Wednesday 28 August 2013

Round 22 - North Melbourne v Hawthorn

Saturday 24 August 2013, Etihad Stadium


Trending now...Hawthorn


Tracking pop culture trends is the job of social ethnographers and trainspotters, with Age columnists following a year or so later. The very nature of the task means there’s usually a lag time of some degree between a trend emerging and the same trend being recognised and widely acknowledged as such. Some argue that social media forums have quickened the process dramatically and exponentially, but these are people whose idea of a cultural movement is something that stretches only as long as a hash tag compound or echoes as far as a retweet.

In the case of literary genres or schools of art it can take years for the similarities and shared influences of individual practitioners to become apparent. Post modernists and the Pre-Raphaelites had been at it for years before anyone noticed anything unusual. Not that anyone cared much even then.

In popular music genres can be picked up much quicker, but even there, one singer in flared satin pants teamed with high heeled boots does not Glam rock make.

Broad cultural movements spanning a range of artistic endeavours or mediums can often take years to emerge, let alone be recognised and understood. Modernism, which began in the 1880s didn’t really get its name until well into the 1900s.

But there is a nascent movement now emerging across literature, music and football and which could well yet spread to other disciplines, other spectrums, until it defines life itself…Hawthorn.


The Hawthorn Renaissance


Last year I reviewed the novel, Eleven Seasons by Paul D Carter. It charts a young boy’s journey through adolescence measured against eleven seasons following Hawthorn, encompassing the great 80s period.

I’m currently reading The Whole of My World by Nicole Hayes, published earlier this year, another coming of age novel, this time about a teenage girl called Shelley who is obsessed by Hawthorn, or as they are known in the book, Glenthorn, in probably the least convincing example ever of ‘the names of some teams have been changed to protect their identities’. The team are known as the Falcons, they wear brown and gold, they are based in a suburban ground in Leafy Crescent, which strongly resembles Linda Crescent, and one of the cheer squad chants begins with “Give us an ‘H’!” despite the team name beginning with a ‘G’ . Go on literary trainspotters – knock yourselves out.

Whereas in Eleven Seasons Jason Dalton is a young boy living with his mother as a sole parent, and who goes to watch Hawthorn games at every opportunity; in The Whole of My World, the main character, Shelley, is a young girl living with her father as a sole parent who goes to watch Hawthorn games at every opportunity. It might just be that Hawthorn is the ‘family club’, but you don’t have to be Freud to work out that Hawthorn takes the role of surrogate parent in each case, even if they are different genders.

The book is set in the 80s and I pick it as being set in set in 1984 - there is a reference to Hawthorn winning the premiership the previous year after a five year drought (1983-1978).  Given that I was a prominent member of the Hawthorn Cheer Squad during this period I read on with interest thinking I might recognise a few people (especially given how poorly disguised the football team was), and was more than a little chuffed when about 25% of the way through (sorry, I can’t give a page number, I’m reading it on a Kindle), the leader of the cheer squad appears wearing pointy shoes, pants and a tweed jacket, rather than jeans and a footy jumper.

Of course I never wore tweed back then, or indeed ever, but I certainly wore suit pants, jackets and pointy shoes, so this character may indeed be loosely based on me, or an amalgam of me and others. This may well be my avatar, my debut as a literary character! Okay, so he’s not quite Holden Caulfield or Stephen Dedalus, and sure, I’d have quite liked to have made my debut as a libertine or a master seducer in a work of erotic fiction (well, it would have to be fiction), but it’s a start.

My chief criticism of Eleven Seasons was that there was too much focus on plot and character development at the expense of Hawthorn (including failing entirely to mention the 1989 Grand Final even though the book took place across that season). Of course Mr Carter shouldn’t be too angry; I make the same criticism of Cloudstreet.

This criticism can’t be levelled at The Whole of My World, at least up to the half way mark, as Hawthorn is central to the action (even two of the teachers are known as Whitecross and Hodge), but I’m puzzled by the decision to disguise the true identity of the team, especially so transparently.  Is it some post-modernist cypher? A comment about the nature of identity? Or some weird legal nicety?

In any case I’ll keep reading, if not to find out Shelley’s dark secret (for sure enough, there’s one of those), but just to see if the Mighty Falcons can pull off the big one!

These two novels carry explicit references to Hawthorn and I’d say that together they constitute a new genre of literature (which will be supplemented by my rollicking novel about a shortish, balding, portly 40 something who nominates for the AFL draft, gets picked up by Hawthorn and against all the odds kicks the winning goal after the siren to win the flag, all the while engaging in a torrid affair with goal umpire Chelsea Roffey).

There are also books with less explicit references to Hawthorn the club, but which nonetheless can be considered as part of the genre; ‘Hawthorn and Child’ by Keith Ridgeway among them. Again, notice the parent-child relationship in the title. By subverting the style of title familiar to religious paintings of the Madonna and the baby Jesus, this book again casts Hawthorn as the surrogate parent, except in this case the parent of all humanity. Fair enough too.

