Grand Final – Hawthorn v Fremantle

Saturday 28 September 2013, MCG, crowd 100,008.

Paradise regained – the Hawthorn zeitgeist
Hawthorn…Premiers 2013! 

Nice hat John Snr
photo: abc.net.au

Paradise regained indeed. We are the zeitgeist!

…a fiery Globe
Of Angels on full sail of wing flew nigh
Who on their plumy Vans receiv’d him soft
From his uneasie station, and upbore
As on a floating couch through the blithe Air, [ 585 ]
Then in a flowry valley set him down
On a green bank, and set before him spred
A table of Celestial Food, Divine
Ambrosial, Fruits fetcht from the tree of life
And from the fount of life Ambrosial drink, [ 590 ]
That soon refresh’d him wearied, and repair’d
What hunger, if aught hunger had impair’d
Or thirst, and as he fed, Angelic Quires
Sung Heavenly Anthems of his victory…

Pete, Chan-Tha and the author take in H&C

Okay so it’s a little more baroque than Mark ‘Robbo’ Robinson of the Herald-Sun might put it, but it’s a fairly clear description of Luke Hodge being chaired around the ground on the lap of honour, taken back to the rooms and there refreshed with ambrosial water from the Fount of Life, or the premiership cup as we know it.

The angelic choirs singing ‘heavenly anthems of victory’ is a clear reference to the mighty swarm of Hawk fans belting out the team song at the ground, as well as the players’ rendition in the winners circle in the rooms.

It was a great triumph. A tour de force!

Yes I cried, I fist-pumped and high-fived. I hugged strangers (and may even have inseminated a couple) and sang out loud and out of tune, but what a glorious day…

Let’s go back to the beginning of the week and track the final chapter of Hawthorn’s 11th premiership as it took shape.

Grand final week diary

Sunday 22 September

We know our opponent – it’s Hawthorn v Fremantle. Fremantle played impressively well to defeat Sydney the previous night, exerting intense pressure on the Swans and with a rabid crowd behind them, they’ve got people talking.

So much so that Channel 9’s Sunday Footy Show panel all pick Freo to win the big one. Ryan Crowley is suddenly cast as the potential match winner, Ballantyne as the most dangerous key forward on the day. It’s seemingly been forgotten that the Hawks have won 21 of 24 games so far and achieved key wins – Sydney in Round 7 and Essendon in Round 18 – through intense tackling pressure. Surely reason will prevail by the end of the week.

Monday 23 September – Brownlow night

Another baffling night at the Brownlow when one of Hawthorn’ good and great fail to win the award. It seems the umpires don’t think much of us either. On seven occasions when Hawthorn won the match, a player from the opposition was awarded the 3 votes. Okay, one of them was Gary Ablett, so fair enough, but six others, including Josh Kennedy from the Eagles in Round 13 – seriously?

Talking of Josh Kennedy, the Sydney one this time, it is to be hoped he polls well next year, if only so the camera can regularly pick out his partner, Ana Calle.

Despite winning 19 games, more than any other team, we only came fourth on the vote tally – a full 12 votes behind leader Sydney. I remind myself that the award is voted for by umpires, so I really shouldn’t be surprised.

While I’m disappointed Sammy didn’t win, I never thought he would, and really, had anyone other than Ablett won it, the award would have had to have been abandoned due to a lack of relevance, like the NAB Cup or the Gold Logie.

Tuesday 24 September  – Open Mike

Former Herald-Sun footy journalist and Fox footy host Mike Sheahan posits his belief that win or lose, Alastair Clarkson will leave Hawthorn and coach West Coast next season.  What a bizarre, and it would seem, deliberately spiteful thing to announce in Grand Final week. Even worse, all football journalists pick up the errant ball and run with it.

It’s as ludicrous as the Canberra press gallery trying to bring on a government leadership spill in the lead-up to the election…oh wait, they did. Unlike the Rudd Gillard stand off, however, there seems to be no basis whatsoever for this assertion other than a wilful desire to throw a distraction into Hawthorn’s preparation.

Mike of course is famous for his utterly pointless Top 50 player lists, so were we to draw up such a list for footy journalists, and I adopt the broadest possible definition of the term ‘journalist’ so that we can include Mike, we’d have to position him somewhere below Mark Maclure, though that would still put him above Robbo.

