Round 9 - Richmond v Hawthorn

Saturday 26 May 2012 at MCG

Ersatz Hawthorn...dousing the eternal flame

Omens versus facts


On Saturday night I went to see a band called Blackout in Burnley, which couldn’t have been more appropriate really. Those who know the geographic layout of Melbourne will know that to get from Hawthorn to Richmond, you only have to travel through one suburb, Burnley. And clearly something happened to the Hawks as they made this journey on Saturday morning; they evidently suffered some sort of blackout or outage, experienced some sort of non-connectivity event that obliterated their collective will and ability. We weren’t just beaten; we were thrashed! By Richmond!


Optimistic Hawks fans will look at this result and find a positive omen in the fact that the last time Richmond beat Hawthorn was in 2008, a year when we went on to win the premiership.  A more pragmatic Hawks fan might point out that on that day we lost by five goals, not 10. Far from seeing omens in defeat, I would argue that that no team which loses to Richmond by 10 goals can be a realistic chance to win the flag. I’ve searched the records back to 1971 and there's not a single instance of the eventual premiership team losing to Richmond by 10 goals or more during the season. In fact in all those 40 years, there’s been only eight occasions when the eventual premier has lost to Richmond at all – and in many of those years the teams met twice. The only happy precedent here is that on four of those occasions (1971, 1976, 1983 & 2008), the premier over which the Tigers triumphed was Hawthorn.



"The horror, the horror"


What to say about the match? Well the warning bells gave a preliminary tingle with Richmond’s first goal: after a Hawthorn miss (Buddy), the Tigers brought the ball through the centre, where Foley grabbed the loose ball and could have passed to the Richmond player on his own on the Member’s flank, or the bloke on his own on the outer flank, but instead he passed it Dustin Martin on his own about 25 metres out directly in front. That’s right, between the centre circle and the Richmond goals; there were three Richmond players and not one Hawthorn player. Not one.  Whatever zone, cluster or press we were playing, it hadn’t taken Richmond long to unpick it.  


Thus the pattern was set. The Hawks were awful all over the ground all afternoon.  Of our pitiful haul of 10 goals, five were kicked from the goal square, which is significant because from any further out we were missing. Cotchin, Deledio, Tuck and Martin thrashed Lewis, Mitchell, Sewell and Shiels. If Cotchin intercepted one of our dinky short passes, he must have intercepted 20. Just as it is tempting fate for a defender to go for a run when Cyril is in his vicinity, it is surely just as dangerous to kick laterally when Cotchin is lurking.


In the third quarter while Richmond ran free to present, passing cleanly and confidently, and Hawthorn fumbled and scrambled about to the exasperation of Hawks fans, my friend turned to me and said, “The way we’re feeling now must be how Richmond fans always feel.” 


Overall, Richmond ran harder, faster, and was more desperate. Even though it seemed at times like the ball was bouncing for them, it was essentially because they had players on the move and getting to the right spot. Despite all this, when Cyril kicked our eighth goal in time-on of the third, we were only 3 goals down and in with a chance, until of course Richmond added one more before the break, followed by seven in quick succession, or was it eight (I lost count or stopped watching), in the final term. Even Daniel Jackson kicked two goals to outscore Buddy!


Buddy


It is a favourite source of enjoyment among opposition fans to jeer and cheer at Buddy’s errors. While he does make a few, they somehow seem magnified when it’s him. But on Saturday, no one ran further, faster or harder to turn the match in our favour. In the first quarter he saw a Tiger by himself and ran 150 metres at full pace to effect a contest, then having won it, ran 150 back at full pace, eventually regaining possession and delivering the ball to Savage. Who then missed.


Of course he’s having his own well-documented troubles in front of goal and seems to have lost all confidence – kicking 1.3, including hitting the post from 15 metres out, but if all of the other players exuded the same effort as Buddy, we might not be in this predicament.



Premature evacuation


On the way home I received a text from a friend to say she’d left early, and while she rarely does, she was somewhat more relaxed about it when saw John Kennedy Snr ahead of her beating an even hastier exit.


Footy convention frowns on leaving the match early when your team is down, but I think this is wrong, and just a little sanctimonious. I don’t see it as turning your back on the team so much as simply not being able to watch anymore – like long-time Elvis fans that had to turn away from the bloated embarrassment that was the Elvis of the final Hawaii shows. They wanted to maintain the memory of the lithe, rockin’ ground-breaking Elvis, not sully it with this crude simulacrum – this ersatz Elvis. Likewise with the Hawks; it hurts to watch them being humbled. Besides, sometimes you’ve got something on later that night and you might as well get a head start. Or you just don’t want to hear the opposition theme song: “Oh we’re from Liquorland, frightening piss-pots we’re from Liquorland…”


For Hawks fans, I think that once John Kennedy Snr has left, then it’s ok for the rest of us. In fact I think they should flash a message on the scoreboard to let us know when he’s making his way to the exit. Leaving early is fine by me, and even though I did stay to the end this week, I wish I’d left about two hours earlier.


