regard for context. If every game is a blockbuster, every player a champion, and every premiership a fairytale, where do you go when then this story comes along?
The one about a club without a flag since the middle of the last century. The suburban battlers on their uppers two decades past. The club that lost a coach in acrimony and traded its captain just two seasons ago. The one that watched its new skipper and spiritual leader hobble off the MCG three weeks into the season. The team that wept openly when another of its popular sons succumbed to one of those most gruesome injuries of modern times. The club whose president jettisoned a Chief Executive and a senior assistant coach midseason. The list goes on.
It’s magical. There’s an other-worldliness to the experience. A channeling of human spirit the likes of which I have never come across in a football story before. From Murphy’s suburban poetry through Luke Beveridge’s defiance (characterised by his Desperate Dan jaw, jutting out like a protective shield) to the transcendent Marcus Bontempelli, a 20-year old - just dwell on that for a moment - who floats through games like a spectre, materialising at precisely the right moment, to make precisely the right decision.
It’s a tidal wave sweeping Victoria, the Doggies bobbing along the surface like a cork in the ocean. The banners, the cheer squad, the club legends; you’d need a heart made of stone not to find a human connection somewhere along this quest that didn’t enrich your life in some way.
This year’s grand final is an occasion worthy of the name. Saturday won’t play host to the granny or the big dance, and it literally will not be that one day in September. It will be the grand final; the last match of the season, and an event of great sporting and cultural significance. The Western Bulldogs have seen to that. Win or lose, they’ve made this a season to cherish.
The nitty gritty
Dragging things back to reality for a few moments, there are some pointers to help us navigate our way through the build-up.
The Dogs won the only match between these teams this season, a four-point thriller at the SCG. Tantalisingly, almost every top line statistic reflected the narrow margin, indicating an even match-up on Saturday. Lance Franklin earned the three Brownlow votes courtesy of a five goal haul, and when I spoke to Carlton’s Jacob Weitering during the week he identified the Swans’ spearhead as the key difference between the two sides heading into the grand final.
The decisive influence looks set to be the Bulldogs’ attacking efficiency. Across the season, and especially during the finals, they have enjoyed a sizeable territorial advantage, but, they average a mark only once every five entries inside 50.
By contrast, the Swans have spent more time defending their own turf in the past three weeks, highlighted by Geelong failing to convert an inside 50 differential of +32. However, Sydney boast the best percentage in the competition for points conceded per attacking sortie and score freely on the rebound.
Which would seem to indicate the possibility of a Bulldogs dominated game decided by their ability to turn field position into points and neutralise the Swans after turnovers. A potentially thrilling version of cat and mouse.
The bottom six
There were more grand final selection headaches than usual. Both teams have been nursing sore players in recent weeks and understudies have excelled.
The Swans will be buoyed by the returning pair of Callum Mills and Jarrad McVeigh. Harrison Marsh and Aliir Aliir are the unfortunates to miss out with the latter unable to recover from his preliminary final injury in time. The Bulldogs’ 22 is the same that saw off the Giants, meaning the urge to recall Lin Jong or Matthew Suckling has been resisted.
I’ve always enjoyed the Paul Roos maxim that it’s the bottom six players on a list that decide grand finals, but establishing that particular dirty dozen this year is a tall order. Both squads have overachieved relative to expectation, and in the finals series it’s often been the lesser lights that have shone brightest. For the Dogs, Clay Smith ranks number one for scoreboard impact in September, Tom Papley has that honour for the Swans.
I would argue the two Thursday night inclusions tip the balance slightly Sydney’s way. They will now field only George Hewett and Xavier Richards that I would have any concerns about.
The irresistible force vs the immovable object
Take your pick. Will it be Sydney’s pedigree and grand final experience that caps off a season of excellence? Or can the Western Bulldogs write a final chapter to their fairytale? After a season like this, I’m tipping a draw.
