After The Game With Snaps Truly - Rd 18 2026 V Sydney

I didn’t feel very comfortable ahead of this one. Some very dear friends flew in from Sydney to stay with us and then watch their beloved Swans with their WA based daughter who was celebrating her birthday.

I didn’t want them to go home shattered and bereft. Not on Nieve’s big day.

(Pause.)

Yes I did.

Deep within my bitter, failure-soaked, grievance-filled heart I wanted just that.

Just as I wanted Charlie Curnow to trip over his chest in a display of puffed up self regard. Just as I wanted an overexcited Tom Papley to punch himself fair in the mush during the warm up and go off under the concussion protocol before the ball was even bounced – oops, thrown up. Just as I wanted the perfect toothpaste smile of the Colgate kid, Isaac Heaney to be wiped from his face as he turned the ball over again and Freo danced towards yet another goal.

I wanted all those things.

As I took my seat I also had the opportunity to study, live and in living colour, one of Freo’s most trenchant critics, David King. Built with Trumpian infrastructure and wearing that familiar practiced expression that he presumably believes suggests high footy intelligence but probably owes more to an internal difficulty digesting pies.

Ha, I wanted bad things for him tonight too.

And boy, wasn’t I to be punished for my hubris.

How do you describe a first half where your team kicks no goals?

No goals at all.

Not one.

Well, given this was the Starlight Foundation game and every goal kicked would help to make some little kid’s life a bit more joyful, I couldn’t help thinking of the headline, ’ Cruel Dockers ignore plight of sick kids by donating only $1.85 to half time.’

So bleak the start, that the only highlight for some was to see Patrick Voss’s jumper getting ripped so we could all see how ripped he was.

Oh and Luke Ryan conceding a free kick for gently tousling Chad Warner’s buzz cut and suggesting an early appointment with Ashley and Martin.

Beyond that? Well the booing of the umpires was at least first class. High quality collective contempt.

Not much more to say. Sydney 4.9 to Freo 0.11.

At least we hadn’t been put away.

And that was what we were hanging onto. We should have been further behind. Sydney had brought tremendous tenacity and Freo had floundered under the pressure. Curnow refused to trip over his chest and looked too good for Cox, while Papley, who I only despise because he gives off such strong Ballantyne vibes, slotted straight back in with malicious intent.

Had it not been for Alex Pearce we may have been buried already.

And then everything changed. And it was Jordie Clark, on the run, who got Freo moving. This was to be a quarter of absolutely crazy footy. A shoot out of the highest order.

And yet, it seemed that every Freo goal was to be answered by Charlie Curnow.

He took a brilliant mark and screwed the ball home for Sydney’s fifth.

Treacy finally found his range and replied and Curnow then produced another sensational effort on the turn from outside 50.

Treacy goaled again, but so too did Curnow. Curnow now had four and he danced gleefully in front of us demanding we stare angrily at him, which some people did, which is always a pity because they look so impaired on the slow-motion replays.

But from here on in, those barely sighted for Freo and those we most rely upon, stepped forward or leapt skyward to accept their responsibility. None better than Shai Bolton. None more hoped for than Jye Amiss.

Freo – even with a Brayshaw goal disallowed because the umpires were now taking instruction from FIFA boss Gianni Infantino – went to the final change having kicked six goals to three and trailed by just two points.

The last quarter will long be a part of Freo’s rich, storied and chaotic history. A slightly absurd free kick to Amiss gave the home side the lead and sent the crowd into a frenzy.

But Curnow predictably took it right back.

Enter again our inspiring captain, running with the flight of the ball to mark and save and thrill us with his courage.

Then Jye took a big mark and delivered to Treacy who goaled again.

And suddenly, Mason Cox …

Hang on.

If I told you that I thought the result was never in doubt because ‘Coxy is going to take a lot of contested marks and even kick a goal,’ I think you might have considered me mad.

But tonight he did all those things in his finest display yet in the purple.

And the good times kept rolling.

Freddy, one of our earlier unsighted, threw himself into the game – charging from deep in defence to have a ping on the run. Suddenly the lead had stretched to 16 points.

Then Judd McVee goaled. Yes, the guy not employed to kick goals.

Sydney’s resistance was broken as the ladder leaders and flag favourites – FOR THAT IS WHO WE ARE – stormed home with seven unanswered goals in 14 minutes.

And 9.5 for the term, a club record.

Brayshaw, Serong and Reid ensured Freo had all of the footy almost all of the time and we will forever look at the scores of this game with wonder. How could a team go goalless in the first half and then kick 100 points in the second, to thrash their premiership rivals?

Because it’s our team.

And we do weird stuff.

Freo winners by 38 points.

Not only was The Starlight Foundation deservedly enriched, I dared to imagine that new Sydney CEO Matthew Pavlich might even have allowed himself a quiet fist bump before offering handshake commiserations to his team.

I haven’t yet spoken with my own Sydney pals. Not sure me grinning like an idiot and then singing Happy Birthday would be quite the thing to do.

Interestingly, on the way home on the train one supporter declared proudly: ‘I don’t think I’ve heard booing like that since Subiaco days.’

Yes, it was quite the night.

Well played Freo.

Another pie, Kingy?

Yours truly,

Snaps Truly

*By our multi-talented and amazingly insightful footy scribe, SNAPS TRULY. Snaps has seen and done it all. He may or may not have been a fringe player at Fremantle. Don’t miss Snaps’ report after each Freo Dockers match here on the Shipping News throughout the 2026 season.

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