The Hawthorn and Child of the title in fact are not parent and child, but two detectives. Hawthorn is a gay man who suffers from bad dreams and has a propensity for unexplained weeping – clearly a man haunted by last year’s Grand Final loss.

It’s perhaps fitting that as the Melbourne Writers festival continues at Federation Square, we’ve unearthed a major new literary movement. But this genre is not confined to literature. In music too the Hawthorn motif is becoming prominent. Mayer Hawthorne is a singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, producer etc  who has just released a new album, ‘Where Does This Door Go’ to critical acclaim.

Likewise, Youngblood Hawke is an indie band currently touring Australia with Pink while New Zealand born singer Ladyhawke also continues to grow in popularity.

This confluence of the ‘Hawthorn’ and ‘Hawk’ names across literature and music constitutes an emerging and powerful pop culture movement, a renaissance in fact, one that will culminate, I predict, with another era of dominance in the AFL by Hawthorn.


Twerking now...Hawthorn


Another emerging trend in the world of what might be loosely called dance is that of ‘twerking’. It’s been around for awhile but is now hitting mainstream consciousness, thanks largely to Miley Cyrus’ hit video ‘We Can’t Stop’ and her performance this week at the MTV Awards with Robin Thicke.

Twerking is essentially a dance that involves bending over in front of someone and rolling your arse about in front of them in a lewd and provocative manner. I’m unsure of the etymology of the word ‘twerking’, and perhaps 'sphinctering’ might be a more accurate term to describe the dance, but you get the point.


Is he going for a specky?
photo: thehollywoodgossip.com

Miley Cyrus sparked moral outrage with her performance at the MTV awards where she performed her now signature move while wearing a flesh coloured bikini and, bizarrely, a giant Coles hand. It’s comforting to know that pop singers can still cause moral panic among the prudes and populists, and it reminded me of how Hawthorn approached Saturday’s match against North Melbourne.

Earlier in the year we defeated North by a few points despite being largely outplayed for most of the match. A combination of North’s poor kicking for goal and some Cyril magic got us over the line that evening.
Again in this match North completely outplayed us in the first half. Hard running, a bold, attacking game plan and good execution gave North an edge the Hawks found difficult to counter.  North was winning it from the centre thanks to Goldstein, spreading quickly and playing through Wells and Black, and they were kicking straight.

After Breust kicked the first goal of the match, North through some sharp footy banged on the next four. The Hawks looked flat-footed and slow by comparison, but thanks to some strong work by Buddy and The Rough, we managed three goals towards the end of the quarter to even things up.

But this was only temporary for in the second quarter North turned it on again. Goals to Jacobs, Thomas, Goldstein and Harvey, who outbodied Lake to take a mark, gave North a 26 point lead and it was all looking a bit, well, ugly, particularly with Shields injured and Hodge bleeding. But thanks largely to Buddy, the second quarter finished like the first with Franklin bagging a couple and Cyril and Breust each kicking one.

Thirteen points down at half time was a relatively good place to be given how the two sides had played, and knowing that no one can blow a lead like North.

The Rioli Quartet 


So it was no surprise when the Hawks took over in the third, thanks largely to Cyril working his usual routine. After Roughead marked and goaled early, Cyril was pretty much responsible for the next four Hawthorn goals; kicking one himself after some artful twisting and dodging, then handballing over to Breust who ran into an open goal, followed by some more elusive dodging to set up Hill and finally putting a pass into Hale’s hands.

For the second time this season North had worked into a position where they looked like they might win, only to take their collective eyes off Cyril for long enough that he could steal it from under them.

It wasn’t all Cyril though – Bailey started to get on top of Goldstein, Mitchell went into the middle and won the ball, and Hodge, well Hodge pretty much repelled every North forward thrust and reinforced why it’s perfectly acceptable to have a man crush on him, even with a bandage around his head.

Both teams missed opportunities in the final quarter, but goals to Rough and Buddy were enough to seal the match and condemn North to another narrow loss.

Max Bailey twerks Gunston


The thing about twerking is that it is a provocative tease in which the ‘twerker’, if you will, assumes a vulnerable position while arousing their partner or antagonist and allowing them to feel dominant and in control. This is exactly the dance the Hawks have done in front of North twice this year – we’ve bent over in front of them inviting dominance, teasing them with the illusion that they can take us, only to then slip away when North has hesitated to act.

In addition to teasing, bending over in front of someone to present your arse has long been a sign of contempt or dismissal, such as mooning. What we’ve done to North this season is exactly what Miley Cyrus did at the MTV awards – we at once teased them with the ridiculous hope of victory while also mooning them.  Nice work Hawks!


Final scores: Hawthorn 17 15 117  d  North Melbourne 15 13 103


What we learned: Shane Warne’s transformation from bogan to bourgeois goes beyond the tan, weight loss and teeth whitening. After England players were caught urinating on The Oval pitch after the conclusion of the fifth Test in London, Shane Warne labelled them ‘crass and arrogant’. Warney that is, calling England crass. Brilliant. You really know you’ve gone off the rails if Warney’s giving you advice on etiquette, deportment and humility.



