Grand Final - Hawthorn v Sydney Swans

Saturday 29 September 2012, MCG

Unhappy endings

Nohow on

The Hawks hit the ground

This blog began with a Jane Austen quote, but sadly, it won’t wrap with the sort of happy ending that characterise her novels. Instead, the works of Samuel Beckett more aptly describe the denouement of the season. His final short novel, ‘Worstward Ho’ (1983), captures the mood when at its conclusion, the unnamed narrator can find “nohow on.” The blurb on my Grove Press edition of the book describes it as Beckett exploring, “a tentative, uncertain existence in a world devoid of rational meaning and purpose.”  Yep, that pretty much sums up the Grand Final for me. In fact it sounds like he was there.

It was a traumatic and harrowing disaster with a deeply unhappy ending. In the end the inaccurate kicking that plagued Hawthorn all season brought about our downfall when it counted most. During the year this problem was partially masked by the sheer number of scoring shots we tended to amass throughout a game. But against a stingy team like Sydney and in a Grand Final, you’re only ever going to get so many shots at goal, and we simply missed too many of them.

The match began with Buddy missing a set shot and our chances pretty much ended with him missing another. Of course the fact that he kicked some spectacular goals in between just highlights the kicking conundrum that is Buddy.

But it wasn’t just Buddy missing shots; pretty much everyone chipped in with a point or two at some stage. The Rough certainly did. According to the people behind me marking the scores in their footy record, he kicked four. Mind you, their collective knowledge and awareness of the game was not what you’d call encyclopaedic – “who’s that number 23 for Hawthorn?” – I mean seriously, why do some people go? And how do they get in? Perhaps the “Portsea Polo” insignia on the cap gives us a clue. Anyway, you would not want to place too much faith in their assessment.

With Grand Final tickets being so scarce and sought-after, perhaps there should be some sort of test, like the citizenship test, where you have to prove your credentials, or 'footy smarts' before you can get a ticket. Questions like:

1. Complete the following phrase - Jesaulenko, you...  a) beauty!, b) Macedonian!, c) fine exponennt of the high mark!

2. Which Gary Ablett played in a losing Grand Final against Hawthorn a) Senior, b) Junior, c) all of the above

3. Angry Anderson sang 'Bound for Glory' from which mythical vehicle at the 1991 Grand Final a) the Tardis, b) the Batmobile, c) Wonder Woman's invisible plane

Before posting previous match reviews I’ve checked the occasional stat, even run through some vision where possible, but you’ll forgive me if on this occasion I rely on memory – and a fairly hazy one at that as I was shouted a few consoling Crown Lagers after the match. I have no intention of reading any editorials, match descriptions or looking at goal graphs. In fact if I never see so much as a still photo of the game I’ll consider myself fortunate. So I can’t tell you individual points tallies or tackle counts, handballs or hard ball gets.

Sewell, Breust and Mitchell played well, as did Burgoyne in the second half, Franklin, Schoenmakers, Hale and Shiels. Roughead and Rioli just couldn’t do enough for long enough and Lewis had a disappointing match. They tried hard, certainly, but I think we missed the desperation of Goo and Whitecross. A couple of Sydney’s last quarter goals could have been averted had someone smothered the ball, got it out or pressured the ball carrier – the very things those two players do so well.


Alternating narratives 

But what to say of the match? Well it was certainly tough. We had a burst, then the Swans had a burst, then we had another burst, then the Swans had a final one – that’s about it. The two teams very politely took turns to dominate.

It was reminiscent of one of those novels where dual narrators take it in turns to propel the story along, like Peter Carey’s ‘Parrot and Olivier in America’, or even Christos Tsiolkas’ ‘The Slap’, where the reader’s sympathies shift with each change of focus. Likewise in this match, as each team took their turn in the ascendant, viewers believed they were witnessing the decisive break, only for it to shift again; first Hawthorn, then Sydney, then Hawthorn, then, alas, Sydney.

In the first half, with nine of 10 goals being kicked to the city end, we wondered if there was a strong wind advantage, or, as my brother opined, whether players from both teams only wanted to score to the end Chelsea Roffey was officiating.

From 28 points behind midway through the third quarter I thought we were virtually out of contention. But then a sudden rush of goals got us in front, until Mitchell gave away a 50 metre penalty and with it, the lead.

With most of the scoring occurring at the City end, it was going to take an exceptional effort for us to get back in front and stay there. Still, we had our chances and could’ve, should’ve won. In a just world with a benevolent deity, we would have.


More than a game, less than a life

But as the events of the week demonstrated in all too stark a fashion, we don’t live in such a world. In the early hours of the previous Saturday morning, 29 year old Jillian Meagher went missing after leaving a bar in Sydney Road, Brunswick. Her disappearance gripped Melbourne during Grand Final week, as each new piece of information emerged, including grainy CCTV footage that showed not only her final moments, but ultimately revealed her alleged assailant and led to his capture and arrest. Then in the early morning of Grand Final eve, the police found her body.

This awful crime has provoked widespread grief across Melbourne and precipitated an outpouring of sympathy for the victim, her husband and their families. It is likely too that many people will change their habits after dark as a result of this crime and be less willing to trust in their own safety or in other people. In a way, it has made many people feel more vulnerable and wary.

It is of course obvious to say that this crime puts football into perspective; it puts nearly everything into perspective, but more than that, it puts football well and truly in its place as a more or less harmless recreation, a diverting one sure, but ultimately just a recreation on which there is little of real import riding, other than bragging rights.

Sydney has earned those bragging rights this year and congratulations to them. They were a good team all year and the best team in September, which is when it counts. Of course having beaten us in a Grand Final, they now join the pantheon of teams (Carlton, Essendon, North Melbourne & Geelong) I officially loathe.


Life and death

Football has always seemed to me to be a matter of life and death, at least metaphorically; my mood and outlook dictated by Hawthorn’s on-field fortunes.

This season, however, seems to have been marked out by actual death, both in the football world, my own world and the outside world.  The AFL season has been bookended by two tragedies. On the eve of the season Melbourne legend Jim Stynes lost his battle to cancer, and in the first week of the finals, Port Adelaide player John McCarthy fell from a hotel rooftop in Las Vegas and died. In Grand Final week Jillian Meagher was murdered, while in August my own father died.

In any other year when the Hawks lose a Grand Final I may well have been in tears, but this year those tears are reserved for rawer, more sensitive hurts.

It’s not that football doesn’t matter; it still does, but this year its highs and lows are simultaneously magnified and diminished. There are ups and downs in any season, but in 2012 they soared higher and plumbed lower. Thank you for riding the bumps with me.

Will Twenty3 be back to report on the 2013 season? Well, Clarko is urging the Hawks to regroup and I’m a bit scared to defy Clarko. Besides, in 2011 Hawthorn finished third, in 2012 second, so if we follow this mathematical line to its obvious conclusion…in 2013 we’re bound to finish first. In fact we've already been installed as favourites...again.

Samuel Beckett’s novel 'The Unnameable' concludes with the anonymous narrator proclaiming, “I can’t go on, I’ll go on”, which, depending on your interpretation, could be a statement of courageous intent, optimism or even futility. I feel shattered and devastated after yesterday’s match and while losing the Grand Final makes returning to football and the keyboard next year seem difficult, I can no more help caring about Hawthorn’s fortunes than I can abstain from ageing…I can’t go on, I’ll go on.

Final scores: Sydney  14  7  91  d  Hawthorn  11  15  81



Grand Final week residua


The Brownlow

Grand Final week began with the Brownlow medal. Like most Hawthorn supporters, I scoffed at the idea of Jobe Watson being voted in ahead of Sam Mitchell. What madness is this? The only reason I can accept Jobe Watson as the Brownlow medallist is that his girlfriend, Ella Keddie, is the niece of Hawthorn’s 1971 premiership hero, Bob Keddie.


The parade

Was a little disappointed in Friday’s Grand Final parade.  With Sydney involved I was expecting something a little more Mardi Gras. Perhaps oiled up marching boys in Bonds briefs or dykes on bikes, but all we got was a few sodden marching bands and footballers who were barely visible in the back seats of utes.


The day dawns 

Word seems to have got out about the location of the now traditional Grand Final breakfast that my brother and I have been taking together for the past few years. This year as we perused the menu at Il Solito Posto, Bruce McAvaney came in for a coffee. No sooner had he left than Andrew Demetriou and two women took the table next to ours. Don’t you guys get invited to official breakfasts?

Later as we joined friends having a picnic in the car park at the ground, Tony Abbott came sashaying past, if that’s the correct word to describe his awkward gait. First bad omen of the day right there.


Melbourne Storm

The prevailing thought among neutrals after the match was that with Sydney taking Melbourne’s premier football trophy on Saturday, Melbourne Storm would bring Sydney’s major trophy across our side of the border. For Hawks fans it’s of little consolation.


Acknowledgements

Thank you to Angela Clarke for proof-reading, support and regular reassurance, Paul McKnight for igniting the idea, and Chan-Tha Birch and Oscar Taylor for coming to the games with me.

Thanks also to my regular readers: in particular Linda, Kate and John.

And of course thanks to the mighty Hawks for providing such a wealth of material. We didn’t win the flag but we enjoyed a season rich with brown and gold highlights and great victories.

Chan-Tha and the author reflect on the game 

Preliminary Final - Hawthorn v Adelaide

Saturday 22 September 2012, MCG

OMG we’re in the big one…

…but not without a little scare 

Hug me, I'm Hawthorn
source: the roar.com.au AFL media

Jane Austen tips Hawks for flag

“It is a truth universally acknowledged among football pundits that Hawthorn will win this year's AFL premiership.”

