ANTHONY Rocca and Fraser Gehrig characterised their teams at Telstra Dome last night; they were footballers and teams trying to remember lines that they knew off-by-heart, seemingly only yesterday. They were the two heaviest men on the ground, which made them imposing, but as dinosaurs were imposing. Both were willing, but only sometimes able. Gehrig is 32, Rocca just 30. This is a cruel game.

Both showed glimpses of the good footballers they have been, but each also signs of the diminished player he has become. Rocca kicked an enormous goal from inside the centre square within the first five minutes of the match. But it would remain his only goal for the night. Gehrig, too, kicked one lonely goal, from a laces-out Justin Koschitzke pass in the first quarter. Thereafter, he rarely troubled the statistician, let alone the scorer.

Rocca cannot break open packs to mark as he once did. He took just two marks this night. Gehrig cannot turn an opponent to putty with one shrug of his shoulder blades, as he once could. He took three marks, none contested.

It did not help the cause of either that both sides were so ragged with their kicking all night, not just into the forward line, but all over the ground. There were passages of play that could only fairly be described as a comedy of errors by foot. Pressure was a part-explanation, but not for the panicky moonballs out of defence, nor for the many passes that fell short of their target. This was not a night for fluency.

Nor did it help that the other key forwards could not work their way into the game. Koschitzke made a promising beginning, but faded, a familiar tale. Travis Cloke was a ghostly presence, scarcely seen. Collingwood and St Kilda looked as they were, teams whose seasons refuse to ignite, and who are puzzled by it. The Magpies' win was only to be expected, considering the Saints' personnel crisis, but it was not convincing. St Kilda still might have stolen it; they had the last two shots at goal.

Rocca and Gehrig will continue to vex. Rocca's work ethic could not be faulted. He led repeatedly, worked up the ground with the play, tried to make himself a force. A flick here, a handpass there, showed that his instincts are still sharp. But it is problematic whether his body will keep up with his mind. This match was the first after a fortnight's break; he will never be this fresh again.

Collingwood will not mothball him, far from it. Rarity makes a power forward precious, even when the gloss has dulled. But the Magpies will have to learn not to depend on him.

Gehrig's case is graver. It is doubtful that he is flexible enough for league football any more. In one passage in the first quarter, he was unable to scoop the ball up off the ground, with a goal begging. Collingwood whisked the ball away to score at the other end. Later, Robert Harvey won a hotly contested ball on the boundary line and handpassed obliquely to where Gehrig would once have been, but was not now. And might never be again.

Even in the peripherals, he was a shadow. In the third quarter, Harry O'Brien got himself into a tangle and gave away a goal to Nick Dal Santo. Once, this would have been Gehrig's cue. Last night, he managed only a half-hearted bump on O'Brien, scarcely budging him.

It was discomfiting to see Gehrig so reduced, for he has been great for St Kilda and for the game. But now what? Labouring up and down the ground was never Gehrig's default position. His only measurable contribution last night was to keep a key defender, Nathan Brown, occupied for a time.

St Kilda coach Ross Lyon appeared to give up on Gehrig mid-way through the third quarter. He was repatriated to the bench, and though not apparently injured, was scarcely seen again. At first, it was hard to think that this was not a strategy, saving Gehrig's powers for a final onslaught. But soon it was apparent that the strategy was to play without him.

As Sam Fisher closed in for what Banjo Paterson would have called St Kilda's last expiring chance, none of Koschitzke, Nick Riewoldt or Gehrig was ahead of him, and the play came to nothing. It was St Kilda's story in a sentence.