This was a truly terrible loss. A ‘season-is-over’ type loss. A ‘Caroline Wilson will be more unbearable than usual’ loss. (To say nothing of my Tiger supporting brothers, although they at least know that despite the occasional whiff of triumph, Richmond is eternally crap and there’s no point gloating too much.) Certainly it was a loss like we don’t experience all that often.  When I got home and switched on the news I wasn’t at all surprised to learn that someone had put out the eternal flame at the Shrine of Remembrance with a fire extinguisher – I too felt like the eternal flame of premiership hope had been doused.


As for Blackout on Burnley, well, they rocked and for a fleeting moment, perhaps during 'Gorecki' or 'No Surprises', I nearly forgot that we’d been through an awful, miserable ordeal just a few hours earlier. 


Final scores: Richmond 21 11 137 d Hawthorn 10 15 75

Buddy goal tally – 1 = total, 21

Buddy behind tally – 3 = total, 36

Round 8 - Hawthorn v Fremantle

Saturday 19 May 2012 at Aurora stadium, Launceston

Purple rain, Hawks reign

For those of us without Foxtel or the ready air fare to Launceston, this sort of fixture presents a real dilemma; the radio with its over-excited but under informative commentators (“where’s the ball! Half back, half forward, the goal square!?), a friend’s place (you’ve got to pace these out over the course of the season – don’t use up all your ‘invites’ too early – you may need to draw on one later in the year), or the pub.


I chose the local pub, The Linc, on the corner of Mount Alexander and Keilor Roads in Essendon. “Linc” is short for Lincolnshire and this is evident in the décor, assuming you ignore the 200 or so flashing, zinging poker machines and the in-house TAB (sadly, no Jaimee Rogers). The interior of dark timber with stone fireplace (curiously not ablaze on this chilly afternoon), old men muttering to themselves into their beers, and the bar wench’s impressive cleavage achieves an authentic English ambience, and just like such establishments in England, the service is perfunctory and grudging.


The Linc boasts six TV screens of varying size and prominence, but all of them were showing Port Adelaide v North Melbourne, except one, which was showing a basketball match from the US. My polite enquiry as to whether one of the multi-screen views of this vital bottom of the table clash might be sacrificed to screen instead the match between two likely premiership aspirants seemed to put them out, and we’re talking here about a pub that doesn’t like customers at the best of times.  No amount of remote control surfing helped.  It simply couldn’t be done. Then, a miracle! The Sports bar allegedly had the Hawks match, but when I eventually found the 12” screen in what might be better described as a Sports ‘corner’ or Sports ‘nook’, it too had the North game on.


Now I don’t wish to cast aspersions on North and Port, but this must surely be the least anticipated fixture in the entire AFL season – go on, try and think of a match you’d be less inclined to watch. Also, how many North and Port fans are likely to be in the pub, or indeed, in any one place – even a stadium where the two teams are actually playing – at any given time?  If Dr Kinsey’s famous reports on human sexuality from the 1940s and 50s are correct, and one in every five people is homosexual, then they far outnumber North and Port fans combined and the Linc would have better serviced its patrons by screening a Lady Gaga concert than have one, let alone six screens devoted to this match.


Eventually the proprietor informed the sole basketball fan that bad luck, he was just going to have to miss the rest of his game as he was turning the TV to the Hawks match on the basis that this was, after all, a “footy pub”.  Initially I thought it a bit unfair to kick this guy out; after all, he was there first, his game was still in progress and I didn’t want to be a party to his eviction. But then I thought hold on, Hawthorn, and more to the point, Buddy’s 150th game, is far more important than the LA Lakers or whatever team of long-shorts was lumbering up and down the polished floorboards. Good riddance basketball dude…learn to love the Hawks or be banished!


Happily ensconced, I got a beer in and ordered some chips, and at $6.50 a bowl, it was just like being at the match.


Aurora has become known as our fortress, but after our previous match against the Swans – see post no. 7 – I thought if we don’t win this one we might have to build up our battlements, toughen up our turrets and restock the moat. Happily we’d drawn Freo this week. Last time we played them in Launceston they rested half their side ahead of the finals and we won by 116 points. So they didn’t arrive with happy memories of the place and this is after days of trekking just to get there. Also, I’ve been to both Fremantle and Launceston in winter. In Fremantle I dined alfresco wearing a t-shirt, whereas in Launceston I had to sleep in an overcoat and Ugg boots.  The Freo boys must have felt like they were playing at Mawson’s Hut.


With the stand-off over sports channels, I came late to the match, but hadn’t missed much; certainly not any goals. Ross Lyon had clearly introduced to Freo the uber-defensive style that had got him nowhere at St.Kilda, stringing the entire team across the half back line to repel attacks. And it was evidently working because Hawthorn hadn’t scored. But of course, neither had Freo.  That’s the flaw in the Lyon masterplan; it’s one thing to restrict the opposition from scoring, but you’ve got to score yourself if you want to win.


