Fremantle arrived in Melbourne to prepare for the game of their lives. This was it. The entire season, for many their entire careers, hinged on beating North Melbourne and securing a spot in the finals. From the President to the boot studder and all the way down to Zac Dawson, everyone’s future hung in the balance. To lose was sure to see Fremantle miss the eight after early promises of home finals and grand final parades...in other words, utter humiliation. To win could mean a soft finals run with a home game against the mugs up the road and a firming for the flag. It was the single most important game in the history of the Fremantle Football Club and the pressure was building like button on Michael Walters’ girdle.
And then ‘poof’ it all went away. Like modern day Rumpelstiltskins, the Gold Coast snuck in during the night and spun the once proud Carlton Blues into a football joke. Fremantle’s must win match became a chance to rest up and head back to Perth for one last thrashing of a dud football team and set themselves up for a flag.
Pavlich was the first to call it a weekend, he couldn't be arsed going out there so he sent McPharlin in as captain. McPharlin's first duty was the coin toss. 'Heads or Tails" called the umpire. "Couldn't care less" came the call from Luke at which point he wandered off and let them sort it out amongst themselves.
Not that it mattered, the roof was shut and it was a North Melbourne home game so there were only a few hundred people along to watch.
Fremantle started well but some of the players had their heads elsewhere, Chris Mayne took a mark a few metres out and decided it would be a better show of his brilliant kicking skills if he put it straight into the goal post. He called for a blindfold but the runner was on the phone trying to find out what movies were playing at the local cineplex.
MacMillan kicked a goal on the run to give the Kangaroos an early lead and everyone settled in for a subdued contest between two teams waiting for the real action to being in a couple of weeks time.
Then all of a sudden Fremantle decided to arc up. A big roost from Duffield cleared the space where Pavlich usually stands and fell to the back where Ballantyne was lurking. He grabbed it, dodged around a couple of blokes, ducked under another then snapped the footy over his head and through for a goal.
Chris Mayne didn't like the little bloke showing him up so he got on the end of a raking boot from Stephen Hill and straightened himself up for his first. Hill tried to cut out the middleman by taking a few pot shots himself, without much luck, before David Mundy put through Freo's third and the Freo spelling nuts behind the goals were pretty pleased with their decision to stay up all night cutting out giant letters to bring to the game.
The Kangaroos were looking far from the impressive premiership fancies that they'd been touted as going into the game, as Luke McPharlin and his rag tag bunch of defenders completely shut down their high scoring forwards and Aaron Sandilands made a late bid for All Australian ruckman with his disheveled and mentally disturbed looking bunch of midfielders.
It was typical Fremantle stitch up job, shutting down the opposition and accumulating a few goals to go into the first break with a handy lead but still showing the opposition enough of the footy to keep them keen.
The second quarter kicked off with Chris Tarrant's brother picking up the gauntlet of spasticity in front of goals that Chris had dropped with the announcement of his retirement, which gave the Dockers a chance to organise themselves and Ryan Crowley an opportunity to get a few sly punches in on Brent Harvey under the AFL's anti-short blokes policy.
They quickly regrouped and Michael Walters delighted the crowd, well, the small gathering if we're being honest, with a courageous mark running with the flight of the ball and a sensational snap from somewhere near the pie cart - his greatest achievement of all was not eating any pies afterwards.
The Kangaroos fought back with a goal to Bastanic as the game became an arm wrestle between Fremantle's attempts to shut things down and the Kangaroos desire to fire things up.
Adam McPhee was struck down with a moment of competence and pushed Freo back out to a 3 goal lead with his first goal of the year but the Roos were starting to get on top. They put through a couple of quick, albeit jaggy, goals to get within striking distance.
Fremantle wasn't having any trouble scoring back, they were just having some trouble getting the ball to go through the correct set of sticks. Balantyne appeared to be trying to bring down a goal post, belting the footy into it several times, presumable to help build his dam.
Eventually Michael Walters and his golden boots stepped in to sort things out, proving he's such a magnificent kick that he barely even needs to lay a boot onto the ball to get it to go where he wants it.
