Round 22 – Hawthorn v Geelong

MCG, Saturday 23 August 2014

Hawthorn – Bringing Sexy Back

A staple of television entertainment these days is the makeover show, where people are transformed from one state of being into another, altogether higher state of being. Whether it is turning an obese and slovenly person into a slender one, the hideous into the handsome, the fausty into the fashionable or a slattern into a sex siren, these shows take viewers on a journey through the transformation. The concept also applies to professions, turning a cook into a chef or a worker bee into to a boss. It even works for property, turning backyard mires into manicured gardens and hovels into homes. The template for such shows is to begin with a back-story of misfortune and misery and follow the candidates as they undergo a magical metamorphosis from the tragic to the triumphant.

On Saturday night channel 7 screened another in this series of transformations; this time using football as its plot point and Hawthorn as the star. In the first half the Hawks played like inept duffers barely able to gain possession of the ball, and when they did, unable to do anything particularly proactive with it, such as score. When they came out after Clarko’s half-time makeover, however, they were transformed into a ruthless and relentless team that won possession of the ball and moved it with precision, pace and poise. To adopt the theme of the latest makeover show tohit our screens, Hawthorn was bringing sexy back.   

The reason I’m using a television metaphor to describe this game is because that is how I experienced it. I was quite ill in the days leading into this match and was not well enough to attend. In typical Hawthorn mode, I was a late withdrawal. My symptons included an extremely tight chest, harsh dry coughing, fever, nausea, headaches and vomiting. True, nothing entirely unusual leading up to a Geelong match, but serious enough this time that I felt it would be unwise to sit out in the night air growing anxious over the outcome.

This was the first Hawthorn v Geelong home and away game I’d missed since we played at Skilled Stadium in 2007, which was also the last time we beat them in such a fixture. In the interval I’d attended all 12 home and away losses, so note to self, it’s just best if I don’t go.

Taking Turns

While most commentary about the match is running with the ‘game of two halves’ angle, it was more a case of the two teams taking turns to enjoy sustained bursts of goal scoring. Geelong kicked the first three of the game, then Hawthorn kicked the next three, then Geelong kicked six, then Hawthorn kicked a decisive 10 in a row, before Geelong added two. Brad Sewell started the next Hawthorn burst but the final siren rang before we could add any further goals.

Along the way there were a number of highlights. Rough’s two goals just before quarter time to get us going in the game, the dual between Brian Lake and Tom Hawkins, no clear winner, but both played well, Jimmy Bartel’s elaborate dive which earnt him a pefect 10 and a free kick in front of goal – a triple pike with a touch of Lindsay Thomas – it was the final link in a chain of doubtful free kicks to Geelong that awoke the Hawthorn crowd who responded with impressive and sustained booing every time Bartel went near the ball for the rest of the night. It was heartening to hear. Bartel can protest his innocence all he likes, but sorry Jimmy, the people saw and the people have spoken.

Geelong fans, players and the Geelong-centric media contingent who cast Lindsay Thomas as a serial cheat two weeks previous when he took a dive against the Cats to win a free kick in front of goal suddenly found themselves having to see things from a different perspective and fell over themselves to clear Bartel’s name.

If this incident angered the Hawthorn fans, it merely served as a focal point for our frustration after Geelong added five goals in succession to lead by 31 points at half-time. We’d only scored 3.2 to that point – five scoring shots in a half of football was the real problem.

Transformation Time

There were some encouraging signs early in the third quarter, with Hawthorn maintaining possession and setting up a string of scoring opportunites. The problem was that all of our scores were behinds – the Poo kicked two, Breust and Spangher one each.  Then the ball went down the other end and Hawkins goaled for Geelong – our best period of the game and we were just getting further behind. The deficit was 33 points.

How to explain what happened next? At home, where I’d been lying on the couch making the most of my illness, my son Oscar returned from his night out. The ‘Go Cats’ taunts of his friends ringing in the air as they drove away. Was it his coming home that turned things around?

Was it something more spiritual or cosmic? The deficit, after all, was 33 points – the age at which Christ was killed, but more importnatly, came back to life.

Just like the Hawks with Jordan Lewis being instrumental in this miracle. He set up David Hale for a goal, then marked and kicked one himself. Will Langford was also a key player – winning a free kick and scoring. The free kick wasn’t there, but it was now our turn to enjoy a little umpiring providence. Luke Breust, barely sighted before now, marked a Birchall pass and kicked accurately.

The umpiring providence was short-lived however, as Sam Mitchell’s GOAL was reviewed and despite the ball clearing the line before Hamish McIntosh got his mit to it, it was awrded as a point. It seems that every week the goal review system creates the very controversy it was introduced to eliminate. It is either not used when it shoud be, used when it shouldn’t be, or delivers an incorrect result. Let’s just go back to the goal umpires – there’s far less guesswork.

It didn’t really matter beause about a minute later David Hale ran back with the flight of the ball and launched into a mark directly in front. The transformation was complete when Langford took a mark and kicked a long goal from 50 metres tp put us in front as the siren sounded.