Having said that, the theory is sound enough, and indeed, the very next morning there was a good example of this strategy being used very effectively. In the UEFA Cup Final between Bayern Munich and Chelsea, Chelsea pretty much adopted the same approach – they sat back with a string of players across top of the box, absorbing attack after attack, and then bursting forward on the counter attack. And it worked – they scored once, to equal Bayern, and that was enough to force extra time and penalties, in which they ultimately prevailed.


So the strategy can be effective. Of course in soccer the field is considerably shorter and you only need one or two runners and a striker to launch the counter attack. In footy however, if everyone is strung across the half back line, by the time you take possession you’ve got a couple of kilometres to run get to the other end, to say nothing of maintaining possession over such a vast distance and kicking accurately when you eventually get within range. And you’ve generally got to score more than once or twice to win a match of Aussie rules. So after Hawthorn finally squeezed through a couple of first quarter goals through Roughead and Breust, you had the feeling it might be enough.


Freo kicked the first goal of the second quarter after a series of handballs on the boundary ended with a nice goal by Neale. Then Pavlich missed a sitter, Young missed one for us, and viewers were beginning to dread a long, low scoring grind of a match with no sparkle. Enter Cyril, though he didn't so much enter as burst through the pack, take possession and slot a slick left footer with the outside of his boot on the run. And that was basically it. With the ball streaming forward all quarter, seven more Hawthorn goals followed, including another to Cyril and a brace that came as a direct result of Cyril chasing down slow forwards – one to Guerra and one to Buddy.  A nice 60m goal from Suckling and a cool Buddy interception and pass to Roughead gave us two more. Our high possession game, which had been verging on becoming frustrating and unproductive, was breaking through the Freo defence with ruthless regularity. I loved it. More please! A half time score of 10.9 to 2.6 suggested that Freo’s ultra defensive game plan needed a tweak or two.


The second half began with Sewell taking possession and getting it straight to Roughy for a goal, followed a few minutes later by Roughy kicking another, and it looked like we were heading for another 100+ points win. Sewell was winning the ball all over the ground, Young was doing well in his 100th game and Roughy was fuelling the undying love all Hawk fans feel for him with a dominant performance. Then Freo suddenly kicked four successive goals and there was a slightly sick feeling that we might have to start worrying. I ordered a nerve steadying pot and took a refreshing sip as Lewis slotted a nice goal from his favourite pocket to restore sanity.


The Hawks regained control in the final quarter kicking five goals to two, including a snap from Sammy and a set shot by Breust from a tight angle at the end.  The umpires celebrated Buddy’s 150th match in the final quarter by not awarding him a clear mark, paying a series of free kicks against him and then gilding one with a 50m penalty. It was a thoughtful touch on his milestone day, in keeping with how they've treated him in his previous 149 games. By then though, most of us were focusing on one of the many screens showing Port Adelaide running all over North in the final minutes, for despite my disparaging remarks, it was by far the more entertaining finish. Perhaps the Linc had it right after all.


It was a good win by the Hawks, but disappointing for Freo, especially in a week when the Patron Saint of all things purple, Prince, was touring the country.  But then Prince’s most successful and productive period was 1978 – 1992, which also happens to be Hawthorn’s most successful and productive period. So perhaps it’s no surprise that the Hawks once more commence their ascent to the top of the ladder as His Purpleness again works his way to the top of the charts. The 80s are back in music and fashion, and it seems in football as well...Go Hawks!


Final scores - Hawthorn: 17 17 119 d Fremantle:  9 9 63


What we love: A bit of Rough.


What we’d like: To hear Prince cover the Dockers theme song.


Buddy goal tally - 1 = total 20.


Buddy behinds tally - 2 = total, 33

Round 7 - Melbourne v Hawthorn

Friday 11 May at MCG

Buddy…a celestial phenomenon

In his budget reply speech on Thursday, Opposition Leader Tony Abbott accused the Prime Minister of waging class warfare on the Australian people. In declaring this, it is likely he also had in mind the following night’s Melbourne v Hawthorn duel, as these two teams have long represented the classic class warfare clash between old money and new; establishment versus nouveau–riche, post-war boom versus 80s boom.


As has been the case in recent times, the nouveau-riche of Hawthorn won the night with its abundant wealth of possession, its brash displays of showy ball use, its dare and dash, its excess, which cruelly exposed the decay of Melbourne’s old world establishment structures.


It had rained in Melbourne during the day, but not too much, and certainly not enough to explain the slipping over and fumbling ball use that afflicted both sides in the first quarter. The match began as it meant to go on, with Hawthorn controlling possession and kicking waywardly at goal. Melbourne seized on Hawthorn’s wasted opportunities midway through the first quarter and began to play some strong, direct football, playing through James Magner, who was too quick for Guerra, and kicking high to Mitch Clark who without Gibson on hand to spoil, was pulling down some big marks over Schoenmakers and Gillham – a welcome ‘in’ for the Hawks.


Melbourne took a 9 point lead at one stage: 3.3.21 – with Clark contributing 3.2 of that – while Hawthorn sat on 1.6.12. Then Buddy marked strongly on the outer wing and swung a 60 metre pass onto the chest of The Poo, (or Pup as one of my friends prefers to call him), who had drifted forward to be the only player in the Hawks forward 50 and then strolling in to kick his second for the quarter.