His goal took Fremantle into the long break with handy 9 point break (despite what some people were suggesting on the twitter). Everything was looking pretty good for the blokes in purplish. They had a handy lead and were well positioned for handy, confidence boosting win against a well respected opposition.
When they returned the ground, the Kangaroos came out swinging. For a game without much consequence, they seemed to be riled up about something....hard to work out what that could have been against a side with Crowley, Ballantyne and two blokes with neck tattoos.
They were certainly fired up about something and were playing with renewed vigour, putting three goals in the opening 5 minute to take the lead and get their small gathering on their feet.
In many ways it was inevitable that the Roos would pass Fremantle at some stage, only a massive percentage boosting win was going to make any difference to Fremantle's standings at this stage and they'd shown throughout the season that they were more about workmanlike, just get the 4 points, type games as they kept the FREO Speedwagon at a sensible 60km and hour.
Then something happened. Like a possum presumed dead, Fremantle jumped to their feet and became awesome again.
Aaron Sandilands was the first to put his hand up. Both of them. Over a pack of about 8 North Melbourne players. He was having rest in the forward line and brought down the unspoilable mark. His new boots seem to work too because he drilled the goal from 45 out and put the Dockers back into the lead.
It was a short rest and he went back into the ruck. When he got there and saw the blokes waiting for the ball were going to be Mundy, Hill, Barlow and Fyfe he had to work his guts out not to let out a big goofy grin. No one fears a jolly giant.
He put on his best tough guy/mad man look and let them at it. They weaved the ball out of the middle and straight away Fyfe was dirty on himself, he landed the ball just to the left of the goal square but was unable to James Hird it at right angles. He still had a ways to go till his magical powers were at full strength.
Michael Walters doesn't bother with magic, he just slots them straight though and he and Mayne used their eerily straight kicking skills to put stretch the Dockers lead.
North Melbourne were in trouble, and not just because of the debt, the lack of supporters and the inevitable discovery that Brent Harvey is harvesting children's organs to sustain himself. Fremantle were running all over them. It was as if accurate kicking was a disease that spread from player to player, they ran hard, hit targets and refused to let a chance to hurt someone to go ungrasped.
Even Adam McPhee, who'd recently smashed his head so hard that the doctor had called for the hat, sunglasses and Hawaiian shirt to get him from the ground, was hitting his stride and dobbed his second goal of the match (and year) to take the Dockers into the last change with a 21 point lead and the taste of Kangaroo blood.
There were some in th Fremantle coaching ranks who were concerned the Dockers had shown too many cards. September was close and they clearly had been keeping their best footy under wraps (except for a brief lack of discipline against the Eagles when they just couldn't help but smsh the smug bastards) and debate raged about whether they should tone things down a bit for the last quarter, just take the four points and fly back home again.
The debate continued well into the last quarter and the Kangaroos got a couple of early ones to make things interesting but Ross Lyon was already four Coke Zeroes to the wind and decided it was time. He got on the phone and gave them the code "release the hounds".
Fremantle went berserk again. The midfield was a place of beauty and brutality as they took to the Kangaroos like it was the third act of a Tarantino movie. Mzungu, Walters, DeBoer, Suban....they were queuing up to kick goals.
North Melbourne didn't know what had hit them. They couldn't lay a hand on the Freo boys, the could barely get an eye on the footy. They'd worn a promotional jumper which was printed with the names of people who'd donated money to save the club - it was now a list of people with shattered dreams.
David Mundy appeared to spawn a clone and appeared to get the ball out of the centre and kick it to himself in the forward line ,at once stage. One of him kicked the goal to get Freo out to a 40 point lead...and then Ballantyne decided to play.
It was an officially documented occurrence of running amok as he ducked and weaved his way to three goals..., 8 celebrations, 6 gob offs and a couple of cheeky winks.
It was a complete domination of another football club as Fremantle not only kicked on to a 57 point win but changed the finals equations, jumping the Roos on the ladder and sending a signal to the rest of the competition - we're coming for you.