DON'T PANIC

Those words (in large. friendly letters) are on the cover of the Hitchhiker’s Guide because the situations described inside are out of this world. Corporal Jones shouted them while running around in circles with his arms in the air. Justin Longmuir has said them this week. Make of that what you will, then get to the ground early and make some noise anyway.

Fremantle: minor premiers, one week removed from the worst performance of the season. Beaten 10.12 (72) to 5.10 (40) by Hawthorn in front of 59,446 people who had queued for hours. One goal in the first half. A 12-0 home record shattered. Straight sets exit looming.

Geelong: seven consecutive wins and unchanged. Dismantled Carlton by 33 in the elimination final and flew west without so much as a selection meeting. Chris Scott chasing his 11th preliminary final in his 16th season.

The Messaging

For the uninitiated: in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the single most useful thing about the Guide itself is not the content. It is the two words printed in large, friendly letters on the cover: DON’T PANIC. The phrase appears just as the earth has been demolished to make way for a hyperspace bypass.

Over in Walmington-on-Sea, Corporal Jones offered the same counsel, usually at volume, usually while flapping his arms like a man being attacked by bees, usually seconds before Private Frazer intoned that we were all doomed. Doomed.

Which brings us to Justin Longmuir, standing at a lectern this week, telling a room full of West Australian journalists that was his message to the players. And here is the thing, he is right. He is completely right. It is also the funniest possible thing he could have said, and every purple person listening in immediately checked whether they still owned a towel.

Last Thursday

That was the worst game of football Fremantle played in 2026.

One goal in the first half of a qualifying final.

Forty points for the match.

Hawthorn won with fewer inside 50s and fewer disposals than us. They did not out-footy us. They out-pressured us, from the opening bounce to the final siren, and we had no answer for eight straight quarters of it, four last Thursday and, if we are honest, a fair chunk of Round 24 before it. James Sicily had 26 disposals and 10 marks and spent the evening intercepting everything we sent forward, which was made easier by the fact that we insisted on kicking it directly to him. Sam Mitchell said afterwards we tried to go through the corridor and they forced enough errors. That is a polite way of saying we did the same thing repeatedly and it did not work any of the times.

Four Dockers got a mention in the best: Jordan Clark, Andrew Brayshaw, Neil Erasmus and Karl Worner. Four. In a final. At home. The rest of a list that produced five All-Australians froze under the lights, and there is no other honest word for it. This column has spent a season telling you this side does not blink. Last Thursday it blinked, flinched, and went for a lie down.

So why aren't we panicking? (much)

Because the Total Perspective Vortex, the machine that shows you the entire infinite universe and your own microscopic place within it, also works in reverse. Zoom out far enough and last Thursday is one game. One bad night out of twenty-five. This side won nineteen home-and-away matches, a club record, including fourteen in a row. It won a minor premiership. It beat Geelong at this ground in Round 15 after trailing at half time.

Luke Jackson was best on ground that day with 28 disposals, three goals, nine tackles and 25 hitouts. Andrew Brayshaw had a game-high 35 disposals, sixteen of them in a third quarter where the match was decided. Nine-point win, from behind.

The other reassuring detail: the two men who stood tallest in the wreckage last week were Brayshaw and Clark, and neither has any intention of going out like that. Brayshaw fronted the media this week as vice captain. Longmuir has spoken about leaning into the lessons of a strong home-and-away season. It is the correct message even if the delivery came with an unfortunate echo of a small Home Guard corporal in a butcher’s apron.

The Opposition

Geelong arrive on seven straight wins, having beaten Carlton by 33 points at the MCG in an elimination final where they were never seriously troubled. They are the in-form team in the competition and they have named an unchanged side, which is either supreme confidence or mild contempt, noting that Sam De Koning, a genuine tall defender, was available to be recalled specifically to handle our key forwards, and Chris Scott looked at Treacy, Amiss and Voss and decided he didn’t need him. He has left De Koning among the emergencies. Whether that is a compliment or an insult depends entirely on what happens tonight.

The Cats are also, historically, extremely good at exactly this: Scott is chasing a preliminary final berth for the eleventh time in sixteen seasons. Bailey Smith is in the centre. Patrick Dangerfield was enormous against the Blues. Their vulnerabilities are real but narrow. Max Holmes played limited minutes in the elimination final on his return from a serious ankle injury and showed visible distress after accidentally kicking the turf, if he is at less than full tilt, Geelong lose their most damaging runner. Jeremy Cameron’s fitness has been a talking point all month. And their ruck division features Mitch Edwards, a former Fremantle Academy product, who now has the small matter of Luke Jackson to contend with in a final. Jackson has beaten better.

Team News

Two changes. Brandon Walker recalled last week for his first game since Round 1, handed the Nick Watson job, and injured in the process is out with an ankle complaint, which is a rotten reward for a bloke who has battled injuries and waited five months for the opportunity. Nathan O’Driscoll had 18 touches and has been dropped, which tells you the match committee is judging on more than possession counts this week. In come Corey Wagner and Judd McVee: experience, defensive discipline, and two players with nothing to lose.

The Conditions

Tonight will be about as benign as September in Perth gets: mostly sunny through the day, light winds easing into the evening, a mild spring night with no rain to speak of. Dry ball. Perfect deck. No wind to hide behind, no swirl to blame, no greasy contest to lower the skill level and level the playing field.

Which means we find out something real tonight. The 59,446 who turned up last Thursday will be replaced by another packed house, most of whom have spent the week being told by eastern-states television that the minor premiers are frauds who bottled the big one. That noise is either fuel or it is weight. There is no third option, and by about twenty past six we will know which one this group has picked up.

The Verdict

We are not doomed. We are cornered, which, for this football club, has historically been a far more dangerous condition. Fremantle by two goals, and don’t pretend your hands won’t be shaking.

Every rational argument favours Geelong. Seven straight wins, an unchanged side, a fortnight of momentum, and an opponent that just produced its worst performance of the year at the worst possible moment. If you were betting with your head you would not be betting purple.

But this side spent an entire season winning games it had no business winning. Goalless at half time against Sydney and 38-point winners, nineteen points down to Hawthorn in Round 9 and winners by 15, behind at the main break against these very Cats in Round 15 and winners by nine. The response is in there. Jackson goes to another level in finals football at this ground. Brayshaw and Serong have a point to prove that no amount of media training could suppress. And Treacy, Amiss and Voss are due.

Bring a towel. You may need it for your eyes either way.

FREMANTLE BY 12