I wrote that sentence on 25 March of this year by way of introducing this blog and reporting the foregone conclusion football commentators prophesised for the season’s outcome.

True, Jane Austen wrote a very similar sentence 200 years earlier, but I’m just paying due homage to her tipping ability. Fittingly, just like the novel from which part of that sentence is lifted, I have pride in Hawthorn and as regular readers of this blog will know, display nothing but utter prejudice against any other team. And if Darcy played football, surely he’d be in the brown and gold – what with all that ancestral money behind him.

Anyway, here we are six months and 24 matches later and the Hawks have reached the Grand Final!


Profuse sweating and erectile dysfunction

Winning a Preliminary final should be accompanied by feelings of exhilaration and triumph as we march into the Grand Final, banners held high and voices in full gloat. Much as it is for Sydney after cruising past Collingwood on Friday night. But after Hawthorn barely scraped through against Adelaide in an excruciating match, perhaps our least convincing win of the year, an entire day later and I still feel decidedly on edge. We so nearly lost a second successive Prelim by less than a goal that we were in danger of being known as the new Bulldogs.

It was truly agonising. I’ve just watched the match again and found it nearly as stressful the second time around. My doctor recently diagnosed that I have a hernia – now I don’t know the conditions under which hernias thrive, but I think mine grew six centimetres in diameter during the final quarter. The shame is that when we buy the DVD box set featuring the Qualifying Final, Preliminary Final, Grand Final and season highlights, this is one disc (or file or stream torrent) that will never be watched.

Reaching the Grand Final is magnificent, but the nature of the victory; scrappy and haphazard, just made it tense and traumatic. It was like finally getting to have sex with the girl you’ve fantasised about for years only to be inconvenienced by profuse sweating, erectile dysfunction or your girlfriend coming home unexpectedly.

But just like that scenario, it’s still worth it! The point being…we’re in the big one!


Inauspicious signs and portents

The whole thing started inauspiciously and looked like it might get a whole lot worse.

First; the time of the game...5.15pm. What’s with that? No other match this season, or any other season, has started at this time. The Hawks have no routine for a 5.15 start so why suddenly in a big final is the game starting at this hour? And it’s just the same for the supporters – with a 5.15 start we didn’t know when to start drinking.

What’s wrong with 2.10 like thousands of games before it (including last year’s Saturday Preliminary Final)?  The Hawks are creatures of habit; they rarely play well at unfamiliar start times – it’s something to do with body clocks and the preparation time they need to go out clubbing later.

Another bad sign; Sydney defeated Collingwood quite easily the previous night. History shows there’s always one close Preliminary Final and Sydney Collingwood clearly wasn’t it, so that only left this one.

Then we hear Hodge is out! At first I dismissed this news as nasty Twitter trolling; malicious, anonymous haters trying to mess with our already frazzled minds…but then we discovered it was true. Gastro of all things! Is Hodge a hypochondriac or just strangely susceptible to illness and injury?  In 2008 Geelong targeted his ribs after he injured them in the Preliminary Final – what will Sydney do next week, waft the smell of parmesan under his nose?

Then the game starts (again, why at 5.15pm?) and we go forward – the Rough marks, so far so good, until he misses the first set shot. Then everyone else continues to miss – the tone is set. Our first three scoring shots are behinds and at quarter time we’re 2.6 trailing Adelaide’s much more assured 4.1.

After the Crows extended their lead early in the second, The Rough dropped a sitter from Sammy, however, before we’d finished groaning Buddy pounced and grubbered through a goal.

But we never really found our rhythm: Breust missed from 25, Lewis’ marked within range but went for a short pass that didn’t hit the target. Our next goal also came from a fluky happenstance: a good smother from The Rough got the ball to Cyril, to Sewell, whose scrappy kick was marked by Breust. This time, thankfully, he goaled.

When Burgoyne burst through the middle and nailed a goal it finally looked like we were finding our tempo, but late goals to Walker, including a monster 60 metre kick after the siren, gave the Crows a narrow half-time lead.


It’s it’s the Hawthorn blitz…well, sort of

The third quarter saw the Hawks regain their strut with Sewell winning the clearances, Lewis going hard and Sammy pinging sharp handballs about like a pinball wizard.

In 10 minutes we had goals from Gunston and Breust, both courtesy of Buddy set-ups, a Suckling bomb from 50 and then one to Buddy himself. But the rout never quite happened: Adelaide continued to play strong, smooth football with crisp passing and accurate shooting. They always looked like they were going to score and despite goals to Gunston and Cyril, we only led by 16 points at the final break – a lead unnervingly similar to the one we couldn’t defend in 2011 against Collingwood.

And sure enough – our composure deserted us. Just as in this season’s two Geelong defeats, we missed several shots and were unable to turn a handy lead into an unassailable one. Burgoyne missed, and Buddy missed three times, including two wayward shanks.

Meanwhile Adelaide couldn’t miss – goals to Walker, Porplyzia – after one of the more laughable free kick reversal decisions I’ve ever had to stand and vent loudly about – and then Johncock gave Adelaide the lead with five minutes to go. Not again, surely?


Cyril and Stratton save the day (or evening)

Enter Cyril. At the very next clearance Burgoyne grabbed it and kicked long to where two Crows were set to take a grab, only to see Cyril spring above them to mark and goal. Hawks back in front.

In Adelaide’s next attack, the aptly named Dangerfield took possession and went to turn towards goal until Stratton first corralled, then tackled him to the ground. When the ball spilled he got it out and we went forward where Lewis paddled it to Cyril, who ran and got it on to Buddy who kicked what we thought would be the sealer. At last.

Cyril took another great grab and could have put it beyond doubt, but missed. What was particularly hurtful was that the Adelaide defender jumped into his back in an action the 50 metre penalty was intended to deter, but in this case wasn’t awarded.

So when Walker kicked another goal the Crows were suddenly back to within a kick. Not again, surely? Happily Burgoyne won the next clearance and despite the umpire trying to interfere in the just and true result by penalising Suckling for deliberate out of bounds, we held on.


The siren song

In Greek mythology, a siren is a bewitching female or mermaid who lured sailors to their death through her beautiful and beguiling song. Ulysses famously had himself strapped to the mast so that he could resist their wiles and temptations. Putting aside the whole grounding of ships on rocky cliffs aspect of the story, I can understand how the sailors became so entranced, as the sound of the siren on Saturday evening worked a very similar enchantment on me. It was one of the more beautiful bursts of sound I’ve ever heard and its resonance sent us all into song…the Hawthorn song.


Hot, hot, hot

Much was made pre-match of Hawthorn’s hot favouritism: the hottest Preliminary final favourite since Essendon in 1999. Essendon, of course, lost.

Being hot favourite is an indication of what football punters think, not a measure of how football teams play, so the odds were never an accurate guide to the outcome, any more than me wearing my lucky t-shirt and shirt combo – although we are 12 from 12 since I started wearing it. And our only loss in that time was to Geelong when I had to don corporate attire.

And unlike Essendon, we were playing a team who’d finished on equal wins and missed out on top spot by percentage only. So it was never going to be as lopsided as the betting suggested. Sure enough, as Adelaide’s form line indicated, the Crows play fantastic football. They played a strong, free-flowing game and always looked dangerous.

Hawthorn’s poor conversion was a contributing factor to the closeness of the contest, but the Crows played their own game and stopped Hawthorn playing theirs. Pencil them in for a Grand Final berth next year.

After the match one of my Hawk buddies drew parallels between this game and the famous Preliminary in 1999 when Carlton defeated Essendon against the odds. Again bad kicking for goal was the problem. The score that day was Essendon 14 19 103 to Carlton 16 8 104, eerily familiar to yesterday’s score of Hawthorn 13 19 97 to Adelaide 14 8 92.

There was also the third quarter surge by Hawthorn similar to Essendon’s surge in 99, but where the difference lay is that in 99 it was Fraser Brown from Carlton tackling Dean Wallis as he went for the winning goal, whereas yesterday it was Stratton’s tackle on Dangerfield that dispossessed the dangerous Crow, won us the ball and we went forward to goal.

Sanderson said pre-match that for Adelaide to win, they needed Hawthorn to not be at their best. Well, we weren’t and yet we still won. So plaudits and applause for the Hawks. We’re there. And now there’s just one more win to go, so I’d best see about getting my lucky shirt laundered.


Final scores: Hawthorn 13  19  97  d  Adelaide 14  8  92


Buddy goals tally - 3 = total, 66.  Buddy behinds tally - 5 = total, 60


What we liked: Sewell, Cyril, Sammy and Breust: sounds like a tongue twister but this quartet got us into the Granny.

Sam Mitchell for Brownlow. The Brownlow medal is becoming like the Academy Award for best actor in a leading role – it gets awarded to the bloke who should have won it the year before. Like the Academy, the umpires realise they got it wrong and fix it the following year. This all started when Cooney won it ahead of Ablett, following in the great tradition of undeserving Bulldogs players to win the medal. Given that Sammy should have won it last year, expect him to take it home this year. Look out for the embarrassed looks on the All-Australian selectors when he does and put your money on Cotchin for next season.

Dress code at the Show. Went to the Royal Melbourne Show yesterday and I'd estimate that one in every ten people was wearing a Hawks jumper or top of some sort. Expect to see the brown and gold verticals out and proud this week.