The Hawks trailed narrowly at quarter time but the signs were there; for Melbourne to win, Clark was going to have to threaten Fred Fanning’s long standing record of 18 goals.


Really, all Hawthorn had to do was organise itself defensively and from quarter time Grant Birchall pretty much controlled every ball that went into that region, and Clark didn’t kick another all night. In fact Melbourne only added three more goals over the remaining three quarters.  As Hawthorn controlled the ball through Sewell, Hale, Shiels and Lewis, the main interest in the match became whether Buddy could kick a set shot.  He did in the end, but it was a banana from a very tight angle. 


As always Buddy was the biggest presence on the ground, constantly threatening, constantly brilliant, but consistently missing shots at goal. He ended with 3.7 for the night and has kicked 9.22 in the past four matches. Sure, some of his attempts are speculative at best, and you can forgive him for missing shots other players wouldn’t even get off. Likewise, the set shot from 35 metres out directly in front has never been his strong suit, but he’s even missing them from 55 out on the boundary, on the less favourable side for a left-footer – normally his bread and butter shot!


Fans worrying that Buddy’s bad kicking is endemic and may hinder our progress this year can rest easy, because it can all be explained by astronomy. And the good news is; it’s going to get better. Observers of celestial and lunar phenomena will have noted, if not marvelled, at the ‘supermoon’ that hovered over us this week. The ‘supermoon’ or ‘perigee-syzygy’ (keep that word in mind for Scrabble) as those without a sense of a snappy headline refer to it, describes the period when a full Moon coincides with the closest approach of the Moon to Earth in its elliptical orbit, making the Moon appear bigger in the sky than normal. 


It’s well known that the Moon affects the natural world on Earth, or ‘impacts the contest’ as we might say in footy-speak. The ebb and flow of the tides, or rise and fall of sea levels, changes according to the combined effects of the gravitational forces exerted by the Moon and the Sun and the rotation of the Earth. And this force is stronger when the Moon is closer to Earth.  Imagine then what it’s doing to Buddy’s natural arc and the flight of the ball – itself a celestial object once it’s been launched from Buddy’s boot! So with the Moon now waning, and moving further away, its gravitational pull on the Sherrin in flight will lessen and we can expect Buddy’s kicking accuracy to improve.


Irrespective of accuracy, sheer weight of possession and the difference in skill level and desperation meant that Hawthorn was always going to win quite easily. Melbourne is barely competitive at the moment and don’t look like getting better any time soon. This blog is really about Hawthorn, but it’s the Mother’s day round and my mum supports Melbourne, so I feel I need to query where the Dees are going, which at present is nowhere.  Their performance was lacklustre; at times woeful. In the final quarter a Melbourne player had possession on the boundary at half back. He looked inboard and kicked it directly to Mat Suckling who was standing by himself about 25 metres out, directly in front, with no Melbourne player anywhere near him.  The player kicking the ball was under no pressure and it’s unclear who he was even aiming for.


One of the Melbourne fans I sat with raised the spectre of the Gold Coast and the Giants playing a draw the following day, giving both of them 2 points and leaving Melbourne on the bottom on zero. As it turned out, the Giants won and given the Suns already have a superior percentage to Melbourne, that’s where they’ve ended up anyway.


When I eventually got home around midnight (it’s a long trawl from the MCG to Essendon by public transport) I flicked around the channels and started watching Rebekah Brooks giving evidence at the Leveson Inquiry into media ethics, which for some reason was being broadcast live on ABC24.  The rather unflappable Robert Jay, QC, subjected Ms Brooks to a series of questions that she was unable, or perhaps unwilling, to answer – certainly she wasn’t accepting any blame or responsibility, or even conceding that there was much wrong. I hope Mark Neeld watched her performance because he might find himself facing similar scrutiny over the coming weeks and he would do well to copy her technique. Of course answers of the “I don’t recall” and “I don’t remember if he was present” variety are even less convincing at a post-match news conference than at an Inquiry of this nature, but then he won’t be locking horns with anyone equal to Mr Jay in the inquisitor stakes. Even our footy scribes, however, should be able to out to him some straight-forward simple questions such as: “How is it that Melbourne is so underprepared for matches?”, “What do you actually do at training?”, “Did you have lunch with David Cameron and Rupert Murdoch in Santorini?” 


Mark Neeld might find himself in Santorini soon. We’re accustomed to clubs sacking coaches mid-season when performance is below par, but I suspect Mark Neeld might sack Melbourne first and move to Europe. As he contemplates a 0-7 win loss ratio, with games against Sydney, Carlton, Essendon and Collingwood to come, expect to hear him quote from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan” when referring to playing at the G:

A savage place! As holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon lover!


It may be hard to pick exactly where the Hawks are placed after this performance, but you suspect the wailing will continue for a while yet at Melbourne. 


