For those of you that don't frequent EFH, this is the GBU posted by Mead for the Grand Final. It only took us a month or so to get him to do it 
http://www.eaglesflyinghigh.com/viewtopic.php?t=8267&start=0
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“Ball spills free, back of the pack is Cousins, cleverly done, has a bounce, backs himself, handballs to Fletcher …”
The Good
As the ball fizzed, flipped and trickled from player to player and the clock wound down, a game, a flag, careers, reputations and the sanity of a large number of fans hung in the balance.
"…Eagles maintaining possession, Kerr goes into the middle…"
You can talk about, fate, destiny, wanting to win it, being your year for a flag, whatever, but the truth is all a team can do is be good enough to get there, have a crack, and hope that more things go your way than the opposition’s.
"...Here’s the moment for the Swans! Leo Barry’s in there… Noone taking a backward step, Lynch, just manages to get boot to ball, Waters keeps it alive…"
A few months of celebrations later it would seem like too bizarre an idea to countenance, but even after all the effort put in and things going according to plan, we could lose this game. We could lose a second straight grand final by less than a goal to Sydney. It’s easy to talk about games being decided by a coin toss, but what if it actually is? What if you get to a position where you could win and be ecstatic, could lose and be totally shattered, and really all it comes down to is a few seconds, a few big efforts and some luck?
"...Waters is dog tired, now O’Keefe, ball comes back to Waters, now picked up by Fosdike, Fosdike’s got to get it moving quickly, kicks to the fifty…"
Even if one chose to ignore the hype, enormously high stakes, and an end result which any Eagle fan would characterise as ‘perfect’, this was an amazing game of football.
For perhaps the first time in the sphincter clenchingly tight contests that are the Eagles/Sydney rivalry, a lot of the game was played on our terms. After a few stagnant early minutes we took control, and the first half unfolded more or less exactly how we would have hoped. We were controlling the ruck in close, the runners were carrying the ball and by and large using it extremely well, tending to kick long and deep- some of the delivery going forward was as good as we’ve managed at any time this year.
Not only did this set up a lot of goals, it disrupted Sydney’s typical gameplan which involves winning a lot of the ball at half back and running it forward from there. In my opinion, there is a very big lesson to be learnt about playing Sydney and actually about beating a lot of ‘modern’ defensive teams in the way we played for a lot of this game- if you have players with pace, skills and smarts, back them to take risks and make good decisions rather than chipping it around waiting for obvious options, you can break the game open.
Individuals? One of the strange things about the end result is that most of the team put in games which deserve to be rated as ‘good’ or better, and we only won by 1 point. If the unthinkable had happened during the dying minutes (which I’m not going to think about, what with it being unthinkable and all) it would be a very hard to comprehend loss.
During the early phase of the game, Cox was extremely dominant. He monstered his opponents in the air, owned the ruck contests, directed his taps brilliantly and ranged around the ground in typical fashion. Cox’s game was at times uncanny- not only was he controlling the ruck, several times he followed up and won the ball at ground level, amassing an impressive number of clearances. In terms of the influence he had for such a sustained, extended period of the game, I think Cox was the best player on ground and probably should have walked away with the Norm Smith medal.
With Cox positively forcing balls down their throats (BJJ is overseas, so the Cox joke moratorium is over), the midfield-sorry- The Midfield –sorry, The Midfield were awesome. As alluded to above, if there was one thing which really hurt Sydney in this game, it was the number of times the likes of Kerr/Judd/Cousins, ran with the ball, and took risks with their kicks. All three played excellent individual games, but there was something goosebump inspiring about watching them click together, feed off each other’s ball winning ability, showcase their pace and skills, and outdo each other time and time again with their running. There was a sense that this was three of the best midfielders you will ever see, functioning as a perfectly cohesive unit, fed by the best ruckman in the most important game of their footballing lives. It was just…right.. somehow.