What we didn’t like: Hodge’s gastro – as one of my friends said, don’t we have a dietician overseeing every morsel they eat? I suppose next week he’ll want paternity leave.

The Twenty3 All-Australian team

Mitchell looks on as All-Australian team is named

You’ll have seen the scenes of Muslim unrest around the globe in protest over a short film that is said to mock the prophet Muhammad. So imagine how Hawks fans are reacting to the fact that Sam Mitchell and Josh Gibson have not been selected in the AFL All-Australian team.

At Twenty3 we’re seeking redress through whichever means will bring about apology and change. We were going to take it to the streets and burn effigies of Gerard Healy and Andrew Demetriou, but we don’t want to risk being arrested and denied bail, and missing out on Saturday evening’s big clash. Besides, it’s raining out.

So while we stop short of calling for beheadings, we’re protesting in the best way we know – by posting an angry blog.

The quickest way to select our all-Australian team would be to simply name all the number 23s – there’s 18 of them after all. You’d have Buddy at full forward and Darren Glass at full back and just slot the rest in around them. Then we realised that one of the 23s is Daniel Jackson of Richmond, so even though it’s just a fantasy team, we still didn’t want it to be to the discredit of the other players selected.

So we’ll work through the official AFL side and make our own minor changes where we see fit. Really, you’ll barely notice the difference.


Back: Sean Dempster, Luke McPharlin, Darren Glass

Who is Sean Dempster?  I’m not even sure Saints fans know who he is. Can we trust him down back? I think for the good of the team we need to replace him with Josh Gibson – you need someone to pull the chicks at Boutique after the match and Gibbo’s the man. Luke McPharlin – you’ve got to be joking. As someone who left Hawthorn, he can’t use this team as a Trojan horse to sneak back into a rep team and play alongside Buddy. Glass can stay, after all, he wears number 23, and he can move to full back so that we can pop Gibson in the other back pocket as well – hey it’s a fantasy team and Goo is still injured!

Half-back: Beau Waters, Ted Richards, Grant Birchall

Beau Waters has a broken foot so he’s not much good to anyone, in which case we’ll slot Silk Burgoyne into the half back flank, just to add a touch of poise and composure.


Centre: Trent Cotchin, Jobe Watson, Dayne Beams

Cotchin’s quite good; I like how his hair stays in place like a figurine, but clearly Sammy has to replace Watson. Sure Watson’s a good player, but he's from Essendon, and he led his side to eight, or was it nine successive defeats? During the same period, Sammy got the ball out to our runners leading to eight wins out of nine. Admittedly Watson had to get the ball out to himself as he has no one half decent to feed it to, but that shouldn’t count against Sam.  And if you want to compare their effectiveness against each other – well, Hawthorn smashed the Bombers by 94 points…without Buddy! 'Nuff said. On the other wing, I think we need a dasher with a long left foot, and no bogan tatts…out Beams; in Clinton Young.


Half-forward: Patrick Dangerfield, Lance Franklin, Cyril Rioli 

Can’t argue with this line really, and it’s just a shame that Dangerfield can’t play on the same side as Buddy and Cyril this weekend.  He can stay - he wears number 32, which is 23 backwards.


Forward: Stephen Milne, Tom Hawkins, Dean Cox 

Are they taking the piss with this forward line? Even though this is a fantasy team, no one wants to share a dressing room with Milne, and certainly no one wants to be in the same fantasy as him. If we need a small forward, why not young Breust, who can at least perform in the big games. Tom Hawkins has 'Hawk' in his name, and despite kicking the winning goal against us this year, his foppish coiffure at least looks the part. And Cox can go in the ruck – what’s he doing in a pocket? Clearly The Rough is our forward/second ruck.


Followers:  Nic Natanui, Scott Thompson, Gary Ablett Jnr. 

Look, Natanui has a good leap, but that’s about it at this stage. Both Collingwood and Hawthorn have beaten him soundly in the past few weeks, so we’ll put Dean Cox first ruck, Ablett can stay for the simple reason that he’s been the best player in the AFL for about six consecutive years and his dad and uncles all played for Hawthorn. And while Scott Thompson is good, I think we need Jordan Lewis’ midfield grunt at the opening bounce, to say nothing of his Wolverine beard.


Interchange: Dayne Swan, Scott Pendlebury, Josh Kennedy, Brett Delidio 

This is the miscellaneous section where they chuck all the players they couldn’t fit anywhere else. This quartet are certainly all good players, but we’re going to have to replace a couple so that Sewell and Hodge can get in. I mean it’s hardly fair that Hodge missed out just because he was injured for most of the season; he’s still one of the best. Kennedy can stay because of his Hawthorn heritage, and Pendlebury can stay because he’s a fantastic player, but Deledio will have to go – I mean we’ve already got Cotchin and there's never room for two Richmond players in a representative side. And Swan can’t stay purely from an aesthetic perspective – those tatts! He can be emergency.

So here’s the Twenty3 all-Australian side for 2012…

B: Gibson, Glass, Gibson

HB: Burgoyne, Richards, Birchall

C: Cotchin, Mitchell, Young

HF: Dangerfield, Franklin, Rioli

F: Breust, Hawkins, Roughead

Followers: Cox, Lewis, Ablett

Int: Kennedy, Hodge, Sewell, Pendlebury

There, that’s better. Only 12 Hawthorn players in the line-up which I think illustrates the impartial and objective way we approached selection. We couldn't even find room for Schoenmakers.

Eleven Seasons - a novel by Paul D Carter

Eleven Seasons by Paul D Carter, Allen and Unwin


If the measure of a good book is how soon Hawthorn is mentioned, then Paul D Carter’s debut novel, Eleven Seasons, is in the top rank as it takes just six words before the reader’s retinas fix on the magic letters. Not only that, but on page 1 we also scan the names Michael Tuck and Gary Ayers, and on page 2 we read Lethal Leigh and Dipper. There’s even a school teacher called Mr Cyril – now that can’t be coincidental can it?

Arguably it is this roll call of great Hawthorn names that helped Eleven Seasons win this year’s Vogel prize, an accolade bestowed on the best unpublished manuscript by a writer under the age of 35.

Ostensibly this is a coming of age novel about a young boy, Jason Dalton, who is obsessed by football in general and Hawthorn in particular. We first meet him arranging his collection of 1985 Hawthorn football cards.  He lives with his mum in a small flat and attends Hawthorn games with a school friend and his father. The story follows him through the titular eleven seasons that make up his formative years.

He is also a gifted player and his early arguments with his mum about the dangers of playing the game initiates the conflict that marks their relationship as he moves through his teenage years. She is a single mum who works long shifts as a nurse to support them both and Carter paints a painfully realistic portrait of the tensions that might signify the relationship between a hard-working single mum and adolescent son. Jason is an independent teenager and he gradually shifts to a new crowd and new interests, but continues to play football, which is the environment in which he seems most able to express himself.

It’s a strong novel with rich characterisation and a tight narrative that portrays mother-son estrangement, awkward teenage boy-girl relationships, and the inner life of an adolescent Australian male in a truly believable manner. It is particularly strong when dealing with the dynamics of a local football team, both on and off the field, and the excitement of attending the 1988 Grand Final where Hawthorn defeated Melbourne. Plus there’s a family secret to propel the action along.

So all good you’d think, but for all these positive elements there are some gaping thematic and narrative holes. For instance, how can a book which purports to deal with Hawthorn from 1985 to 1995 fail to mention the 1989 Grand Final, certainly the most famous match of the era and arguably the greatest Grand Final of all time?

And if you’re covering eleven Hawthorn seasons, wouldn’t you start in say 1981 or so and go through the period incorporating eight grand Finals in nine years (1983-1991), including seven in succession? Or if it has to be 1985 to 1995, wouldn’t you drag it out one more year and incorporate the merger debate of 1996? If that alone isn’t a rich vein of thematic redemption to mine, then what is?  All novels would be improved by  the appearance of Don Scott.

I mean sure, characterisation and plot are important, and Carter should be proud of the stark and accurate portrayal of the pubescent male mind he presents here, but why are there not two or three chapters devoted to Dermie? Even if just to his hairstyles? Really, it’s a missed opportunity, and not just for this novel; all Australian literature suffers for a lack of analysis and narrative covering Hawthorn’s golden era.

The Napoleonic wars have Tolstoy's War and Peace, Indian independence has Rushdie's Midnight’s Children, the Prague uprising has Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Stalinist Russia has Solzhenitsyn's Gulag Archipelago, Tudor England has Mantel's Wolf Hall and 80s Wall Street has Wolfe's The Bonfire of the Vanities and Ellis' American Psycho. All great eras of history deserve to be chronicled by a novel of vision and lyricism, and Eleven Seasons could have been that book for perhaps the greatest era of all – Hawthorn’s 80s dominance. Sadly, it lets itself down by focusing too much on literary tropes and not enough on Hawthorn.

The answer for this might lie in the author biography at the front of the book, where it says that Paul D Carter, “spent much of his youth going to Collingwood football matches with his dad and brother, Marcus. “  Very disturbing. Hawthorn fans detecting only a superficial knowledge of Hawthorn find here the basis for their suspicions. Perhaps the failings of the book stem from a lack of in depth understanding of what it really means to be a Hawk fan?

I also fear that the publisher, Allen& Unwin, hasn’t helped by binding these pages in such a bland cover. Why would you have a stock picture of an adolescent looking enigmatically upwards and to the left, when you could have a photo of Dermie being helped to his feet vomiting after being hit in the first minute of the ‘89 Grand Final? Or just any pic featuring Dermie’s mullet, Dipper’s tash, Lethal’s elbow or Plats’ plaits.