Final scores: Hawthorn 15 25 115 d Melbourne 6 13 49


Buddy goal tally – 3, total = 19


Buddy behind tally – 7, total = 31


What went wrong: Our misuse of the sub rule. Firstly subbing out Cyril, not that much had worked for him all night, and bringing on Osborne, whose only action was to sustain a knee injury within 3 minutes, ending his night and possibly the season.


What we loved: Roughy – he may just be our best player, and the return of Gillham.

Round 6 - St.Kilda v Hawthorn

MCG Saturday 5 May 2012

Hawthorn...The Avengers

Don’t ya love Cyril?

It’s a rhetorical question of course. And I don’t mean a fleeting infatuation, teenage crush or One Direction type hysteria; I mean love. Deep, profound love. In an otherwise forgettable match, all the highlights belonged to Cyril with his zip, his chase, his tackles and his six beautiful goals. Oh sure, Buddy kicked five, but they were all from within 15 metres, and he missed several set shots along the way. Yeah, yeah, Hodge played with his usual poise and courage, Sewell and Sam were good in the middle, Lewis stopped Dal Santo, Birch was bringing it out of the backline, The Rough used his strength and insouciance, and Savage, Smith and Shiels gave us some run and alliteration, but it was Cyril who hogged the highlight reel. 

Leading into the match, The Age ran a vendetta against the Hawks. Everyone had an opinion; Robert Walls said they weren’t hard enough, Garry Lyon said they weren’t quick enough; Germaine Greer said they didn’t dress well enough. Honestly, I was just waiting for Caroline Wilson to tease us for being the toilet team – though that sounds more like something Robbo would run with in the Herald-Sun . (The People’s paper of course was too busy trying to revive the Milne/Montagna sexual misconduct allegations to worry too much about match-ups and midfields).

By now of course these scribes will have read my previous post about the significance of the number 23 and they’ll know that none of their contested ball stats, their inside 50s, their tackle counts or spread diameters matter – it’s all in the numbers, the Hawks are for the flag in 2012. Having said that, it came as a relief to win, and we pretty much have Cyril to thank for it.

In a week where The Avengers broke box office records and brought bad guys to justice, the Hawks did their own impression of this force for Good. We may not have saved the planet from alien invasion but we saved ourselves from finals oblivion.

In The Avengers you’ve got Captain America using his shield to block attacks and repel with force, which pretty much describes Luke Hodge’s game;  Hulk uses his strength to smash opponents, clearly Jordan Lewis over Dal Santo, Hawkeye is the sharp-shooter, so Buddy’s takes his part, accuracy notwithstanding, Thor throws his hammer and shoots lightning, and I see The Rough in this role, Ironman , the futurist and smartarse uses his one-liners and repulsing orbs, just as Guerra did, while Nick Fury (who sounds like he might be the singer in a punk band) is the organiser and strategist who assembles the team, so Clarko is obviously the man here. As for Black Widow, well I suppose it comes down to who looks best in a leather body suit. You might have to delve into your own perverse obsessions here, but as much as I love the Hawks, I can’t see any of them rivalling Scarlett Johansson. Not since Dermie anyway.

Anyway, the point is that there’s no Cyril equivalent in The Avengers, and you can’t help thinking that they’d be a more effective unit with someone boasting his particular evasive skills, chase downs and deadly accuracy. If nothing else, he’d certainly help them wrap up the deal in less than 2.5 hours. 

At the risk of taking The Avengers analogy too far (and it was either them or one Direction), my youngest son points out that if you take the H, A, W and N, out of HAWTHORN, you’ve got THOR.  My friend’s young daughter on the other hand spent the best part of the third quarter happily talking about and looking at pictures of One Direction, and in particular Niall – the blonde one – whom she pronounced as the cutest. He looks a bit like Sam Mitchell in skinny jeans.

There’s not too much to really say about the night: it was tight and crowded in close, and there was a fair bit of niggle, though this better describes the bar area at the London Tavern beforehand than the game itself.  The Hawks got an early edge and held onto it, with only Koschitzke keeping the Saints within reach until the Hawks broke away at the last. 

It was neither the worst Hawthorn St.Kilda game - that honour belongs to May 2007, widely regarded as the worst match ever, which  Jeff Kennett called "appalling" and Nick Riewoldt labelled the "shame game."  Nor was it the best, think the 1971 second-semi or Grand Final, both thrillers, both narrow Hawthorn victories, with the Grand Final regarded as one of the toughest matches ever.

Or even the most remarkable, some will recall Princes Park in 1977 when  Hawthorn kicked 41 behinds – winning 25-41-191 to 16-7-103, which remains a record for the most behinds in a match. Under cover of night the following week, maddened Hawks fans climbed the fence at Glenferrie and chopped down the point posts. One dreads to think what we might have kicked had Buddy been at full forward that afternoon.

Then there’s the 1999 clash at Waverley, when the Hawks overhauled a 53 point deficit midway through the second quarter to win by 13 points, in what was then a record comeback.  Or the 2010 match where the first ever interchange infringement resulted in a Rioli goal being reversed and St.Kilda kicking a goal at the other end to draw the match.

