Carlton games usually come with a sense of impending doom. They’ll ping the gates. They’ll crash and they’ll bang. They’ll do all the things the coach values. But their opponents know, and the Blues fans certainly know, that the key to beating Carlton is to absorb what they throw at you, to lay back on the ropes, to let them tire themselves out and to unleash.
The evidence has been there for years now – their failure to run out games, their woeful skills under fatigue, and their ongoing inability or unwillingness to adapt when the opposition gets a run on. On Sunday, in their 11.11 (77) to 15.10 (100) loss to Melbourne, you could add another factor to the mix – the presence, the power and the raw talent of Kysaiah Pickett.
Pickett is the son of a standup comedian and the Carlton fans scurrying for the exits had the exact same look I had after being subjected to an hour of Dave Hughes. Their team had been 43 points up. The triumvirate of Patrick Cripps, Jagga Smith and Sam Walsh had cut the Dees to ribbons. It should have been a foregone conclusion. But this was Kozzy Pickett. And this was Michael Voss’s Carlton.
Pickett’s stats – 24 kicks, 11 contested possessions, and 10 score involvements – don’t quite do justice to the impact he had on this game. You can zero in on the trademark Pickett moments – the way he scudded out of stoppages, the way he hit packs at full speed, the way he mowed down opponents from behind. But that doesn’t do him justice either. You can focus on the subtle parts of his game – the way he never blazed, the way he checked and weighed his kicks, the way he was always on his toes at stoppages, cutting, slicing, and weaving his way through heavy traffic. But that doesn’t fully explain it either.
The best way to understand Pickett’s game on Sunday was through Carlton eyes. When he started motoring in the second half, the Blues were entirely, and understandably, Kozzy conscious. When they had the ball and he was in the vicinity, they would take panicked steps. At stoppages, they’d all be watching him, and he’d invariably hovercraft his way through them. When the ball was in transition, he’d be the second, the fourth and sometimes the sixth link in the chain and the Blues would be pointing fingers and shaking heads and bumping into one another. And with the game in the balance, when he brought a hurried high ball to ground with one arm and thumped home the sealer off one step, every Carlton head dropped.
When you play like Pickett, it helps the have a ruckman of the calibre of Max Gawn. A fortnight ago, Gawn ground the coltish Tom De Koning to dust. It was as though he took the St Kilda ruckman’s pay pocket personally. It was a reminder, in this hyperinflated market, that many of the most valuable footballers in the country are much further down on the pay ladder. Gawn’s 250th game showcased everything that makes him one of the greatest ruckman in the history of the game – his craft, his ability to withstand blows to every organ and his endurance. That’s the thing about Gawn – the longer the game goes, the fresher he looks. And when you’re playing a team like Carlton, it’s a good trait to have.
Voss says his focus is on accentuating the positives and celebrating the little victories. But he said he was “filthy” on Sunday night. Winning the ball is not their problem. Every kid at Auskick is taught how important winning the hard ball is, and Voss drums it home constantly. But their kicking is often atrocious, especially the 20-metre scene setters. Few can match Brisbane in that regard. But that initial short kick is the key to so much of what they do well. Carlton just don’t have that confidence or that capability. Much mirth was had with footage of them butchering a serious of short kicks in February. It as windy, it was pre-season, it was nothing, right? But it continues to cost them dearly and it might end up costing Voss his job.
Elsewhere, St Kilda’s clash with Brisbane was a dreadful state of affairs early, but gradually and mercifully turned into a goal for goal battle. Halfway through the final term however, Brisbane flexed and St Kilda stood revealed. With the game up for grabs, there were several passages of play that said so much about the difference between these two teams – Kiddy Coleman goaling on the lope after a razer-sharp left-hand handball from Cam McCarthy, a perfectly weighted around-the-corner kick from Zac Bailey and three kamikaze defensive efforts from Darcy Wilmot. St Kilda brought effort, as always. But they simply didn’t have the depth and the talent to go with Brisbane. And unusually for a Ross Lyon team in March, they are clearly struggling to run out games.
The Lions wore that wonderful maroon Fitzroy jumper, complete with dark navy collars and shoulders. It was great for nostalgists but more problematic for anyone, including the players, trying to work out which team was which. All that was forgiven however when they played the Fitzroy theme song after the siren. My train (at 10.30 on Saturday morning, as befitting the early start) was packed with old Fitzroy supporters wearing the colours. That song, and that final quarter, would have warmed their Roy Boy hearts. “Fitzroy, Fitzroy, the club we hold so dear …”