Over on Footy Classified and Talking Footy they’re also going for Freo. I mean you don’t expect any sense from Matthew Lloyd, but even Garry Lyon, who you can usually rely on to back the Hawks, is going for Freo. Ryan Crowley is assuming Ablett-like powers since his last game. This is just weird.

Thursday 25 September – The Footy Show

The Footy Show is as much a part of Grand Final week as an office handball competition, but even less likely to hit the bulls-eye. I turn over to ‘Would I Lie to You’ on the ABC, wondering if perhaps it’s another Mike Sheahan vehicle, but no it’s a BBC panel show. Funnier of course than the Footy Show, with the added advantage of not featuring a player revue; a cringe-worthy, overblown high school karaoke night with a huge wardrobe budget.

The majority of panellists on the Footy Show also go for Freo (Jonathan Brown being an exception) and the purple haze is being talked up. After all, they’ve beaten Geelong and Sydney! (Of course so did Hawthorn).

Ryan Crowley by now is better than Gary Ablett Snr and Jnr combined. I’m beginning to wonder how Freo has lost any matches at all with him in their ranks. I go back and watch the Round 4 clash from Aurora – Crowley barely gets a touch, Ballantyne does nothing special, yet in the Grand Final week commentary they loom larger than Judd and Voss, to say nothing of Hodge, Mitchell, Franklin, Roughead et al, who everyone seems to have forgotten will also be playing.

I think it’s a case of the commentariat simply jumping on board with the last thing they saw, which in this case was Fremantle.

History may not necessarily repeat, but you can sometimes draw comfort from it. I recall in 1983 and 1988 when Essendon and Melbourne respectively won their way through to play Hawthorn in the Grand Final. Neither had been to the Grand Final for many years and both had powered though the finals from the Elimination. By Grand Final week, everyone had forgotten Hawthorn was even in it – let alone that we’d got there first by being consistently better all season. We duly defeated them by 83 and 96 points respectively.

Friday 26 September – The Grand Final parade

Buddy’s solo parade

The kids join me at work and we wander up to the top of Spring Street for the parade. The Freo fans have turned the town purple as the week’s worn on and are out in force today, droning their monotonous and annoying Freeeoooh…Freeeooh…Freeeooh chant. They seem unusually brash and confident for supporters of a team that’s never made it before, and has only just brushed off its ‘laughing stock’ reputation. Perhaps they’re just excited to be here, and why not. We are. Or they’re trying to justify the thousands of dollars they had to spend to get here. After all, it could be a long trip home via Singapore. Hopefully they can pick some duty free bargains to make it worth their while.

Hawks fans, on the other hand, just seem happy to be enjoying some rare Melbourne sunshine.

The Hawks boys look relaxed and ready. Buddy and Gibbo are among the last to chug up the hill – perhaps they stopped off at a couple of Collins Street boutiques on the way to pick up some accessories. They also seem to have acquired some children along the way – acquired or sired, one or the other.

Friday night it’s Grand Final eve drinks with Chan-Tha. We go to Cabinet, an upstairs bar with a laneway entry, hidden enough that the ubiquitous Freo fans won’t find it.

Saturday 28 September – Grand final day dawns

I mean that literally. As an MCC member I had to queue, having missed out on the reserved seat ballot, so I was there well before dawn. I arrived in Yarra Park at around 2.45am, around 12 hours to the bounce, and was one of several hundred shadowy figures lurking between the trees.

Queuing before dawn at the G is one of the curious rites of spring in Melbourne.  There’s a sense of restlessness as people uncork thermoses and whisper in hushed tones, settle under makeshift canopies or doze uneasily on camp chairs while they wait for dawn.  It’s dark so you can’t make out features. Even those whose faces are illuminated by the mini-stage lighting of iPads and Kindles are hidden beneath beanies, scarves and balaclavas.

I was without a chair but lucked-in when the bloke behind me took his car back home and left me his seat for a few hours. Happily there was no rain, but around 4am as the cold kicks in as the earth turns towards dawn.

The MCC offers coffee- it’s instant and the water lukewarm, but the task of getting it is at least a distraction. As the light lifts you can make out the faces of the people you’ve been talking to. I’m reassured that other Hawthorn fans are equally baffled by the surge in support for Fremantle.

By 7am, one hour before the gates open, there’s the bustle of movement as people fold tarps and rugs, dismantle tents and gather cushions and pillows to return them to cars. There’s a sense of an army getting ready for battle, a sense heightened when the makeshift borders are taken down and we begin to shuffle forward, and I hear the cry of “once more over the breach!”

