HARRY Taylor had been the weakest link. He was the one the opposition always sought to exploit, the only Geelong defender light on for experience and performance.

Nick Riewoldt was the gun. He had led the Saints into the finals, picking them up mid-season and carrying them into September on those bronze shoulders.

If St Kilda was to keep the score respectable — ie, within six goals — and the match alive for more than an hour, Riewoldt had to maintain his gold standard.

This was a duel between St Kilda's best player and arguably Geelong's least accomplished. Barry Hall, Travis Cloke and David Hale had torched Harry one-on-one.

So when Taylor lined up alongside the St Kilda skipper, it was natural to assume that this would be the proverbial early Christmas for Saint Nick.

That it was more like Friday the 13th for Riewoldt partly explains why the Saints were smashed into tiny pieces, rather than copping the anticipated sound beating.

At half-time, Riewoldt had touched the ball four times to Harry's 14. Taylor had stitched him up, and the game was sewn up.

In truth, it had been over after 15 minutes, not because of the score, but since the pattern had been established — Geelong was winning the ball, dispossessing the Saints and flowing through their flimsy defensive dam.

Riewoldt often ran to the right spots, especially in the first quarter, when the game was in the theoretical balance. On a slippery afternoon, he sought to mark on his chest and was spoilt, or he couldn't quite grab them.

On a dry day, these were marks he usually gobbled, and he would catch many even on a wet one. But his teammates upfield, pressured heavily by the Cats, couldn't kick with precision.

His hands, usually exceptional, weren't sticky — maybe the busted finger was an issue. These marks were difficult and contested, but gettable. He couldn't take one.

Riewoldt, as usual, was flying solo in the St Kilda attack. He was the only WMD at Ross Lyon's disposal. Disarm him and the Saints had only a pop-gun. The gadfly, Stephen Milne, could only buzz around effectively when Riewoldt was on his game.

Taylor, meanwhile, had the assistance of the cavalry — Matthew Scarlett, Tom Harley, Darren Milburn et al. They would leave their man and come to his aid; Riewoldt, thus, was often competing against an alley of Cats.

"The main thing was I got so much help from the other guys around me, which made my job so much easier today," said Taylor, who had studied a tape of Riewoldt during the week and decided to play in front and "avoid the wrestle".

Taylor is aware of the perception that he is the innocent, exploitable babe in the woods of the Geelong defence. "In reality, if I look at it truthfully, it's probably a fair point in a way, because I'm a new player down there and the other players have played a lot more than me.

"So I guess it is the truth in a way, but I'm definitely not going … to let that sort of stuff get to me, and just go out and try and play my role for the team each week."

Geelong didn't need to send Scarlett on to Riewoldt. Scarlett wasn't required for heavy duty defensive work and could stroll around and get easy kicks. Harry had Riewoldt covered, with a little help from his friends.

Riewoldt finished the match with eight disposals and one goal, which he snapped one minute and 40 seconds into the final quarter, by which stage Mark Thompson was implementing his version of "list management" — resting players, taking precautions with the sore, leaving little to chance.

Lyon, too, was thinking of Collingwood in the last quarter and took Riewoldt off.

Lyon acknowledged that his captain had been below par, but noted that the delivery hadn't been great. "It wasn't an ideal day for Nick with the delivery against a great defence, so I think it was a combination of factors. he's always the first to put his hand up and say 'I didn't deliver what I would have liked to today' but as captain, I thought he never stopped trying."