If this reads like a litany of Hawthorn triumphs, it simply echoes the long dominance we enjoyed over St.Kilda in the 80s, as both sides hovered at opposing ends of the ladder. Between round 12 1979 and round 22 1989, Hawthorn strung together 20 consecutive wins over the Saints, finally losing by just three points in May 1990 at Moorabbin (when Russell Morris – then a Hawk – missed a shot in the final seconds). This winning streak was, and may still be, a record for one club over another.

Hawthorn and St.Kilda share a rich and storied past as well as a few personalities, most famously Allan Jeans who coached St.Kilda to its only premiership in 1966, and then coached Hawthorn to three in the 80s. Among the players to have worn both the brown and gold stripes and the St.Kilda tri-colour are Peter Everitt, Russell Greene, Russell Morris, Stuart Trott and Brent Guerra.

So there’s as much that unites these two teams as sets them apart, but I’m happy we at least found some separation from them in the final quarter on Saturday.


Final scores: Hawthorn 18 15 123 d St.Kilda 13 10 88

Buddy goal tally - 5, Total = 16

What we loved: Cyril

The 23 Enigma

How 23 will win Hawthorn the 2012 flag

It’s a truism to say that the number 23 carries great significance at Hawthorn, and I’m not just referring to the three Cs: Crawshay, Collica and Crawford (Justin).  Of course we all recognise it as the number worn by some of our most celebrated champions: John Peck, Don Scott, Dermott Brereton and now, Buddy Franklin.  All of them great players as we know, but more than that, all four of them epitomise individual flair, and play or played with an aura of unpredictable brilliance carrying match winning potential. It’s fair to say that in each of our great eras we’ve had a great number 23.

Of course then you consider the great number 5s (5 being 2+3); Peter Crimmins, Andy Collins and Sam Mitchell, add in Leigh Matthews (who originally wore number 32, which of course is 23 in reverse) and you start to appreciate the full power of the number 23 and realise that it is more than just two digits slapped on the back of a jumper.

It is not only at Hawthorn where the number 23 is seen as having special life-changing properties. There is in fact a school of belief – more a cult really – that all significant events and incidents are related in some way to the number 23 – for some it is a good omen while for others it signifies disaster. This phenomenon is known as the 23 Enigma. In this post I’ll look at some of the factors that contribute to this ‘enigma’ and demonstrate just how this means Hawthorn will be premiers in 2012. That’s 2012 – 20 + 1 + 2 = 23.

American author William Burroughs is widely thought to be the original proponent of the 23 Enigma. He relates the story of a Captain Clark who ran a ferry between Tangiers and Spain. Captain Clark told Burroughs that he’d been running the route for 23 years without an accident. On that very day the ferry sank and later that evening, Burroughs heard a radio report about the crash of Flight 23 on the New York-Miami route. The pilot was another Captain Clark. 

From that moment, Burroughs started collecting occurrences of 23s, an activity since taken up by many others, most relentlessly by science fiction writer and futurist Robert Anton Wilson in his book, with Robert Shea, The Illuminatus Trilogy. More recently actor Jim Carrey has championed the 23 Enigma, starring in a film called The Number 23 about this phenomenon and naming his production company JC23 Entertainment. So that makes a comic actor, a cosmic conspiracy theorist and octogenarian junkie – there’s a trustworthy trinity if ever there was one.  And Burroughs, I need hardly point out, died at the age of 83…a Hawthorn premiership year.

The subculture who follow these beliefs, of which Hawks fans must count themselves, refer to themselves as twenty-thirdians. Their belief in the magical properties of number 23 stem from a series of cosmic crossovers and occurrences that suggest a pattern and even a model for human existence – that’s if you need any further evidence than the Scotty, Dermie and Buddy triumvirate.

Seventeenth century scholar Archbishop Ussher published a chronology of existence showing that the Earth was created on Sunday 23 October  4004 BC. He’s quite specific about the Sunday, though he doesn't say if the job was done in time to catch Modern Family that night. The Mayans, meanwhile, believe that the world will end on 23 December 2012 (and just in case you’ve forgotten, 2012 is 20+1+2 =23). This remains to be seen of course, but crucially, it gives the Hawks time to squeeze in one last flag before the place blows.  In any case, you’d be well advised to wait until Christmas Eve to do your Christmas shopping this year.

So this theory isn’t based on trivial coincidences, but the very existence of the planet. The number 23 is central to the creation and destruction of Earth. But between these two cataclysmic events, while it’s still spinning, (and though this ostensibly takes 24 hours, I’m sure there’s a calculation involving leap years, daylight savings and depreciation to show that it’s really 23) the Earth itself tilts on an axis of 23.5 degrees. Not only that, but the tropic of Cancer is located at 23.5 degrees north while the Tropic of Capricorn is at 23.5 degrees south. And if you think these .5s throw out the theory, remember that 5 is 2+3, 23.