Sure the cover may suit the novel’s contents, but that’s hardly the point of marketing. In the world of Australian literature, sales of 2,000 are considered healthy and respectable; sales of 5,000 constitute a wild success. So given Hawthorn has over 60,000 members, if you slap a photo of the mighty brown and golds on the front - if only for the Victorian market – you’ve got potentially 10,000 people who will at least pick up the book in a bookshop, and some of them might even buy it.

Oh well, for all that Eleven Seasons is at least a book about Hawthorn, which automatically places it in the top shelf of Oz lit. In fact it joins a rich tradition of great books about Hawthorn – Harry Potter wears a Hawks scarf, Patrick White’s recently re-published first novel, Happy Valley has a hawk hovering ominously over the action, and it’s been a long time since I read it, but I can only assume Gunter Grass’ novel, The Rat, is about John Platten.

So if you want a literary distraction over the next fortnight in the lead-up to the Preliminary, and hopefully, the Grand Final, then Eleven Seasons is as good a Hawthorn novel as you’re likely to read this year.

Qualifying Final - Hawthorn v Collingwood

Friday 7 September 2012, MCG

Riding the bumps (and slaps and punches) with a grin

The moment

Hawthorn: we had our pav beating Collingwood,
and ate it too watching Freo win
photo: womanssday ninemsm

What a triumph! A tour-de-force! You couldn’t help but be excited when the ball sailed through the big sticks to seal the game. Tell me you didn’t leap from your seat and fist pump the air while emitting a primal guttural war cry. Tell me you didn’t have a private thought of the “It’s ours!” variety before reaching for your phone to send a gloating text to a Hawk buddy. It was a truly great finals moment; just reward for a performance of energy, endeavour and enterprise – one that may well go down in the pantheon of great Hawthorn finals moments along with Dermie’s first quarter mark and goal in 89, Stewie Dew’s famous five minutes in 08 or Buddy’s 55 metre winner on the siren in 07 against the Crows – when with just over four minutes to go and the game still in the balance, Pav gathered the loose ball and coolly slotted the sealer from 45 out at the Jolimont end! Freo had won and Geelong was out of the finals! We’re really in with a chance now.

Sure our victory over Collingwood the night before was a glorious and courageous and all that, but even when the siren rang the spectre of Geelong still hung over us like a pall. But Freo lifted that and like new religious converts who can suddenly see the light, Hawk fans can now make out a clear and direct path to the Grand Final.

It was a fantastic weekend; with Hawthorn’s mighty win over the Pies and Freo knocking out bogey team Geelong, only an invite to a snooker night with Prince Harry or a torrid night of passion with Marieke Hardy could have made it more exhilarating and exciting.

We shouldn’t get too excited by Freo knocking out Geelong; after all, we might have to play the Dockers now and it’s scary to think how many goals Pavlich might kick on Schoenmakers. But we can enjoy the moment, particularly coming so soon after our own famous victory.


The missing

The expectant mood in the Bullring bar was brought down a peg or two when the news came through that Lewis was out. Not only was he our best finals performer last year, but it meant that from a likely starting 22 the week before, we were now missing Lewis, Guerra and Young; being replaced by Ellis, Murphy and Savage respectively. Not a terrible trio it’s true, but Ellis lacks Lewis’ he-man hardness and Wolverine beard, Murphy doesn't have Guerra’s poise or Beatles rug, and Savage can't boast Young’s pace or penetrating kick, but does at least have a sleek, suedehead cut.

Still, we reflected, when we beat Collingwood in Round 17 we were missing Franklin and Hodge, so if we can cover those two, we can cover just about anyone.  Then it got worse when Whitecross went down early in the first quarter.

And then what do you know? Ellis and Savage played as well as we could hope – perhaps even as well as the players they replaced. In the first quarter Savage took a handball from Buddy and rolled it through form the pocket; in the second quarter he kicked one on the run from 50, then got a pass to Buddy right on the half time siren.

Recalling Ellis’ fantastic game in the 08 Grand Final, he might just be a finals specialist. He gathered kicks all over the ground, his passing was precise, in the third he smothered a Collingwood clearance, gathered and kicked forward to Gunston who goaled. Then he soccered through the opening goal of the final term.  He was among our best players.

Murphy did most of what he was asked – spoiling and clean kicking. A poorly judged double fist over the line when he could have marked and a 50 metre penalty to gift Krackouer a goal were his only mistakes, and in such a fierce and frenetic game, that’s not too bad.


The match

Friday 7 September was a momentous day in world affairs – not only was Hawthorn opening its finals campaign against Collingwood, but Bob Dylan released his new album, ‘Tempest’, a title, as it turns out, that is quite apposite to the gusty and fiery mood of the match.

And if one of the tracks from the album called ‘Pay in Blood’ aptly describes how Hawthorn heroically withstood Collingwood’s premeditated dirty tactics (by the end so many Hawthorn players had bandages around their heads they resembled escapees from the recent Tutankhamun exhibition), then we can lift a line from the second track to describe the dilemma of any match correspondent with the task of assessing Hawthorn’s performance: “I’m searching for phrases to sing your praises.” For Hawthorn was fantastic. In a tight, intense battle, our boys showed resilience, patience and flair, and kept the ball moving forward relentlessly at all times.

Buddy spent the best part of the first quarter being subjected to Tarrant’s attempt at some form of frottage mixed with BDSM tactics, replete with slaps, verbal abuse and groping. I mean some people are into that sort of thing, and I’m not suggesting Buddy isn’t, or that he didn’t enjoy it, but there’s a time and place…and that is after midnight at The Peel.  And even there you generally get to choose someone more alluring than Tarrant. Certainly someone better dressed.

But after 17 minutes without a goal, the entire crowd was being tormented by a sort of sexual frustration – until Hodge finally got sick of it, dug the ball out of a pack in the forward pocket, said “Out of the way for fuck’s sake!” and banged one through. At that point it didn’t seem like we were in for a 20 goals to 15 game, but it seems it only took one goal for the players to remember what they were there for and to get on with kicking more. A couple of (ordinary) Collingwood goals were then followed by a strong Birchall challenge and interception and a pass to Cyril who goaled from the square. Sublime.

Collingwood hit the front again in the second quarter before Hawthorn scored three late goals leading into half time: one to Smith, one to Hale from a free kick (more on that in The Maxwell factor, below), and one to Buddy after the siren. An 18 point half time lead was good, but the better signifier was how well they were playing: Mitchell, Sewell, Gibson, Breust, Ellis and Rioli, were all playing superb games, and Buddy was just beginning to get warm.


The Maxwell factor

Fairly or unfairly, Nick Maxwell is thought by many football fans to be the worst captain in the AFL. This of course is entirely subjective. I can’t think of any off the top of my head who are definitively worse, but I don’t even know the captains of the Bulldogs or Port Adelaide, so I wouldn’t want to rush to ill-considered judgement. Although having seen the Bulldogs play this season, I’m not certain they have a captain. But even so, Maxwell didn’t exactly do anything on Friday night to turn around public sentiment.

In the second quarter at a stoppage Maxwell put a blatant block on Buddy about 20 metres away as our man prepared to run past the contest towards goal – presumably planning to collect the ball on the way through. The free kick was awarded to Hale who goaled at a crucial moment. (To see vision of Buckley carrying on in the box about umpiring at this point – with a free kick count of 10-3 in Collingwood’s favour was truly laughable – even by the high benchmark of Collingwood whingeing).

In the third quarter, Maxwell, having not learned, runs at Puopolo approximately 30 metres off the ball and breaks his nose. The umpire was going to award the free kick but Hawthorn went on and kicked the goal anyway. Quite rightly Maxwell was reported.

In the final quarter, Hodge marked on an acute angle and as the umpire asked him to get back five metres, Maxwell actually took two steps forward to within about five inches of Hodge – a 50 metre penalty was duly awarded and Hodge's difficult kick from the pocket became a straight forward shot from the goal square.

It also didn’t escape my notice that it was Maxwell against whom Whitecross was competing for a mark when he sustained his knee injury. Now I’m not suggesting that Maxwell acted in any way that brought about Whitecross’ injury, I’m just highlighting the coincidence that he was there when The Poo went down, and he was on hand when Whitecross went down. You draw your own conclusions.

So in total, I make it a behind the play hit leading to a report and two week suspension, giving away a free kick and crucial goal when scores were close and giving away a 50 metre penalty leading to another goal, which I’ll call the sealer. Nice work Nick. Captain’s effort. The good news for Collingwood fans is that he won’t be playing for the next two weeks, so they might yet rebound.


The momentum

I’m not going to slavishly detail every goal, great as they all were, but it would be remiss of me not to highlight the nice two goal turnaround early in the third due to Collingwood's clumsy ill-discipline. Cloke had marked close to goal when Tarrant put Buddy down behind play. The ball was taken off Cloke and Buddy got it down our end where Hale marked and goaled. Also in the third quarter The Rough tapped the ball through the legs of a Collingwood defender and on to Cyril who ran in and goaled. Brilliant.

And I should also highlight the opening minutes of the final quarter, when we transformed a lead of 24 points to a match winning 49 points within the space of a few minutes. Firstly, Ellis soccered it off the ground for a goal. Then Shiels kicked a long ball in; Franklin marked and dished off to The Rough who ran into an open goal. Smith then kicked forward and Hodge marked in the pocket, and goaled after a 50 metre penalty. Hawks intercepted, Cyril got it to Buddy. Big goal! Then Buddy finished off with one more and struck a pose that all the papers could use in the next day’s papers.

