Following last season’s insipid loss to the Western Bulldogs in a game which held everything for Carlton and nothing for their opponent, I declared that the Blues would be utterly undeserved should they somehow fall into the finals.
Of course, the side somehow managed to bluff their way into September courtesy of Essendon’s exclusion and a miraculous last quarter surge against the Power, another performance hitherto so inept as to resemble an amateur outfit.
That it took a 39-point deficit to rouse the team in a game which held no significance for Port was startling. In fact, in their last six games Carlton have gone behind by at least a five-goal margin at some stage of the match regardless of the eventual result.
Those are the statistics of a basket case.
Despite the good fortune of meeting a side which they had the wood over in the elimination final and the accompanying drama associated with it, more instructive was the dismal failure to remain competitive against a tired and wounded Sydney the following week.
That display encapsulated the Carlton of recent times; too easily satisfied and too easy to play against. Sadly for their supporters, the Blues are far too predictable to boot.
That last point seems lost on the hierarchy, with Mick Malthouse claiming to have not seen the Sunday night capitulation coming; that the team had shown some good signs in the preceding two matches.
They say an addict can never recover until they confess to having a problem. Carlton are the bloated archetype of a Hollywood star that checks out after three nights at Betty Ford, claiming to have seen the light. President, coach and captain have all delivered trite declarations following the latest episode, yet until the core issues are addressed the relapse is but a formality.
The core issues at this club are mountainous.
From the top, a swollen board bereft of innovation and hamstrung by the desires of billionaires with conflicting ideologies. A football department listless after eons of under-par recruiting, led by a coaching staff long of tooth and short of creativity. A team shaped by a culture of acceptance that holds no fear of repercussions for poor performance.
Finally, an ageing supporter base so lethargic from years of being fed gargantuan portions of lying, cheating and false dawns that apathy has replaced passion.
The club this season celebrates its 150th year, but it is a posthumous commemoration. The Carlton being feted on its memorial birthday died long ago, and its spirit barely lingers.
The powers that be see this week as an opportunity against the lamentable Melbourne team to make amends for past sins. Whether they make it over this hurdle is immaterial.
Just like the user en route to Betty Ford, everyone knows what the future holds but for the addict themselves until they admit their shortcomings.
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