In the back seats of the background

As rain fell at an indoor stadium, we could feel it coming. Everyone could. Even from the back row of section 1. But let me back up for a moment.

Halftime. Watson and I wander into the first kiosk we see and, not having eaten since breakfast and having a tendency to get cranky when hungry, I grab the first bit of food I see. I end up with a dry sausage roll, “now with 40% extra” as Watson grabs us two beers and points out the tiny sign informing me about five minutes too late of “4 steamed dim sims for $5”.
“Goddamnit. I could probably do with 40% less of this,” I mutter as Watson considers buying some dimmies purely out of spite. “Those things shouldn’t be hidden away in the corner, who’s going to see that?! They need their own stall, a Dim Sim hut.”
“Remember Asian Hut?” asks Watson.
“Sure. Bay City Plaza food court.”
“A very vague name: Asia is a huge place.”
“With many different countries and cuisines,” I offer, as sausage roll crumbs gather at my feet. “A centre clearance would be nice.”
“I need a piss”
“I’ll grab two more”
The siren blows roughly eighteen times and we climb the stairs looking for a new seat and a new Cats team.

The third quarter starts with three quick goals and suddenly North look like they’re tightening up. The time and space and extra numbers that they had in the first half are no longer there. The Cats are harassing and taking the ball off them and running through the middle of the ground. They look fit and fast again, North look out on their feet.
“I can’t say that dude’s name,” says Watson about Mark Blicavs, “My brain sees the letters and refuses to put them together.”
I agree and we spend the next 40 minutes calling him Blitzen Trapper.

Geelong peg them back, North get away again, and Geelong peg them back once again. Usually these things work thusly; the team that mounts a massive comeback then runs out of steam, having blown their wad on making up lost ground, but not today. As I said at the beginning, you just knew. What a great bloody team to barrack for.

The game is now being played exclusively in Geelong’s half, the ball bouncing back time and again from Mackie and Joel Corey and Boris Enright like it’s 2007. Motlop has seemingly 3 or 4 chances to win the game. Blitzen Trapper has a set shot to put the Cats ahead. Mrs Watson looks away, unable to watch. I stand for it, he misses, and I do not sit down again.

Geelong spent the first half getting smashed by North Melbourne in the clearances. In the second half James Kelly and Joel Corey proved that the balance between old and young is still very much necessary. Not that long ago Geelong seemed full of one-paced, inside players but lacking that outside run and line-breaking ability. Now, suddenly, the Cats are cutting them up in open space.

Josh Caddy kicks a clutch goal, running hard into space to mark in the forward 50. He looks one to eventually take over for Joel Corey, and he is only 20. Duncan and Christensen are 21, Motlop is 22. Selwood, Varcoe and Hawkins are all 24, barely into their prime. Horlin-Smith and Murdoch are in the VFL. The future, both immediate and intermediate, looks bright.

When it is most needed Jim Bartel pops up, as is his bag, and Mrs Watson and I leave the Dome happy, as shit turns ugly in the stands.
“Carlton, next week,” I mention.
“We wouldn’t want to start like that”
“Not worried at all,” I say, the blood of a stolen victory still fresh in the nostrils, “Geelong will smack them.”

The rain has stopped and we walk around the infamous North Melbourne Triangle, aiming towards the Public Bar.