What we already knew: The AFL would go soft on Essendon: Hird banned for 12 months, the team kicked out of the finals, $2 million fine and loss of draft picks for two years. Weak!  Essendon moaned about Demetriou hearing the chrges - they should be thankful it wasn't me sitting in judgement. They'd have wanted to swap places with Bradley Manning.

Having said that, I have a more generous and forgiving viewpoint than The Age.The cover of Wednesday's paper announcing the penalties imposed on Essendon had a full colour photo of James Hird with the headline in large font, "BANNED", while in the top right hand corner level with the masthead was a small photo of President Assad of Syria.

The charge sheet against Essendon and James Hird is very serious, but whatever Hird is guilty of doing to the Essendon players, it falls somewhat short of deploying chemical weapons against his own citizens, as Assad is alleged to have done. Perhaps some perspective.








Wednesday 21 August 2013

Round 21 - Hawthorn v Collingwood

Friday 16 August, MCG


Blowin’ in the wind


"Kick it to Buddy!"
- photo: zimbio.com
Surely every footballer’s dream is to one day be able to say, “I pinpointed Buddy with a lace out pass 30 metres from goal in front of more than 70,000 people at the ‘G’.” Well, Tyson Goldsack can now legitimately make this boast to his children and his grand children; the fact that he did it while playing for the opposition is the part of the story he might want to omit or conceal in the footnotes.

It came courtesy of a botched kick-in that shanked off his boot and went straight to Buddy who was guarding space, as they say, 30 metres from goal. Buddy went back, ran around on his natural arc to allow for the wind, banged it on his boot and duly slotted his fourth for the night and, according to Bruce, his 300th overall at the MCG. This gave us a 26 point lead midway through the third quarter, sapped any shred of belief left in Collingwood, and perhaps made Maxwell wish he hadn’t given Buddy a mouthful on half time.

The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind…you just have to allow for it when shooting for goal. 


The goal posts at the City end - a 4 to 5 goal breeze
Two weeks ago when we lost to Richmond in the midst of dire storm warnings I turned to Bob Dylan’s apocalyptic fable ‘A Hard Rain’s-A- Gonna-Fall’ to help me try and understand what had occurred.

This week’s wild, blustering conditions also bring to mind an early Dylan song, ‘Blowin’ in the Wind,’ in which the young singer, seeking some sort of transcendence, poses a series of philosophical questions to try and explain the human condition and locate meaning in the universe. The answer to these questions, the song asserts, is ‘blowin’ in the wind’.

If this is true there’s a fair chance ‘the answer’ was swirling and gusting about with the chip packets, pie wrappers, deflated thunder sticks and other assorted debris at the MCG on Friday night. The squall was such that if you turned the MCG light towers into wind turbines you could have generated enough energy to power Victoria for the next decade.

Is it coincidence, or is Bob just prescient? Because the first hint that cosmic riddles would be solved came when Lewis marked 30 out and kicked our first goal, always a happy portent.

But ‘the answer’ was also evident in several other acts through out the night. In the first quarter you only have to look to Cyril’s two touch soccer goal, the first touch taking the ball out of Pendlebury’s lunging reach and the second touch hammering it into the back of the net.  Buddy and Smith both kicking truly from set shots, Whitecross snapping it around his body for a goal and Breust roving it from Roughead’s deft tap to kick another. Perhaps the most resounding answer in the first quarter came with Cloke shooting right on the siren from 15 metres and missing badly to the left.

Life, the Universe and Everything


Sewell (12) started well, having 13 disposals in the first quarter, as did Hale (10) winning the ball and having three shots on goal – they all missed but it gave Collingwood someone other than Buddy and Rough to worry about. Birchall (14) was showing in his first game back that he hadn’t lost his touch and Gibbo (6), as ever, was strong in defence.

Douglas Adams reveals in his ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ series that the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything is 42, which strangely enough, is also the sum of Sewell, Hale, Birchall and Gibbo’s jumper numbers. Am I stretching the point or is that just spooky?

In the second quarter you might find the ‘answer’ in Cyril’s brilliant touch to set up two more goals: the first after taking three bounces to scoot away from the throng and fire a handball over the top to Smith in the goal square; the second when he somehow slid between Swan and Sinclair to fire a pass to Gunston directly in front.

The answer was also evident in Buddy receiving three free kicks in the space of three minutes – a sure sign there was enchantment in the air. An even clearer sign of paranormal activity was that he kicked two of them. The answer was blowin’ in the wind alright, and it was giving Buddy a helpful right-to-left fade on his kick.

The Max Factor


All of the free kicks were fairly clear, despite Collingwood fans booing (their default form of expression), it’s still against the rules to simply charge someone who is going for a mark, as was the case with two of the decisions. In the case of the third free kick it’s hard to know exactly what Maxwell was attempting to do, snuggle Buddy perhaps - he's only human, but whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t going for the ball. Or perhaps the umpire had simply read Matthew Scarlett’s book and, agreeing with his assessment, had no respect for Maxwell as a player.