All the match lacked was a shot of Eddie looking glum in the grandstand.

It was a great final and (a)rousing victory. I can't actually remember us playing Adelaide or Freo, but presumably we did and we must have beaten them, so we've got a real chance against any of the remaining teams. We're getting close and pre-season predictions are gradually turning to expectation and blind hope into hype.


Final scores: Hawthorn  20  15  135  d  Collingwood  15  7  97


Buddy goal tally - 4 = 63  Buddy behind tally - 3 = total, 55


What we loved: the Hawthorn crowd. It’s not often that a team can match Collingwood for support at a final, but the brown ‘n’ gold contingent were loud and colourful, and perhaps even made up the majority of the crowd. We certainly drowned them out.

Also, in The Final Story documentary about the 1975 Grand Final screened on Channel 7 on Sunday, Big Al Martello looks younger now than he did nearly 40 years ago in the mid 70s. Leon Rice on the other hand…

In memory of John McCarthy, Collingwood & Port Adelaide, 1989-2012

Round 23 - Hawthorn v West Coast Eagles

Friday 31 August 2012, MCG

Hawk couture

Luke Hodge leads the boys out for
fashion week

Melbourne Spring Fashion week launched on Friday night so it’s only fitting that Hawthorn’s brown and gold vertical stripes were on prominent display on national television.  What better way to showcase Melbourne fashion than to send the iconic poo and wee design of the Hawthorn jumper down the MCG catwalk.  This colour scheme codifies the expending of waste, the voiding of the unnecessary, and in doing so celebrates the essential and elemental in life, and positions Hawthorn as fundamental, or at least at the fundament, of existence.  The alternating stripes, meanwhile, hint at duality, at interdependence or yin and yang, while the clean lines and lightweight fabric accentuate muscular tone. Teamed with a brown short with gold trim and hooped hosiery, the ensemble makes a bold and daring statement that the wearer is adventurous, an ideas person, most likely with a killer left boot. It is the very finest in exquisite haute couture, or as I call it, ‘hawk couture’. I wouldn’t wear anything else.

When we played the Eagles in Perth in Round 3, we kicked five goals for the entire match. This time we had five goals half way through the first quarter and by quarter time Buddy had kicked four and set up two others. At seven goals to one at the first break it was looking pleasingly like another win in excess of 10 goals with Buddy making a claim for his third Coleman medal.  We were certainly looking good, and not just in a fashion sense.

There was run, flair and attack. Mitchell and Sewell were winning it in the centre and getting it forward quickly where Buddy did his thing. Buddy running on to a Suckling kick and poking it over the line for his second; Buddy getting on the end of some precision passing and slotting them from 50; Smith getting a short one from The Rough and running into the goal square unimpeded, duffing the kick but still scoring – it was that sort of quarter.  “Fabulous, darling” to appropriate fashion parlance. "Bubbles?"

But as we know, fashion doesn’t last, which is a good thing if we’re talking about stonewash denim, but less desirable in this sense. From quarter time the match tightened up and was reasonably even for the remainder, dour eve. The Eagles even threatening briefly in the final quarter – a fashion faux pas if ever there was one. But goals to Breust and Hale snuffed out what faint hope they had – hope that sprang largely from some strange umpiring decisions, but still, it was enough to send a moment of unwanted anxiety through Hawk fans.

So not a classic Hawks victory, but the Eagles are a good team who have been on or near the top all season, so it was still impressive. We managed to nullify Cox, Natanui, and Kerr for much of the evening, and even if they managed to restrict the Hawks for three quarters, it was effectively too late by then.

A healthy crowd of over 50,000 for a match against an interstate team was impressive given that Essendon and Collingwood drew only marginally more the following night – perhaps it’s time to rethink the ANZAC Day draw?

And the crowd provided two major highlights: in the first quarter when Josh Kennedy went into his convulsive, stuttering run up, the crowd literally burst out laughing as one, like the mass hilarity that grips the Romans in "Life of Brian" when the Emperor calls “Fwee Wodewick!” Kennedy missed and I can’t help thinking it was partly due to embarrassment. The second moment was the Cyril chant as the camera showed him sitting on the bench wearing the sub vest – a garment we probably shouldn’t dwell on in fashion week. I’ve never before heard a chant go up for a sub, and the roar that greeted his entry was probably the loudest for the night.

So top spot secured and with it, what is referred to as the ‘minor premiership’ though given we won it from a fair way back, it was a major achievement. Nice work Hawks! Best dressed in more ways than one.

Final scores: Hawthorn  14  11  95 d West Coast  10  10  70

Buddy goal tally – 4 = total, 59

Buddy behind tally – 1 = total, 53

So not quite the 100 goals 100 behinds we wanted. Richmond's Riewoldt won the Coleman - at least he now knows what the phrase "hollow victory" means. Given Buddy missed six games and still finished only six goals behind, perhaps they shouldn't award the Coleman this year.

What we loved: Top spot, the double chance and a home final. And The Rough of course!

What we loathed: the injury to Goo. We need his mongrel in the finals.

And what was McInerney doing stopping Buddy in mid stride as he walked in to take his shot on the half time siren? Since when is that ok?

The essence of fashion

Round 22 - Sydney v Hawthorn

Saturday 25 August, Sydney Cricket Ground

Hawks on top in Sin City

Readers who saw last week’s blog will have seen the dedication I included for my Dad, Peter, who died during the week.  This week’s post is therefore quite difficult to write, and belated as a result. For while I’ve spent the week in a fog of grief, I also find myself reporting on Hawthorn’s most exhilarating and memorable victory of the season so far, defeating the Swans in Sydney and grabbing top spot in the process.

It is surreal to write about the match in the context of Dad’s death, but that’s the context in which I experienced it, so it’s all I can do.

Also surreal was applying sunscreen before the match, for I had made the trip to Sydney, having arranged it some months previous. And the temperature was in the balmy mid 20s in mid afternoon. Although I was also torn between whether I should or shouldn’t go, in the end I went. And while I’d like to justify my decision on the basis that Dad would have wanted me to go, I can’t really; he wasn’t a Hawthorn fan – not even a football fan. He supported Liverpool and didn’t pay any more attention to Aussie Rules than his football mad family imposed on him. At best he would have wanted me to go purely because I’d already paid for it all. And this was essentially the reasoning to which I succumbed. I’m still not sure, however, whether it was the right decision. But, I reasoned, I was going to watch the match anyway, regardless of where I was, so I may as well be at the ground. Besides, Buddy was finally set to play.

Cheers, Buddy!

The Swans have been based in Sydney for 30 years, yet in all that time, which amounts to a generation, the local fans have still not grasped the finer points of the game’s adjudication. As a collective, is there a group of footy fans less conversant with the rules and nuances of the game? They moaned so much at every Hawthorn free kick you’d have thought the free kick count was 26 – 12 in our favour, and not theirs, as was actually the case. Early in the match Adam Goodes was penalised for deliberate out of bounds after he actually handballed it over the line, so not an entirely unreasonable decision, but it meant that from then on, every time the ball went out, a howl of indignant protest went up.  It was like a pantomime audience who have spied the bad guy doing something despicable behind the back of the good guy and try to warn him.

Which is a pity; because Sydney is a great team and they deserve a more knowledgeable crowd.  Their first quarter and a half was tough and intense and Hawthorn simply couldn’t get a clean disposal away. The backdrop of demolition at the city end of the ground is fitting scenery for the sort of siege football Sydney plays. It not only looks like they’re playing in a war zone, but their style of play is similar to a guerrilla unit in urban warfare.

Having seen a few Swans game this season, it’s a pattern that has occurred a few times previous; most notably against Essendon and Geelong, where they start with high intensity and establish a strong lead early, but are so exhausted they find it difficult to withstand the opposition late in the game. I was still desperately clinging to that thought as we slipped six goals down half way through the second quarter.

But then...welcome back Buddy! Three goals in 10 minutes as part of a mini glut of seven got the Hawks right back into the match, and only a late goal to the Swans prevented us from an unexpected half time lead.

In the third quarter we continued to play well and goaled through The Poo and Shields before Gunston snapped one to help us edge ahead at three quarter time.

I thought we were getting on top by the final change, but Sydney turned it on again in the last quarter and seemed to wrest the advantage around the ground, with Goodes typically getting the lead back for them. Happily a great free kick to The Poo helped raise the ire of the Sydney fans and got us back in it. Another goal to Buddy after a brilliant pass from Mitchell and then when Buddy set up Suckling, the scores were level.

When O’Keefe put Sydney in front with a great goal, I still gave us some hope, despite our poor record in close matches this season.  Surely we'd learned something from the Geelong match! Then Hodge set us up with a pass that may have been intended for Buddy, but which Burgoyne floated across to take. And to be honest, I was more confident of Burgoyne putting it through than I would have been if Buddy had taken the kick. With over 30 minutes gone, we still needed to win and maintain possession, and Hale and Mitchell got it out to Sewell who ran and bounced and slotted it from 50 to secure our most exciting and dramatic win of the season. I haven’t been as exultant all year as at that moment and I may have even executed one or two graceless leaps in the aisle waving my brown and gold scarf.