Around this ultimate nucleus, the rest of the machine that Woosh built hummed along nicely. Outside the on ball division of supreme hurtiness, there were some very good games from the rest of our midfield. Embley is of course the obvious guy- after a slow start, he was everywhere, playing the winger role to perfection, kicking two excellent goals on the run, linking well, and taking several extremely important marks in the back half of the ground. Aside from the historical tendency of Norm Smiths to gravitate towards goal kicking wingmen, probably the biggest point in his favour is that he was one of the relatively few Eagles who got better and better as the game reached its final, critical phase. Braun was damaging, Selwood got a lot of the ball, and Fletcher also had a very good game, sticking it fair up the clackers of everyone (eg, me) who didn’t think he should be in the Grand Final team- he did his share in the engine room, but more importantly, his disposal was precise, considered and deadly. I don’t have any idea where that game came from, but well, I’m very very glad Fletch chose this particular Saturday to show all the naysayers up. It’s a measure of how much the game was played on our terms that the runners and gunners- like Embers, Fletch and Braun- were able to amass big numbers of touches. Those are the kinds of players who are normally shut down by Sydney’s stoppage oriented gameplan, and our ability to take risks, use the ball and run with it was the thing which freed them up to do damage.
In defence, Glass stuck on Hall like a pair of 80s footy shorts, restricting him, annoying him and keeping him from scoring or having any impact. Waters played the game of his career, winning a lot of the ball, throwing his body around, and taking several critical marks in defence- like Embley, Waters got better the longer the game went, and finished it utterly rooted- nothing a healthy seafood snack won’t fix though. Beau’s finals series was superb, in my opinion he will begin next year having already made the transition from a promising player to one of the team stars. Brett Jones also had a good tight game, and Wirrpanda was handy in the loose sweeper and deputy Barry Hall Tamer role.
At the other end of the ground, it was the Ashley Hansen show early in the game, he followed up his PF effort with a similar impressive game, providing targets on the wing early and pushing deep to good effect. Symptomatic of the rest of the team’s gungho attitude, he seemed a lot readier to wheel around and find a target quickly once he marked. One observation I would make however- the one thing standing in the way of him being an elite CHF is the windtank to do for four quarters what he can do early. Then, in the second term, with Sydney finding a bit of fluency, Big F***ing Quinten strode to centre stage, dispensed contested marks, glove throws and f bombs in roughly equal amounts, and kicked the team towards glory. (nb. One of these days when I have some time and some brain cells to destroy, I am going to compile a list of the eerie similarities between the Q and WWE’s Mankind.)
The rest, as they say, was history.
A series of fleeting images that I can’t resolve into a coherent narrative. Some fluffed shots on goals, some dodgy free kicks, Judd’s shoulder popping out, a Swans revival, a stadium full of fans screaming for West Coast, screaming for Sydney, or just plain screaming.
As the clock ran down, the scope of the game narrowed to the point where player after player had a turn at making history and stamping their face, their play on a Grand Final which everyone knew was an instant classic. Judd in the midst of packs with his dodgy shoulder, doing what he did all day. Goodes’ storming out of the centre and goaling. Davis ending up isolated as the Swans last best chance. Banfield, in the last quarter of his career and in characteristic low key Banners fashion, doing a job for his team, quelling the danger man and repeatedly clearing the ball from defence. Armstrong dribbling it across the line for his moment in the sun. O’Keefe’s freak supposedly untouched goal, and the Swans edging closer still. Chick steps up and makes the game his, with a great, inspired, Chickish play- the smother, the feed and the shepherd to set up HuntaaA for the goal and his team for a flag.
And still the game went on- A bump from Rojo, some crazy last minute running from Cousins- the score, the story, narrowing to a point the difference, a few seconds left, a loose ball trickling through the centre of the ground, and one last despairing kick forward...
…Dempster’s there, can’t take the mark, Glass will see it over- Throw in- there can’t be long, there can not be long to go. The West Coast Eagles, lead by a point, can the Swans do it?