Right on half-time Buddy misfired a look-away handball that Blair intercepted and goaled for Collingwood – their third in a matter of minutes – bringing the margin back to 15 points at the break. In light of Scarlett’s view, it was amusing to see Maxwell mouthing off in Buddy’s face. Maxwell giving it to Buddy. Seriously! That would be the Buddy who had already kicked three goals, the Buddy who had single-handedly destroyed Collingwood on several occasions, the Buddy who leapt over players to kick a 75 metre goal in Round 2 - he Buddy who Maxwell had never once had the courage to take on as his primary opponent.


Remember this one Nick?
- photo:theaustralian.com


It is pretty much generally accepted among footy fans that Nick Maxwell is the worst player who is captain of his club. But there is also a growing groundswell of opinion among footy fans that he is in fact the worst player in the AFL, period, and these, I should add, are principally Collingwood fans. He should call his autobiography ‘Third Man Up’.

With three quick goals and on the back of Quinten Lynch’s courageous act of flattening Sam Mitchell from behind and well off the ball, Collingwood were full of huff and puff on the siren – pushing, shoving, mouthing off and jumper punching. They swaggered off at half-time chests out, tatts glistening, full of bluster and belief. I mean Quinten, Steele, Heath, Tyson and Travis may sound like a boy band, but these fellas are tough. We’re just fortunate Clinton and Tarkyn weren’t playing.


Melbourne Writers Festival fever:
book lovers jostle to get Nick Maxwell to sign their copy of
'Holdin' the Line' by Matthew Scarlett
- photo: theage.com


So Collingwood came out for the third quarter fired up, fervent, spurred on and ready to roll…and scrambled through just three behinds for the quarter.

Finding all the answers, the Hawks booted 3.4, including Buddy’s goal from Goldsack’s kick-in, plus another to Whitecross after Buddy won possession, wheeled around onto his left, but instead of launching one of his long, curling shots on goal from 50, he speared a pass to Whitecross, who ran into an open goal. Beautiful!  Nick Maxwell nowhere to be seen.

In the final quarter, after a brief flurry from Collingwood, the answering goals came first from Hill with a snap around the body, before Rough ended the argument with an emphatic kick from outside 50.

It was another great win for the Hawks with Hodge (15), Whitecross (11) and Smith (16) among our best – hang on, 15 + 11 + 16, there’s the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything again, 42. Can there be any lingering doubt that Hawthorn is central to some mysterious, overarching cosmic plan. Hawthorn is the answer.

Evoking Bob Dylan to once again illustrate a Hawthorn win may seem far-fetched and fanciful to some, but there is a long standing connection between Dylan and Hawthorn. It goes right back to his 1965 album, Highway 61 Revisited, which, as the title shows, makes no secret that it’s looking back at our first premiership, while his 1966 album, Blonde on Blonde, is a fairly clear reference to our recruiting policy of the mid 90s.


Runneth over with blue cups


After the match Luke Hodge was presented with the Beyond Blue cup, a trophy so named to help raise awareness of depression.

This complements the Blue Ribbon cup we were awarded the previous week after defeating St.Kilda, a trophy named in memory of police sergeants Gary Silk and Rodney Miller who were killed in the line of duty.

And on Sunday, Aberfeldie’s Under 14 Division 5 team – for whom my son Oscar plays, and who happen to wear jumpers with two blues – won their Grand Final in a stirring come from behind win. As great as Hawthorn’s victory over Collingwood was; it was the boys wearing the Aberfeldie two-blue jumper who made the weekend a truly memorable one for football.  That’s him with the cup.




Now there’s just one more cup to go…


Final scores: Hawthorn 18 11 119  d  Collingwood 12 12 84.


What we learned: well, the answer my friend, and it's Hawthorn.



What we already knew: the goal review system is being operated by which ever video illiterate third umpire is in charge of the remote control at The Ashes in England. How else to explain the fiasco in the second quarter that resulted in Taylor Duryea scoring the first rushed goal in AFL history?

The ball spilled in the goal square and Blair flung his boot at it as Taylor Duryea dived to knock it through with his palm. The goal went for review where it clearly showed Duryea tap it with an open palm over the line – it was so obvious they could have paid a free against him for a 'deliberate' behind. Blair’s toe was nowhere near the ball – yet somehow this was called inconclusive. Chan-Tha watching from San Francisco could see that it was touched - I have the text to prove it.

Wednesday 14 August 2013

Round 20 - St.Kilda v Hawthorn

Friday 9 August 2013, Etihad Stadium


Walk a mile in Buddy's Shoes 


Hawthorn has been using Buddy for six years to sell memberships and promote the club, so it’s only fair that Buddy use Hawthorn to promote his new Buddy boots.

"These boots are made
for sittin'"
Breaking his six month silence on his contract negotiations and using the launch of his new range of footwear to announce that he ‘wanted to stay at Hawthorn’ may not have shed any real light on his intentions for next season, but it certainly guaranteed that his product launch made the news on every TV channel and other associated media outlet.

As free advertising stunts go, it was straight from the manual – make an ad newsworthy and save on marketing costs.