The Hawks had the momentum and the crowd was roaring – surely we couldn’t lose it from here. Well no Hawthorn fans that have been to these matches over the past few years were thinking such thoughts – we’ve learnt that when it comes to Geelong games, optimism can be the first sign of weakness. Still, things were markedly better than they were at half-time.

Liam Shiles kept the momentum and our (dis)belief bubbling along when he goaled from a pack less than a minute after the restart. And in a sign that this really was going to be our night, even Jonathan Ceglar drifted forward to take a mark and goal. Birchall passed to Roughead for anoher and then Hale kicked his third. Suddenly we were 5 goals up!

The Cats kicked a couple to keep our anxiety alive, but Brad Sewell, playing his first game for several weeks, wheeled around from a pack and slotted the sealer with five minutes remaining.

In a makeover show, this would be the bit when the relatives tear up, hug each other and become emotional and that’s exactly what was happening at my place.

Lewis, Birchall, Langford, Gibson, Lake, Burgoyne and Mitchell all brought a little bit of sexy back for the Hawks on the night.

Final scores: Hawthorn 14 10 94 d Geelong 11 5 71

Attendance: 72,212

Ladder position: 2^nd

What we learned: The Catholic Church is like a trucking company. Giving evidence this week at the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sex Abuse, Cardinal George Pell likened the Catholic Church’s responsibility over child abuse at the hands of priests to that of a trucking company when one of their drivers sexually assaults a passenger.  This analogy is wrong on so many levels we don’t know where to start, but victims of sexual abuse as well as people who run trucking companies are understandably upset by the comparison. It is unclear how many truck drivers are entrusted with the spiritual and moral guidance of children they happen to pick up along the highway, let alone how many might abuse that trust, but the fact that the Royal Commission wasn’t set up to look into the activities of trucking companies suggests that it is not as common as Cardinal Pell may think. If Cardinal Pell wants the Catholic Church to be more like a trucking company, perhaps they could start by paying taxes.

What has this got to do with football? Well, nothing actually. 

What we already knew: Carlton is not getting better any time soon. After losing by 103 points to Port Adelaide on Friday night, their VFL affiliate side, the Northern Blues lost to the Box Hill Hawks by 129 points, and the development league side, their third tier team, also lost to Box Hill by 119 points. So Carlton’s three teams lost by an aggregate of 351 points on the weekend - who would want to ask Mick Malthouse the first question at that press conference?

What we loved: The mighty Mosquitos! In the precursor to the Hawthorn Geelong game on Saturday night, Papua New Guinea defeated Ireland by 3 points in the final of AFL International Cup: 6.9.45 to 6.6.42. PNG’s Mosquitos came from behind at three quarter time to win their second title. Meanwhile Canada won the women’s title, also defeating Ireland: 5.8.38 to 2.0.12. This growth of serious AFL teams is encouraging as we may need a replacement for Melbourne in the near future.

What we are saddened by: Terrible news during the week that former Essendon player and Melbourne coach, Neale Daniher, has motor neuron disease – a disease that is both fatal and incurable. This news comes as the ice-bucket challenge sweeps the world. To raise awareness for amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) or motor neuron disease in Australia, people with smart phones or access to a TV crew are subjecting themselves to having a bucket of iced water tipped over their heads. Now that everyone with any sort of vague media profile, except perhaps the Pope, the Queen and John Kennedy Snr have taken the challenge, we can consider awareness well and truly raised. Critics may see the campaign as little more than a celebrity wet t-shirt competition, but hopefully the campaign will continue to raise funds towards research for a cure to help good people like Neale Daniher.

Round 21 – Fremantle v Hawthorn

Paterson’s Stadium, Sunday 16 August 2014

How the west was lost

As the saying goes: no Spangher, no Hawthorn. When the announcement came through that Matt Spangher was a late withdrawal for this vital game against Fremantle, most Hawthorn fans feared the worst. For reasons that barely need explaining, we never lose when Jesus plays, so his absence left us not only with a spiritual deficit, but perhaps more crucially, lacking a big body down back. The corresponding absence of Roughead’s big body up forward left us not only a little more brittle but quite a bit shorter, which against a team boasting the 275-300 cm frame of Aaron Sandilands, could make all the difference.   

Family commitments and general tiredness (it’s been a long season) meant that it was quarter time before I pushed through the big timber doors of The Linc in Essendon to take in the game. As I found a stool right in front of the big screen I saw that we’d had 11 scoring shots to 3 and but for inaccuracy (4.7 to 3.0) we’d have been killing them. 

So I watched with some disquiet when the second quarter commenced and Fremantle added two more goals before we’d even mustered two more possessions. Even more disquieting was the presence in the bar of several Dockers fans - why were there so many Freo fans in Essendon late on a Sunday afternoon? They even outnumbered Hawks fans, although given there’d been little for us to cheer, the Hawks fans might simply have been keeping to themselves. Broadcaster Foxtel posted a lopsided statistic count after five or so minutes to illustrate by just how the Hawks were getting slaughtered in the second quarter.

