One of the many initial criticisms of Wildcard Round was that it would reward mediocrity. But few would describe the four teams playing this weekend as mediocre. Few would look at last night’s crowd, in excess of 80,000, and bewail a mediocre occasion. Few would look at the calibre of players, including probably the best two players in the sport, Marcus Bontempelli and Nick Daicos, and reach for the M word.

No one from the AFL, from the CEO down, could quite work out whether it constituted a final or not. But one only had to look at the first and final two minutes of the game to realise it was a final in all but name. It was played at a ferocious intensity, with bodies and boots flying and the ball pinging. In the end, the footy was in the hands of Tim Membrey, and his kick drifted right. The Pies had kicked six goals straight in the final term up until that point.

This was a nerve shredder, with moments of brilliance and madness and mayhem. But the better team won. At various stages in the final term, it looked like Collingwood was going to scuttle them. Their policy was simple and it was clear – propel the ball forward at any cost. They soccered it forward, scrubbed it forward and blasted it forward. When the footy lobbed in the hands of Jordan De Goey, a strangely subdued figure all night, they had the lead.

But every time Collingwood threatened, Marcus Bontempelli would come loping out of the middle and pump the ball forward. He does whatever the game demands of him at any given moment and in the final quarter it demanded something herculean. They’re such a good team at keeping the ball alive through handball – backwards, sideways, forwards, over their shoulder around corners. They use handball to create space and relieve pressure. They’re so good at flicking and shovelling the ball out to their most damaging kicks, and no one was more damaging than the Bont. He won his 32 possessions in close and out wide and was a key factor in the win. So too was Arty Jones, who kicked four goals in the best and most important game of his career.

It’s been a strange, at times frustrating year for the Bulldogs. What year isn’t? One of the first things Kane Cornes did when he lobbed back from a Japanese skiing holiday in January was label them premiership favourites. Habitually slow starters in recent years, they flew the gates in 2026 with excellent wins at the Gabba and the Adelaide Oval, and a dismantling of GWS. But it all soured when Sam Darcy buckled like a baby giraffe in the same Kardinia Park forward pocket where his dad wrecked his knee two decades earlier.

Luke Beveridge has since done wonders with this team, tweaking on the run, and manoeuvring his magnets like a madman. In the first 14 weeks of the season, they were leaking like sieves. Since then, no team has conceded less points. They have restructured, tightened up, and turned a weakness into a launching pad. There was no better example than the way they quelled the profligate Demons a week ago. Their wingers and onballers push back to support their backline. Their tall defenders are vastly improved this year, and got some vital, match-saving spoils in last night.

Credit must go to Collingwood. Few teams get more from less. There has to be something at stake for this side to bring its best. They have to be all chips in. And you can argue until the crowds come home whether this constituted a final, but there’s no doubt what it meant to the Pies. Ten seconds into this game, the attitude, the energy and the stakes were abundantly clear. They got usual brilliance from Nick Daicos, who collected more awards than the AWU earlier in the week. He had a rare blemish when he shanked an errant kick-out that led directly to a Bontempelli goal. But he was outstanding again, and probably shared best afield honours with the Bont.

Credit too must go to Steele Sidebottom, who bowed out after a magnificent career. As Membrey had his shot to win the match, Sidebottom was down on the boundary line, eyes red, bobbing from left foot to right, much as he was as he delivered his retirement speech to his teammates a few weeks ago. Derek Hine recruited he and Scott Pendlebury and they rewarded him with more than 800 games between them. No one knows what Pendlebury will do next year. His running mate exited the sport the same way he entered it, and the way he played week in week out for a decade and a half, – with a smile, and with the admiration of everyone who saw him play.