Another reason for my trip to Sydney was to visit an exhibition devoted to Patrick White, the Australian novelist who won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1973. A long time reader of White, I was thrilled to see his notebooks with his original handwritten manuscripts for what became his great literary masterpieces. Impossible to decipher, but the raw stuff of art nonetheless. And for a lover of literature and Patrick White, quite breathtaking, though in the final analysis, not as exhilarating as watching that final brace of goals from Burgoyne and Sewell. This match was a masterpiece in its own right; I just hope we can follow it up it if we have to meet Sydney in the finals.

Interestingly, the Nobel Prize itself is included in the exhibition: it is a large gold medal that comes with a certificate signed by the King of Sweden, but which looks like it was designed by an admin assistant who has just discovered Photoshop.

While all the attention in this match went to Buddy’s return, it’s worth noting that Hodge played a great game and that Burgoyne played probably his best all-round game since coming to Hawthorn. Like Sewell, who is in ripping form, Burgoyne is playing superb, assured football each week. If the Norm Smith medal is the Nobel Prize’s equivalent, and why shouldn’t it be, I give him every chance of winning it if we can get there.


Final scores: Hawthorn 15  12  102  d  Sydney 14  11  95


Buddy goal tally: 4 = total, 55. Buddy behind tally: 3 = total, 52


What we loved: We’re on top!

Also Carlton getting beaten by the Gold Coast Suns and blowing their finals chances. Nearly as enjoyable as Hawthorn’s win.

Round 21 - Hawthorn v Gold Coast Suns

MCG, Sunday 19 August 2012

Kokoda - land of the sinking suns

"Nausea, dizziness and headaches"
- little wonder

I’ve been unwell over the past few days, laid low by a virulent winter bug that has ravaged most of my family and friends in recent weeks. Not to be too melodramatic about it or appear like I’m a hapless hypochondriac, but it was really quite debilitating, involving a sore throat, fever, night sweats, a wracking cough, dizziness and a runny nose. At its worst I was on six Panadol and a pack of Butter Menthol a day. So quite bad you’ll agree, but with a nice easy game against the Gold Coast Suns approaching and the prospect of Buddy’s return to the team, I dragged myself heroically from my sick bed and headed to the G, only to learn via radio on the way that Buddy was out due to illness! Illness! What about me? I was making the effort; the least Buddy could do is turn up and slot a few goals. They didn’t have to be spectacular goals; just your routine, running, four bounces while dodging three defenders type goals would be fine.

I checked the Hawks website which informed me that he’d awoken on Saturday night with nausea, dizziness and headaches.  I also saw on the website that this was the Kokoda round and I immediately put two and two together: excited at the prospect of playing again, Buddy had gone to sleep with his match day jumper on the next pillow. Waking during the night he stared at the Kokoda jumper alongside him and was immediately overcome with nausea, dizziness and headaches induced by the riot of murky colours swirling about in the jumper design. Quite understandable really. What’s remarkable about the jumper design is not so much its sartorial drabness, although that is quite marked, but that it evokes in the viewer similar feelings of deprivation and hardship felt by the Australian troops who were actually under siege by Japanese forces in Papua New Guinea during the Second World War. Mind you, it’s still not as bad as the Suns’ Ironman inspired getup.


Behind the grassy knoll

While still in the car listening to Triple M Footy broadcast the Dogs v Swans game, the crew reported the rumours circulating on Twitter about the ‘real’ reason behind Buddy’s absence. You guessed it, the old three strikes story again. It seems that every time Buddy is late for a tattoo inking session or misses an appointment with his hair stylist, the same story that started in 2008 immediately resurfaces – that it’s an AFL suspension pending an announcement about failing a third drugs test. Surely people, we’re over this particular scuttlebutt. There are more conspiracy theories surrounding Buddy missing one match than there are about JFK’s assassination. As for Triple M reporting meaningless static from the Twittersphere as if it is news, well, that is simply staggering.  Mind you, given the songs they play in the name of music, it’s also not surprising.

But really, these mad conspiracy theories about Buddy have got to stop. Who is putting them about? The media? The Ballieu government? The ALP’s faceless men? The CIA, The US government? Mick Malthouse? You may scoff at any connection with these known agitators, these dark conservative forces, but their involvement is not so far-fetched. The reason behind Buddy’s prolonged absence has nothing to do with the AFL’s three strikes drug policy, his recent car accident, losing his licence for speeding, the misogynistic slogans of his t-shirt company or his choice of swimwear. There’s no second gun and no one sheltering behind a grassy knoll. I have it on good authority that the real reason for Buddy's extended spell on the sidelines stems from legal complexities surrounding his application for political asylum to Ecuador. Buddy has been out for the same period as Julian Assange has been holed up in the Ecuadorian embassy in London. Coincidence? I think not. Like all freedom fighters and vigilantes for truth, Buddy is routinely persecuted by dark forces of evil (Mick Malthouse) and my best guess is that he’s joining Julian Assange seeking refuge in the Ecuadorean embassy. Well it’s just as likely as the three strikes scenario.


On the hallowed turf

There was a crowd of 23,098 (23!) at the MCG for this match being played in the Twilght Zone timeslot of 4.40 on a Sunday.  It’s lucky the announcement about Buddy’s withdrawal was left until late, because otherwise a good 25 per cent of these people may well have stayed home. And we could have dwindled to an NRL-size gathering.

It was disappointing for those who did turn up that Buddy wasn’t playing, but at least Gary Ablett was out there putting on a show.  He’s about the closest thing in the AFL to a one-man team, similar to Chris Judd in his first year at Carlton, or even Jobe Watson this year at Essendon.  Ablett was everywhere, and sure he made a few mistakes – kicking out on the full, dribbling it out of bounds, getting caught holding the ball in the goal square – but he had so much of the ball that it was inevitable really. His mistakes largely come because his team mates don’t know how to support him or he’s caught trying to bail one of them out of dire peril. I certainly won’t begrudge him another Brownlow for the trouble he goes to each week, though obviously I’d rather see the medal draped around Roughead’s elegant neck. Having said that, in assessing the match at the end, we decided Ablett deserved the 3, 2 and 1 Brownlow votes.

As for the Hawks, well it wasn’t our most polished and determined effort, and hardly befitting the Kokoda spirit supposedly enshrined in the jumper we were wearing. Let’s just say that if the blokes defending Port Moresby on the Kokoda in the Second World War displayed a similar level of intensity and determination, then they’d have never turned back the Japanese armed forces. But the Hawks were only playing the Suns, who don’t have quite the firepower of the Japanese military. And while Japan may be known as the land of the rising sun - it will be a few more years before these particular Suns rise too much higher up the ladder.

In the end the Hawks won by 10 goals in a game where, thanks to other results going our way, a win by any margin was sufficient. And we did it without our two best forwards, our best midfielder and our best defender. Not quite the backs to the wall performance of the original Kokoda fighters, but a reasonable effort all things considered.  It was hardly inspiring, but it was never going to be. Smith kicked a couple of nice running goals, Hodge was busy and precise, Gunston marked and kicked well, Bateman was back, Lewis was being a he-man as always, Ellis was getting the ball and only turning it over occasionally, but slotting a couple of goals, while The Cobbler kicked a beautiful right foot snap over his shoulder for the second of two first quarter goals – you won’t see that very often. Birchall and Hale were both excellent.

Remembering the dark days of the late 90s and mid noughties, I’ll take a 10 goal win against anyone any day.  I would just prefer the games were held at a time more conducive to watching football.  But either way, next week we have a chance to go to the top of the ladder if we beat the Swans. The Hawks don’t always play so well against Sydney, let alone in Sydney, especially without Cyril, but we won there last year and we’re playing better now than at that stage, so a win is possible. Hawks on top!


Final scores: Hawthorn 19  15  129 d Gold Coast Suns 10  5  65.


What we like: Essendon crashing and burning.

In loving memory of my Dad, Peter: 5/7/1930 - 21/8/2012

Round 20 - Hawthorn v Port Adelaide

Sunday 12 August 2012, Aurora Stadium, Launceston

A closing ceremony to remember

A specky!

You can only sit back and enjoy the incredible ball skills; the athleticism and litheness, the pivots and precision passing, the slick teamwork and synchronicity, the immaculate control and choreography, the deft touches and dextrous taps, the graceful movement and of course the provocative glimpses of gusset. Really, watching the ball routine in the women’s group rhythmic gymnastics final at the Olympics was a lot like watching Hawthorn’s final quarter burst against Port, with the possible exception of the gusset shots, though if that’s what you’re looking for…


And all of this was without Buddy or Cyril. Imagine how much more sprightly and sinuous we’ll be with Buddy and Cyril back in the line-up, rolling the ball down one arm, across the back of their shoulders and then down the other, or bouncing it off their crotches into a team mate's waiting arms.

Schoenmakers' ball routine in the rhythmic gymnastics final

For while the closing ceremony of the Olympic Games was held in London on Sunday night London time, a far more dynamic and exciting closing ceremony took place in Launceston on Sunday afternoon. I mean as far as closing ceremonies go, how can you beat an 11 goal final quarter? Sure you can revive a lot of tired old performers from the 80s to trot out their old hits – George Michael, Annie Lennox, Ray Davies, Madness, Pet Shop Boys  – all we needed was Bob Geldof and it could have been Live Aid all over again; they even had Freddie Mercury and he’s been dead for 20 years.  But how does that compare to Hale taking a contested mark to slot our first for the quarter, with the scores perilously close at 17 points! Followed by Gilham, of all people.  Then one for the Poo, another to Hale, another to The Poo, one to Suckling, then Hodgey iceing his 200th game with a nice goal, a third for the quarter to The Poo, making it five for the match, then Hale again, followed by Lewis and finally at the 33 minute mark, Goo dobs one! In 28 minutes we’d increased our lead by 55 points, from 17 points to 72! Surely that’s a far more spectacular finale than supermodels on trucks, Spice Girls in cabs and Russell Brand in a psychedelic bus.

