As we left the MCG on Friday night, with a preliminary final berth confirmed, a footballing companion remarked that he had picked up a few bruises of his own from the game. He’d been sitting next to me, front row, third tier of the Southern Stand. The combination of the constant whacking of his knees on the harsh concrete barrier in front of us as he slid to the edge of his seat and my continual bumping of his arms and legs as I rode each contest out in the middle meant that he walked away pretty sore but certainly not sorry. He also barracks for Hawthorn.
As much as I enjoyed the carnival atmosphere against Carlton the week before, something was missing. There was no tension, nothing riding on the game other than a player’s personal milestone. This one was altogether different. Plenty at stake. A massive prize for the winner. An edge that only finals can bring.
Despite the scoreline, it was an intense game on Friday night. Finals tend to be that way. The consequences of losing are too catastrophic to consider. But then you don’t want to get carried away thinking too far ahead to the benefits of a win. No it’s best to just stay in the moment. And that I did. I found myself in a zone as tight as Clarkson’s cluster from the very outset, fully focused on watching every contest and barely noticing anything that was going on around me in the stands. My wife said that I didn’t smile until about 20 minutes into the last quarter but that belies the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed myself. For me, entering this kind of ‘space’ is like a form of meditation. For the two to three hours of the game, I think of nothing else but the game. No thoughts about falling share markets or rising petrol prices, not even the slightest consideration of players parading with protruding plastic penises.
Of course, I think my wife was exaggerating. I’m sure I must have smirked at one of Buddy’s eight goals. Surely I gasped at some of Hodgey’s contested marks. His sideways passes to free men who only he could see must also have squeezed some emotion out of me. And then there were the performances of Osbourne, Rioli, Roughead, Mitchell, Lewis, Sewell… There was plenty to smile about even if I didn’t.
The fact is we played well, and when the game finished I stood and applauded, acknowledging a great win. But even then my celebrations were somewhat subdued. All we’d achieved was a win that takes us into the third week of the finals, one that gives the players (and fans) a week to rest up ready for the next challenge.
I wrote a little while ago that fans tend to take on the personality of their football teams (certainly Brendan Fevola gave us an insight during the week as to what the average Carlton fan is like). Alan Joyce once famously said after coaching us to a winning final “we’re just happy to get the points” so maybe my attitude has been infused by the personalities of past Hawthorn coaching greats like Joyce, John Kennedy, David Parkin and Allan Jeans.
Whatever the explanation, I’m looking forward to seeing Collingwood and S. Kilda beating up on each other this week before getting back into that space for a massive preliminary final. Now, there’s an attitude that would make even Clarko proud.