And just to ensure all angles were covered, Buddy’s occasional confidante and current Ashes combatant, Kevin Peterson, also got tweeting about the boots. That made the news too.  Though not as much as KP’s silicon accessories. Though that might have just been a silly-con

Perhaps if Buddy had been able to convince James Hird to say he’d drunk AOD-9604 from the Buddy boot and got a heckler to hurl one at Kevin Rudd during the leaders’ debate, he’d have achieved saturation coverage – and possibly hero status if the shoe hit.

In the end, Buddy didn’t play in Friday night’s match against St.Kilda, which gave him a chance to do a half time interview on Channel 7, where guess what, he was able to spruik his boots again. It’s what Tom Waterhouse calls an ‘embedded’ commercial.

So all power to Buddy and long may we walk a mile in his shoes, or Buddy boots, or as Amy Winehouse calls them, her “Fuck me pumps.”

We’ll buy the Buddy boots anyway to go with our Nena + Paesadena t-shirts. We’re just waiting on his line of fragrances and lingerie. I’m not joking…I drink beer from a Buddy stubby holder, why wouldn’t I spray on ‘Buddy Odour’ and wear ‘Buddy Briefs’? (Hey Buddy – those names are trademarked ok.)


Rock the Whitten Bar


It’s fair to say that without Buddy, the match lost a bit of its cache, notwithstanding the insight-less Channel 7 half-time interview.

"I'm telling you Tony, Roughy's kicked four"
Most post-match reports about the game suggest it was a dour and boring affair; only marginally less dull and predictable than Kevin Rudd and Tony Abbott’s leaders’ debate.  Some even found it more harrowing viewing than Patrick’s death in ‘Offspring’, while others were so lulled into a comatose state they turned over to the Fourth Test looking for sporting action.

This is not to say it compared to the infamous ‘shame game’ between these two teams from 2007. This was a veritable goal feast compared to that match. But even so, it was the sort of game that the app ‘Snapchat’ was designed for: short 1-10 second grabs that are automatically deleted. OK, so ‘Snapchat’ was mainly invented for sexting, but that isn’t to say it doesn’t have other applications, like footy matches with five or so separate moments that might be construed into highlights worth posting to someone. (You have to wonder how it is that staff for the former US Congressman – note the ‘former’ – and current New York City mayoral candidate, Anthony Weiner, never told him about a sexting app that deleted the evidence.)

But the match had its highlights: we won the very first centre clearance, which after last week is something worth celebrating. Sewell took it from the bounce and fired it into our much heralded multi-pronged, uber-forwards…um, Spangher and Grimley.  Really, how seriously was Clarko taking this game?

For the second consecutive week, Cyril seemed a bit off the pace, so much so that by the second quarter, Bruce Macavney observed that he looked a bit “wider in the hips” – they were Bruce’s exact words. Talk about how to give a bloke body issues.  If Cyril is ‘wide in the hips’ what does that make Stewart Dew?

The Rough was also evidently bored and decided to take matters into his own hands, grabbing a spilt ball and storming into goal for his second. Gunston slotted a nice set shot and Spangher kicked one off the ground. A 5.10 quarter was wasteful, but still set up a reasonably good half-time lead.

For the third quarter I found myself in the Whitten bar which is behind glass on Level 2 behind the goals. I don’t know which end; I can’t tell the two ends apart at Etihad – not unless they called them the ‘Dunstall’ and ‘Huddo’ ends. Seriously, who are Lockett and Coventry? In any case it was an ideal location for even though I couldn’t really see much, the only action that took place happened right in front of me. The Rough took a kick from the goal square, but the first I knew of it was when the ball thundered into the glass right next to me. It was quite exhilarating to see the ball that had just come off The Rough’s toe so close. It must have been how the Navy Seals felt when they turned a corner and found Osama Bin Laden right in front of them.

Isaac Smith also kicked a nice long goal in the third, but that was about it. Likewise for the final quarter – Breust took a nice strong one-handed, not-looking mark, and goaled, but on the whole it wasn’t a classic encounter. It was to football what the Rudd-Abbott debate was compared to a Hawke-Fraser debate from 83.

It’s worth noting however, that for a number of weeks now, our best players have been Smith, Stratton, Puopolo and Savage – who finally has a haircut that lives up to his name; he looks like Joe Strummer from the ‘Rock The Casbah’ era Clash.


Final scores: Hawthorn 14 18 102  d   St.Kilda 7 14 56


What we learned: that being a person of interest to the media is the same as having your country stolen, your culture desecrated and your people slain and disbanded. Speaking at a lunch before the Sydney Collingwood match, Eddie Maguire equated the ‘absolute injustice’ he felt at being ‘done over by the media’ (can you believe he said that without any apparent irony?) gave him insight into the daily life of Indigenous people in Australia. If it wasn’t so laughable, it would be laughable.



Jobe Watson after Dr Reid's latest
course of supplements 
What we already knew: Essendon and four of its henchmen; Hird, Cochoran, Thompson and Reid, have been charged with bringing the game into disrepute. Really, what’s new? Essendon has been bringing the game into disrepute for over 100 years.  Just while they’re thinking of penalties, perhaps they should force on them a new away strip - this perhaps?