Siren.
The Bad
There are things which simply do not compute about the Eagles/Sydney rivalry. A month prior to the Grand Final, a lot of our players had poor games, a lot of Sydney players had very good games, and we lost by one point.
One month later, we add Embley and Kerr and Hansen into the team, all play excellent games. We get infinitely better service from Lynch, Fletcher plays one of the best games of his career, and a lot Sydney players have very poor games, with Hall and O’Loughlin managing a couple of goals between them rather than nine (!). The sum result of all those things dramatically turning the game in our favour? 2 points our way.
Its probably best not to inquire too deeply into why this is, although I do wonder if there’s a section buried deep in the laws of the game which says encounters between West Coast and Sydney have to be horribly tight regardless of the form of both sides. I guess the closest I can come to logical guesses are-
a.) The two teams are very evenly matched.
b.) The contrasting styles of play mean that any team which gets a run on end up using a lot of petrol to get there.
c.) Both teams have a lot of heart, and the confidence and ability to peg back deficits.
d.) See a.)
e.) God hates supporters of teams named after West Australian avian species.
It may be winners’ naivety, but I think we were the recipients of some genuinely bad luck in the second half, both in terms of umpiring and Judd’s shoulder injury, which several months on remains the most underanalysed factor of this game- up until then Judd was dominating, thereafter, Goodes went to town.
It seems churlish to criticise individuals who were part of the Greatest Win in West Coast Eagle History, and frankly it is. However there are a few things that could be noted if one were so inclined.
As a backup ruck, Seaby had very little influence, as was the case for the last couple of finals. He was a definite selection due to Cox needing back up, it was absolutely the right decision to play him for that reason, but it’s hard not to wonder whether that security of tenure and the superstar in front of him isn’t stagnating Seabs’ career a bit.
Although he won a lot of the ball and got a lot of post game kudos for that, repeat viewing makes me think Selwood deserves some criticism- he was probably the one midfielder who consistently failed to use the ball intelligently and struggled with the ‘run, take risks, kick long’ game plan- particularly early in the game, he was frequently kicking high to large contests rather than picking out one on ones or free Eagle players. Predictably Rojo also struggled with this style of play, but all is forgiven for that last 2 on 1 in the centre.
Hunter was (pinch me!) actually rather disappointing in front of goals. He made opportunities, but missed multiple shots that he really should have kicked at important times. The normal laws of the universe eventually reasserted themselves and HuntaaA resurfaced on the end of Chick’s great play at exactly the right moment in the final term, so all’s well that ends well. Very very well.
The Ugly
So they’re the best AFL team in the league, minor premiers, major premiers, winners of possibly the best Grand Final in AFL/VFL/NFL/NRL/STFU history. What do you do next? Have a crack at the best post Grand Final celebrations in AFL history of course.
Just to refresh your memory, since we were all too busy dancing, yelling, singing the team song and putting our fists clean through Wanchai bar ceilings at the time- things started promisingly, with Woosh simultaneously hugging and shaking the dear life out of Cuz. The Glove taught us that profanity is always ********ing appropriate, which was followed by a brief interlude which involved pwning some kiddies, giving the Herald Sun a controversial issue which they addressed with their usual high standards of hard hitting, highly researched journalism along the lines of (actual quote I swear) “Chelsea Heights reader Lucas Vogt said the players… . Meanwhile Judd just stood there, took it all in and smirked like a,…well.. like a guy who is captain, premiership player, Brownlow Medallist, Norm Smith Medallist, dating a super model, earning big bucks and generally a good deal cooler than you. Yes, you.
Then it was on to the ’92 reenactments, with Embley playing Jako in the ‘Everybody knows….’ role, and a month long drunken orgy where goldfish were tasty snacks, Norm Smiths were available on eBay, and Chad Fletcher lay gagging on his vomit in Vegas.
