Thankfully none of our later day tabloid footy gods have gone to the logical conclusion that their quasi rock-star status requires them to make a record.
I’m still recovering from the childhood trauma of hearing that 1981 VFL train wreck of an album “Footy Favourites”. Who could forget Tim Watson slaughter Kenny Rogers’ country weepie “Ruby”? As for Michael Turner’s “I Go to Rio”, he wouldn’t be far enough away from a microphone for any of us to feel safe from having to hear him sing again.
Nevertheless, rock stars they are. And when our own front man Nick Riewoldt put on a pyrotechnic performance like the one he delivered against Hawthorn last Saturday night, it’s hard to begrudge him the right to check in to a five star hotel, hurl a TV into the swimming pool and nail all the furniture in his room to the roof.
Hell, if it’s good enough for Keith Moon and John Bonham its good enough for our own god of thunder in the number 12.
The truth is though, it’s not just the rock stars that had the Saints crowd on its feet screaming for an encore for almost five minutes after the team left the ground on Saturday night. The unassuming support acts were just as important, and for the first time in a while, one of them earned a five star review.
Jason Blake destroyed the Hawks in a second half solo performance of power, grit hard-running and fearless footy. His three goals, countless contested possessions and eleven clearances tore out the Hawks' heart.
It’s been the improvement of the support acts like Blake in the last few weeks that have been the key to the Saints' resurgence.
This transformation was embodied by Clinton Jones running down Lance Franklin from behind in the final quarter. The crowd reaction was extraordinary, a release of jubilation as if that smarmy Roadrunner had finally been snaffled by the Wylie Coyote and been turned into road kill.
It probably topped the charts for highlights in a game jam packed with them. It displayed a work ethic that we crave to see from our Sainters.
As good as that was, the night belonged to Blake, the anti-rock star of the team. He’s the blue collar guy who does the heavy lifting on the dirty jobs. The bloke that gets the gigs nobody else wants. He’s a player with a competitive streak as wide as one of Buddy’s shots at goal on Saturday night.
I wonder if they have a tradesmen's’ entrance to the change rooms at the Telstra Dome? You know -- a little bit of Upstairs Downstairs action, where footy royalty go through the palatial front door, and the help make do with the secluded side entrance, all in the name of keeping up appearances.
The unassuming Blake would no doubt feel more comfortable with that than most. It’s all about getting the job done. We look forward to seeing him and his mates back at work again on Saturday at Subiaco.
