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: 1st
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