Victory had never tasted so sweet.
http://www.eaglesflyinghigh.com/viewtopic.php?t=8267&start=0
_______________________________________________________________________________________
“Ball spills free, back of the pack is Cousins, cleverly done, has a bounce, backs himself, handballs to Fletcher …”
The Good
As the ball fizzed, flipped and trickled from player to player and the clock wound down, a game, a flag, careers, reputations and the sanity of a large number of fans hung in the balance.
"…Eagles maintaining possession, Kerr goes into the middle…"
You can talk about, fate, destiny, wanting to win it, being your year for a flag, whatever, but the truth is all a team can do is be good enough to get there, have a crack, and hope that more things go your way than the opposition’s.
"...Here’s the moment for the Swans! Leo Barry’s in there… Noone taking a backward step, Lynch, just manages to get boot to ball, Waters keeps it alive…"
A few months of celebrations later it would seem like too bizarre an idea to countenance, but even after all the effort put in and things going according to plan, we could lose this game. We could lose a second straight grand final by less than a goal to Sydney. It’s easy to talk about games being decided by a coin toss, but what if it actually is? What if you get to a position where you could win and be ecstatic, could lose and be totally shattered, and really all it comes down to is a few seconds, a few big efforts and some luck?
"...Waters is dog tired, now O’Keefe, ball comes back to Waters, now picked up by Fosdike, Fosdike’s got to get it moving quickly, kicks to the fifty…"
Even if one chose to ignore the hype, enormously high stakes, and an end result which any Eagle fan would characterise as ‘perfect’, this was an amazing game of football.
For perhaps the first time in the sphincter clenchingly tight contests that are the Eagles/Sydney rivalry, a lot of the game was played on our terms. After a few stagnant early minutes we took control, and the first half unfolded more or less exactly how we would have hoped. We were controlling the ruck in close, the runners were carrying the ball and by and large using it extremely well, tending to kick long and deep- some of the delivery going forward was as good as we’ve managed at any time this year.
Not only did this set up a lot of goals, it disrupted Sydney’s typical gameplan which involves winning a lot of the ball at half back and running it forward from there. In my opinion, there is a very big lesson to be learnt about playing Sydney and actually about beating a lot of ‘modern’ defensive teams in the way we played for a lot of this game- if you have players with pace, skills and smarts, back them to take risks and make good decisions rather than chipping it around waiting for obvious options, you can break the game open.
Individuals? One of the strange things about the end result is that most of the team put in games which deserve to be rated as ‘good’ or better, and we only won by 1 point. If the unthinkable had happened during the dying minutes (which I’m not going to think about, what with it being unthinkable and all) it would be a very hard to comprehend loss.
During the early phase of the game, Cox was extremely dominant. He monstered his opponents in the air, owned the ruck contests, directed his taps brilliantly and ranged around the ground in typical fashion. Cox’s game was at times uncanny- not only was he controlling the ruck, several times he followed up and won the ball at ground level, amassing an impressive number of clearances. In terms of the influence he had for such a sustained, extended period of the game, I think Cox was the best player on ground and probably should have walked away with the Norm Smith medal.
With Cox positively forcing balls down their throats (BJJ is overseas, so the Cox joke moratorium is over), the midfield-sorry- The Midfield –sorry, The Midfield were awesome. As alluded to above, if there was one thing which really hurt Sydney in this game, it was the number of times the likes of Kerr/Judd/Cousins, ran with the ball, and took risks with their kicks. All three played excellent individual games, but there was something goosebump inspiring about watching them click together, feed off each other’s ball winning ability, showcase their pace and skills, and outdo each other time and time again with their running. There was a sense that this was three of the best midfielders you will ever see, functioning as a perfectly cohesive unit, fed by the best ruckman in the most important game of their footballing lives. It was just…right.. somehow.
