The Calm Amid The Chaos

It is a truth universally acknowledged that over-analysing round 1 is mostly pointless. That must go double for whatever Round 0 is.

However, the early period of any season is ripe for sweeping statements and hyperbole. So let's allow ourselves one or two paragraphs.

The Pies can scrap out a top 4-6 finish on the strength of belief and smart coaching alone. The Swans have the strongest home ground advantage in the league, and if they can banish the demons of recent grand finals they can win the flag. The Saints have blown it again, and new rules are simultaneously destroying and fixing the game.

The advent of the ridiculous Opening Round concept has changed the start of the season emotionally as much as it has fixturally. I feel for the supporters left without purpose, like a child listening in from the next room while the grown ups party late into the night. They'll get their turn, but that is of little consolation in the moment.

As much as we Collingwood fans loathe these two clubs, the traditional season opener between the Blues and Tigers had managed to build itself into an important foundation. It was a springboard, a (often less than spectacular) battle between two traditional gladiators inside the most hallowed of coliseums. More event than game. More a starters pistol for all than a staggered handicap. It had gravitas and build up. It felt like a beginning.

Take nothing away from the games we saw this round. They were each exceptional in their own right, a collection of matches that will sit comfortably amongst the 'best of' lists at the end of the season. And, while fresh-season excitement is often fuelled by fresh faces, the highlights of this long weekend were provided by those we should have trusted the most.

Scott Pendlebury. Nick Daicos. Josh Daicos. Jack Sinclair. Jack Gunston. Christian Petracca. Clayton Oliver. Marcus Bontempelli. Ed Richards. Errol Gulden. Isaac Heeney. Lachie Neale. Charlie Cameron. Not exactly fresh faces.

The footy was frantic, and, as such, the pressure on each possession was enormous. For the entire weekend. Even in the final game, when the players reverted to slow-motion, each moment carried a weight far greater than the early rounds sometimes do. Was it the rule changes? The out of bounds rule, probably. That's a tick. We loved that. The ruck change is a farce. Fix it, AFL.

Amidst the chaos of comebacks, ridiculous rules and the rising rookies, the calmest heads stood tallest. The ability to hold onto a mark is worth so much more than a single stat. The simple task of shifting the ball to a teammate remains the most vital of skills. Some of the most enthralling passages of play came from handballs, and tackles. This is the wisdom of those who have earned it, by experiencing it. By doing it.

As Anthony Hudson said, how did we get through summer without the footy? If only we got to share it with all fans. This weekend was a warm hug, from the oldest of friends.

The Blues provided a microcosm of the last 30 years of their existence in four quarters. Hope, excitement, the emergence of a new messiah, and, briefly, some decent footy. That lasted about an hour, before Sydney simply shifted the stick and went ballistic. Michael Voss was listless, and will surely find himself in some strife should this season continue like the last few.

It's difficult not to admire the way they play the SCG. They know each corner, ride the angles, know when to hold and know when and how to press. Whilst they briefly lost their bearings (probably due to having to play a week early), when they clicked, it was exhilarating.

The SCG is famously short in length, making it ripe for lightning transitions. Sydney have set up their squad to play it perfectly. To watch the progression of Blakey to Gulden to Curnow is as pure and simple as the game can be. Errol's third quarter was magnificent, and his elite feet are made for the tight confines of the narrow oval.

Whilst it's not too difficult to find joy during a 12 goal quarter, the Swans took delight in manufacturing their own. Charlie Curnow looked happy, and therefore dangerous. Mal Rosas was exciting. The way their mates embraced them during their individual moments was real. They had fun with each other, and then with the Blues.

If Sydney laid down a marker on Thursday, then the Suns took it and danced around it on Friday. There were parallels between the two matches. Starring roles from midfielders; Petracca did his best Gulden impression, Noble ran like his reptilian counterpart in Blakey, and everyone in red took turns twisting the knife.