The queue is 15 across and stretches right back to top of the gardens and around the corner. I’m near the front and see Craig Hutchinson taking a photo of the queue he doesn’t have to join. There’s one Fremantle fan in the queue who has been interviewed by at least three different TV stations – he’ll have his own show by the time the match starts.

Finally the gates open at 8am and I secure a fantastic spot in the front row on Level 2 of the MCC Members stand.  I’ll have an unimpeded panoramic view of everything; that’s assuming I can stay awake.

Once you’ve got your seat you can leave, so I meet my brother for our now traditional Grand Final breakfast at Il Solito Posto in a laneway off Collins Street. The owner is pleased to see some brown and gold in the room and our order for beers at 11am is greeted with cheers from the kitchen – the first beers of the day. Grand Final day is here…

The Rite of Spring

Ball!

The Grand Final is colloquially known as The Big Dance. It’s unclear why, but perhaps because, like the high school social, there’s the prospect of ‘picking up’ at the end of it. Particularly if you’re on the winning team. Whatever the origin of the saying, we were certainly hoping to see Cyril and Buddy bust some moves.
In 2013 the reference to the ‘big dance’ perhaps has more resonance because it is the 100th anniversary of the first performance of The Rite of Spring, the famous ballet by Igor Stravinsky and Vaslav Nijinsky.

The Rite of Spring celebrates in music and dance the pagan rituals of spring; which in Melbourne in September can only mean the Grand Final.

In the ballet the performers embark on a series of dances that symbolise them becoming one with the earth and giving thanks for its bounty. There is a dance called the ‘Ritual of the Rival Tribes’, which carries a clear Grand Final theme of the opposing fans coming together. This dance is followed by ‘Procession of the Sage’ during which Hawthorn takes the field.

In the second half there is a dance called ‘Mystic Circles of the Young Girls’, which is presumably set later in the night.  In ‘Evocation of the Ancestors’ ageing Hawthorn fans like me dance out tales about the glory days of the 80s – that bit goes for awhile – while ‘Glorification of the Chosen One’ sees Brian Lake take centre stage for a dynamic solo.

The ballet concludes with the ‘Sacrificial Dance’ in which the chosen girl dances herself to death as a sacrifice to the pagan Gods, a clear symbol of the exertion, endeavour and determination the Hawks displayed, their preparedness to ‘pay the price’ as Allan Jeans might have had it.

The opening performance of The Rite of Spring was greeted with a hostile reception from the audience – heckling, jeering, booing, not unlike the reception Hawthorn fans were able to give Crowley and Ballantyne after their debut Grand final performance.

Of course The Rite of Spring is most famous for the music, now a staple of the classical repertoire, it is synonymous with bold invention and wild experimentation, much like Clarko’s game plan, or Cyril paddling the ball though a pack.

However, if we were to tell the story of the Grand Final in song, there’s only one song that can really encapsulate the day, and that is of course the Hawthorn theme song.  Cue the trad-jazz quartet, the banjo player and get ready for the trumpet solo.

We’re a happy team at Hawthorn

Well ‘happy’ isn’t the word – more like delirious. I wept, I quaffed Veuve Cliquot, I hugged grown men I’ve never met before, and this is without even activating my Grindr app.

We’re the mighty fighting Hawks

The game was tough and rugged and this was no more exemplified than after 5 minutes when it was 5 tackles to zero (our way).  And after Mitchell went down twice in the first quarter, Buddy put Crowley down, once illegally for which he was penalised, but on another occasion he hip and shouldered Crowley as he took possession and sent him sprawling. Cyril laid several crunching tackles and in one memorable passage Hawthorn just muscled the ball forward without taking possession, until eventually winning a free kick.

Despite what the pundits thought, Hawthorn’s tackling was fiercer and stronger and we were exerting such pressure that Freo simply wasn’t getting any clean disposals and were duffing those they did.

We love our club

I love Hawthorn more than ever after Saturday’s win. And it’s a love that borders on the irrational, perhaps even the unnatural, and quite possibly the illegal in some states, but it’s a love nonetheless.

As I’ve pointed out earlier in this blog, most football fans are more likely to be unfaithful to their partners than to their football teams. While I could never support any team other than Hawthorn, I’d welcome it if Rihanna wanted to push me to the ground and strut up and down my spine in her heels.

