http://realfooty.theage.com.au/articles/2004/09/25/1095961915714.html



A great mark by Ten

By Michael Shmith
View on the box
September 26, 2004

Listen. When it comes down to the wire, when you're up against the coalface
and not forgetting the long bombs, reinforced positives and fresh legs, the
most important thing is to follow that ball and never lose sight of it.

I refer, naturally, to the dominating factor of yesterday's grand final
broadcast: the grey-shaded Ten logo.

While networks of lesser numerical value display their watermarks at the
bottom of frame, Ten's all-too-obvious ovoid remains wedged in the top right
corner of the screen, as immovable and as irritating as a dead blowfly
caught by its wings on a window ledge.

The logo is really a ghost-ball - maybe, if one can be philosophical for a
moment, the symbol of all those lost opportunities of grand finals past: on
millions of televisions yesterday afternoon, the MCG was the Tomb of the
Lost Football. At other times, particularly when a head of equal size bobbed
up alongside, the logo became a speech balloon (why did everyone say "Ten"?)

At other times, though, the screen was occupied by enough amazing sights to
guarantee at least partial distraction from Ten's sitting tenant.

For example, Guy Sebastian's rendition of Waltzing Matilda (an ever-upward
surge of harmonies and broken words "Ma-ah-TILL-da ") was itself outdone by
the spectacle of his oversize green-checked shirt, whose tubular cuffs and
expanse of front made it look as if he was singing with his hands and head
stuck through a garden trellis.

Very soon, the horticulture was replaced by a series of commercials,
including, for neither the first nor the last time, a cartoon duck spruiking
rubber goods - or was it John Howard's erasable face in that election ad?
Same rubbery figure. Other ads - for fast cars on otherwise unoccupied
roads, rum, beer, computer games - and aggressive promos for macho series
that only partially assuaged feelings that football is not entirely a
women's game.

Then, after David Hobson crooned The Impossible Dream, accompanied only by a
phalanx of female choristers whose choreography was restricted to swaying
from the ankles up and waving their hands, on came *****Kath and Kim, who
sang, danced, wobbled and opened their vowels (VOWELS, OK? PLEASE!) - a lot
of effort to little effect. This, I thought, could only be followed by 10
tenors singing Up There, Cazaly! I was out by one: unless the 11th tenor was
the watermark. One of them, by the way, looked suspiciously like David Brent
from The Office, realising his wildest dream.

"The Port Adelaide way is to win!" thundered an evangelical voice-over, as
if anything less was heretical. Soon, came the reassuring news: "It isn't
about individuals, it's about a team."

Yes, but the only problem was that one team was (give or take a few pages of
the Melway) from West Melbourne, the other from North Melbourne. Any initial
feelings that Paw Tada Laid and the Brzbn Loins might have been understudies
for indisposed Victorian teams - we can't take them seriously, can we? -
quickly gave way to a match of astonishing skill and constant suspense: that
is, once the players managed to distinguish between boxing and Australian
Rules .

By the final quarter, sun almost off the ground, shadows and Leigh Matthews'
moustache lengthening in equal proportion, Brisbane was certainly in the
shade: gone from history-makers to "It could be the end of an era". Port
Adelaide was "glorious", "triumphant".

"What a day of vindication and entertainment," said Tim Lane, right both
times. As was the commentary in general, which avoided - almost - platitudes
and the bleedingly obvious, and gave us passion and information.

Sometimes, though, comments were superfluous.

In the dying minutes, when Mark Williams left the coach's box (during the
early stages, he tried to strangle, then bludgeon, his phone) to be with his
players in the open air, his sense of victory was hotter than a two-bar
radiator.

"For us, it's 'you beaudy'!" he said later on.

These were the only appropriate words. Even the logo was superfluous.

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