Blud Bros,
While they may very well have been gallant in defeat, the Swans had no hope from the opening bounce - anyone could see that.
Wrestled out the game early and then monstered.
The Dockers should have been five goals in front at quarter time bar their nervous kicking, but got that far to the good at half time anyway, and realised they wouldn't be beaten and called it quits.
Game over at the long break, and Fremantle sensibly saved themseleves for the Big One, and pretty much stopped playing by the time they got to three-quarter time, safe in the knowledge that it was never in doubt.
Any impartial observer would have have seen it coming.
Swans kept on winning in the second half of the season despite having half the team in Sick Bay sitting about in hyperbaric chambers watching cartoons, so it was little wonder Sydney struggled all year against the other sides in the top four.
And you only have to look at the voting patterns among the Bamfords for the Chas. Brownlow , as strange as they are, to see that the Hannebery Kiddie and Son of Gary polled well early, but fell away in the arse end of the season.
Really, a miracle that Sydney got as deep into September as they did under the circumstances.
Mighty effort to back up that far as reigning premiers, having been written off by the Melbun fishwraps.
Noted that SC Horse got a bit emotional on interview after the game, and why not - he's never experienced decisive defeat in a finals series until now.
He'd put his heart and soul into it for another year, and came a cropper at the second last hurdle.
Little doubt he takes it personally.
At half time the bush telegraph in the corner of the lounge room chattered into life.
It was my spy at the ground.
Tore off the tickertape message that read "Assistant coaches on the phone confirming the flights to Florida".
Happen to know a rabid Dockers fan, a long time resident of The Golden West who has a pathological hatred of the West Coast Eagles; so you can imagine, after 19 years, the amount of cocking of the snoot that's been going on over there.
In gracious tones, he told me before the game, "don't take it too hard Craves, at least we'll save you the time and trouble of having to play Hawthorn again".
The commentariart on the telly kept banging on about how "we've never seen defence like this".
Poppycock.
They obviously weren't old enough to be at the 1987 VFL Grand Final - the one and only decider at The G to be graced with my presence.
Rolled up on the day on crutches with a mate who had his head swaddled in bandages on account of he'd just had a melanoma cut out of his forehead - we played the poor cripple act and soon had tickets to standing room that the scalper couldn't sell.
But that's another story.
If memory serves me right, Carlton's David Rhys-Jones won the Norm Smith Medal for closing down Robert DiPierdomenico.
Rhys-Jones hardly touched the ball all day, but every time Dipper came near the pill, he'd barrell him into the turf and spent the rest of the day annoying the shit out of him, thereby stopping Hawthorn's star play-maker from having any impact on the game whatsoever - and that was more than enough to be Best on Ground.
Now that's "defensive pressure".
The GLW shed a tear or two on the full-time siren - and who can blame her - but she said "I'm only upset for Jude".
She was his biggest fan.
Not so much that he played 300+ games or made the most tackles of anyone to play the caper, ever [now that's "defensive pressure"], she was captivated by the elegant style and grace of the way in which he played the game and generally conducted himself.
A genuine, dead-set ornament to the game.
With the Bolton family now fully in retirement, the chances of seeing the likes of that mob again would be rather slim, you would have thought.
A magnificent photograph attached of Jude on the hoist being carried off Subiaco Oval sedan chair-style, with Rhino Keefe weeping uncontrollably, while Odd Head's expression just says "he's farkin' heavy, but he's my brother".
On interview after the game, Bolton, J. was asked what he was feeling like after his last game, to which he replied...paraphrasing him..."I'm utterly rooted, the body is completely gorn, that's why I retired".
That reminded me of The Great Marty Mattner, who gave the game away mid-year to have an immediate hip replacement [both knees can wait a bit] so he doesn't spend his dotage in a wheelchair.
So who else?
Surely the Ugliest Man in Football, LRT, would be seriously considering retirement with the trot he's been having over the past couple of years.
There might be a couple of others doing the same, and what on earth do you think The Great Goodes Train is thinking.
Surely he wouldn't be able to battle his way through and survive another pre-season?
He may well have played his last game.
Doesn't strike me as sort of player who would go through the torture of having to train himself up again just to have a swan song, he's knows he's good, and is not much interested in adulation, but he's not afraid to speak out and tell you straight up what he thinks.
Problem is he doesn't know what he thinks about hanging up the boots at the moment.
Rhino is a prime candidate for the Jason Recliner and Rick Shaw is seriously getting on in years.
So they will have to buy and draft wisely to keep the rythmn of yoof & experience going.
Tipsy is a work in progress - and will probably be for his entire career - and they'll likely trade Sam Reid as a crock for another used tall in a bargain basement bundle with a couple of others, and they will delist a few youngsters to make them free agents.
The Football Dept won't make mistakes there.
The Youngest described the Swans as having "an elegant season".
The Grand Final will be anything but elegant; a very dour, low-scoring, tackle-a-thon that won't be pretty to watch.
Might do something else.
Relectantly, sheepishly, poked my head through the front door of the Front Bar down at The Local on Mad Monday.
Found the Philosopher in his usual corner nursing a brandy, lime & soda, still reading Sunday's paper.
He picked up a keno pencil and circled FREMANTLE DOCKERS in the score box, poked at it with his bony finger, and said "now they've got history with Sydney, there's always next year".
And left it at that.
The Fat Lady has sung.
That's all she wrote.
So, what's more to say?
Cheer, cheer.
FREMANTLE: 2.9, 7.11, 11.12, 14.15 (99). Goals: Walters 3, Pavlich 2, Fyfe 2, Suban 2, Crowley, Duffield, Neale, Barlow, Ballantyne.
SYDNEY: 2.1, 2.2, 5.5, 11.8 (74). Goals: Rohan 2, Cunningham 2, Jetta, Parker, Bolton, McGlynn, Pyke, McVeigh, Hannebery.
At Subicao Oval.
Crowd: 43,249
And so endeth another season of the Winter Game wire - now into its 7th year on the net [the first two years are lost in the mists of time].
It's been fun.
Thanks for all the suggestions, comments, corrections, drunking ramblings, and downright abuse over the course of proceedings.
Now we move on.
The Summer Game will be upon us sooner than we think, so you can only dream of grinding Poms into the dust.
