I love the Hawks

I love the Hawks.

I love the way that someone came up with the brown and gold, the worst colour combination in the (current) AFL (I’m talking to you Giants), and yet they have resisted the urge to stuff it up in the name of marketing.

I love how they don’t mind recruiting fat, washed up, has-beens and give them a crack at a premiership, just because they are left footed and can kick a long way.

I love the way they have Tasmania emblazoned across their jumpers, but no mention of Hawthorn. Try explaining that to a foreigner to our game. “Oh yeah, they are sponsored by a state, but no, it is not there own.”

But most of all, I love a core group of players that make watching footy entertaining.

The skipper plays the role that I tried to. The sweeping half back whose party trick is to turn on to his left foot. Everyone knows he is going to do it, and yet he still makes others look silly, by simply going the other way. Us left footers really do have an unfair advantage. However, that is where the comparisons between he and I end.

I also love the way he shapes to kick first. He’ll only handball if he is under too much pressure to hit someone on the chest.

And then there is Cyril Rioli.

James Hird had the unique ability to play in slow motion, while everyone around him played at normal speed. He could evade players by pretty much standing still and he always had time, time to wait, time to pick the best option, time to do whatever he wanted.

Junior is the polar opposite to Hird. Everything he does seems to be in fast-forward. While Hird made opponents look over zealous and out of control, Cyril makes them look like they are playing in concrete boots.

During tonight’s game, his over the head handball had already landed in the (surprised) hands of a teammate, before his Carlton tacklers even knew that he no longer had possession.

There was another piece of play in the last quarter where he took the ball from the centre bounce, zigged, zagged and bounced around, ended up only ten metres away from where he got it, but was somehow fifteen metres in the clear. He even had time to fumble the bounce, pick it up and the handball it to a (surprised) teammate.

The only person that seems to understand what he is doing is Buddy. And what a deadly combination they make.

In this age of media saturation, there is very little that has not been said about Buddy. Putting it simply, he is an enigma.

I believe he really should have more impact on games, and should be kicking 100+ goals a year, but in this rotation and press driven era of football, we have to be content with watching mere bursts of pure dominance.

But bloody hell, they are entertaining bursts.

I actually feel sorry for the defenders that play on him. A ten-minute lapse and he could kick a bag.

Finally, there is a bunch of players like Lewis, Mitchell and Sewell who pay true homage to their line, “riding the bumps with a grin.”

I am not sure they have enough to win the flag this year, but they are going to make the top two pretty nervous.

And, the last round appears as though it may have some significance. The  way I read it, the winner should get the Eagles, the loser will get Hawks.

That will be Friday night fun!