The pending transaction monikered by TickeTek yesterday afternoon confirmed we’ve scored standing room for our Hawks 4th consecutive Grand Final appearance. The in season set back against Port Adelaide in Round 21 that thwarted the bid for a home final set up the questions that followed our 32 point dispatch by the Eagles in finals week one.
Our pin point pass game was pick pocketed by primed Perth participants reinforced by a quadrophonic passive aggressive crowd whose vocal alphabet contains only one consonant – “B”, and one vowel “O”. The entire language contains simply one diagraph – “oo”. Close your eyes and vision a scenario where the entire Eagles social club is served up snags with a self-effacing cauliflower in cheese sauce to approximate the venom that passes for noise at the Subiaco stadium.
Was the three-peat a crock?,
Were our brave lads cooked?
Did vicious defensive zoning and ball handler pressure artistry force the shank, the splice and the bomb from the accurate ones?
Had Clarko punched one too many holes in the wall of innovation to deny the extension to the Waverley trophy cabinet
Back at the G the following week to greet the Crows with the winner to head back to Subiaco and the timeless charm of Fremantle fans fueled by sun, beer and a sense of preliminary final entitlement. Despite a remarkable check side goal from dearly departed Patrick Dangerfield in the opening minutes, the Hawks approached the game like a bargain addicted queued up boxing day shopper hitting the peak of their endurance when the shutters go up. Adelaide were overwhelmed by the chase for finals bargains, trampled underfoot, emerging dazed and concussed at the counter with only an oversized pair of flared jeans with tiny square pockets to show for their efforts at which point their credit card declined.
This victory was almost mathematical. 74 points. Certain psychic schools claim the number 74 is a message from your angels that you are on the right path in every way in your life. That the Hawks have been achieving a great deal and are successfully serving their divine soul mission, ie “threepeat”. For Adelaide, numerologists tell us that “to encounter 74 – their life happiness is uncertain because they will encounter many dangers(fields). Troubles and worries are possible.” I’d be worried too travelling that road home westward on a cold night in a packed vehicle with others long since showered gestating MCG hotdogs, bottom of the barrel ale and pies within. While the bible makes no mention of fast food, it does mention dirty feet, perhaps as an ode to keeping your socks on the way home no matter how footsore. By using the correspondence a=1, b=2, c=3, …, z=26, we discover that the names of “Jesus” and “Lucifer” add up each one 74 as numerical value. If only Hodgey had read his great text before communing with his poker mates in lager deity. In addition, the word demon and the verb to suffer are used 74 times in the Bible. Perhaps that’s more a reference to Paul Roos than Adelaide’s Scott Camporeale.
74 points – in mick’s footy blog speak is a reference to the almost 10 kilometres the disconsolate fans had to endure to erase one point of defeat on the journey home. We passed many Adelaide bound buses around Bacchus Marsh on our return to Ballarat. Steamed up, in overdrive, hurrying home having left early to put behind them the disappointment of the end to a brave response to the tragedy that had befallen them – like the greeting of the wilted lettuce encased in triple melted cheeseburger that by the 2am road stop had coalesced into a transformation from mince to collagen. Throwing the mike open at Horsham, a cavalcade of bus drivers inform their back weary patrons that with Melbourne 200 kilometres behind them, another 20 points had been worked off the margin. In-crow side splitting gags at local towns expense that generated smug mirth from the travelling vikings on the journey to the G – “Kaniva coffee? Kaniva Pie?, sniggers while purchasing vanilla slices at Horsham’s Waack’s bakery, sly digs at local walk sock wearing Nietzches’s at Nhill – now ring hollow like the empty tin of homemade muffins, the spent 2 litre thermos and the self referential thump of wheel on roadkill.
Back to Subiaco to face Freo in one final bid to push through to the stage of football immortality. We hold our nerve, the crowd implodes in a series of unsociable incidents of violence and player abuse as Cyril twice terrorises the nervy final quarter Eagles defence into second guessing spilled marks upon his bearing down that he converts into the slicing of the Fremantle anchor to the bottom of their own murky low scoring harbour.
As Ross Lyon said in a reflective post game presser “does that make sense?”.