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.

Round 17 - Collingwood v Hawthorn

MCG, Saturday 21 July 2012

Are You Horny For Hawthorn?

Cheers Hawthorn!

A group of like-minded Hawk fans sat in the outdoor section of the Hugh Trumble bar in the MCC Members late on Saturday afternoon, enjoying the last of the effulgent rays and toasting a famous Hawthorn victory over Collingwood.  Crown lager bottles clinked wine glasses, grown men grew misty-eyed about Jordan Lewis, the ladies – to whom the round was dedicated – permitted themselves lascivious thoughts about Gibson, Gunston, Sewell and Suckling, children raved about Rioli and Roughy, and passers-by joked that Buddy and Hodgey might not get back into the team. Now I’m not saying we’re getting ahead of ourselves, but the conversation did turn to Grand Final seating arrangements. We may even have settled on somewhere to meet for premiership drinks.



But it was that sort of match. The day dawned in golden Hawthorn sunshine and stayed that way. And the game proceeded as if slightly tipsy Hawks fans had written the script: Cyril’s 30 metre handball over his head for Breust to run on to, Tom Murphy dashing forward to kick a goal, The Poo’s screamer, the series of slick, quick handballs that released Young into an open goal, Cyril’s chase down of Pendlebury that resulted in a goal, Gunston’s mark and handball to Lewis for a goal, Lewis outmarking Shaw, Lewis receiving a generous free in front of goal, Shaw getting penalised for deliberate out-of-bounds after a 25 metre miskick off the ground, Breust’s dribble goal from an impossible angle on the boundary, Breust’s set shot goal from an impossible angle on the boundary, The Poo likewise, Savage’s long kick for Cyril to run onto and poke through, Clarko putting his fist through a the wall, just to illustrate that even our coach can knock down buildings…it was one long highlight reel really. And after two of Collingwood’s three first quarter goals came from Hawthorn defensive clangers, we even had the satisfaction of knowing that we were also Collingwood’s only avenue to goal.



Forty-seven points was the final margin, though it felt like more – and it certainly would have felt hat way to Collingwood fans, mainly because most of them left when the margin was 60+ points. Those Collingwood fans must be busy people; they do like an early getaway from the ground. That’s twice this year against the Hawks that they’ve scurried off early as if they had somewhere else to be. As one of my Collingwood friends remarked when the attendance figure of 83,000 went up, "there's more people waiting at Jolimont Station than in ground."


This was the designated women’s round – an AFL conceit designed purely to stop Caroline Wilson from moaning for five minutes – and to celebrate the great work women do in football, like the St.Kilda schoolgirl who helped rid the industry of Ricky Nixon.


The AFL celebrates women’s round by putting Chelsea Roffey on the cover of the Footy Record and organising some female Auskickers to play at half time. Presumably there were also luncheons, awards and cross-dressing on the Footy Show, but really, it was Hawthorn who turned it on for the ladies in Round 17 by playing a brand of football so frisky it was virtually frottage, so rousing it was, well, arousing, and so scintillating that the damsels were left weak-kneed and sexually sated by the end. I mean if you want to give the girls a good time…


…just take them through these moments from early in the third quarter:

• Smith handballs to Murphy, Murphy long kick…GUNSTON. Goal!

• Hale kicks inside 50, Lewis marks, plays on and handballs to Murphy who runs in and kicks a goal.

• Lewis takes possession from the ball-up, handballs to Breust on the boundary…and he bounces one through from an impossible angle!

• Roughead to Suckling to Mitchell to Whitecross, to Young who kicks to the pocket where Lewis gets it and screws it over his shoulder …Goal!

• Burgoyne to Birchall to Gibson to Roughhead, then to Sewell, over to Rioli who kicks long…Lewis strong mark! Goal!

But my favourite of the third term: Roughead takes possession, handballs to Puopolo who gives to Mitchell, who gets it to Rioli on to Young who runs in and kicks a goal…and it all happened quicker than it takes to read that sentence.  


If that doesn’t get you horny for Hawthorn, then seek medical advice.


At a time when Damascus is burning, a madman guns down cinemagoers, Australian Olympians squabble over Business class and Premium Economy seating, and the biggest news story on the eve of the weekend is Buddy losing his driving licence for speeding, it was good to be on hand to witness something to reassure us that the world can makes sense and that good things can happen.


