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Melbourne City, visibly eager to begin the first stage of their ‘Ruin Sydney’s Premiership’ project, swaddled themselves in a pre-match huddle.
The sense of togetherness that that act conveyed was carried into an opening half an hour that flew by, as the bite and spring of the brightly-kitted hosts carbonated proceedings, a veritable champagne-filled flute of football. And then Manny Muscat dropped a cigarette butt in it, and the bubbles went flat.
It had been, up until Muscat’s staggeringly moronic second yellow card, a lovely match in the making. Having trod, oafishly, on Filip Holosko’s foot, as the Sydney forward darted into the box – it honestly looked as if Muscat hadn’t meant to clip the attacker, but was simply the victim of his own shoddy coordination – Muscat had first earned a booking and conceded a penalty.
He was again a victim on 40 minutes, this time of a striking shortness of sense, dragging back Alex Brosque, having been robbed of the ball. It was, probably, the worst first half performance by an individual this season, save perhaps for Iacopo La Rocca’s own-goal/injured-and-substituted bonanza against Perth.
It was crying shame, especially because it snapped a ball-and-chain to City, who had been irresistible. Nick Fitzgerald had equalised within 90 seconds of Bobo’s score-opening penalty, pouncing on a fortunate bobble by slapping the ball, with the outside of his foot, curling it into the far corner.
Neil Kilkenny and Luke Brattan had been spraying smart, accurate passes from their deeper positions, out to Fitzgerald’s wing, and the 25-year-old was feasting on the opportunity, dancing and scurrying past his Sydney minders, crossing dangerously on a number of occasions. He was linking up effortlessly with Anthony Caceras and Bruno Fornaroli, and was being well supported by Ivan Franjic. It was all dragged down by Muscat’s dismissal.
Sydney had been labouring too. In spite of their goal – which had come completely against the run of play – they were breathing heavily under the chore of breaking through City’s disciplined, halfway-line press. The players in white and blue were allowing the Sydney defenders to pass among themselves, but were swooping with predatory intent on any player that approached the halfway line.
With the Sydney full backs unsure of whether they should push up as a bypass outlet, or stay back to add to the passing options, there were multiple periods when the Sydney FC build-up stagnated. Brandon O’Neill and Josh Brillante’s long-range radars were not as well-tuned as their City counterparts, and Michael Zullo in particular was visibly frustrated when his forward runs went unrewarded, the ball sailing unattractively over his head.
It was a taught, structured defensive system Michael Valkanis had arranged, and it tore open and flapped horribly when City were reduced to ten men.
Sydney suddenly had the time and space to progress patiently up the park, allowed pass and lay-off in an unrushed environment. A free kick, punishing an unfortunate handball by substitute Ruon Tongyik, was curled expertly home by O’Neill, putting Sydney back in front. This opened up the match even more, with City reeling further back, a little dazed by the change in complexion.
When Milos Ninkovic is allowed to work in these carefree conditions, he can single-handedly shred entire defences. He did so just after the hour mark, with a single exalted action, caressing a sublime through ball, flipped through Tongyik’s legs, to an open, static Bobo, who finished beautifully. It was Ninkovic’s tenth assist of the campaign.
The increased defensive workload piled onto Kilkenny and Brattan blunted their attacking impact. Tim Cahill had to be substituted to allow for Tongyik’s arrival, and that rendered a lot of City’s wingplay a little pointless, with just Fornaroli in the box.
Bruce Kamau was brought on, and when Fitzgerald trotted off to make room for him, the viewership were reminded suddenly, like a sweet memory jogged by some vague ophthalmic trigger, of how interesting this match had once been.
Of course, we’ve seen teams – namely, Melbourne City – struggle to capitalise on an opponent reduced in number, and so credit must be given to Sydney for wasting no time in winning this game, and, in doing so, curling one hand around the premiers plate. They are now through the 50 point barrier. Bringing on Bernie Ibini and Miloš Dimitrijević, as Graham Arnold did, exposes how well assembled and deep this Sydney team is, even compared to the might of Melbourne City.
Their hosts were very good, at full strength in the first half, but anything more than that all exists now in the irrelevant world of the hypothetical; Sydney had no control over Muscat’s idiocy, and they had never trailed in the match. They beat what was in front of them, with patience and without fuss, as they have so often this season.
As the gulls drifted lazily through the Etihad Stadium, and Sydney rolled in similar mood toward the final whistle, the air was filled with the thick, regrettable scent of a wasted affair. City probably needed to beat Sydney here, if the Victory are to catch the leaders before the finals, but were robbed – by one of their own – of the opportunity to do so. Tongyik will likely replace Muscat in next weekend’s starting XI, and, as an aside, they have not recorded back-to-back wins since the opening two rounds. Valkanis must realise now, belatedly, that chopping and changing his centre backs is a recipe for inconsistency.
As the fixtures tick away, Sydney’s grip on the premiership tightens, and the collective appetite for the finals grows.