Big brother asserts pecking order Dan Silkstone February 15, 2009 It isn't easy being a younger brother. You go out into the world, trying to make a name for yourself — and you succeed, you really do. You play out of your skin but whatever you do, wherever you go, big brother is always waiting to deliver a dead arm.
And then — suddenly — you are back at mum and dad's for Christmas dinner. You made a million dollars last year, you hit the big time overseas and there's a glamorous girl on your arm. But none of that achievement, that globetrotting glory, counts for anything. The natural order is painfully imposed.
Adelaide — little old Adelaide United — had every reason to throw everything at Melbourne last night. Down two goals after a disastrous home leg and with a grand final spot up for grabs, the running was theirs to make. The pride earned during a barnstorming year in which richer and more exotic opponents had been dealt with and a spot secured as the second best team in Asia was under threat from a rival who knew them much, much better.
You wouldn't have known it from the way they played. From the opening whistle, the Victory imposed themselves — the men in red meekly submitted, strangely accepting of their allotted role. Chances were fashioned from the earliest seconds, a goal came after just ten minutes, Archie Thompson, put through by Carlos Hernandez, sprung the trap and steered it past the hand of Eugene Galekovic. Thirty seconds later Allsopp scuffed a shot that could easily have burst the net. Adelaide was gone.
Two years ago, on this ground, they had been cut open and made foolish in a six nil Grand Final rout. That sort of result left not so much scars as fault lines. For all that they had achieved this year — and it had been plenty — they found themselves back here. Back there. Quaking.
Melbourne should have had four in the first 20 minutes, Ward spurned a chance , Pondeljak netted from an Allsopp through ball instantly ruled offside. It didn't matter, chances were not going to be in short supply. Adelaide was simply absent, Melbourne partied without them. You wondered whether South Australian minds were already trained on the upcoming match against the Queensland Roar. You saw them wondering how, playing so listlessly, they could possibly win it. Would they want to if the prize was a trip back into this?
Few expected Hernandez to start — if they'd thought about Ernie Merrick they should have. The Victory were — as they had been all year — settled. The best 11 played and each of them played in his best position. Hernandez might not have had 90 minutes in him. The way he started, his team was never going to need that much.
The second was his — on 24 minutes — after an irresistable exchange of passes between an inspired Tommy Pondeljak, Ward and Hernandez — the latter picking his spot and smashing it into the roof of the net. The options then for Adelaide were embarrassment or humiliation. With cheap fouls and a red card in an anti-climactic second half, they opted for the latter. The crowd resorted to the Mexican wave.
It wasn't just that they played without energy, they played without sense. Defending high up the park and square at the back, it was like a manual for how not to set up aganist a team determined to hit you fast on the break. These men had earned things in 2009 and now they counted for nothing. Eugene Galekovic, the goalkeeper of the year and newly-capped Socceroo was simply a Victory discard, picking the ball out of his own net.
The fourth goal was just a joke. Pondeljak spread it to Hernandez and kept on running, the Costa Rican curled a perfect ball to the far post where Pondeljak volleyed home.
By the end, Victory fans — wary of Queensland's vigour — would have paid money to play these guys in the grand final. After all, who does not enjoy the occasional wrestle with their little brother?
Cornthwaite and Jamieson, Mullen and Barbiero, Adelaide had impressed with their youth in Asia. By the time 90 minutes had passed they looked in need of something that sounded mighty similar. They had taken on Japan and Uzbekistan; even — at the World Club Championships — beaten the African champions. But when it mattered they were crushed by a better team, in a bigger stadium, in front of a crowd that dwarfed them. Asia be damned, the natural order is restored.
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