DozzyMatthew Pavlich Has Exceeded The Level Of 'Human'
July 24th 2008 08:25
There is a school of thought that Fremantle skipper Matthew Pavlich is overrated and not the champion some would suggest. He goes missing in big games. He chokes when it matters most. And hey, if he was ever any good Freo would have more to show for themselves than an honourable preliminary final loss.
These are the same people that also believe that Todd McKenny hates the gas and was a victim of foul play. That Tooheys New could ‘really work’ in Melbourne. That the McAfrica burger is not shit. That the world is flat.
Pavlich’s problem is the utter lack of anything resembling a team-mate. I watched a Fremantle game earlier in the season (I don’t even really need to be specific here, but it was against Essendon) and Pavlich was so obviously and completely Fremantle’s only player that Matthew Knights threw the opposition’s magnetic nametags away and just sketched out an enormous nose at centre half forward. Kyle Reimers was given the job of patrolling the outer rim. And got smashed.
It’s conceivable that if Matthew Pavlich was to go down with a serious, season-ending injury that the Fremantle Football Club would cease to exist. The very fabric of the club as threadbare as the pair of budgee smugglers that went one trip to many into the Brunswick Leisure Centre chlorine vat.
Fremantle Football Club would be Marty McFly. Disappearing from the photograph and from existence. Into the ether. With only University for company.
With this in consideration, it’s quite possible that Matthew Pavlich has exceeded the arbitrary level of ‘human’. According to your average Fremantle fan he may well be upgraded to inanimate object status fit for worship. Like, say, the shroud of Turin.
Alas, you can throw mountainous levels of stats at the Pav-haters like a shit fight in a schoolyard and you can drench them in a golden shower of common sense, but to no avail. The realm of logic is obviously not where this war will be won. The only way to make them see the light is to introduce them to a Richmond supporter.
If you’re a Pavlich hater, it’ll go down something like this.…
At first they’ll indulge you in some banter, a bit of good natured joshing about last quarter fade-outs and Ashley Presscott. And then you’ll start railing about the overrated dud out West and there’ll be a sudden and irreversible change in demeanour. They will take your hand and wordlessly lead you into the bowels of Punt Road. You’ll be lead through a complex system of poorly lit corridors. The ceiling will progressively sink until you’re almost on all fours and suddenly, almost without warning, you’ll come upon a small, ancient alcove. That’s where you’ll find a frail and feeble Greg Miller hunched over a framed picture of Aaron Fiora in a St Kilda jumper, slowly and deliberately cutting his forearm with a razorblade in a silent but powerful statement.
‘It’s the only way to make the pain go away’.
At this point you may turn to your Richmond supporter friend and notice a tiny flicker of light in their eyes and a whispered mantra forcing its way out of dry and cracked lips. It will be difficult to hear over the cold winds of change battering Punt Road, but if you concentrate hard enough you can hear two words repeated over and over again…‘Trent…Cotchin, Trent…Cotchin’
It’s a wonderful and fragile thing, this hope stuff.
These are the same people that also believe that Todd McKenny hates the gas and was a victim of foul play. That Tooheys New could ‘really work’ in Melbourne. That the McAfrica burger is not shit. That the world is flat.
Pavlich’s problem is the utter lack of anything resembling a team-mate. I watched a Fremantle game earlier in the season (I don’t even really need to be specific here, but it was against Essendon) and Pavlich was so obviously and completely Fremantle’s only player that Matthew Knights threw the opposition’s magnetic nametags away and just sketched out an enormous nose at centre half forward. Kyle Reimers was given the job of patrolling the outer rim. And got smashed.
It’s conceivable that if Matthew Pavlich was to go down with a serious, season-ending injury that the Fremantle Football Club would cease to exist. The very fabric of the club as threadbare as the pair of budgee smugglers that went one trip to many into the Brunswick Leisure Centre chlorine vat.
Fremantle Football Club would be Marty McFly. Disappearing from the photograph and from existence. Into the ether. With only University for company.
Fremantle Football Club
Alas, you can throw mountainous levels of stats at the Pav-haters like a shit fight in a schoolyard and you can drench them in a golden shower of common sense, but to no avail. The realm of logic is obviously not where this war will be won. The only way to make them see the light is to introduce them to a Richmond supporter.
If you’re a Pavlich hater, it’ll go down something like this.…
At first they’ll indulge you in some banter, a bit of good natured joshing about last quarter fade-outs and Ashley Presscott. And then you’ll start railing about the overrated dud out West and there’ll be a sudden and irreversible change in demeanour. They will take your hand and wordlessly lead you into the bowels of Punt Road. You’ll be lead through a complex system of poorly lit corridors. The ceiling will progressively sink until you’re almost on all fours and suddenly, almost without warning, you’ll come upon a small, ancient alcove. That’s where you’ll find a frail and feeble Greg Miller hunched over a framed picture of Aaron Fiora in a St Kilda jumper, slowly and deliberately cutting his forearm with a razorblade in a silent but powerful statement.
‘It’s the only way to make the pain go away’.
At this point you may turn to your Richmond supporter friend and notice a tiny flicker of light in their eyes and a whispered mantra forcing its way out of dry and cracked lips. It will be difficult to hear over the cold winds of change battering Punt Road, but if you concentrate hard enough you can hear two words repeated over and over again…‘Trent…Cotchin, Trent…Cotchin’
It’s a wonderful and fragile thing, this hope stuff.
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