Not only is the number 23 intrinsic to our host planet, but also to the life that thrives on its surface – until 23 December that is, if the Mayans are to be believed. Each parent contributes 23 chromosomes to the fertilised egg, while it is the 23^rd chromosome that determines gender.  Furthermore the physical human biorhythm cycle is 23 days, plus it takes 23 seconds for blood to circulate through the human body. Now I haven’t measured these obviously, and certainly my own blood feels more sluggish, but on this, like global warming and why left-footers are better kicks, I’m just going to have to trust the experts. Which means, not to put too fine a point on it, that without 23 there is no humanity – which may sound a tad hyperbolic, but it’s not news to Hawks fans.  

In numerology the number 1 represents the individual or the leader; number 2 represents balance and duality (right/wrong, black/white, and dare we say, brown/gold), while number 3 is the product of 1 and 2, the innovative creative force, the best of individualism and balance – sounds like Buddy on the run lining up a long range goal really.

There are of course other signs: Michael Jordan and Shane Warne, the two best practitioners of basketball and cricket respectively, both wore 23. Kurt Cobain was born in 1967 (1+9+6+7 = 23) and died in 1994 (1+9+9+4 = 23) and with Nirvana, released his landmark album Nevermind on 24 September 1991 – Grand Final week in a Hawthorn premiership year.

All of this is fascinating, but how does the 23 Enigma necessarily relate to the AFL, and more importantly Hawthorn? Well to extrapolate some of the more obvious connections; there are 18 teams in the AFL from 5 different states: 18 + 5 = 23. In season 2012 (which of course is 20+1+2 = 23) there are 23 rounds of football and each team is named with 22 players + 1 coach – 22+1 = 23.

So having established that the number 23 is intrinsic to the AFL, let’s now look at how this reveals Hawthorn as the 2012 premiers. Firstly, Hawthorn won the premiership 23 years ago, in 1989. In fact  Hawthorn has won 10 premierships: 1961, 1971, 1976, 1978, 1983, 1986, 1988, 1989, 1991 and 2008. If you add the single integers together, ie, 1+9+6+1+1+9+7+1 etc, you get 229, and then divide by the number of premierships we’ve won, 10, you get 22.9, which by any calculation equals 23.

It’s also worth noting that the distance from Hawthorn’s home in Wellington Road Mulgrave, to the MCG on Punt Road, Richmond, where the Grand Final is played, is, you guessed it, 23 km.

And do I need to add that the 23^rd Prime Minister of Australia was Bob Hawke, who not only has a name that is evocative of Hawthorn, but was elected in the Hawks premiership year of 1983 and left office in another Hawks premiership year of 1991, thus encompassing our most successful era, and in fact the most successful era of any club in the history of football.

And talking of the history of football, there have been 115 premiers between 1897 and 2011. 115 is 1+1+5 = 7, add in the 5 times Hawthorn has been Runner-up , and you’re up to 12, then add the number of premierships we’ve currently won, 10, which equals 22 and add one more for this year, and lo and behold you get 23. And I don’t think that’s drawing a long bow, do you?

Oh, and we’ve got Buddy.

And as I post this, we sit at 2 wins and 3 losses - not ideal but possibly another harbinger of a Hawthorn flag in 2012.

Round 5 - Hawthorn v Sydney

York Park, Launceston Sunday 29 April 2012

Finding the plot...losing the match

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."


Thus Tolstoy begins Anna Karenina, introducing us to the troubled Oblonsky family. Equally though, he could be referring to Hawthorn - the Family Club, and footy fans in general. Fans of winning teams are all alike, grinning manically and chanting cheerily over their team’s triumphs, while fans of losing teams, such as Hawthorn in recent weeks, all find their own way to be unhappy, each attributing blame to a range of different factors.


For some it’s injuries: Hodge, Birchall and Bailey before Sunday and Gibson during the match. For others it’s the umpires, and though I can't pinpoint a particular decision in Sunday’s match, I’m sure if I ran a forensic eye over the game I’d find several decisive howlers. For some it’s the backline, who basically ceased to function after Gibson went off, though Schoenmakers or 'The Cobbler' as one of my correspondents has dubbed him, was one of our best. For others, however, it’s the game plan – why is it that a Hawthorn player streaming out of the centre with the ball so often has to stop and go backwards or out wide? Where is our forward line? Why have we suddenly adopted a Ross Lyon game plan of having everyone strung across the half back line? Some are blaming the person who decided to trade Josh Kennedy, who turned in yet another blinder against Hawthorn, while for others, such as Hawthorn president Andrew Newbold and coach Clarko, it’s the fixture – or 'the fix' as we’re coming to refer to it at Hawthorn.


For me it’s the tribunal – why was Adam Goodes playing in the first place? Having been suspended for a week over his sliding tackle, he challenged the ban unsuccessfully, yet his suspension wasn’t extended to cover the Hawthorn match. Any other player who challenges unsuccessfully seems to be hit with an extra week’s ban, but not Adam Goodes it seems. This complaint is not based on a deep understanding of the abiding principles, frameworks and legal nuances of the tribunal process, but a weary resignation that yet again Adam Goodes had played a significant role in Sydney beating Hawthorn and it would have been to our considerable advantage had he not been there.


