It was Thursday Fight Night at Adelaide Oval, but it was Hawthorn who won the battle that counted, delivering Port Adelaide a virtual knock-out finals blow.
Ironically, the most serious casualty Port suffered during the first quarter was self-inflicted – Brad Ebert hitting the back of his head on the turf hard after taking a terrific mark, and getting up spitting blood. He was forced out of the game with serious concussion and was taken to Royal Adelaide Hospital as a precautionary measure before half-time.
![Port’s Tom Clurey and Hawk Jack Gunston battle it out at the Adelaide Oval.](/web/20160926130144im_/http://www.theage.com.au/content/dam/images/g/q/1/4/9/v/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gq14ac.png/1467895891000.jpg)
Again, in the second quarter, Tom Clurey crashed into the back of the head of teammate Hamish Hartlett, who struggled to walk off the ground, but surprisingly went back on the field and remarkably was one of Port's best.
And from there the rotations were largely the bruised and battered, including Charlie Dixon, who appeared to suffer a back strain.
With a spate of fights across the ground, starting in the opening minutes with Chad Wingard renewing his bitter acquaintances with Hawks captain Luke Hodge from their round 21 contest last year, it was a brutal encounter to the end.
Port played like angry men, obviously reacting to claims from Hawthorn coach Alastair Clarkson that his team was basically harder than Ken Hinkley's, and the match review panel will be handing plenty of fines.
Cyril Rioli was involved in many of the scuffles, and seemed targeted by Port. There was no doubt the Hawks were rattled, especially early, and the occasional lack of discipline by both sides must have infuriated their coaches.
But amidst this struggle was some great football – obviously fierce tackling, desperate smothers and hard chasing. There were some terrific marks, none better than one of Paul Puopolo's gems, flying well over Port's Matthew Broadbent and then kicking a goal from 30 metres, but then there was Rioli's "speccy" over Broadbent that, for some reason, wasn't paid and the ball was tossed up by the umpire.
The run-on play by both sides was brilliant, and there were no easy kicks. There were the Dixon "don't argues" that made the Hawks look weak, but ultimately the courage of every player in this game remained unquestionable. Port were playing for their finals life, and the Hawks wanted to remain clear on top; this was always going to be tough going.
Ultimately, brilliance won over brawn. Kane Mitchell, who did so well tagging Trent Cotchin the previous week, started on his namesake Sam Mitchell, but the resilient Hawthorn midfielder was good enough to still have a huge impact.
The loss of Ebert hurt Port because he started on Luke Hodge, who had 17 kicks by half-time and was instrumental in clawing the Hawks to a 10-point half-time lead.
Wingard was also outstanding for Port, not simply because he refused to shirk an issue, but his run and creativeness. He was sharp around the packs, especially inside-50 snaring four goals.
After putting up such great resistance, Port's game fell apart under a highly efficient Hawk press, and with three goals in the opening six minutes of the third term Hawthorn charged clear. They broke the game open, and given their dominance could have led by a far greater margin.
With their structure breaking down, and a sense of panic creeping into their game, Port trailed by 30 points at three-quarter time and for the first time it really looked like this was top versus ninth.
As much as this game was about toughness, it was filled with heroes of a different kind as they rose under pressure, none better than Mitchell, Hodge and Rioli. No surprise here, and ultimately there wasn't one on the scoreboard either. But heck, it was a bruising encounter; a terrific game.
Port finished ninth last year, and looks like taking away Richmond's seemingly perennial claim as the best team out of the eight again. And once more their fans bemoan if they only played with sustained gusto every week.