Of course as events today are proving, it doesn’t always work the same for players.  Buddy Franklin is set to accept an offer from the Sydney Swans. Buddy, it seems, wants to get out of Melbourne so he can live his life without his every move being reported in the media. Fair enough. Perhaps you have to have been subjected to those sorts of constraints before you can appreciate what it is like. I mean how often can you walk out your door to find Damo, Hutchy or me rifling through your bin before you get sick of it?

It does seem, however, that Sydney simply doesn’t have a salary cap. How the AFL can continue with a system that is so clearly being rorted defies understanding.  If you were to pick a song for how Hawk fans feel upon hearing this news, you might go for Dylan’s ‘It’s Alright Ma, I’m Only Bleeding’ and the line, “Money doesn’t talk, it swears”.

Of course I’ll always wish the best for Buddy, but I don’t care if the Sydney Swans send themselves broke and rot at the bottom of the ladder for several years.

And of course now I’ve got to change all my passwords and get the giant 23 tattoo removed from my back, unless we can hand the number on to someone equally fabulous. Sam Grimley perhaps?

And we play to win

This is really where Hawthorn differentiates itself from Fremantle, because we try to win by moving the ball forwards and kicking goals. Simple really. It’s less clear how Fremantle hope to win big games with all their players packed into the opposition’s 50 metre arc. Brian Lake was able to take mark after mark, particularly in the final quarter, as there were no Freo players up forward to stop him.

Preventing the opposition from scoring is indeed part of the puzzle and Fremantle excels in this, but at some point you have to try and score yourself, and that seems to be the bit they haven’t quite figured out yet.

Ross Lyon has now had teams in four Grand Finals and the biggest tally of goals any of them have kicked is 10. You don’t win many fans with such a game plan, but you’re even less likely to win a Grand Final with 10 goals.

Riding the bumps with a grin, at Hawthorn

Riding the bumps – Mitchell took plenty, Buddy running back into an oncoming Mayne, the match was full of heroic acts. When I hear this line of the song, I think not only of the hits and bumps we absorbed in the Grand Final, and there were plenty, but of Brendon Whitecross. Two years in succession he’s injured his knee in the finals and missed the Grand Final, yet he has only ever shown a relaxed and philosophical, even positive outlook.

When the siren went on Saturday he was one of the first out on the ground, (well, perhaps not the first given that he was on crutches) to hug his replacement Jonathan Simpkin.

Of course he might do well to change his name from a well-known instrument of sacrifice to something less tempting to fate – something warmer and more nurturing, like Whitekitten or Whitewomb.

Come what may you’ll find us striving

In the third quarter when Fremantle were charging at us and getting on top, the Hawks kept going and bustled their way back into it. It was claustrophobic and stifling in the packs, but the Hawks held on and scored key goals at crucial moments – none more so than when Hill got it to Gunston who snapped from the goal square to put us 10 points in front.

Shiels and Gibbo collided effecting a spoil, but Birchall was there, leaping a prone Shiels as he gathered the ball, firing off a handball that started a chain to Stratton, back to Gibbo, over to Lewis and then to Hale just as the siren sounded.

It’s not a battle unless there’s a chance the result could go either way, and the third quarter proved to be pivotal. Hawthorn absorbed Freo’s best shots and then fired their own. In Paradise Regained Christ triumphs over Satan, but the tale has no moral substance unless there was a chance he might not.  Come what may…

Teamwork is the thing that talks…4, 3, 2

In the second quarter, Mitchell tackled Crowley to dispossess him. Buddy charged forward to grab the ball, handballed immediately to an oncoming Cyril who passed to Gunston to run in and kick a goal from 50.

Not long after this incident, Ballantyne marked 35 metres out. He could have passed quickly to Walters who had cruised into the goal square by himself, but decided to take the kick himself…which he duly duffed.

That was the difference – the Hawks worked with and for each other all day. Fremantle’s much vaunted defence was beaten by Hawthorn’s even better defence. Lake, Gibson, Stratton, Guerra, Hodge and Birchall combined beautifully all day.

One for all and all for one is the way we play at Hawthorn

Much has been made of Mitchell being held by Crowley, and while he may not have won as many possessions as usual, he was in everything. In the final quarter in quick succession he upended both Fyfe and Johnson as they were each about to shoot towards goal. No possessions, but two match saving acts.