Tuesday 6 August 2013

Round 19 - Hawthorn v Richmond

Saturday 3 August, MCG


A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall


Bob Dylan - saw this one comin'
- photo the guardian.com
During the third quarter of Saturday’s match, the live weather radar was beamed from the giant scoreboard accompanied by an announcement that a big storm was on its way and that patrons should make their way undercover.  With nowhere else to go for shelter, the Hawthorn players retreated into themselves, or just got spooked, and as with the corresponding match last season, we were completely overrun by Richmond, who from that moment kicked 8 of the next 10 goals to run out easy winners.

After producing one of our best performances of the season the previous week against Essendon, it was somewhat disappointing and unexpected that we’d follow it up with one of our worst. It was like when Oasis released Be Here Now as the follow-up to Morning Glory. 

The match began well enough, after Jack Riewoldt kicked the first for Richmond, Buddy kicked one for us, followed by Lewis. Riewoldt kicked his second which was answered by Buddy taking a nice grab. Hopes of a shootout between two of the competition’s best goal kickers soon dissipated however, as Buddy’s shot went sailing out on the full.

And from there it was all Richmond as they continually won the ball and moved it quickly and accurately, adding four more goals to take a three goal lead to the break. At quarter time the clearances were 16–2 in Richmond’s favour and the only surprise was that we weren’t further behind.

Hawthorn played it tough and tight in the second quarter, stemming the flow and adding three goals while keeping Richmond goalless. The inaccuracy continued with Hale and Gunston both hitting the post, but finally Guerra, playing his 250th match, put us in front at the 27 minute mark. From here I thought we’d gradually edge further ahead with those players who hadn’t been able to get into the match- Roughead, Rioli, Gunston et al –taking over.

A miss to Buddy on the siren and another to Burgoyne not long after the restart, however,  sapped any momentum we might have been building and undermined the advantage players like Smith and Mitchell had worked hard to build up. Even when new boy, Ceglar, marked strongly and goaled, our quarter and a bit of near dominance had yielded just a 9 point advantage. 

When the rains hit, Hawthorn continued to play a quaint possession game built on precise passing, which is fine if you’re moving goal wards, but winning the uncontested possession count doesn’t mean much if you can’t clear the half-back line.

Richmond, on the other hand, played a more dynamic game that involved winning the ball – usually Cotchin - and getting it out to its runners, who continued to surge forward. The inevitable goals ensued.   

Okay, so it’s only our third loss for the season so perhaps it would be overreacting to read too much into it or assign it too much significance. Yet with the skies darkening, the wind blustering, the rain tumbling down in sheets, and the ground announcer’s ominous storm warning, it’s difficult not to think of Bob Dylan’s early song, ‘A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall’, in which a young man returning from his travels is questioned as to where he’s been, what he’s seen, what he’s heard and so on. Over five long verses, the ‘blue-eyed son’ recounts the apocalyptic visions and portents that assailed him on his journey. 

Had Bob seen this match, he might just recast some of the lyrics…

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
And where have you been, my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled to the ‘G’ on a day of dire warning,
I’ve walked down the aisle but found no seats undercover
I’ve sat in the middle of a dozen rabid Tigers
I’ve queued at the bar for half the third quarter
I’ve trudged ten thousand miles to Flinders Street station
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.


Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you see, my darling young one?  
I saw Jack Riewoldt mark out in front of Gibbo
I saw Ceglar give away free kicks at the stoppage
I saw DeLidio and Dusty break clear frequently
I saw Buddy and Burgoyne both miss from 30
I saw Cyril miss targets, Sewell and Savage spill marks
I saw black and yellow flags right in front of my face  
I even saw Daniel Jackson slot one from the boundary
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.


And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son ?
And what did you hear, my darling young one ?
I heard the sound of Tiger fans roar out a warnin’
I heard Hawthorn fans moan and say “pick up ya man”
I heard people shout “BALL!” for no reason at all
I heard the umpire’s whistling and nobody comprehendin’
I heard the siren that signals the end of the world
Heard the song of the Tigers shouting “Yellow and black!”
Heard the sound of yellow and brown cry in the alley
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.


Final scores: Richmond 16 11 107  d  Hawthorn  9 12 66


What we learned: A shot of Dermie and Dunstall in the Fox commentary box was flashed on the big screen to remind us ever so gently, of the good old days. Much has been made of the fact that Richmond has now defeated Hawthorn in two consecutive matches. Some are even calling it a streak, but I prefer my streaks a tad longer, like the one that spanned almost the entire length of Dermie and Dunstall’s playing days together, when Hawthorn defeated Richmond in 16 consecutive matches over 10 years from Round 16 1985 to Round 21 1994 - including Round 7 1992 when Dunstall kicked 17.5.

The only occasion I can find when Richmond defeated Hawthorn in a match with both Dermie and Dunstall playing was Round 5 1985, Dunstall’s first year at Hawthorn. That day Dermie kicked 6.1 and Dunstall 1.5.

"Do you recall ever playing in a loss to Richmond?"
" No, you?"
- photo: thecorporatemethod.com.au
The streak was finally broken at Waverley in Round 3 1995, after Dermie had left Hawthorn, when Richmond kicked 4.16 to Hawthorn 5.4 to win by 6 points – but even then we kicked one more goal than them.   




