In a sports writer's line of work, the principal task is to act as a conduit between the deeds on the field, the people that enact them and the fans in the stands.
Threads are located, quotes are recorded, and narratives are laid out for digestion and discussion.
Across the course of the regular season and a month of finals, a myriad of differing plots arise, entrench or shrink, with new names stepping into the spotlight, champions consolidating and the barometer’s needle flicking every which way.
Every team has a story, so too the players that comprise them. These tales evolve or evaporate depending on results, as the ‘he said, she said’ stirs the pot non-stop.
But for an ageing Geelong side, one often seen as the living embodiment of the Steve Buscemi/’30 Rock’ meme, their particular narrative has finally reached its crescendo, with their past tears and torment finally capped with an overdue cup.
Despite acting as the competition’s model of consistency for the past pair of decades, the Cats have earned themselves an army of chiders. Success, they claim, has 1000 fathers, but for the perennial contenders, they are left open to the attacks of 1000 more.
And with another September run in them this year, 12 months after being belted out west and written off the page, the Pivot City side’s most fervent fanatics, as well as their most ardent deriders, were asked to wage war again for the right to gloat or goad.
Aside from a single mention of a redhead’s redemption and an inevitable prelude, my hand has left the Cats alone this season. Their seniority, secrecy and stubborn desire warranted this. I have been raised to respect my elders.
Now their quill has come to rest, with the confetti hoovered from the ground, the threads of the Cats’ tapestry can be inspected for the summer months at a minimum and an eternity at a maximum.
Behind their eldest statesman and one of the youngest members of the club’s most famous family, Geelong charged onto the Melbourne Cricket Ground last Saturday with a vim and vigour that belied their collective age.
No side in AFL/VFL history had more miles on their odometer than Chris Scott’s clowder, with their average age narrowing in on 30 and more than half of the 22 having made 150 or more appearances at the level.
Within the Grand Final Record – a publication that resembles a phone book more and more with every passing season – Joel Selwood professed that, in his view, the two greatest films of all time are ‘The Green Mile’ and ‘The Shawshank Redemption’.
Though as the sun set on the first Victorian decider in 1093 days, the skipper and his cast had combined to write a script exceeding anything ever conflated by the minds of Messrs Darabont and King.
There was ‘The Fish Souvlaki Munching Minder, getting busier as the game wore on, proving that alternative ascents often lead to sweeter nectars.
So too ‘The Dartmoor Deadeye’. While well held, his perseverance to ultimately conquer was worth the King’s Ransom and then some.
Speaking of royalty, a coronation for ‘The Dutch King’ was completed with unflappable ease. Though the 21-year-old’s head is a match for any doorway, we are still some time away from finding his true ceiling.
‘The Sleeved Assassin’ was in tow, operating perfectly by foot and acting as the hipster’s choice for best on ground honours.
Equally as tight-lipped, but unmatched in his stoicism, stood ‘The Son of the Runners’. Tasked with wrangling Lance Franklin, the all-business and no-nonsense stopper bound and gagged ‘Buddy’, claiming a scalp to treasure forever.
Although it’s unlikely that ‘The Stone Roses’ would get much of a run on his Spotify account, ‘The Resurrection’ shaded any efforts ever laid out by Ian Brown. With a debut All-Australian blazer already to his name, the former Tiger and Crow’s third life proved potent; his four goals confirming there would be no fool’s gold at the end of this redemptive arc.
As the end result was spoken for well before the half, the only sport remaining as the afternoon inched towards evening was the debate as to who would be heading down the highway with more than one medallion.
Though both Patrick Dangerfield and Isaac Smith had statisticians howling as the carpal tunnel set in, it would be the latter who edged out. Though no relation to the legendary Norman Walter Smith, the greying ex-Hawk’s output earned him a new name. Deed poll or not.
Unlike most cinematic classics, Geelong’s tale would not close with a twist.
Though every punter and pundit had similar reads entering this final Saturday in September, with claims their hands had been lent to ink the script, it was experience that would ultimately conquer youth in a plotline older than time.
Following the cringey flotilla down the Yarra, Bloods boss John Longmire riffed about the beauty of youth, as his bevy of Cygnets shuffled awkwardly, unsure of where to look or to plant. Though lore suggests that Cats hate water, Scott’s clowder appeared cool, calm and collected, with ripples of laughter coming from the wisest of heads.
Scott, though, floated by on another meme template, wedged between his solemn skipper, ½ Cat and his lady littermate. Never one for the preamble, the 46-year-old opted for the links over the motorcade in 2001, and from the look on his face on Friday morning, there were still birdies being chasing in his mind.
The elder twin’s demeanour changed after finding dry land and a padded throne. Throughout his portion of the public press conference, Scott was decidedly laissez-faire, cracking wise in a moment of foreshadowing missed by many armchair experts.
Beside him, Selwood sat with clasped hands across his crossed legs. In spite of his studied lines, spouted to the masses with ease, the Cats’ answer to perpetual motion appeared more flappable than usual as his gaze sat locked on the ‘G
While Selwood’s internal monologue is still in need of transcription, his emotions from three-quarter time onward ranged from bewilderment to gratitude; exhilaration to exhaustion as his name and legend were hailed by those blessed to be there.
Two-years into his own retirement, premiership ruck Justin Madden published his memoirs, titled ‘Real Footballers Don’t Cry’. Though prodding at the notion that reactions required tempering in his day, Selwood’s raw feelings were commensurate with the contemporary man; a contemporary champion, at that.
We are all yet to learn whether his days in boots are done, but whether Selwood and company are willing to divulge or not, a cup to cap their marathon of contention was more than just a goal, it was compulsory.