A nice goal in traffic to Liam Shiels got us back in the game, and a trinity of Poo goals kept us going goal for goal with Freo for the majority of the quarter. His third for the quarter came after Luke Breust took clean possession 50 metres or so from goal and bounced his way goalwards, until the ball took a mis-bounce just as he approached the goal square and skewed dramatically off to the right. Fortunately he was good enough to retrieve it and handball to the Poo alone in the goal square.

The objective viewer would have found a lot to like in the second quarter. After Freo’s early dominance it became a more even contest with both sides trading goals. It was exactly the sort of quarter most fans lamented hadn’t eventuated in last season’s Grand Final. In the end Freo kicked 7.3 to Hawthorn 6.2 in a fast-paced, highly skilled exhibition. Generally I would like our chances in a shoot-out, but without Rough and Cyril in the forward line, the idea seemed less attractive. Particularly in Perth and especially with Freo playing such sparkling footy. If Nat Fyfe’s ill-discipline cost the Dockers in the first quarter - at least according to reports I read subsequently - he more than made up for it after that, playing explosive football that we couldn’t counter.  

Despite this we were still in front at half-time, although the signs certainly looked ominous. Mitchell and Burgoyne were getting caught with the ball, even Brad Hill was getting caught with the ball, and we looked to be playing with all the purpose, direction and decisiveness of the ALP formulating a policy. 

The third quarter was a disaster, it took Hawthorn 13 minutes to get the ball inside 50, by which time we were well-behind and the home crowd were carrying on as if the mining boom was still in full swing. Freo were kicking goals from everywhere. And when we did manage to score with Puopolo threading through a nice goal, the goal umpire awarded a behind instead of a goal. All replays showed a very clear goal - it didn’t hit the post, it couldn’t possibly have been touched, it was knee height so there was no dispute about it going over the post - it was simply what’s called a ‘howler’ or a home-town decision if you’re at Subiaco.

The previous night there’d been great debate over a similar Rory Sloane kick for Adelaide which was awarded a goal and subsequently reviewed and given as a behind. Here was a chance then to review the score and get it right, which for some reason they declined to do. The Poo was only marginally more incredulous than me as I stormed off to get in another pot.  This outrage aside, five goals to one for the term told the story of the quarter and set up an unpromising denouement.

But it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. During the half-time break I began reading an article on The Guardian website about Martin Amis’ forthcoming novel – a comic novel set in Auschwitz. Happily it was quite a long article, so it kept me going through most of the third quarter as well. Every time I looked up David Mundy, Stephen Hill, Nat Fyfe or Chris Maine were streaming forward with the ball, so I was able to turn my attention back to my phone and continue with the article.  Hence I missed a good deal of the third quarter pain, but I could tell what was transpiring by the applause and shouts of the Freo fans.

As the final quarter began our chances looked as slim as those of Martin Amis pulling off a literary triumph with such an unlikely premise. However, like Amis, if anyone were going to retrieve glory from such an unpromising position, it would be the Hawks.

As it turned out, we sunk further behind as the final quarter got underway, to the point where it threatened to get ugly. In the end Hawthorn limited the damage to just 19 points at the end, but even so, this represented a 32 point turnaround from quarter time, which is probably indicative of the way the two teams played.

To be honest, I hadn’t seen Freo play this well all season: they ran hard, tackled ferociously and attacked with pace and speed. Hawthorn simply couldn’t keep up. I can’t help thinking, however, that we were a little bit unlucky. Last week against Geelong Fremantle had 24 scoring shots and kicked 11.13, with both Pavlich and Mundy kicking behinds when a goal would have given Freo victory. This week they had 25 scoring shots - just one more - and kicked 17.8 - with Pavlich kicking 5. Take out the home crowd, Freo’s unaccustomed accuracy, reverse the decision on Poo’s non-goal, and add in Rough, Rioli and Spangher, and perhaps we’d have gotten the result the match deserved - a Hawthorn victory.

Final scores: Fremantle 17 8 110 d Hawthorn 13 13 91

Attendance: 38,506

Ladder position: 3rd

What we already knew: Hawthorn may or may not win the premiership this season, but whatever happens, there should be a bronze statue of Jordan Lewis erected somewhere along Glenferrie Road to signify his contribution to the campaign. Not only is he the only player not to take an extended injury sabbatical this season, but he has quite simply been our best player, or close to our best player almost every week. I didn’t think I’d ever see him play a better game than the 2011 Preliminary Final, but he’s played at that level all season. There is no surer bet in football this season than Lewis winning the Peter Crimmins Medal as Hawthorn’s best and fairest, except perhaps that he won’t win the Brownlow. Despite the fact that he’s been outstanding in our many wins, good, tough players with expanding bald patches don’t generally figure prominently in the votes - Mark Ricciuto excepting. He either needs hair extensions or to shave his pate entirely if he wants the umpires to notice him.  Having said that, it’s quite possible he’s not eligible - I can’t recall him being suspended during the year, but it would be remiss of both him and the umpires if he hasn’t been.

When devising the fixture, you can’t help but think the AFL were trying to test Hawthorn’s resolve. We played Freo in Perth on a Sunday, and follow up against Geelong the following Saturday - our 6 day break versus Geelong’s 8 day break, plus we’re also coming off a trip to Perth.  All on the eve of the finals. Really, this will be the greatest premiership of all time if we can pull it off.