Final scores: Hawthorn 21  12  138 d Collingwood 13  13  91

Buddy goal tally - 0 = total, 51


Buddy behind tally - 0 = total, 49



Women’s round


Being women’s round it behoves us to turn ourselves to the question of just who are the hottest chicks in football. Or have I somehow misconstrued the point? Anyway, here’s my top three: 



1. Chelsea Roffey, the goal umpire – she’s got a cute dimple and I like that she wants the best for everyone. When a player misses and she has to signal a behind, she has a sympathetic expression that clearly conveys her disappointment for the player. She really doesn’t want to give the behind signal. Really, if it was up to her – and if a million cameras weren’t there to correct it – she’d be only too happy to award a goal. After all, it didn’t miss by much. And he tried hard. Only a woman could show such humanity. And when it sails through the big sticks, she can barely contain her delight.  But really, it’s the dimple.


2. Samantha Lane, from Before the Game – I mean who isn’t transported to new erotic heights when she poses with that power drill for the Tool of the Week segment? Of course working against her is that we know her Dad. Imagine at a family dinner hearing “pass the salt” requests intoned as if Buddy has just got on the end of  chain of handballs. And then there’s the hairline – we know where it’s going Sam.


3. Jaimee Rogers, from TAB Sportsbet. Sure her role in footy is peripheral, and largely gratuitous, but those teeth! I mean, just imagine the hickey she could leave with those choppers; to say nothing of…

Round 16 - Western Bulldogs v Hawthorn

Etihad Stadium, Sunday 15 July 2012

“Even when Cyril dribbles it’s a beautiful thing”

Early in the second quarter of Sunday’s match, with only 3 points the difference, Schoenmakers shot out a handball to Roughead who handballed along the ground to send the ball under the reach a Bulldogs defender and have it bounce up into Cyril’s arms, who took possession, slipped, but still swung on to his left and rolled it through from 25 metres out, provoking Bruce McAvaney to posit, or rather, ejaculate, the above summation of Rioli’s salivary attributes.

“Rioli picks himself up and dribbles, and even when Cyril dribbles it’s a beautiful thing!” was the full description. I was at the match so didn’t hear the comment live, but a friend texted me with the quote. Regardless of where you stand on the relative delightfulness of Cyril’s dribbling, or indeed any of his other bodily secretions, this is one of Bruce’s more memorable quotes, yet by Cyril’s standards it was a fairly run of the mill goal with just your average amount of unorthodox brilliance.


Even so, this goal and Bruce’s corresponding commentary proved the highlight of another fab Hawks triumph, and if the Bulldogs felt they were still in the game before that goal, they knew as soon as it bounced through that they had little or no chance. 

Viva Hawthorn

Viewers of the Tour de France will have been encouraged to see not only the number of Australians lining the stage routes, but those among them wearing the unmistakable brown and gold verticals of Hawthorn.  I saw at least three in a 10 minute spell on Saturday night and it’s heartening to know that in France, the capital of fashion, these intrepid Hawthorn fans are making such a bold sartorial statement to signal our Bastille weekend clash with the red, white and blue, or French tri-colour, of the Western Bulldogs.

However, if the Bulldogs represent football’s working class – which they imagine they do – and Hawthorn football’s royalty – and let’s not be shy, we do – then the Hawks turned history on its head and reversed the revolution with a resounding win.  There would be no breaking down of the Bastille and overthrowing of the aristocracy on this day – if anything it was the Bulldogs’ working class radicals who were nudged at sword point by the Hawthorn monarchy towards the guillotine.  

We played, dare one say it, champagne football, and it was all down to ‘La Tete Brut’ as they say in Paris, or Roughead as we know him.  His ruckwork, bullocking work and forward play were exceptional.  And he was matched in the middle by Mitchell, who is again turning in a brilliant season, and down back by Gibson and Birchall.  

