Grand Final musings, 1

In what must surely rank with the infamous "Batmobile" of 1991, the AFL plumbed anew the depths of lameness with the pathetic squirt of sparks and smoke that followed the Premiership Cup down on it's ill-conceived journey from the roof of the Great Southern Stand to the playing surface last Saturday. So 'powerful' was this gush of pyrotechnics that the Cup appeared destined to hover tantalisingly out of reach at one stage. Last year's balloon-flight delivery was, by comparison, a totally masterful presentation.

In order to distract attention from the preparations for the Cup's dizzying descent, the producers of what was amusingly labelled pre-game 'entertainment' also contrived to have a set constructed, the dimensions and complexity of which would have turned Cecil B de Mille in his resting place. One expected a cast of, literally, thousands. Yet there were a mere twenty-six 'performers', sixteen of whom were perched atop some of Steve Hooker's spare vaulting poles. The purpose of this acrobatic display remains a mystery.