What we learned: There is simply no point having a goal review system if it doesn’t correct obvious mistakes. I’ve been a goal umpire at junior football matches and it’s not as easy as you think; the flight of the ball can be hard to pick up, there’s bodies in your line of vision, players claiming they touched the ball and supporters shouting things in your ear. Having said that, it’s still pretty easy. All you have to do is work out if the ball travels unimpeded through two upright posts. As far as the practical application of the laws of physics goes, it’s not the most demanding.

What we’re left wondering: Nat Fyfe has been suspended for two weeks for striking Jordan Lewis. This comes amid the push to have the rules for the Brownlow Medal changed so that Fyfe would be eligible despite his suspension earlier in the season. Last week this campaign was gathering momentum because it was becoming unthinkable that someone as nice as Nat Fyffe with such a fluffy Brownlow bouffant might miss out on the medal because of a technicality – like concussing someone.  The argument being mounted was that the head clash for which he was suspended early in the seaon was accidental. Now that he has been found guilty of intentionally striking Lewis in the same seaon, is it time we reassessed the accepted view of Fyfe as a nice, polite good guy, and thought of him instead in the same mould as Dermott Brereton or David Rhys-Jones?

When Hawthorn loses I tend to pay less attention to the media chatter about the week’s matches. So I must have missed Morth Melbourne coach Brad Scott expressing his outrage over the latest choking incident in football. When Brian Lake was reported for misconduct for choking North’s Drew Petrie, Scott didn’t hesitate to wade into the debate and condemn Lake before the case had got to the tribunal. Scott, along with others from North Melbourne, expressed utter moral indignation that such an event would take place. So this week when North dynamo and favourite son Brent Harvey was caught doing exactly the same thing, I can only assume that Brad Scott was once again conspicuous in his condemnation and pre-judgement.  

Round 20 - Hawthorn v Melbourne

MCG, Saturday 9 August

The Birds and the Dees

The Hawks are a top team in a state of virile ascendancy; we fluff our plumage, stride into a room and we get what we want. Melbourne, on the other hand, is defenceless and desperate.  They cower in the corner and take what they can get.

This was an encounter between the powerful and the powerless, the mighty and the meek. There was only ever going to be one winner and the prospect of watching Hawthorn defeat Melbourne had its erotic appeal; we would achieve the satisfaction we sought, but like sex with a paid escort, we’d be left feeling just a little bit grubby about ourselves afterwards.

Existential angst

It was a bitterly cold winter’s evening as the two teams took the field, the result of the match was as good as preordained and nothing of consequence hinged on it, so after 13 minutes of play with neither team having scored a goal, many of those in attendance would have been forgiven for wondering why they were there. Not in the ‘Why are we here?’ line of existential enquiry, but more along the “when I could be: at home in front of the fire - having an afternoon nap - watching a box set of a glacial-paced Scandinavian television series - experimenting with hallucinogens - type of self-assessment.

I can’t speak for anyone else, but Chan-Tha and I were there because with games against Fremantle in Perth, Geelong and then Collingwood to come before the finals, this match against lowly Melbourne was to be our final ‘anxiety free’ match for the season. After this game it was all edge-of-seat stress and trauma, and long queues at the bar type matches. Hence we didn’t want to miss this opportunity to watch an easy win in relative comfort.

In fact more than 37,000 people were there - and given that Melbourne was one of the competing teams, it might have been even more if Victoria wasn’t experiencing a record snow season. Even so, an unusually high percentage of those in attendance were wearing their North Face puffer vests, as if they’d stopped in at the football on their way to the slopes. I’d say there were more people wearing North Face tops than Melbourne jumpers.

And there were at least as many people cramming the Hawthorn forward line as there would have been on the Bourke Street run at Mount Bulla. Paul Roos was in charge of Melbourne and he had brought his ‘no one score at all costs’ game plan - the same one that nearly killed football as a spectacle when he was in charge of the Swans. As a result, the entire Melbourne team was stationed in Hawthorn’s forward 50, clogging up space like gunk in a smoker’s arteries.

Eventually David Hale stretched for a mark and a shot on goal, which he missed. However, just as we began to think that this would be a long day (and being a twilight fixture, it was already getting on to 5pm), Roughead took a mark and converted, then followed up moments later with another. Breust added another and all of a sudden it was 3.3 to zero. Probably a match winning lead, except that Melbourne inexplicably kicked two goals in two minutes and the Dees fans were getting excited - one of them I recognised as Russell Howcroft, the advertising guru from the Gruen series (seriously, who else could he support but Dees?). One hopes his considerable knowhow is being utilised to lift Melbourne out of its current mire. He may not be able to help them win matches, but he’d be able to win them a few fans.

Hawthorn took control midway through the second quarter with a series of goals to Lewis, Hill, Shiels, even Schoenmakers getting on the end of one.