At one point I turned to the man next to me to expostulate, “Ne vous aimez juste l’etat brut?” (don’t you just love the Rough?), but he only glared at me: not just because he was a Bulldogs fan, or couldn't parlez-vous Francais, but because he was a miserable malcontent.  During the course of an unpleasant 15 minute harangue, he let fly at, and in no particular order, Andrew Demetriou (“overpaid wanker”) the AFL (“do bugger all for country football”), teachers (“all bloody useless”), Julia Gillard (“f… lesbian bitch” - seriously that’s what he said, at least he left out ‘redhead’), her de facto (“dickhead loser”), the supermarkets (“robbing farmers blind”), Bruce McAvaney (“sounds like he’s got someone under the desk giving him a tug”), Dennis Cometti (“probably the bloke under the desk”), Kellie Underwood (no, you really don’t want to know)…I’m just glad I didn't bring up the carbon tax or asylum seekers. Or highlight that the Western Bulldogs have won only one more premiership than Western Sydney, despite an 86 year head start.


Sharpshooter Schoenmakers

As we all know, Hawthorn went into the match without Buddy, but Hawks fans fearing this could jeopardise our chances were doubtless reassured to see Ryan Schoenmakers go forward to take over Buddy’s role.  And while he may not have quite the forward presence or Twitter following of Buddy, he did take a couple of grabs and slotted a couple of goals. Old time fans seeing a blonde, left-footed number 25 lining up for goal might have had a flashback to Charlie Grummich in 1973. Our other ersatz Buddy, Gunston, also kicked 4, including our opener, a very nice long goal from 50 metres out on the boundary. 

The first quarter was tight, with the Dogs going in hard and matching Hawthorn in the packs. Tom Williams, playing his first match back from a long layoff was a strong target up forward and even kicked their second goal. The Hawks edged ahead by quarter time, but there was still less than two goals in it when Shaun Higgins kicked his third 11 minutes into the second quarter. Breust added one before half time, and it proved to be the first of nine unanswered Hawk goals between then and midway through the final term.  During this period the Bulldogs barely had a clean possession and if they did manage to get it forward, Gibson, Stratton and Birchall brought it straight back out to Roughead, Lewis and Mitchell, who were linking through the centre and getting it up forward, where Gunston, Schoenmakers, Breust and Rioli were getting so many opportunities they couldn’t help but kick a winning score. 


Their performance and the spread of goal kickers highlighted how well Hawthorn often plays without Buddy. Having said that, I’m not sure Collingwood is exactly quaking in it s boots at the prospect of facing the dual attack of Gunston and Schoenmakers.

It was another fine win by the Hawks, and I was enjoying it from the relative comfort of corporate seats on Level 2 – feeling very privileged and elitist until my Hawks buddy, Chan-Tha, texted to say that she was getting score updates while relaxing with cocktails and girlfriends in the pool in Bali. I conceded that cocktails and girls in bikinis beat flat beer and ugly, disgruntled Bulldogs fans for ambiance and atmosphere any day.

But as they sing on the boulevards and bicycle tracks of Paris, and even in Bali after sufficient cocktails, “Nous somme une equipe heures a Hawthorn” (“We’re a happy team at Hawthorn”).


Hawthorn  17  14  116  d  Western Bulldogs  6  8  44.

Buddy goal tally – 0 = total, 51


Buddy behinds tally – 0 = total, 49


What we like: Cyril’s dribble.


What we don't like: pretentious twats who pepper their language with occasional Franch mots.

Round 15 - Hawthorn v Greater Western Sydney

MCG, Sunday 8 July 2012

MONF – Museum of Old and New Football



Hawk art



What a weekend for sports lovers: the Wimbledon finals, Moto GP, Formula 1 from Silverstone, one day international cricket between Australia and England, Le Tour de France and of course the big one: Hawthorn v Greater Western Sydney at the MCG.

On the one weekend you have Serena Williams, Roger Federer, Casey Stoner, Valentino Rossi, Mark Webber, Sebastian Vettel, Michael Schumacher, Michael Clarke, Brett Lee, Cadel Evans and Buddy Franklin; all champions, even legends in their respective fields, and all performing within a 24 hour period. 

A true sports lover could spend the entire weekend in front of the TV; the only questions being which snacks to get in, how to pace your drinking, when to snatch your sleep, and the big one; will Buddy play?

After going off early in the final quarter the previous week with a tightening of the hamstring, there was much speculation about whether he would play this week, with most pundits believing Hawthorn would rest him for the clash against the Giants. After all, why would you risk a thoroughbred in a mid-week country race meet? Why would Usain Bolt run in a Little Athletics meet? Why would Picasso exhibit in a VCE art show? 