Just on Queen though, it was one thing for Freddie to kneel in front of Brian May in a faux fellatio posture as the guitarist cranked out another overly long solo – after all, that was Freddie – but for 24 year old Jessie J, wearing a flesh coloured leotard, to adopt a similar pose in front of the 65 year old May as she took Freddie’s vocals for We Will Rock You, well that was just a little bit disturbing. Though I’m sure it gave Brian’s ax work an extra edge. And full marks to Brian May, whose familiar mien, though greying, must exceed even John Platten in the most enduring hairstyle stakes.


Sacked coach syndrome

In the weeks leading up to this match it seemed like it would form part of a mini oasis for Hawthorn; playing Port and Gold Coast in between a series of tough battles with five of the top eight teams. Added to this was Hawthorn’s blistering form over recent weeks, even taking into account the narrow loss to Geelong (sorry to remind you), and Port’s poor form.  So there really should have been nothing to worry about. Then Port lost to competition bunnies, GWS.

On one hand this suggests they’ve reached a form nadir, meaning there should be even less reason for Hawks fans to worry. Then however, Port sacked their coach Matthew Primus. Setting aside questions of why they appointed him in the first place, this move introduced ‘sacked coach syndrome’ into the match dynamic. And as everyone knows, nothing spurs on a team like the knowledge that they’ve just brought about the premature dismissal of their coach. Caretaker coaches often enjoy an unlikely victory first up. Added to this, Buddy still wasn’t fit to play and on the morning of the match The Rough is ruled out.

Things didn’t get any better when the game started with Port attacking the ball, winning possession and running free to create space. All of which saw them take the first five shots at goal. Happily, they missed more than they kicked, and when we eventually scrapped the ball forward, Gunston was awarded a free kick. Then, what a surprise, Cyril goes down behind play. Who would have thought that in Buddha Hocking’s first match as coach, a Hawthorn star would be flattened behind play, miles from the ball? Good to see Hodge taking on the entire Port team at the break, though perhaps it would have been more entertaining to see Clarko and Buddha go at it.

Thankfully Cyril got up and got things going for us with a clearance and goal within 10 seconds of the second quarter. A couple more deft touches from Cyril and we’d added six in a row, including a couple to the ‘X man’, Xavier Ellis, in his return match. But with Cyril subbed off after being crunched again, and a hardly commanding 26 point lead, I was thankful we were only playing Port.

As it is they outscored us in the third quarter, and when Stewart kicked the first goal of the final quarter we were only 17 points up and it looked like sacked coach syndrome was taking effect. Cue the dancers and choirs for the 11 goal closing ceremony.

The Hawks weren’t quite as assured in this match as the 72 point margin suggests, and we are still overly reliant on Sam Mitchell. Though in this match Birchall was equally good and proved how crucial he is to our performance.


Final scores: Hawthorn 24  15  159 d Port Adelaide 13  9  87


What we liked: The X man returning to the team. Sure there were a couple of dinky kicks that became turnovers, but I like him anyway. And you’ve gotta love The Poo’s 5 goals.

In our five matches without Buddy, we’ve won four and in each of those someone has kicked 4 or 5 goals: Gunston 4 against the Bulldogs, Lewis and Breust 5 each against Collingwood, Hodge 5 and Suckling 4 against Essendon, Gunston 4 against Geelong and The Poo 5 and Hale 4 against Port. Still, would like to see Buddy back this week – the 100 goals 100 behinds dream has faded in the past five weeks, but he can still win the Coleman.

What we didn’t like: Cyril going down behind play. And Hartlett gets just two weeks! And tries to overturn it! And worse: Cyril out for 2-3 weeks.


What bemused us: Geelong coach Chris Scott complaining about the umpires in the West Coast game. He didn’t seem quite so quick to criticise the week previous when Cyril wasn’t paid a free kick for his tackle on Mitch Duncan. And if the deliberate out of bounds rule was being so misapplied, why did the Geelong players keep appealing every single time the ball went out of bounds – often before it crossed the line. Watch the video. Perhaps if Chris Scott’s players stopped overreacting and appealing, the umpires might make less of it.

And on the Cyril non-free kick, Gieschen commented that it wasn’t a free because Duncan was blindsided and hadn’t seen Rioli. So it was Cyril’s fault for being too fast! What’s he meant to do – send an advance text? If we needed any further evidence that you don’t put Richmond people in charge of anything, this was it. Leash the Giecsh I say.

Round 19 - Hawthorn v Geelong

Friday 3 August, MCG

Groundhog Day…again

The sealer - the last time we beat Geelong

Is that a tautology, to say Groundhog Day again? Whatever the figure of speech, it was a cruel, heartbreaking loss for the Hawks. At quarter time victory was unthinkable; at three quarter time, just possible; with two minutes remaining, verging on inevitable; but by the final siren the loss was unbearable.

The pattern in most of the previous eight meetings between Hawthorn and Geelong is that we build up a nice lead, not unassailable (clearly), but useful, and then they haul us in, we fluff several attempts to seal the game and they overtake us with one or two minutes remaining. Well this time was different: they had an unassailable lead at quarter time which over the next three quarters we slowly, heroically eroded, overtaking them with a few minutes remaining. At last we had them! At last, a taste of their own medicine! Take that Chappy! How do you like that one Jimmy!

Of course we all know what happened next and I’m certainly not going to rake over it again. Witnessing it was horrific enough without having to offer a forensic breakdown of events.  For my views on Geelong see post 4 of this blog. 

I do have two questions though:

1. What did The Poo think he was doing? With the ball bouncing out in our forward pocket Puopolo suddenly imagined he was Steve Johnson attempting a sort of scissor kick from mid-air on the boundary line for the miracle goal. Fine when you’re 15 goals up on GWS, but not so strategically astute when you’re clinging to a narrow lead. Really, the best he could have hoped for was a behind, which would have been to Geelong’s advantage anyway. What we needed at that moment was possession, not points. Why wouldn’t you just let it bounce out of bounds? Or just take possession if you must and get bundled over the line? But kick it across goal to Geelong so they can run it upfield…

2. Why wasn’t Cyril awarded a free kick for incorrect disposal just prior to this? A Geelong player takes possession and attempts to dash out of defence with the ball, is tackled by Cyril and brought to the ground as the ball spills free. In what parallel version of the game is this not a free kick to the tackler? Had there been a sudden rule change at three quarter time that I was unaware of?  An umpiring oversight the next night that gave Collingwood victory over St.Kilda made it two matches in succession decided by blatant  umpiring error. Unforgivable.


The kick

As for Tom Hawkins’ winning kick, like every Hawks fan, I’ve been to enough of these Hawthorn Geelong matches to know that from the moment he took the mark he’d kick the goal. Never mind that he’d miss the same kick 9 times out of 10 against any other opponent at any other venue on any other day – against Hawthorn with one second left on the clock he was always going to slot it.

The day after the match was my son’s birthday and we went to Luna Park to celebrate. Riding the Scenic Railway I couldn’t help but reflect on the match. The slow climb up the first hill to the top resembled Hawthorn’s gradual, painstaking comeback; then the plateau where the balance was even. That moment, however, when we plummeted down the first steep dip and I felt the lurch in my stomach...that is exactly how I felt when the ball left Hawkins’ boot.


Coming second

But like most Australians, I’ve recently become accustomed to watching the subject of my support fail to live up to expectations, to trip at the last hurdle and come in second. Adam Scott at the British Open: four strokes up with four holes to play and he bogeys the lot to lose.  The Australian cricket team: number one in the world in one-day cricket – 4-nil losers to England with our best result being a washout. Samantha Stosur: cruising through Wimbledon only to lose to some no-name. Cadel Evans: running second and poised to strike in the Tour de France, only to fall back to the pack. Casey Stoner, Mark Webber – the ability to win is deserting Australians. And then the Olympics: the mens  4x100 relay team, James Magnussen – the fastest man in water, well, second fastest it would seem, Melanie Schlanger, Bronte Barratt, Emily Seebohm, Liesel Jones, Anna Meares, Mitchell Watt, the various rowing skulls…the list goes on. I already feel for Sally Pearson in the hurdles; as current world champion and an Australian she has virtually no chance. With this backdrop of sporting miscarriage, I was somewhat mentally equipped to cope with yet another narrow defeat to Geelong.


Laying blame

Of course I blame myself.  Thinking I was important; imagining I was part of some special coterie, I accepted an invitation to attend the match as part of a corporate function. This required me wearing a suit and tie, which meant I couldn’t wear my lucky ensemble – a brown/blue checked Jag shirt over a stylish v-neck tee depicting the history of Hawks logos – that I’ve donned for every match of our eight game winning streak.  This hubris of mine in believing I was some high-end wheeler and dealer may have cost us the match. Had I just sat in the usual spot in the MCC members with my normal Hawks believers in my normal footy gear, I feel it’s very likely we would have won. So don’t blame The Poo. Don’t blame The Cobbler. Blame me.

Having said that, the function was very nice with lively and engaging company, beautiful food (pan-fried salmon followed by a sort of rhubarb crumble), a liberal drinks menu, great elevated seats on the wing and a pre-match speech by Johnny Platten. The problem is of course that while I can masquerade as a debonair man of refined manners and wit for the duration of dinner, once the game starts I’m revealed for the Hawthorn hoodlum I truly am with shouts of “Ball!”, “Boo!” , “Deck him!” and probably worse. It was a 9 goal to 2 first quarter after all, so I suspect my carefully manufactured facade of urbane corporate sophistication was well and truly shredded by quarter time.