By half-time the result was beyond doubt - but those of us there could still speculate on the eventual margin and the identity of the big bloke for Melbourne who looked like a bushranger. He was roaming Melbourne’s forward line, taking marks and terrorising Hawthorn defenders like passengers in a stage coach.

As we took our place in the Hugh Trumble Bar for a half-time bevvy, we saw that Roughead had been reported for a trip. This would become the only talking point to emerge from the match and although it looked to me like he was simply wrong-footed, it was inevitable that he would be suspended. While Brisbane’s Daniel Merrett hadn’t even been reported after breaking the nose of a Melbourne player the previous week, it was in keeping with the AFL match review panel that they would come down heavily on this minor infraction.

Super moon, Pitbull and armed police

This match, like the two previous games between Hawthorn and Melbourne, took place under the looming threat of a super moon. I don’t know if the AFL fixture this match according to the astronomical calendar - in the same way that we play Geelong every Easter Monday - or if the lunar cycle is somehow influenced by the coming together of the Hawthorn and Melbourne teams. In the past two seasons this fixture has been marked by inaccurate kicking for goal, as the moon exerts its gravitational pull on the flight of the Sherrin. That wasn’t so apparent in this game - by half time the moon was only just emerging - but in the place of weird events on the field, I overheard perplexing things among the crowd. At half-time the man next to me at the bar asked for the wine list - as if he was at Rockpool and not the football. Even more bizarrely, at three quarter time as music assailed our senses, I overheard someone say to their friend, “That’s what’s great about Pitbull as an artist…”. I didn’t catch exactly what was great about Pitbull as an artist (presumably not the white Capri pants he wore at the World Cup opening ceremony), but to my mind likening Pitbull to an artist, let alone a great one, was a bit like saying, “That’s what’s great about Melbourne as a football team…”

Whatever influence the super moon might have, the police were on hand to deal with it. Chan-Tha noted the same phalanx of six armed police officers circling the member’s area as if some terrorist cell was active in the area. I don’t know what criminal activity they were expecting to uncover, but given it was a Hawthorn v Melbourne game, I thought insider trading was about the most likely felony, unless they were tracking down Rough for his vicious trip.

The Poo Ascends

Hawthorn kicked five goals in the third quarter; three to Roughead and two to Breust who, it seems, were waging their own Coleman medal race.  Reason enough then to stay out in the cold.

The final quarter, however, proved a little anti-climactic until the Poo took another of his absolute screamers. A still photograph of the mark would fit nicely into the 'Italian Masterpieces' exhibition currently showing at NGV. Hawks fans stood as one and roared, primarily because it was a great mark, but also because it helped keep us warm. The ensuing goal justified seeing out the match.

A good win, not a great win, and though sated, we only felt marginally grubby.

Final scores: Hawthorn 17 13 115 d Melbourne 9 11 65

Attendance: 32,037

Ladder position: 1^st

Round 19 – Hawthorn v Western Bulldogs

Sunday 3 August 2014, Aurora Stadium

Hawthorn and the bulldogs - hostility-free footy

I’m not normally a fan of the Sunday twilight fixture, but after an early start to the day to watch junior soccer (in which incidentally, my son Declan kicked a cracker of a goal), then a tennis match with my other son Oscar, followed by a kick of his new brand new Match Day Sherrin (do you realise how hard those things are to mark - I’ve got new respect for North Melbourne’s Lindsay Thomas - no wonder he dives rather than trying to take the mark - it hurts) then lugging fencing and other assorted debris to the nature strip for the local council’s hard rubbish collection, there was no better way to take in the Hawthorn v Western Bulldogs match than on the couch with the ducted heating turned to a toasty 20 degrees, slippers on my feet and a Little Creatures Bright Ale in hand. And I particularly love games that are eminently winnable.

In truth it’s hard to know how to respond to this match against the Bulldogs. Hawthorn won by 10 goals, as most people expected they would, and even though the Hawks kicked 4 goals in the opening 10 minutes and the Dogs only managed 6 for the entire match, there was a lengthy period midway through the third quarter when Hawks fans were watching on nervously.

The Dogs were keeping things tight and for large parts of the match were matching Hawthorn.  If not for inaccuracy in front of goal, they might even have hit the front. But inevitably, Breust and Gunston conjured quick goals midway through the third quarter to give us some breathing space and from there we gradually edged away to a comfortable victory.

Well comfy for me that is, reclining on the couch in my slippers. A onesie would have been good. It looked a bit chilly in Launceston to be honest and the Dogs were not going down easily. In fact if you take out the 4.2 Hawthorn kicked in the first 10 minutes ad the 5.3 they kicked in the final 15 minutes, you’re left with a scoreline through the bulk of the match that reads Hawthorn 7.6 to the Dogs 6.8, so it wasn’t as unequivocally emphatic as the final score suggests.

Having said that, the match followed a fairly typical Launceston template with the Hawks finishing strongly after a tight struggle. Jarryd Roughead was excellent with 6 goals, Luke Breust and the Poo were lively, Grant Birchall, Shaun Burgoyne, Matt Spangher and Luke Hodge kept things steady and Will Langford played an excellent game. A key player early was Taylor Duryea, who set up Rough’s first two goals and in between kicked a nice goal himself.