The Suns celebrated their acquisitions in much the same manner as the Swans had. Trac had meshed perfectly with this new teammates and their home, and in the process, brought Gold Coast the legitimacy they had been yearning for since inception. This felt like a proper team. A proper club. A real contender.

There were echoes of the best teams of the past few seasons. Elite footballers across every line. Spectacularly solid guys in key positions, right the way down the spine. Flanks and pockets dotted with the intangibles, excitement and unpredictability. They bat deep, and have a staff who know how to win. Bringing in a premiership player like Petracca only aids the process. They have depth of knowledge to match the incredible assemblage of capability across the entire club. They can win it all.

We won't worry about the Cats yet. They always find a way.

It was harder to glean any lessons from the Giants v Hawks matchup. Each were without important players, game-changing players. It was left to familiar faces to win the day. The Giants have an excellent assortment of forwards, although they occasionally seem a little one-dimensional. To build around Jesse Hogan is to give yourself a chance. It remains to be seen if the support cast of Stringer, Riccardi, Gruzewski, Brown et al is capable of a flag.

Hawthorn continued their tradition of stacking their squad with guys-you-love-to-hate-and-would-love-on-your-team-but-can't-stand-the-sight-of-them-on-another. Ginnivan, Watson, Macdonald, Sicily and co might be the most collectively irritating group in the AFL, but they must be fun if they are running around in your jumper. They sit alongside the Brown's, Buddy's and Brereton's that have long defined the brown and gold.

It was the old heads that reigned for both teams. Whitfield has quietly put together a career worthy of his lofty draft position, without receiving any real accolades from us down south. As has Coniglio. Jack Gunston is a marvel, and has Benjamin Buttoned himself into one of the purpliest patches of his esteemed footballing life.

Both teams were solid. Both sides were lacking key players. Neither looked like conquerors. At least, not yet.

Then came Saturday night, a game which may, come seasons end, remain as the years best. There was so much to love about both teams.

The Bont was majestic. The little tap to advantage, leading to a goal, was so deft, such a quiet little moment with such a roaring result. In a lot of ways, Bont is the anti-midfielder. He influences matches so much with so little. Nasiah had the same number of touches the following evening as Bontempelli did. One felt almost invisible, one felt defining. Three goals, and who knows, with a full career as a forward, he might have been a modern day Wayne Carey.

Ryan Lester was enormous. I loved his game. He took on the Bulldogs captain in the fourth and bested him in a contest that could have tipped the game over the edge. Not many beat Marcus Bontempelli.

Brisbane have so many weapons, it's sometimes easy to overlook guys like Lester. Even in their defence, he is dwarfed by the likes of Andrews and Zorko. Similar can be said of Fletcher and Wilmot. They get more stacked as you move up the ground. Neale. Ashcroft x 2. Charlie. Zac Bailey. Dunks.

The Lions have even nabbed another teams captain and turned him into a role player. They might have lost this one, but you get the feeling they won't drop too many more.

As a Collingwood fan, it was easy to appreciate what the Dogs did, and how their supporters would be feeling. On the road, against the defending champs, trailing by a bit. It was a remarkable win. The kind of game you can build an entire season around. An entire ethos. Magpies-like. So impressive to get up off the canvas the way they did.

It was a victory that could be summed up by two players and their efforts in the fourth quarter particularly. One was Tim English. To watch the two ruckman barrelling down the centre corridor of the Gabba was a treat, a Stawell Gift if the handicap was oversized limbs. English harnessed the power of his blonde locks to not only have more fun, but find more run. A super player, with a super fourth quarter.

Could they have done it without the herculean performance of Ed Richards? Perhaps not. It's pleasing to see the red-headed folk being represented so well. During the game, my Dad lamented the fact that Richards wasn't wearing a Pies jumper. Given his lineage, it's hard to argue. He was born to be a Magpie. But he's not, and he suits the Bulldogs so much. He's hard. He's unfashionable. He's indefatigable. He won them the game.