Whatever the source of the problem, and perhaps it is simply that Sydney is a very good team who played better on the day, the Hawks are now in trouble with two wins and three losses, and what appeared as a reasonably comfortable proposition of playing St.Kilda on Saturday night looms suddenly as a harrowing ordeal.


Suckling inbounds


Without the benefit of Foxtel I drove to my brother’s house to watch the game. Or rather I 'inbounded' my brother’s house. I was running late so heard the early minutes on the car radio and when Sydney scored their first behind, the ABC 774 commentator informed us that "Suckling will inbound the footy".  Two minutes in and already a new verb had been coined. As it turned out, this was the most inventive act by a Hawthorn player all day.  


I’m at a bit of a loss to explain how the match unfolded. Everything was going so well: Roughhead was kicking goals – he had five in the first half, Hale snagged a couple, and we were running the ball reasonably well. Sure O’Keefe was playing well for the Swans, but Hodge moved onto him. And with a four goal lead at half time we still had the prospect of Cyril and Buddy getting involved. The kids got their own game of corridor footy going during the break, my brother and I opened another beer and all seemed reasonably satisfactory.


In the third quarter Hawthorn got the first clearance and for a fleeting moment we looked set for a continuation of the first half. But those few possessions we managed before the first turnover proved to be our only period of dominance for the quarter. After that we simply couldn’t get the ball.


Sydney controlled every passage of play, and if the ball did end up in dispute, it seemed to sit up and bounce into the arms of a Sydney player or bobble just out of reach of a Hawthorn player. Sydney was playing well and Hawthorn, well, they didn’t have the ball so there was no way of telling how they might be playing. The Hawks were flat-footed and hesitant, and with Gibson injured, Swans forwards were pulling down marks like their feathered counterparts in the Botanical gardens pull down morsels of bread tossed by children.


Scoreless for the quarter, we were suddenly behind. And when the Swans effortlessly slotted the first goal of the final quarter within seconds of the restart, the kids sensed what was up and resumed their own game of corridor footy. At least someone in a Hawks jumper could get possession in that game.


Success


I’m currently reading a biography of Martin Amis by Richard Bradford, and watching the Hawks Swans clash on Sunday put me in mind of Amis’ 1978 novel Success (note Hawks premiership year and title of book). In that book Amis introduces us to two foster brothers, Gregory Riding and Terry Service, who alternate as narrators over the course of a calendar year. In the first half of the book Riding struts through life with imperious and effortless command, racking up triumphs and keeping glamorous company, while Service ekes out a lowly cribbing existence of underachievement.


But halfway through the book the reader’s perception and understanding start to turn and as the dual (and duelling) narratives play out, it slowly emerges that things are not altogether as they seem - Riding’s confidence and strut are shown up as a mirage without substance, while Service emerges as the more solidly successful – the two exchanging position relative to one another by the book’s conclusion. I don’t think I need to embroider the metaphor any further to get the point across: Hawthorn’s first half conquests were all mirage while Sydney slowly turned things around and ended as runaway winners. In a way, we found the plot, or a plot, while simultaneously losing it.


The book is an early Amis masterpiece that is thoroughly enjoyable. The match less so. And if you think I’m taking refuge in abstractions as a way of dealing with defeat, you’re absolutely right. You’ll know the season is really going badly when I resort to Shakespeare’s tragedies to illustrate the on field action. Though I suppose Ana Karenina is no more comforting – SPOILER ALERT – she throws herself under a train at the end.


Let’s look to happier times and this week’s match against the Saints. Comfortingly, the train to St.Kilda has long been replaced by the light rail, so drastic acts of literary homage are unlikely.


Elsewhere


After the Hawks game we switched over to the Richmond v Eagles match (my brother barracks for the Tiges – no don’t ask) and I’d say within three seconds we saw a Selwood brother fling himself back histrionically to overplay for a 'too high' free, which he duly received.


Are the umpires the only ones who don’t see this? No, as it turns out. In Saturday night’s clash between Brisbane and Geelong, Joel Selwood and Andrew Raines exchanged blows, with Selwood going down after Raines threw a retaliatory punch. While Raines has been suspended for two weeks, Selwood has not even been cited. The tribunal has ruled that his blow was not of sufficient force to warrant a report, whereas Raines’ blow had clearly knocked Selwood to the ground; therefore it must have been a strong hit.


This may well be true, but a casual observer of the game could equally argue that Selwood going to ground is hardly indicative of excessive force – but more likely to be an attempt by him to milk yet another free kick. Media commentators like to fantasise about how tough backyard football at the Selwood household must have been when the three brothers were growing up, but there's enough circumstantial evidence now to suggest that the ball hardly ever got into play as all three of them writhed on the ground appealing for a free kick. 


Final scores: Sydney 16 10 106 d Hawthorn 10 9 69


Buddy goal tally - 0 = total 11


What we liked: Bruce McAvaney commentating in the Richmond Eagles match: as Rosa measured a kick out of a pack, Bruce said, "Rosa with a little squeezy lovely one"  Not something you'd necessarily want taken out of context.