The Dogs - a footy fan’s (second) best friend

This match falls on a weekend when ancient enmities are playing out across the world. In Scotland the Commonwealth Games are winding up and Australia is falling behind old enemy England on the medal table; in rugby union an Australian team (the Waratahs) take on a New Zealand team (the Crusaders) in the super rugby final, across the western world we commemorate the 100^th anniversary of the beginning of World War 1, while in the Middle East Israel and Hamas keep up a battle that shows every sign of lasting 100 years. 

In such company, this match is an anomaly - although the Hawks and the Bulldogs joined the league in the same year, 1925, and faced off in the 1961 Grand Final when Hawthorn won its first premiership, we are hardly what you’d call traditional rivals. In fact there is very little enmity at all. Most footy fans quite like the Bulldogs, even nominate them as their second favourite team - probably because they’ve rarely threatened anyone, let alone enjoyed a period of dominance. Most footy fans admire Adam Cooney and Ryan Griffin as players, agree that Liberatore will be good and hope that McCarthy can turn them around. And whatever you think of Robert Murphy’s value to the team, his column in The Age makes for more interesting reading than whether Nat Fyfe should be eligible for the Brownlow or what role James Hird should play at Essendon.

If anything, most footy fans’ attitude towards the Dogs is a tad condescending - we can wish them well purely because we know they’ll never amount to anything.

I even quite liked their banner, which read: “The Only Good Hawk was Dougie” a reference to their former champion, Doug Hawkins, known as ‘Hawk’ or more commonly, the dickhead from the Footy Show. As sledging goes, the barb was hardly a rocket into Israel, however, at least it was in good humour and accompanied by a large cartoon bulldog in studded collar. It’s a catch-22 for the Dogs - they’ll never be any good until people have a reason to hate them, and people will never really hate them until they’re good.

So the main points of interest in this clash were whether Hawthorn could regain top spot on the ladder - a 3-4 goal victory would be enough - why Sam Mitchell and Isaac Smith were late withdrawals from the team - the Hawks always manage at least one late withdrawal; it’s now generally understood that our selected side is purely provisional, and whether Bob Murphy would get a column out of it. 

Natural order

In the end, natural order has been restored, at least momentarily, with the Hawks back on top of the AFL ladder and also, somewhat fittingly, the sun shining for the first time in several weeks. As for restoring peace to the Middle East, even Hawthorn’s powers can’t work that sort of miracle.

Next week we play Melbourne in what, on paper at least, is our final stress-free game of the season before a run of awkward games against Fremantle in Perth, Geelong and Collingwood to lead into the Finals. Melbourne is currently undergoing one of its periodic crises so perhaps they’ll be a tougher opponent than we think, but even so, we should be able to stay on top and keep the sun shining for another week.

Final scores: Hawthorn 16 11 107 d Western Bulldogs 6 9 45

Ladder position: 1^st

Attendance: 14,187

Round 18 - Hawthorn v Sydney Swans

Saturday 26 July 2014, MCG

To boo or not to boo - that is the question

As the Hawks prepared to take on the Sydney Swans on Saturday night, much of the pre-game banter centred on the type of reception Buddy Franklin might receive from Hawthorn fans after his defection to the Swans at the end of the 2013 season.

Hawthorn fans had a moral dilemma on their hands. Do we warmly welcome back a man who provided so many highlights for us over nine seasons, or do we demonstrate our displeasure over his defection?

But Hawks fans weren’t the only ones struggling with this issue. The question of how to greet Buddy is one that even Shakespeare grappled with, using Hamlet’s famous soliloquy to give voice to his existential enquiry:

To boo, or not to boo, that is the question –

Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, (a clear reference to the size of Buddy’s contract)

Or take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them?

So do we boo him, or just try to beat him, Hamlet asks.

For my part I rummaged through my Hawthorn badge bag until I found a Buddy badge and pinned it proudly to my breast. While I wasn’t going to cheer him on, nor was I planning to boo him, although depending on what transpired, a derisive snort wasn’t entirely out of the question.

I arrived at the MCG on Saturday at around 6.30pm, just over an hour before the match, but it seemed that the people had already spoken. As I wandered into the MCC Members toilets I stepped up to the urinal and there, lying face-up in the metal piss tray was a Hawthorn Buddy badge. The message, I thought, was unambiguous, unless of course it was a comment on kinky public toilet habits someone suspected Buddy might have picked up since moving to Sydney. Either way, with a big crowd expected, the face on the badge had a long night of golden showers ahead of him.

In the way that football can throw up simultaneous sub-plots and crossovers, Josh Gibson, Buddy’s best mate was returning from injury for his first match since we last played Sydney, while Jarryd Roughead, recruited three places ahead of Franklin in the same draft, and Buddy’s forward foil throughout their careers, was playing his 200^th match.