Anyway, perfect conditions for a weekend with like-minded sports fanatics and no restrictions on nocturnal viewing; perfect that is except the boys’ weekend I'm attending is in Hobart, not Melbourne, so while Hawthorn are busting their moves at the G, I was going to be stroking my chin at MONA - the Museum of Old and New Art, contemplating post-modernism, deconstructionism, fauvism, forward-flankism and other contemporary art movements. Without a smart phone, I was going to be relying on texts to keep me updated on the latest.


MONA is a relatively new gallery set up just outside Hobart by gambler, adventurer and philanthropist, David Walsh. It is stocked with both ancient artefacts and the latest and weirdest in conceptual art. The meeting of old and new creates a sort of conversation over the ages, a counterpoint between the archaic and the current, antiquated culture and contemporary culture. In some ways it is not unlike a meeting between the experienced Hawks and the new boys on the block, the Giants.  The old art – Egyptian mummies in coffins, aboriginal bark painitngs and Sidney Nolan paintings are perpetually interesting; intricate, timeless and beautiful, much like the mighty brown ‘n gold verticals of Hawthorn, whereas the new art, like ‘Cloaca Professional’ – a machine that actually creates and defecates faeces represents the current play of the Giants: slow, ugly, and yes, literally shit.


MONA doesn’t have labels, instead using an iPod like gadget called the ‘O’ which identifies and carries information about the art.  Mine didn’t seem to work terribly well, or rather, it worked terribly, hence, I had no idea what I was looking at most of the time. More reliable was my mobile where my Hawk correspondent at the match kept me updated via text message with events at the G.


“Buddy got his 500th goal” read the first, which told me the big boy was fine and out there. (And in answer to my question, no, they didn’t run out to pat him on the back.)

“Lots of goals”

“We’re building up our percentage”

“It’s like watching a practice match. Loving it”

“Buddy just got subbed. 113-22” (panic at my end)

“I think they just wanted to rest him” (reassurance)

“4.1 Buddy. Young kicked a great goal outside 50.”

“140–22, 29 mins Q3”

“Roughy picking up where Buddy left off”

“5.2 for Roughy – these could have been Buddy’s goals!”

“193-31. Roughy kicked a goal after the siren for 6.3.”

“The track suit pants and sub vest doesn’t suit Buddy!”


Such is my match report, limited I concede, but in a way it suits the environment – enlisting text, a relatively new form of communication, to convey information about the age old story of a Hawthorn triumph. MONA is truly astonishing; a playful, fascinating gallery that is always surprising and never dull, except perhaps for the bark paintings displayed like a Sydney Road rug emporium. Despite this, part of me regrets missing out on watching the Hawks romp home against the Giants. I love watching a good old fashioned thumping. Still, the result and perhaps also the MONA Pinot, gave me a nice warm feeling on the ferry ride back to Hobart.  


Hawthorn  28  25  193  d  GWS  4  7  31


Buddy goal tally – 4 = total, 51


Buddy (corked) behinds tally – 1 = total, 49


What we don’t like: Subsequent news of Buddy’s corked buttock (is that an injury or someone’s perverse sexual fantasy?) and bleeding in his left hamstring that will see him miss up to three weeks. A disaster! There’s a piece at MONA called ‘Artifact’ which is a gigantic human head lying on its side. You look through peep holes and see the nodes and wiring inside the head lit by relentless strobe lights that suggest a brain fizzing out to its erratic end. This perfecly illustrates the thought process of the person who decided Buddy should play against GWS.



What we like: Chad Cornes now has the distinction of being on the receiving end of Hawthorn’s two biggest victories. In 2011 he was in the Port team that Hawthorn defeated by 165 points, and this week he was in the Giants team that lost by 162 points. In his past two visits to the G to play Hawthorn the collective score has been 59 36 380 to 9 9 63.



Also: Happy Birthday Loopy Lu

Round 14 - Carlton v Hawthorn

MCG, Friday 29 June 2012

Hawthorn…born this way



Lady Gaga or Dermie?



With only a foot bridge separating the MCG, where Hawthorn was taking on Carlton, from Rod Laver Arena, where Lady Gaga was playing the second of five concerts in Melbourne, it was hard to work out from the gathering throng just who was attending which event.  Is that a Gaga wig, or is it Dermie?  Are those hideous children dressed up as Gaga’s Little Monsters or are they just Carlton fans? And those oiled up glamour boys wearing tight white tops, hot pants and hooped hosiery have got to be drag queens on their way to Gaga – no, it’s Hawthorn in their clash strip.