What we already knew: A series of baffling free kicks both ways suggested the umpires could easily find a role officiating in one of The Ashes Tests underway in England. Thank God there’s no DRS in AFL. Oh, there is. 


Thursday 1 August 2013

Round 18 - Essendon v Hawthorn

Friday 26 July, Etihad Stadium 


Now is the winter of our content



Richard the tHird - denies all allegations
The TV previews of Friday night’s top of the table clash between Hawthorn and Essendon naturally focused on their many famous encounters from the 80s when, over the course of four or more years, both teams traded not only top spot on the ladder, but a series of blows. Predictably, the emphasis was skewered towards those occasions when individual players, or on some occasions, the entire two teams, brawled it out.

Throughout the week I saw replays of the all-in brawl of the 1985 Grand Final, the ‘line in the sand’ game of 2004, Matthew Lloyd ironing out Brad Sewell in 2009, Brereton kissing Billy Duckworth and running though the Essendon huddle at Waverley and Brereton‘s hip and shoulder on Van Der Haar in the 1989 second semi. Sadly there’s no vision of Colin Robertson taking out Timmy (as he was then known) Watson in the 1983 Grand Final, as most Hawks fans would have enjoyed watching that over and over – particularly after Timmy used his spot as Channel 7 Sports anchor this week to lead the cheering for Cyril to be investigated over an innocuous tackle the previous week. Timmy used his profile and media space to try and have Cyril suspended the week before he was due to play Essendon - and yet it’s Essendon who seem to be whingeing about the media this year.

Rather than focus on past brawls between the two teams, it would be more appropriate this year to show footage of an Essendon board meeting, where they seem to be going at each other with all the ferocity of Brereton and Duckworth. Watching Essendon unravel and tear each other apart over the ongoing drugs saga is one of the more enjoyable aspects of an otherwise uneventful season - the cause of much content.

In casting about for parallels of this saga, I’m reminded most of Shakespeare’s Richard III, which opens with Richard saying, “Now is the winter of our discontent…” a phrase which you suspect might have popped up this year at an Essendon board meeting.

In the course of the play, Richard uses a mix of evil and Machiavellian cunning firstly to take the throne and then to keep it. He dispatches those who stand in his way, double-crosses those he employs to do his dirty work and disposes of those who pose an ongoing threat…hmmm, remind you of anyone…?  Richard the tHird perhaps?

A quick overview of Richard’s victims during the play include King Henry VI (stabbed), Edward, elder Prince of Wales (stabbed), George, Duke of Clarence (assassinated by hitmen hired by Richard), the two hitmen themselves (disappear, presumed murdered), King Edward IV (dies of broken heart over Richard’s machinations), the two baby princes (smothered to death in the Tower), Hastings (beheaded), Buckingham, River, Gray and Vaughan (executed) and George Stanley (assassinated).  Substitute these names for Matthew Knights, Dean Robinson, Steven Dank, Paul Hamilton, Ian Robson, Elizabeth Lukin and David Evans, and suddenly the body count at Windy Hill begins to resemble Richard’s own at court.

Meanwhile, Hird acts all innocent, but as Richard reveals:

“And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”

Richard III as he is today
- those anti-obesity drugs have
really kicked in.
As Richard is finally taken down in the final battle and lays asprawl in imminent defeat, his throne taken, he bellows the famous lament, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” I’m sure I’m not the only one to note that ‘horse’ is a slang term for heroin – and that perhaps this line refers not only to a means of escape for Richard (both actual and virtual), but an expression of regret from Hird that his reign as Essendon coach could be over due to the pharmacological experiments conducted at the club.

As Richard also observes:

“Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe:
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell;
If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.” 

And then, finally, once banished to the bottom of the ladder, or 'hell' as Richard terms it, Essendon's winter of discontent will become glorious summer for the sons of Hawks.

You’ll never walk alone with Liverpool…but you can forget about sitting together at Etihad


Here's what a crowd looks like when you let them in
More than 95,000 people crammed into the MCG midweek to watch Liverpool and Melbourne Victory – two middling teams in their respective leagues – play a practice match. Imagine how many people therefore, the top two teams in the AFL, Hawthorn and Essendon, might be expected to draw for a Friday night clash.

Well barely half that as it happens, but this doesn’t reflect a code defection or lack of interest on the part of Melbourne’s footy public, rather the decision to play this game at Etihad Stadium, a venue that only holds 53,359 and then doesn’t make all of those seats available.

A week before the match we couldn’t get tickets through any of the ticketing categories to which we were eligible: MCC members in Axcess One – no availability, Hawthorn members – only single seats, or even general public – no availability. We tried online and by phone and were told by the ticketing agency that there were no seats available. Despite this, when watching the telecast, there were plenty of empty seats at the ground and a crowd of 49,905, which by my calculations means there were in fact 4,454 seats available. I only wanted three.

When the AFL talks about protecting the code from the threat posed by soccer and rugby, they might want to look at how they schedule games and how tickets are sold (or not as it happens) for Etihad. Just putting it out there.