As a 20-year-old kid from the west the last time Geelong supped from the premiership cup, the career of Mitch Duncan commenced with a bang.
Although those Cats of 2011 appeared destined to go again and again, each season since ended shy of the finish line, with the 31-year-old admitting in June that he had taken his ride for granted.
Yet, when found with a bracketing medallion and a hard-earned ale in hand in the rooms on Saturday night, the veteran claimed the second climb had been more fulfilling.
“It’s pretty special,” Duncan told Zero Hanger ahead of a pensive pause amongst the pandemonium.
“Now 12 years on, it feels a little bit sweeter given the journey that we’ve been on. There’s so many great stories amongst the team as well, but it’s just an incredible feeling.”
As a father of three, individual pursuits often take a back seat to throes of parenthood. But while clearly content as the premiership cup sat inches away in the hands of his loved ones, Duncan contended life would have gone on if the narrative remained unaltered.
“I think it’s the cherry on top, no doubt, but winning a grand final is not the be all and end all for me,” the 258-gamer added.
“I’m lucky enough to be able to do it, but I’ve got three amazing kids, a beautiful wife and a great family. That’s why I play footy. They’re a part of the journey. They see the highs. They see the lows.”
For whole teams to scale to the proverbial summit, those with the know-how must lead the way.
And though the mantels of Duncan and his fellow veteran class prove these steps could be repeated, four prelim slips, a trio of first-week trips and a hiccup each on semi night and in the ‘COVID Cup’ saw an orchard of doubt sewn and only heartache reaped.
While happily admitting that his life wouldn’t be defined by the second medal draped around his neck, the team-first ethos instilled in the old-fashioned utility necessitated further graft.
Of those cavorting in the bowels of the ‘G, the premiership feeling was new to 19 of Duncan’s teammates – a past ill that required rectifying, if only to beef up the stocks on reunion nights.
“I love that they get the opportunity. I was even telling them out there ‘you’re a premiership player now’, and it just felt nice telling them that,” Duncan said of his younger brethren.
“They deserve it though. They’ve been incredible. All of them, for the whole time. Some of them have worked extremely hard to get here. I’m looking at Zach Guthrie now, where he’s come from is unbelievable. I’m so proud of him.”
Before second and third tins turned into cartons, and medals made their way on to barnyard animals, praise for the architect of such joy was required.
“I’m incredibly proud of the group, but mostly Chris Scott, I can’t speak highly enough of him,” Duncan said hoarsely in between sips.
“He’s been there from day dot with me and helped me turn into the person I am and the player, so he deserves all the credit he gets, that bloke.”
Twice this September, Scott defensively contended that he and his group didn’t dwell on the past. The promise of tomorrow remained their domain.
Yet, as the corks were removed and the Cats’ claws clasp the cup, the cock of the Corio walk shut himself behind closed doors for a moment of reflection.
With regeneration at the heart of his success, the departures of publicly thanked lieutenants and directives to up the tempo paid off in spades. And in spite of this momentary embrace of the present, there is still plenty to mull, perhaps over the wood of Jeremy Cameron’s converted stable bar.
There has always been a method to Scott’s madness. Put simply, it delivers results or drives damn close to the mark. Sure, it’s unlikely that outside noise or the expectations of others adds more than droplets of fuel to his fire, Scott’s legacy needed this flag too.
So often derided for minor mistakes at the business end and with his influence in 2011 questioned too, Scott was all too happy to contend that this win was “contrarian” in nature, defying logic all the way.
The age of his charges has been chided for some time. But in the end, his unit containing 14 names beyond their 30th birthday, proved too good, rather than too old or too slow.
At 34, Selwood is now the same age as Scott when he won the reigns at Kardinia Park. But serendipity aside, the poetic chance before him required claiming to seal the most iron-clad of legacies.
And though the champion was close-lipped as he stood cloaked by family in the rooms, Selwood’s predecessor was content to sing his praises for him.
“That was outstanding. That was a beautiful moment. How good is that team? That’s some of the best footy you’ll see,” Cameron Ling excitedly told Zero Hanger, mere feet from an emotional Maree Selwood.
“There couldn’t be a better person, a better player, a better leader. That felt very, very special handing it to him because he’s so special. He’s one of a kind, that bloke.”
If Selwood is to follow Ling and his first skipper, Tom Harley, by bowing out on a perfect note, the quadruple premiership player, six-time All-Australian and triple Carji Greeves medallist leaves with rich symphonies in the book. Ones with a shelf life to rival Bach and Beethoven.
Across the overflowing room, one reeking of sweat, draught beer and guttural exhalation, stood the hungriest Cat of all. With his hardened hands at rest and the familiar look of steel gone from his eyes, Patrick Dangerfield was the picture of contentedness.
In the moments following the siren, one that capped his toil and flipped the bird to those keen to chip at his deeds, the eight-time All-Australian broke both his silence and the mold.
“This is Everest,” Dangerfield told the Seven Network. “This is the pinnacle. This is what it means to be content, I think.”
"This is the pinnacle, this is what it means to be content" - Danger
Danger delivered an incredible Grand Final performance 👏 pic.twitter.com/iQrZWVseXa
— 7AFL (@7AFL) September 24, 2022
Though the films of Frank Darabont are woven with themes of evolving perception, reclamation and just rewards being dealt and won, perfect endings are largely the territory of ‘Tinsel Town’.
But as a devotee of Darabont’s adaptive craft, Joel Selwood will know his team’s own tale of persistence and redemption has shaded anything ever shot by the Frenchman.
The lack of cinematic complexity these days often leads to the belief that every narrative should come wrapped in a neat package. But as was proven by the greatest team of all, even champions need to work overtime just to get their dues.