Either way we were all off to ‘marry the night’ as Gaga would have it and in the case of Hawthorn fans, hopefully consummate it as well.  Lady Gaga’s current hit ‘The Edge of Glory’ served as an appropriate soundtrack to this match; certainly its chorus of being “on the edge of glory…hanging on a moment of truth” carried some resonance, as both teams went into the match teetering on their own precipice: Hawthorn on the edge of the top four and Carlton on the edge of an abyss that could see them miss the finals. That’s where the consummation comes in – Hawthorn had a chance to shore up its own position while at the same time consigning Carlton to also-ran status. And I’m not sure which of these possibilities I was most excited about.

It's hard to be overwhelmingly confident when you see the Hawks run out wearing the white jumper with white shorts ensemble, but things began quite well with The Big Rough snapping our opening goal. I liked a banner I saw in the crowd that read ‘Golden Rough’ and instantly craved one - the confectionary that is, not a banner. After The Pooh added a second from a ‘Selwood’ free, things went a little awry with Carlton getting two back and Young running into an open goal twice…and hitting the post both times.  


But then things picked up: Carlton weren’t awarded a free they probably should have been and the Hawks took it from defence to attack with Buddy taking a slick handball from The Pooh to kick his first. A series of goals from Gunston (2), Buddy and Roughead gave us seven for the quarter and a comfy four goal lead at the break.


What made it more comfy was the way we’d kicked the goals. On several occasions Hawthorn had sliced through Carlton’s ‘press’ and  ended up in possession with three or four players goal side of the nearest Carlton defender.  Earlier that morning Italy had defeated Germany 2-1 in the Euro semi-final and while the Carlton-Italy affinity is an old joke in footy (“We know you’re Carlton, because your banners are in Italian” – Italy’s even called 'the Azurri' or the blues), it did look like Carlton were trying to employ an offside trap without realising that there’s no offside in Aussie Rules.


When Gunston slotted his third goal early in the second quarter Hawk fans were able to relax a little, until of course Carlton got one back and then seemed to wrest control of the match a little. Judd was becoming influential, as was Carazzo, and the Hawks were becoming slipshod. A series of fluffed chances ended in a slapstick routine in the forward pocket with The Rough handballing Carlton out of trouble by giving off to a defender instead of sinking his big left sock into it with a shot for goal. It came as a relief then when Lewis strolled into an open goal at the end of the quarter to restore our lead to over four goals.


The second half opened with goals to Buddy and Juddy, and then a succession of Hawks goals including a trademark 50 metre stab from Suckling, one to Hale after a strong mark (they couldn’t reach over his forehead to spoil) and a brace from Breust.


A 10 goal lead at ¾ time meant we could relax and enjoy watching Carlton fans leave – and fair enough too – it was freezing. Why would you stay to watch your team get humbled when you can get home and watch soft porn on SBS, catch Gaga’s encore, or just prepare for the Euro final on Monday morning? And really, the only highlight of the final quarter was Sammy’s left foot snap from the boundary.  Buddy’s run down the outer wing was building as a highlight until he appeared to do his hamstring while kicking. Hopefully it isn’t a real injury at all but just a ruse to rest him for the GWS match next week. Though such a strategy puts the 100 goals 100 behinds target in jeopardy.  But anything's better than an injury to Buddy.


Overall the Hawks were pretty good while Carlton were pretty ordinary. This was our ninth successive win over Carlton, a statistic which goes some way to supporting Lady Gaga's supposition that "God makes no mistakes." If Hawthorn fans derived just as much pleasure from our victory as we did from knowing that it put a crimp in Carlton’s ambition, then it’s just as Lady Gaga sings in the same song, we were "born this way."


Final scores: Hawthorn 18  12  120 d Carlton 10  10  70


Buddy goals tally: 4 = total, 47


Buddy behinds tally: 3 = total, 48


What we liked: Crucially, Buddy's hair was looking good, with a dinky little Superman curl at the front. A photo in the Herald-Sun on Friday morning had raised fears he'd grown a beard and I was concerned what that might do to his kicking - would it affect the right to left drift he put on the ball? Happily he'd shaved and any fears were unfounded.