BULLDOGS coach Rodney Eade thought Jason Akermanis' return to Brisbane would be a problem for one Bulldog — Aka himself — but for all of the Lions. Counterpart Leigh Matthews thought it would be an issue for all the Bulldogs, but none of his own team. On the night, Eade and Akermanis were roundly vindicated.

Confronted by an Aka whiter of hair and guernsey than ever, the Lions played as if petrified. Scarcely once did his opponent Robert Copeland dare to run off Akermanis, though his problems with hamstrings are well-documented and were in any case obvious to anyone who watched him nurse them through the warm-up and during spells on the bench. Respect is one thing, timidity another.

In the second half, the Bulldogs were hit by injury, putting greater strain on the survivors, yet still the Lions made no effort to run Aka off his old and doubtless tiring legs.

In other ways, the Lions' pre-match words spoke louder than their actions. Copeland reintroduced himself to Akermanis with a bump and a shove, and other Lions seized passing chances to niggle him. But most of it was no more rugged than the skylarking between schoolboys on the ground at match's end, and as the Bulldogs' lead grew became faintly ridiculous.

The latter-day Lions are pussycats. Joe Patfull rattled Aka's ribs when he stood open under one high ball, but did not even stop him taking the mark.

But the most telling cameo was enacted in the third quarter when play stopped while Ryan Griffen was taken from the ground on a stretcher. Momentarily, the players milled and jostled before coalescing into two packs.

As they did, Akermanis and Jonathan Brown came face-to-face for the only time on the night. After a token exchange of pushes, Brown appeared to do some quick mental calculations.

Such fighting as there was had stopped, so anything he did now would be seen as gratuitous, and besides, Channel Ten had a camera permanently trained on Aka. But might not all that menacing talk now ring hollow if he did nothing? After a pause, Brown walked away, laughing as if to show contempt. But the victory was Aka's.

Brisbane's malaise was wider spread. After two goals in the first three minutes, it retreated to play a reactive game, not kicking another goal until the third quarter, meantime rushing a sure-record nine behinds. It was football without hope.

If the Lions were remiss then, they were criminally culpable at the end of third quarter. The Bulldogs had built their lead to seven goals, but injuries to Griffen, Daniel Cross and Robert Murphy had slowed them to a walk. Cleverly, they began to play what is now called "tempo football" — keepings-off, figuring that with so little in reserve, they would otherwise exhaust themselves and their lead.

The Lions, rather than man up, contracted into a zone, which played into the Bulldogs' hands. In one passage, Bryan Harris and Dale Morris passed the ball back and forth half a dozen times, making a mockery of statistics. The game came to a halt, gaining the Bulldogs a breather and the Lions nothing.

At one moment, Nigel Lappin— in a half-court press position — looked back over his shoulder as if pleading to be allowed to break team rules for its own good. The crowd booed the Dogs, but should have vented its spleen on their own. They are young, youth is naturally bold, boldness was needed now, and instead there was a ceasefire.

I know the risk of one-on-one is that a smart side like the Dogs will open out its forward line, search out a mismatch and kick another goal. But what was there to lose for Brisbane, who already trailed by a match-losing margin?

The Lions had already shown earlier in the quarter what might be achieved by daring when Michael Rischitelli scooped up a ruckman's hit-out in the centre square and kicked a barrel of a torpedo to the goal square, from where Jared Brennan soccered a goal. So simple, so unstoppable, so little seen.

Spent, the Bulldogs did not kick a goal in the last quarter, but won anyway. Again, they locked down at the end, again the Lions stood off, again the crowd booed them. But it was Aka who had the last laugh, from the handstand position.

The lesson might have been that fans need not despair. Back-off football eventually will be seen as only a stage in the game's evolution, because it does not work.

Coaches demand faith, but show none themselves. Back yourself, they say, meantime surrounding you with other players lest you fail.

Soon enough, a coach will take the initiative, back his players, and win, and the game will do what Aka did so stylishly at the Gabba on Saturday night: it will move on.