So the match finished around 8.45pm Eastern seaboard time on Sunday evening.

Accounting for a sip or two of diet coke, a pie, maybe a quick dart behind the grandstand and the taxi ride back to the hotel (that seems to be the level of professionalism we’re at, judging recent displays), by my calculations the playing group and coaching staff should by now find themselves somewhere between Eucla and Yalata as they make their way back to Melbourne.

Hopefully Ziebell and Brown remembered to pack some SPF 50+ for the hike. Although they could probably borrow some zinc off Bailey Scott.

For if both the effects of sunstroke and offers of a lift from homicidal truckers can be avoided, a purposeful five day stroll across the Nullarbor could be the sort of transcendent experience that this group needs.

Especially after making Fremantle look like North Melbourne circa 1999 and giving the Shinboner faithful the sort of consumer experience more akin to case studies outlined in the royal commission into the banking sector than the traditional club-supporter quid-pro-quo of attendance and membership money for a semblance of tactics, team structure and execution of basic skills.

And you never know, maybe Brad Scott will find religion atop a cliff top overlooking the Great Australian Bight.

And perhaps (like a biblical scholar mistranslating from the Greek to the Latin) he will build a shrine to Malcolm Blight upon his return and immediately introduce the “mandatory one torp per player” team rule to be implemented from Round 2.

Oh! for a torpedo punt or three, comrades, to lift both the spirits of the faithful and our chances of clearing the footy from our defensive fifty at least once a quarter.

I dunno. As a tried and tested traditionalist in most aspects of the game, perhaps I should laud the club for so staunchly upholding the time honoured ritual of getting comprehensively pantsed in round one.

By refusing to pander to the seemingly irrepressible winds of change that batter the football community like the southerly gale that screams from the Antarctic and whips the hair of a barefooted Scott, who, standing atop the aforementioned Nullarbor cliff with arms spread and legs braced against the elements (somewhat resembling a modern day Moses except for the club polo) screams,

“Aheeeeeeeeern! Aheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeern! I was wrooong!”

– once again we flew in the face of a league that is now so enslaved to it’s imaginary vision of perfection that it is irreversibly welded to an irreversible need to tinker, to morph, to pander the game itself to the capricious and irascible appetite of an imaginary consumer.

There is probably much to be taken from Sunday’s performance. Scott has promised a “forensic investigation”. Sounds fancy.

It also makes me think of ultra-violet lights being passed over an unmade motel room bed by Ice-T and Richard Beltzer.

Which is probably not far wrong as far as imagery of the post-match review is concerned, and probably worth a pitch to the producers of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit as an idea for a future episode.

From the cheap seats, I would offer some minor observations:

The new 6-6-6- rule applies to the required positional setup at centre bounces. It does not refer to the amount of times each player in the team needs to touch the ball inside our defensive fifty before we are allowed to attempt an exit by foot. It has become evident over the course of both the JLT Series and the first round of the home and away season that our handball skills are underwhelming at best, and a health hazard at worst.

2B. It has become evident that our kicking skills (Scott and Polec excluded) are underwhelming at best, and a health hazard at worst.

As per points 2. and 2B listed above, a rudimentary risk assessment conducted by Ice-T (invoice in the mail) has made the following recommendations for when we have possession in our defensive fifty: Kick the ball to a teammate. If you can’t see a teammate, kick the ball long to a contest. For further inquiries, please refer to first gamer: Bailey Scott.

Cheers, Bailey. Cheers for reminding us of what it looks like for someone to pick up the ball and dispose of it effectively to a teammate by foot and by hand. Cheers for being accountable at both ends of the ground. Cheers for taking responsibility in front of goal.

Was this game an “aberration”? Nah, it happens most years. What will happen this week against the Lions? I have no idea, neither do you and neither does anyone involved at the club.

At least Cunnington is good to go. And Thompson will be back. And there’s probably a dozen or so blokes who didn’t go to Perth who could reasonably expect a call up considering what their senior counterparts dished up on Sunday.

It’s a wild ride, Shinboners, and let us pray to the temple of Malcolm Blight that it quickly becomes less wild in the “you’re about to ride a Sumatran tiger we caught yesterday” kind of way and more wild in the “let’s ride our favourite rollercoaster again – What? Again? You ride it every week? – Yeah because I know what I’m going to get and it’s always awesome!” – kind of way.

And if – IF – we decide to double down on the run and dash and carve you to pieces with handball transition out of defence plan, might I suggest we actually do embrace a change and utilise the mid-season draft.

Not to replace a key defender or the disgustingly unluckily Vickers-Willis, but rather to raid the as yet untapped gold mine of the European Handball League.

A quick google search seems to show that this bloke is pretty handy, might be worth a call:

Brisbane at Marvel on Sunday. Thank the good Lord Malcolm we didn’t go down the path of the Bullies and take the thirty pieces of silver for trading the royal blue and white stripes for a Doctor Strange uniform.

Or maybe it would have helped. At this stage I’ll take anything.

Bounce back, lads. Lay a tackle and hit some targets. It’s too important not to.

Come on you Roo boys.