The Poo didn’t have many clean possessions, but in the final quarter he fought and fought to keep the ball in our forward pocket, holding off three Fremantle defenders in a gang tackle. Moments later he kicked the ball forward for Hill to run onto it and kick the sealer.

As the statistics show, Hawthorn had a very even spread of possession winners across the team, showing that this was a collective effort. Lake and Gunston stood out at either end, but only because of the hard work from those in between.

We are the mighty fighting Hawks!

We are indeed mighty – a team that has been hand crafted to meet our own unique needs. Burgoyne, Guerra, Gibson, Gunston, Hale, Simpkin and Lake  – all brought in from other clubs to play particular roles. In the argot of today, Hawthorn is truly a bespoke team.

And talking of fighting Hawks, some observers questioned the recruitment of Brian Lake to Hawthorn, particularly after he and his wife were arrested in Sorrento over summer. Okay,it was just me, but I did add the caveat that – see post from 30 March – “Of course it could be that both Brian and his better half are bringing to the club just the ruthless ‘no-holds-barred’ attitude that we need to succeed. In any case, I’ll happily eat my words, when they drape the Norm Smith medal around his neck later this year.”

Consider those words eaten and digested.

Trumpet solo….bridge

Repeat 

The day after left to right: Florine, Pete, Chan-Tha, Phillip and Oscar

Iconic moments

There’s been a chorus of complaint from various commentators about the quality of the game. Apparently it wasn’t as spectacular as it could have been. These are the same journalists that during the week talked up Fremantle as likely premiers, completely forgetting that they play an uber-defensive game based on no one scoring. It’s a game plan that even Italian soccer would be embarrassed by. So I’m not sure what sort of spectacle these people were expecting.

Rohan Connolly, Martin Flanagan and Hutchy were just a few who moaned that there were no ‘iconic’ moments in the match. Let’s ignore for the moment that ‘iconic’ is the most overused and misused word in Australian media, (along with ‘bespoke’ which I also made a point of using earlier) and simply apologise for this terrible oversight. Sorry fellas – take the cup away rom us if you must. We didn’t realise that the entire season of hard work and effort needed to also produce one particular incident that would look suitably dramatic when replayed ad-fucking-nauseum in super slo-mo for almost all of 2014.

But no iconic moments? I beg to differ. What about Isaac Smith’s 60 metre goal in the final quarter? Luke Breust bursting from the pack moments later to kick another, Ben Stratton running down Ryan Crowley as he closed in on goal, Cyril’s tackles, Gunston trapping the ball in the goal square late in the third and squeezing through his fourth for the match to give us a decisive edge at ¾ time. Need I go on? I will then.

Nat Fyfe’s three set shots that resulted in one behind and two out on the full. Suban and Pavlich missing easy set shots, MacPharlane overstepping the mark when Buddy was lining up. And then there’s little Hayden Ballantyne’s highlights package – dropping a chest mark 50 metres out from goal, slipping over in the middle of the ground, not giving off to Walters who was by himself in the goal square, missing a set shot from 20 metres when the game was on the line, following up a few minutes later by missing one on the run – all this from the man who was supposedly going to be the difference – well he was, just not in the way he intended.

All of these are iconic moments worthy of replay on an endless loop. We’re a happy team at Hawthorn…

Final scores: Hawthorn 11  11  77  d  Fremantle 8  14  62.

What we learned: The cultural cringe is still alive and well. While Hunters & Collectors provided the half-time entertainment, the Birds of Tokyo played pre-match. I mean why do we need to import these big bands from Japan to play on our special day?

I also heard that Rihanna, who is in Australia at the moment, expressed interest in performing at the Grand Final. How good would that be? Sometimes getting the big international act isn’t cultural cringe – it’s just getting the big act. Rihanna would bring sass and near nudity to the occasion, and given that she’s been receiving poor reviews for lip-synching, being drunk on stage and slurring her words (I don’t know how you can do both, but anyway), she sounds like a perfect fit for the Grand Final. Oh well, another missed opportunity.

What we already knew: You can take the boy out of Colac…but you can’t take Colac out of the boy. In his post-match speech, Luke Hodge tried to console the Freo boys, saying, “We know exactly how youse feel”. You might excuse him for trying to use language he knew the players would understand, except that this is the second year in a row he’s used ‘youse’ as a collective pronoun.

‘Cheers…Go Hawks’