Josh Kennedy is a brutal, beautiful reminder of the past

Josh Kennedy is a hulking, hunting crane.

His feet patter and his body bruises, his leap like a bird taking flight, his physicality like a boxer exacting vengeance.

His attack on the ball is so brutal and emphatic that at times it looks uncoordinated, almost clumsy. But its effect is vicious and purposeful. Kennedy rises, he crashes, the bowling pins tumble and he leaps back up.

He is not without his own elements of grace. He dances with short, distinctive, running steps, and he takes to the air like a rim-bound power forward. Even his teased goal-kicking run up is a little magical, the captivatingly odd stutter a build-up of kinetic energy, releasing in a smooth, perfect flourish of distance and accuracy.

Kennedy is perhaps the last, greatest traditional key forward. Lance Franklin and Tom Lynch are strange modern creatures, roaming all around the ground. Tom Hawkins and the vaguely returning memory of Travis Cloke are built in conventional, knowable key forward moulds, but the latter is more out-dated than traditional, and the former lacks Kennedy’s explosiveness and athletic dynamism.

[latest_videos_strip category=”afl” name=”AFL”]

A novel concept, Kennedy is a goal-kicker who stays close to goal. He’s a striker, something between Zlatan Ibrahimovic and the player Arsenal fans have always wanted Olivier Giroud to be. Like a striker, Kennedy can be anonymous for an hour and still be a game’s decisive force.

Such was the case on Saturday night. Kennedy had three touches to three-quarter time and then won the match. The Saints were gallant, but then they were tired, and Kennedy put them to sleep.

Two Kennedy goals in two minutes midway through the final term brought the Eagles level. The first came on the end of a wonderfully casual, finessed lefty loft from Sam Mitchell, Kennedy tracking the ball back with the flight and taking a brave contested mark, too much height and too much everything for Shane Savage.

The second came from the same spot, the mark this time the product of guile and delicate cheekiness instead of force. Kennedy worked Nathan Brown under the ball, for all intents and purposes pushing him in the back, but cleverly curling his wrists and using his forearms just enough to create some ambiguity. It wasn’t blatant, and it wasn’t paid.

The third came with a pristine snap from the left pocket to ice the game. In their totality, the goals showed everything that makes Kennedy so magnificent: the courage and brutality of the first, the savvy of the second, the skill and polish of the third.

He is the ultimate key forward archetype, with caveman strength and astronaut smarts. He’s kicked at least 60 goals the past four years, always with outstanding accuracy, last year’s 82.37 an absurd mark for a colossal forward. He’s won the past two Coleman medals and stands as the early leader and clear favourite for a third.

His two biggest threats, Franklin and Lynch, are indisputably more rounded – and close to indisputably better – players. But there’s a certain traditional romance to Kennedy that those two lack, a majestic middle finger to modernity, with the caveman strength, caveman hair and caveman symbolism.

The Eagles are imperfect, a strange mix of age and complacency, but when they’re on, like in the dying stages of last Saturday night, they’re commanding. They start to feel inevitable, a powerful identity that emanates from Kennedy, their best player.

The MCG has been a house of horrors for the West Coast star and his Eagles, but this weekend, after dealing with Levi Casboult and a 21-year-old in the first fortnight, Alex Rance and the Richmond defence will have their hands full with Kennedy, and their skies too.