Roughead and Franklin are a study of opposites: where Buddy is shy and awkward in interviews, Rough is natural and insouciant, where Buddy is all glitz and glamour, Rough is down to earth, where Buddy’s coiffure and grooming betrays the plotting and planning of a team of style consultants, Roughy is an unkempt ranger, where Buddy’s play is flashy and spectacular, Rough is a model of workmanlike simplicity, where Buddy glides out on his natural arc for a set shot, Rough takes one or two lazy steps before dropping the ball on his boot. It was a shame, if a little typical, that on Rough’s big night he would again be overshadowed by Buddy, but on the other hand, the milestone might help deflect some of the residual anger some Hawks fans might be feeling.

It was hard to know exactly how Hawks fans would really react. People turn up to the football for any number of reasons (and more than 72,000 turned up on this night); to cheer on their team, to witness two of the best teams battle it out, and yes, in some cases, to simply express their indignation at the opposition, rival fans, umpires, James Hird, life itself, or on this night, Buddy.

Damn the Franklin    

Fittingly, the match began with Luke Hodge getting the ball forward to Roughead who marked. Buddy was on hand to sledge Rough as he lined up, so when the ball went sailing through post high, Rough, Lewis and 50,000 Hawks fans all took the opportunity remind Buddy which side he was on and that he could keep his thoughts to himself.

Sydney’s first three forward thrusts and scores all came via Franklin who was moving well and marking strongly. I personally didn’t boo, but I supported the rights of other Hawks fans to do so, and they did, but more in good humour and fulfilling the role expected of them rather than displaying any real animosity. From his first kick Buddy missed from one pocket after a great one-handed mark against Litherland, then two kicks later he took another mark in the opposite pocket…and missed again. From his third mark, however, his kick sailed through the big sticks. His next involvement was to beat Gibson on the wing and send a beautiful kick to Kurt Tippett who marked and goaled. There was no escaping from the awkward reality that Buddy was killing us. Perhaps warm applause would work better than booing?

The second quarter began with an exchange of points, including one more to Buddy, until some inspired play by the Poo got the ball to Breust who goaled. From there though, Sydney slowly took control. By the time Franklin kicked his second goal half way through the second quarter, Sydney was 3.6 and Franklin was directly responsible for 2.5, and had the ‘assist’ for their other goal. It was all looking rather ominous, with neither Gibson, Schoenmakers or Litherland able to stop him. 

There is no rhyme – nor reason – for orange

Sydney was well on top throughout the second quarter with goals to Ben McGlynn and Tippett, after Schoenmakers had dropped a sitter, and led by 13 points as we approached half-time. At this point Jordan Lewis grabbed an errant ball on half back and sent a 60 metre torp over the heads of Puopolo and Laidler. Despite starting the race from behind, the Poo pumped his little legs, got to the ball first, brushed off Laidler’s tackle and kicked a stunning goal right on the siren.

Being multi-cultural round, it was fitting that the Poo embarked on one of his ambitious solo efforts. As far as celebrating the Italian contribution to Australian society, this goal was right up there with pasta, good coffee and Dipierdomenico’s Brownlow. Puopolo’s stature means that he’s not so much an Italian stallion as he is an Italian Shetland, but we love him.

Seven points behind at half time seemed a reasonable position when we repaired to the Hugh Trumble bar; not necessarily a cause for optimism, but neither were we moping.

Of course any lingering shred of optimism dissipated entirely within minutes of the restart. We were still quaffing our Crownies and vodkas when Sydney’s Adam Goodes, hitherto quiet, kicked two goals within 30 seconds of each other. Then he took another mark. Fortunately he missed his third shot, but by the time Josh Kennedy followed up with another behind, the Swans led by 23 points and had recorded 14 of the past 15 scoring shots. 

So dire did the situation appear we took to wondering why the goal umpires were waving orange flags to signal scores. The bloke sitting in front suggested it might have something to do with the Beyond Blue cup the teams were playing for? But surely then they’d have nice sky blue flags. Or was it for Roughy’s 200^th – orange flags to match his orange hair? I posited that perhaps it was to acknowledge multi-cultural round, although any connection wasn’t immediately obvious to me. Perhaps it was just a fashion statement – orange as the new white.

The main problem is that none of this orange semaphore activity was in response to Hawthorn’s play.

Rough stuff

More than half the third quarter had elapsed and although Hawthorn had stemmed Sydney’s scoring flow, we had scrounged just three behinds and were sitting on an unprepossessing 4.10 with just 40 minutes or so left to play in the match. Then just as we were contemplating heading back to the Trumble Bar, Luke Breust snapped a left foot goal. This was followed by a goal to Gunston after a pass from Liam Shiels. Then playing on from full back, Matt Suckling went straight up the middle to Grant Birchall, who kicked long and high to a vacant forward 50, where Breust ran back like a receiver in gridiron and turned at just the right moment to edge out his Swans opponent and take a brilliant mark as the ball fell from the lights. He capped off with a good goal. When moments later Isaac Smith marked and goaled from 50, we were suddenly, almost unthinkably, in front.

Cue Buddy…a brilliant push off against Gibson and he nailed a trademark goal on the run.

Then a curious goal – the sort of goal only Sydney is awarded. A series of passes ended with Ben McGlynn who kicked over Gibson to goal. Except that Gibson claimed to have touched it – the replays indicated that he touched it, and even McGlynn looked forlorn and made a ‘no goal’ gesture. So what was the decision – well of course they awarded the goal.  We booed that decision more than we were ever going to boo Buddy.