But it was no better in the Members. When I caught up with my friends post-match I learned that during the cut and thrust of inter-supporter banter during the game, one of my cohorts had been called the C-bomb. By a girl! To balance it out she’d also received a marriage proposal and a racially based tweet. Just another night in the MCC Members it seems.

And for us, in the end, just another narrow loss to the Cats. Possibly the cruellest one yet in our recent run. You get the sense Geelong planned it this way: Gain an unsurpassable lead, let them surpass it, let them believe, and then snatch it from them.

Perhaps the Kennett curse is real. We may just have to hold some public sacrificial flaying or burning of him before we can hope to beat Geelong again. On the other hand, if this is the price we’re paying for beating them in the 2008 Grand Final, then fine. It’s worth it. They can have all the home & away wins they like for all I care, so long as we can win the ones that really matter. And I suspect Geelong fans might feel the same way. The longer this goes on, the more fretful they’ll be on Grand Final day should we ever meet there again. Because this hoodoo has to end one day, and I’m sure Geelong would rather it be on some nondescript Friday night than on the last Saturday in September.


Final scores:  Geelong 18. 10. 118 d Hawthorn  17.  14.  116


Buddy goal tally - 0 = total, 51


Buddy behinds tally - 0 = total, 49


What we'd like: Buddy!


What we don't like: that we're doomed to have to watch that goal endlessly

Round 18 - Essendon v Hawthorn

Friday 27 July, Etihad Stadium

A celebration of Cyril 

Reclaiming the name

Thanks to Graham Kennedy and Blankety Blanks, there’s a generation of Australians who associate the name ‘Cyril’ with effete, camp men who speak with a lisp and illustrate their words with elaborate, theatrical gestures. It was a caricature of such strength that in the 1970s men named Cyril found other monikers to go by.  Thanks to Junior Rioli, however, a new generation of Australians now associate the name ‘Cyril’ with acts of speed, sublime skill, silky movement and strong tackling, all performed with a subtlety and grace Graham Kennedy’s ‘Cyril’ might have admired but would have been unable to emulate. Singlehandedly, Junior Rioli has reclaimed the name Cyril for men!

Equally significant, in his 100th match and for the second consecutive week, he has shown that he doesn’t need to have the most disposals to be the most influential player on the ground. In fact many of his most useful contributions come without him even taking possession of the ball – clever tap ons, sneaky interceptions, chase downs, tackles – and a good number of them result in goals. It was also fitting that he should turn it on against Essendon, the club who overlooked him in the 2007 draft for David Myers. Exactly…who?

I heard Cyril speak last year at a junior football club function where he was asked by one of the kids which team he most liked to beat. I don’t know if it was because he’d been overlooked by the Bombers or whether it was just because his cousin, Dean Rioli, was hosting the function, but he replied, “Essendon.”  And didn’t it show on Friday night? He pulled out all of his tricks and added a welcome recent addition: the dashing take away from the centre bounce with quick, precise forward delivery.

There was also a moment in the final quarter when Fletcher kicked out to an apparently free Dyson Heppell, but in the time it took the ball to get there, Cyril had got to the contest, leapt high to palm the ball to his own advantage in mid-air and then reeled in the mark. Now Heppell did nothing wrong – except for whatever he does to his hair each morning – and in normal circumstances Fletcher’s kick would have been ok, but Cyril has broadened the definition of what constitutes a ‘clanger’ to now mean any opposition kick to the vicinity of Cyril. Because he’ll get it. Every time.

As with Collingwood the previous week, Essendon defenders would take possession of the ball and take a few indecisive steps in no particular direction while thinking about what to do with the ball, without them or any of their team mates being aware of Cyril’s proximity. Have they never seen him play before? Surely by now they should be assuming that he is just about to mow them down.

The number 33 is seen to have religious significance because Jesus is said to have been crucified at the age of 33 in 33A.D. It is also the number of recorded miracles he is reported to have performed, so it is hardly drawing too long a bow to suggest that Cyril has developed a similar deity-like aura. After all, he's performed more than 33 miracles for Hawthorn and I wouldn't be at all surprised if, just like Jesus, he were to evade the tackle of the Grim Reaper when it comes.


Lighting the flame

Such was the theatricality, colour and movement of Hawthorn’s performance on Friday night; I thought it was part of the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games – a prequel, just without the massed children’s choirs and ex-Beatles. If the Olympic Games exist to celebrate sporting prowess and excellence in athletic achievement, then they can call them off now and save everyone a lot of time and money, because Hawthorn’s performance on Friday night was surely the pinnacle of sporting endeavour.

There seems to be a growing symbiosis between Hawthorn and the Olympic Games: not only did Hawthorn win its last flag in the previous Olympiad, but the five rings of the Olympic symbol represent the rings the Hawks ran around Essendon’s defence on Friday night. Likewise, the flame relay symbolised the scorching run and passing of Cyril, Hodge, Suckling and Birchall. In fact while watching the opening ceremony I half expected to see Cyril light the cauldron. Certainly if the organisers knew anything about sporting excellence they’d have handed him the torch, or at least a flaming Sherrin.

Other than this obvious shortcoming, the opening ceremony was inventive and spectacular. But best ever as some are saying? I don’t know; like many Hawk fans, I was at Waverley Park the day Angry Anderson sang ‘Bound for Glory’ from the Batmobile at half time in the 1991 Grand Final. Not sure London could top that.


Winning the game

While Cyril’s 100th game on Friday night was a significant milestone, of equal consequence was Luke Hodge’s return to the team. Not only was it heartening to see him taking strong marks and slot 5 goals, it illustrates the value of Hawthorn’s progressive workplace practices in that we can employ someone like Hodge on what seems to be a sort of job-share or part-time basis, and he still contributes. To underline this point further, I understand that he could be on paternity leave for the Grand Final. Good to see Hawthorn putting family values ahead of productivity, but should we putting it ahead of premierships?

It wasn’t all Cyril and Hodge though, the entire team clicked. Mitchell again was pivotal in the centre, as were Whitecross and Shiels, but down back Gibson, Goo, Burgoyne and Birchall were precise, Schoenmakers and Stratton were strong and Suckling damaging, kicking 4 goals – from a half back flank! And if he wasn’t kicking them, he was linking up with Young and Smith and getting it to Gunston who is beginning to live up the number 19 jumper, though he might need to stack on a few kilos if he really wants to fill the jumper bequeathed to him. Together with Breust and The Rough, who is also dominating around the ground, we are developing an even more potent forward line than we thought we had. Even when The Rough duffed a shot on goal, Gunston took a spectacular hanger and got the goal anyway. Even our mistakes made the highlight reel. And I was glad of the highlight reel, because I arrived a tad late and missed the first four goals. Young was slotting our fifth before I’d found my seat.

The goal that best illustrated the new Hawthorn juggernaut came late in the third: the Bombers kicked long to Winderlich who was by himself 25 metres from goal. Unable to gather cleanly, Schoenmakers and Guerra got to him with the Cobbler winning the ball, getting it to Goo, who kicked long to Whitecross on the wing. Whitecross passed to the Poo on the boundary, who kicked it inboard to Shiels on the 50, who ran in and kicked the long goal. Not one Essendon player touched it from Winderlich's fumble, and the roll-call of Hawthorn names involved in this passage showcases how well our second tier of players are performing.

As everyone is well aware, this goal glut came without Buddy. It's unlikely Gunston, Suckling and Breust can command the same Twitter following as Buddy, but they're currently combining for the same number goals that he normally kicks. It's also becoming increasingly apparent that we often play quite well when Buddy's not there. The most tantalising aspect of this is that he knows it and will be so annoyed by suggestions we don’t really need him, that he’ll bag double figures on his return.

This was one of our best performances of the year and like most Hawkers, I just love it when we smash the Bombers. Such was the thrill of goal on goal action that it nearly compensated for Etihad’s mid-strength beer – what's with that? And who wasn't overjoyed to see that turncoat Bomber Thompson fuming at quarter time? “Take that evil empire!” as one of my friends texted.

Of course I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t admit to being just a little disappointed that we didn’t get the margin up to 100 points. Just to rub it in a bit more and plunge them into a pre-finals crisis. For Essendon, Watson and Heppell played well, but the rest of them botched kicks, missed handballs and fumbled and stumbled their way through the match. I’m not sure if ability is the opposite of disability, but if it is, Essendon should apply for funding as part of the NDIS.

I’ll say something for Essendon supporters though; they stick around longer than Collingwood fans. Most of them were still there deep into the final quarter, entertaining some bizarre notion that they were still in the match, just getting their money's worth, or perhaps just staying where it was dry. Though the downpour of Hawthorn goals should have been enough to wash them out into the gutters, leaving the grand stands to the Hawks, just as we’d had the midfield to ourselves since the first bounce.


Final scores: Hawthorn 27  18  180 d Essendon 12  14  86

Buddy goal tally – 0, total = 51


Buddy behind tally – 0, total =49

What we liked: Cyril's artistry, Hodge's 5 goals, Max Bailey’s return, The Rough.

What we didn’t like – It was a shame that we didn't get to see Essendon wearing their school uniform grey clash strip, just to make their humiliation complete.

Next week: Oh dear, it's the Cats, but if ever we stand a chance of defeating them, surely it's this week.