Around this ultimate nucleus, the rest of the machine that Woosh built hummed along nicely. Outside the on ball division of supreme hurtiness, there were some very good games from the rest of our midfield. Embley is of course the obvious guy- after a slow start, he was everywhere, playing the winger role to perfection, kicking two excellent goals on the run, linking well, and taking several extremely important marks in the back half of the ground. Aside from the historical tendency of Norm Smiths to gravitate towards goal kicking wingmen, probably the biggest point in his favour is that he was one of the relatively few Eagles who got better and better as the game reached its final, critical phase. Braun was damaging, Selwood got a lot of the ball, and Fletcher also had a very good game, sticking it fair up the clackers of everyone (eg, me) who didn’t think he should be in the Grand Final team- he did his share in the engine room, but more importantly, his disposal was precise, considered and deadly. I don’t have any idea where that game came from, but well, I’m very very glad Fletch chose this particular Saturday to show all the naysayers up. It’s a measure of how much the game was played on our terms that the runners and gunners- like Embers, Fletch and Braun- were able to amass big numbers of touches. Those are the kinds of players who are normally shut down by Sydney’s stoppage oriented gameplan, and our ability to take risks, use the ball and run with it was the thing which freed them up to do damage.
In defence, Glass stuck on Hall like a pair of 80s footy shorts, restricting him, annoying him and keeping him from scoring or having any impact. Waters played the game of his career, winning a lot of the ball, throwing his body around, and taking several critical marks in defence- like Embley, Waters got better the longer the game went, and finished it utterly rooted- nothing a healthy seafood snack won’t fix though. Beau’s finals series was superb, in my opinion he will begin next year having already made the transition from a promising player to one of the team stars. Brett Jones also had a good tight game, and Wirrpanda was handy in the loose sweeper and deputy Barry Hall Tamer role.
At the other end of the ground, it was the Ashley Hansen show early in the game, he followed up his PF effort with a similar impressive game, providing targets on the wing early and pushing deep to good effect. Symptomatic of the rest of the team’s gungho attitude, he seemed a lot readier to wheel around and find a target quickly once he marked. One observation I would make however- the one thing standing in the way of him being an elite CHF is the windtank to do for four quarters what he can do early. Then, in the second term, with Sydney finding a bit of fluency, Big F***ing Quinten strode to centre stage, dispensed contested marks, glove throws and f bombs in roughly equal amounts, and kicked the team towards glory. (nb. One of these days when I have some time and some brain cells to destroy, I am going to compile a list of the eerie similarities between the Q and WWE’s Mankind.)
The rest, as they say, was history.
A series of fleeting images that I can’t resolve into a coherent narrative. Some fluffed shots on goals, some dodgy free kicks, Judd’s shoulder popping out, a Swans revival, a stadium full of fans screaming for West Coast, screaming for Sydney, or just plain screaming.
As the clock ran down, the scope of the game narrowed to the point where player after player had a turn at making history and stamping their face, their play on a Grand Final which everyone knew was an instant classic. Judd in the midst of packs with his dodgy shoulder, doing what he did all day. Goodes’ storming out of the centre and goaling. Davis ending up isolated as the Swans last best chance. Banfield, in the last quarter of his career and in characteristic low key Banners fashion, doing a job for his team, quelling the danger man and repeatedly clearing the ball from defence. Armstrong dribbling it across the line for his moment in the sun. O’Keefe’s freak supposedly untouched goal, and the Swans edging closer still. Chick steps up and makes the game his, with a great, inspired, Chickish play- the smother, the feed and the shepherd to set up HuntaaA for the goal and his team for a flag.
And still the game went on- A bump from Rojo, some crazy last minute running from Cousins- the score, the story, narrowing to a point the difference, a few seconds left, a loose ball trickling through the centre of the ground, and one last despairing kick forward...
…Dempster’s there, can’t take the mark, Glass will see it over- Throw in- there can’t be long, there can not be long to go. The West Coast Eagles, lead by a point, can the Swans do it?
