Halfway through the final quarter of Geelong’s near-walkover of the Sydney Swans, Lance Franklin found the Sherrin high up the ground. Within a few seconds, he had his fourth touch, and a fifth. Bronx cheers followed him from Geelong supporters in the stands, a cruel taunt.
For one of the few times in a career spanning 341 games, “Buddy” Franklin – the biggest name in football – had been reduced to a bystander.
Lance Franklin barely had an impact in the grand final.Credit:Scott Barbour
Against Geelong, he was almost unsighted. It isn’t even really fair to say he was beaten by Jack Henry (though he was); the fact is, the ball was rarely in his orbit. He simply never got a look-in. This was not a good day to be a key forward for the Swans.
In that, he wasn’t alone. Nor was it his fault. The fault was collective, and started further up the field: the final inside-50 count was 65-32, Geelong’s way. Contested possessions were 150-110. In short, the Swans were bullied.
Franklin’s first touch came two minutes in, high up on a half-back flank: a handball that missed its mark and squirted out of bounds. Normally, that sort of thing would be wiped aside as meaningless. With the uselessness of hindsight, it was the beginning of a bad day.
It was Franklin’s only possession for the first quarter. His first real look at the ball was a skied kick from Chad Warner which he lost on the descent. Minutes later, a pass by Will Hayward fell short. At that moment, his frustration became visible, as the game began to slip away.
By the second quarter, it was already just about gone. His first genuine involvement was a snap from ground level that went wide. Again, he followed the ball up the ground, and marked in front of Tom Stewart at half-back.
And that – until those two final-quarter touches, and those Bronx cheers – was it, from one of the highest-impact players the game has ever known. It is just as well, earlier this week, he quietly signed on for “just one more” year. For him – for fans – it shouldn’t end like this.
This grand final contained no shortage of fairy tales: career denouements for Joel Selwood and Tom Hawkins, among many other ageing Cats, and deliverance for Patrick Dangerfield, who saved one of his greatest performances for the only honour he still craved.
It just wasn’t Buddy’s day, not his story. It was back in round two that he kicked his 1000th goal against Geelong, when he found himself at the centre of 30,000 crazed fans. It took half an hour just to get him off the ground. It already seems like a long time ago.
Football rarely delivers the sort of poetic justice experienced by Selwood and co. Most careers end quietly: through injuries, or via delisting, or simply in defeat. But however it eventually ends, Buddy’s final act surely deserves better than this.
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