Isaac Smith replied with a brilliant running snap. In the next passage the ball was kicked long and high to Hawthorn’s forward line and as we looked expectantly to see Gunston fly for the ball, instead we saw him doubled over on the ground clutching his stomach.  Either it was a sudden gastric attack, or something to do with Sydney defender Laidler. Was there a free kick? No. A report of any sort? No. Even a subsequent investigation by the match review panel? Of course not. I presume this suspension exemption is all part of Sydney’s ‘playing outside the rules’ allowance, to go with their enhanced salary cap and Adam Goodes’ free kick grant.

It was matter of considerable satisfaction when Roughead ended the quarter with two more goals: one from a big pack mark in front of goal, and another from close range after Brad Hill handballed it to him as he was tripped.

Hawks up by 9 points and looking good at three quarter time.

When Roughead marked and goaled within a minute of the final quarter commencing, he’d kicked three goals in as many minutes of play – making it four the match.  Moments later a typically ferocious Puopolo tackle on Dean Rampey won him a free kick and goal, and suddenly we were in a commanding position.

Birchall, Shiels, Lewis, Hodge, Smith and Puopolo were playing strong games. Gibson and Schoenmakers were getting on top of Buddy and Tippet. And just as we began to feel comfortable with our lead, the Swans kicked a couple of quick goals, including a third to Adam Goodes, who now loomed as Sydney’s most dangerous forward.

A brilliant interception by Shaun Burgoyne got one back for us, but Goodes continued to run amok. He kicked his fourth and could have added a fifth had the umpires paid a mark that many in the crowd, myself included, thought was his. At that point Hawks fans stopped whingeing about umpiring decisions, as that was about as lucky as we were ever likely to get.

Hodge sealed the game with a good goal. This was a handsome win over the premiership favourites and we sang the song with some fervour – some of us even felt generous enough to applaud Buddy.

Rough was chaired from the ground by Sam Mitchell and Jordan Lewis, so we can expect those two to be out with shoulder injuries next week. I noticed, however, that no one offered to chair off ‘Big’ Ben McEvoy, who had played his 100^th game.

Final scores: Hawthorn 15 14 104 d Sydney Swans 13 16 94

Attendance: 72,760

Ladder position: 2^nd

What we learned: In the week after the match, Buddy’s girlfriend, Jessinta Campbell, said that Buddy had been upset by the booing during the game. As the Herald-Sun put it, he can wipe away the tears with $100 notes. Or even cry on his model girlfriend’s perfectly sculptured shoulder.  It’s hard to know what to make of this. At the end of 2013, Buddy made what was presumably a rational decision to defect from Hawthorn and move to Sydney for money. How did he think Hawks fans would react?

His decision no doubt made perfect sense to him. He would be paid a lot more to do the same job. Plus a move to Sydney might add to the appeal – the weather, the relative obscurity of AFL players, his girlfriend.  Is his vast salary also being used to support his community? All strong, rational reasons. But what he must also realise is that football fans aren’t rational. By their very nature they are completely irrational. Why else would you leave home when it is less than 10 degrees and sit in the rain to watch your team play a Sunday twilight game against the Western Bulldogs when the result doesn’t matter?  Why else would mature aged men dress up in brown and gold stripes with the number of a virtual teenager on their back? What other explanation could there be for investing all your emotional well-being in the fortunes of a team of footballers when Gaza is burning and the Ukraine is set to explode? It doesn’t make sense; we’re completely irrational, so what may seem logical to Buddy from a personal perspective, is anything but logical to people like us.

The AFL hasn’t reached the same stage as soccer or American sports, where player mercenaries are more acceptable, certainly more common.  Leaving one club for more money is still seen here as a somehow shameful and dirty, despite the fact that there are numerous examples of it over the past 40 years. By joining their legion, Buddy is making it more acceptable for others like him in the future. Except of course that there are no others like him; that’s why we’re so angry about his defection and the AFL rules that made it possible.

What we already knew: Essendon can’t account for up to six of their premiership flags – neither can we. Melbourne’s 1948 premiership pennant turned up on eBay last week with an asking price of $80,000, prompting all the clubs to rummage through their old storage cupboards. Turns out quite a few clubs are missing their premiership pennants, including Essendon, who cannot account for up to six of their flags – I wonder if this includes the ones that were ‘won’ in the years no Grand Final was played, or 1993 when the salary cap became unscrewed. As for Melbourne’s 1948 pennant, perhaps Essendon should buy it – after all they should have won it had they not kicked 9.22 to Melbourne’s 12.6.

What we should be wary of: In the week leading up to the match Carlton appointed Steven Trigg as their new CEO. This is the same Steven Trigg who when at Adelaide orchestrated the conspiracy to pay Kurt Tippett money outside the salary cap. This is the same Carlton that was found guilty in the early par of this century for systematic rorting of the salary cap. Trigg going to Carlton is a bit like appointing Rolf Harris as principal of MLC.