What did seem clear to me was that the Doggies need one or two more genuine superstars, and they will win flags. Those superstars might already be on their list. But Bont and Richards can't win the 20 games required to be premiers. They need guys going with them.

It's not inconceivable that an end of year top ten player list would be half Western. Bontempelli and Richards, yes, but if they are joined by Darcy and English they are close. If Libba stays fit and all the Bailey's do their thing, they win a lot of games. Rory Lobb has made himself indispensable. He just needs to get off the field when they are painted the lines, lest his head gets caught again. He does that, they win finals.

If Aaron Naughton becomes the player he could be, that he often is, more consistently, they win the flag.

Sunday night didn't reach the heights of the first few matches for the most part. It was aided by the closeness of the scores, the Collingwood factor, and the Saints trying to Manchester City their way into relevance.

St Kilda will be a fun team to watch at various points this year. Whether that benefits their win/loss totals I'm not so sure. We all know how Ross Lyon prefers to coach his teams. But watching the Saints, it seems they may have benefited from less coaching, and more encouraging. Screw the game plan. Go play footy. Attack, and enjoy it.

Their best moments came when they threw caution to the wind. Liam Ryan's goal. Owens' goals, when he wasn't busy diving all over the flanks in front of the Southern Stand. Darcy Wilson rebounding the Sherrin off the earth and back into his hands as he strode down the wing evoked memories of Lance Franklin's MCG sprints, resulting in his most famous goals.

Wilson, though, chose to pass, perhaps hindered by the lack of match fitness, perhaps by the fact he may have forgotten how to kick, and thus, six points remained out of reach.

Cooper Sharman is good at football, and so is Tom De Koning. Nas is also very good at football. I'd like to think he sought out Nick Daicos after the game for some advice on losing a tail. Perryman was massive.

The Saints will be ok. Just let them play footy.

It was a really valuable four points for the Pies. It's still hard to gauge how good they will be this year. Every win will feel big.

There was an awful lot to like. The obvious ones are, well, obvious. The Daicos duet. Houston looked to be finding himself. Darcy Cameron picked up right where he left off last season.

But the player who embodied the weekend better than anyone else was Scott Pendlebury.  

The way Fly and co handled Pendlebury was very interesting. You all saw it, and you all saw the results. The fact that Pendles was a basketballer is the start of many a joke, but it's worth saying again. He played limited minutes, and had maximum impact. He controlled the game like an all-around NBA guard. A bit like a Doncic, or, more accurately, a LeBron.

Pendlebury can influence the entirety of a football game like few others ever have. He can control the tempo of 35 other players. He is always in the right spots. The game tries to happen around him, but he is always the eye of the storm, bending the narrative of each moment at will. He does it in the way the best basketballers do. But they do it in a five-on-five, thirty-ish by fifteen-ish metre long area. Pendles commands acres at a time.

I loved the way we tackled. I'll be honest, I still haven't forgiven Beau McCreery for his Auskick kid snubbing after the 2023 Grand Final. Watching games like last night though, I'd like to think he's trying to make it up to me personally.

Likewise Lachie Schultz. Collingwood gave up an awful lot to get him. For a long time, it seemed like way too much. So often now though, he is the spark. He is the fire starter. He creates the opportunities when they are hard to find. The way he chases and tackles is far more inspirational than any boundary line goal or overwrought celebration could be. On Sunday night, his efforts were matchwinners.

The kids were alright. Roan Steele particularly looks like a footballer. Composure is an underrated quality in modern, frenetic, pulsating footy. It can't be taught. He looks like he has it.

That was the theme of the win. For all of the Saints new blood, for all the massive contracts and emerging superstars they possess, they lacked the Pies composure. There were a lot of premiership players in black and white, and you could tell. While the Saints tried to run and blast, Collingwood chipped and marked. When they wasted inside 50s, we took our chances.

Of course we did. We've got Scott Pendlebury.