In: Franklin, Mitchell


As a result of not being able to secure tickets, we congregated at the newly reopened Duke of Wellington Hotel on the corner of Flinders and Russell streets.

The Duke of Wellington is named after the brave and honourable English General who defeated the evil and deceitful Napolean – so the parallels were obvious and we went with the confidence that Essendon would face their Waterloo on the night.

One reason for confidence was revealed at team selection – Out: Cheney, Langford. In: Franklin, Mitchell. Not to be unfair to Cheney or Langford, but rarely has there been a more definitive or contrasting out/in combo . Cheney, who can’t kick a goal from 10 metres, compared to Franklin, a two-time Coleman medallist who kicked 100 in a season; and Langford, who has played one game for 4 possessions, compared to Mitchell who has played 236 games and averages around 30 possessions a match – that’s about an 8 goal improvement on the previous week’s side alone, before they even take the field. In political terms it’s a bit like replacing Howard and Abbott for Mandela and Gandhi.

There were early setbacks, and I’m not referring to Essendon’s two early goals, but the price of the drinks. A 330ml stubby of Hawthorn Pilsner (what else would you drink on this night?) cost $12 at the Duke. That’s fine if you’re on Buddy’s reputed salary, but for those of us on a more modest contract, this is ridiculous. It’s brewed about 5 km up the road so it’s not as if there’s excessive transport costs involved. On a dollar per ml matrix, that possibly comes in as more expensive than Veuve Cliquot.

Having said that, it was nice to clink a ‘Hawthorn’ when Lewis answered with nice snap to kick our first. I haven’t checked the stats, but I have a gut feeling we win when Lewis kicks our first.

And we probably also usually win when Buddy snags 3 in the opening quarter. After his first, Carlisle elbowed him from behind to take him down, and yet seemed a little put out when Buddy retaliated. Roughing him up a bit can put him off his game sometimes, but you have to be tougher and better than Carlisle.

No. 38 Kommor was also trying to sling people around when they didn’t have the ball – in the first quarter it was Guerra and in the second Hodge. In the third quarter he slung Smith into the fence, and then tried to punch on with Whitecross, while in the final quarter he tried it on with Duryea. He was acting very tough for a running player who had 3, count them, 3 kicks for the match – and one of them was penalised for ‘deliberate out of bounds’. In years past you might suggest he was on the angry pills, but of course such a suggestion comes a bit loaded at Essendon these days - after all, it might be right! But as the old saying goes – was it Shakespeare or Confucius? – “he who wants to throw his weight around shouldn’t take anti-obesity drugs”, banned or otherwise.

After trailing 4 goals to 2 half way through the first term, the Hawks kicked the next 4 in the first quarter and 8 of the next 9 by half time, giving them an unassailable 32 point lead. And it was unassailable because they were playing with utter ruthlessness. There was no way Essendon was going to get back in it.

Essendon’s only goal in this period was the first of the second quarter to Hurley, and even then he was the beneficiary of a lucky bounce after a Hawthorn smother. At that point there were 9.30 mins left to run in the second quarter and the Hawks led by just 10 points. Just over three minutes later, with 6.02 mins left to run, the Hawks had added 4 and led by 31 points.

Firstly Cyril got it from Breust in the centre and he ran and goaled from 60. Then Rough won a tough one-on-one and grubbered one through. A minute later The Poo passed to Buddy who wheeled around, avoided two tacklers and slotted it from 50. The Poo got his own a minute later after a period of intense Hawthorn play to maintain possession.

The third quarter continued in a similar vein with Hawthorn dominating after Essendon started well. Goals to Lewis and the Poo were followed by one to Hale after a relayed free kick when Roughead went down.  The Rough was shepherding and got elbowed in the head, but despite him being the one who was hit, Essendon fans booed him for the rest of the match. Go figure.

The match was over as a contest by this stage, particularly after Hodge intercepted a handball at half back, passed to Hale, Smith, back to Hodge, over to The Poo who put it in Buddy’s grasp, from which he went back to slot his sixth.

Buddy added three more in the final quarter for a total of 8, and Breust 2, taking the margin up to 10 goals and adding another happy chapter to Buddy's domination of Essendon.

This was an impressive performance by the Hawks – our most complete since we played Sydney. We played with confidence and daring and maintained precision and pressure for the entire match.  It’s just a shame there weren’t more people there to see it.


Final scores: Hawthorn 22  11 143  d  Essendon 13  9  87


What we learned: That Essendon fans are either delusional or their grasp of right and wrong is the reverse of reality. They boo Roughead after an Essendon player elbows him in the head and knocks him out, just as they cheer on Hird as each new damning piece of evidence comes in against him to bring further discredit to their team. But to try and understand how the collective minds of Essendon fans work is not something you would undertake with any hope of success.  You may as well ask why is there evil? Who made the Nazis?


What we already knew: That Buddy relishes demoralising Essendon as much as any Hawk fan -  8 goals in this match, two previous bags of nine, plus the two famous running goals at the MCG in 2010.




The author and Chan-Tha revel in our triumph over Essendon