Siren.
The Bad
There are things which simply do not compute about the Eagles/Sydney rivalry. A month prior to the Grand Final, a lot of our players had poor games, a lot of Sydney players had very good games, and we lost by one point.
One month later, we add Embley and Kerr and Hansen into the team, all play excellent games. We get infinitely better service from Lynch, Fletcher plays one of the best games of his career, and a lot Sydney players have very poor games, with Hall and O’Loughlin managing a couple of goals between them rather than nine (!). The sum result of all those things dramatically turning the game in our favour? 2 points our way.
Its probably best not to inquire too deeply into why this is, although I do wonder if there’s a section buried deep in the laws of the game which says encounters between West Coast and Sydney have to be horribly tight regardless of the form of both sides. I guess the closest I can come to logical guesses are-
a.) The two teams are very evenly matched.
b.) The contrasting styles of play mean that any team which gets a run on end up using a lot of petrol to get there.
c.) Both teams have a lot of heart, and the confidence and ability to peg back deficits.
d.) See a.)
e.) God hates supporters of teams named after West Australian avian species.
It may be winners’ naivety, but I think we were the recipients of some genuinely bad luck in the second half, both in terms of umpiring and Judd’s shoulder injury, which several months on remains the most underanalysed factor of this game- up until then Judd was dominating, thereafter, Goodes went to town.
It seems churlish to criticise individuals who were part of the Greatest Win in West Coast Eagle History, and frankly it is. However there are a few things that could be noted if one were so inclined.
As a backup ruck, Seaby had very little influence, as was the case for the last couple of finals. He was a definite selection due to Cox needing back up, it was absolutely the right decision to play him for that reason, but it’s hard not to wonder whether that security of tenure and the superstar in front of him isn’t stagnating Seabs’ career a bit.
Although he won a lot of the ball and got a lot of post game kudos for that, repeat viewing makes me think Selwood deserves some criticism- he was probably the one midfielder who consistently failed to use the ball intelligently and struggled with the ‘run, take risks, kick long’ game plan- particularly early in the game, he was frequently kicking high to large contests rather than picking out one on ones or free Eagle players. Predictably Rojo also struggled with this style of play, but all is forgiven for that last 2 on 1 in the centre.
Hunter was (pinch me!) actually rather disappointing in front of goals. He made opportunities, but missed multiple shots that he really should have kicked at important times. The normal laws of the universe eventually reasserted themselves and HuntaaA resurfaced on the end of Chick’s great play at exactly the right moment in the final term, so all’s well that ends well. Very very well.
The Ugly
So they’re the best AFL team in the league, minor premiers, major premiers, winners of possibly the best Grand Final in AFL/VFL/NFL/NRL/STFU history. What do you do next? Have a crack at the best post Grand Final celebrations in AFL history of course.
Just to refresh your memory, since we were all too busy dancing, yelling, singing the team song and putting our fists clean through Wanchai bar ceilings at the time- things started promisingly, with Woosh simultaneously hugging and shaking the dear life out of Cuz. The Glove taught us that profanity is always ********ing appropriate, which was followed by a brief interlude which involved pwning some kiddies, giving the Herald Sun a controversial issue which they addressed with their usual high standards of hard hitting, highly researched journalism along the lines of (actual quote I swear) “Chelsea Heights reader Lucas Vogt said the players… . Meanwhile Judd just stood there, took it all in and smirked like a,…well.. like a guy who is captain, premiership player, Brownlow Medallist, Norm Smith Medallist, dating a super model, earning big bucks and generally a good deal cooler than you. Yes, you.
Then it was on to the ’92 reenactments, with Embley playing Jako in the ‘Everybody knows….’ role, and a month long drunken orgy where goldfish were tasty snacks, Norm Smiths were available on eBay, and Chad Fletcher lay gagging on his vomit in Vegas.
Victory had never tasted so sweet.
What the heck does GBU stand for
