PASSION FOR THE BROWN AND GOLD

PASSION FOR THE BROWN AND GOLD

By: Marianne Mavrikios

A cold, wet and windy Saturday afternoon, it is not very inspiring and not one to motivate anyone to go outdoors. The wind blows on the house with a cycle of blasts that frighten the little ones and makes them run to my mother for protection. The day belies the fact that it is spring but winter is holding on, comparable to someone holding on for dear life so they don’t fall to their death. Her grasp so tight it is as if our circulation is being cut off, as the temperature outside is 15 degrees but the wind chill factor feels like negative 10. We struggle to get organised and dress up for the wintery blast that is outside. For this day is not an ordinary day, it is the day of the AFL Grand Final and to make the day as poignant as any day that is special in anyone’s life, our team was a contender for the illustrious prize.

We all clamor into our 7-seat Holden Captiva which at times feels like a sardine can, especially when the kids are uncooperative and push and tug, screaming and fighting as if this activity, which is repeated regularly, is something new and there is a need to get some pecking order established. Nevertheless we finally get them settled as my father opens the garage roller-door. The antarctic blast sending a chill through us all hoping to GOD that this was not some hidden omen that would lead to our teams demise. The trip to the ultimate die-hard hawks fan club- my uncle’s home was short. The roads were quiet except for the screaming siren of a Police car that shot passed us like a bullet reminding us that they were out in force for anyone thinking of drinking and driving. The atmosphere in the car becomes lighter and more jovial as we get closer to my uncle’s house, the air of expectation growing as we inch closer. The atmosphere heightens as we pull into the driveway-feels like I’m sitting for an exam that I did not study for, I am becoming nervous, it feels as though I had swallowed a thousand butterflies, as if I’m about to talk to my crush for the first time. The door of the house bursts open and there is a swathe of brown and gold colours with the 55-inch plasma blaring in sound, the smell of fresh smokey barbeque sausages cooking right under my nose. All the relatives yell with anticipation as if they haven’t seen us for 20 years, excited at the prospect of a successful day enjoying this extra large familial gathering.

Only fifteen minutes have passed and it’s now 2.30pm, the game begins- feels like Christmas morning, the excitement rushing through me so fast as if I’m about to open my first present. My family, all in hawks uniform, beer in hand, eyes on screen, all fully focused on the game. They start screaming. “GO!” even the dog barks, it gets tense, my uncle screams again, “GO BUDDY!” in his loud, deep, and extremely European tone of voice. Man that voice I tell ya- could be heard streets away. Now, we’ve been sitting here on the couch for some time, hearing each other’s loud voices echo from the tiles to the walls of the living room. Here we all are bouncing and swaying to the rhythm of our own voices escalating with excitement, armed with what seems like a continual cache of brown and gold flags, drums and whistles. It’s a wondrous mass of noise and colour, and all I can think about is victory. I’m wearing my Hawks jersey with pride, waiting for the next goal. The neighbours hear our ruckus and come over to see what’s happening, the energy here being so infectious and raw; it bites you without notice, smacks you across the face and invites you to come closer and closer- so without question they stayed for the game. I’ve now made the assumption that I’m surrounded by two categories of Hawks fans. There are those like my dad and uncle George who are perpetual motion: chest beating, fist pumping with battle-masks on. They scream as if it’s the last breath they’ll take. If it weren’t for context, it would almost be frightening. Then there are the others, my cousins. Eyes closed, hands held aloft or clasped together at their chests, singing almost under their breath, as if chanting to a higher power with a mental focus so strong, its exhilarating.

I think especially at this point, up by 23 points at half time, it’s fair to say that they’re all completely lost in the moment.

Yet whether they’re animated beyond containment or seemingly calm and motionless, they all crave for the same thing. They could be anywhere, in the room or even at the game, yet I believe they’d still carry themselves in the same way. You see, in a matter of just 60mins, Hawthorn will defeat Fremantle in the 2013 grand final. For us, excluding our grand 2012 loss it’s been a 5-year-long-wait since we’ve last felt what it’s like to be here this close to the end. And we’re just not ready to let go of this feeling just yet. It’s at this point that I realise, my thoughtless 24 year-old cousin so confident yet desperate for the win, made a bet with his best mate Pietro that if our mighty hawks win he ‘will run down the street bare butt while waving the hawks flag’- assuming against all odds that even if we lose, at least he saves himself from pure embarrassment. He’s stone-faced and motionless, with his hawks flag cloaked tightly around his shoulders as he watches the hopeful merriment before us. Still for whatever reason he seemed a bit crestfallen- so I giggle and hug him with pity. The AFL grand final so heated it tempts and it teases, pairing the possibility of ultimate glorifying bliss alongside the possibility of ultimate heartbreak. Ecstasy and misery, both in equal measure- being the epitome of our scene.

Eternal greatness is there for the taking, and all that mattered was how much we wanted it. However just the thought of being prepared to fall, and fall hard if all fails, is a sharp bitter taste thought, evidently the thought of brown and gold we only ever wanted to see in our toilets.

The Grand Final, It’s cruel and it’s twisted but it’s beautiful all at the same time. My family and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fremantle surged back into the contest at third quarter closing to within three points. Our faces so stunned and frozen in plain site- but thankfully our mighty hawks pulled through and held firm winning 77 to 62. I pounce away in celebration, a felt sensation so powerful it’s intense, euphoric and magical yet so beautiful as though intriguing fireworks surrounds me. I am so lost in my thrill and find myself throwing my sister an exaggerated high-five that evidently turns into a vast hug. I attempt to physically program this moment of joy into my memory. It works, I think, because as I type this I can still recall the feeling of fulfillment and absolute sensation this event brought to me.

Out had come an explosion of flailing arms, flying beer cups, the smiles and laughter of utter relief and a distinct capturing moment of pure refreshing happiness. Hawthorn did it! They sealed their triumph by kicking the first three goals of the last quarter, which opened a 31-point lead, which was enough to hold out a Dockers side that never gave up. We have now had officially won the 11th premiership, defeating Fremantle by 15 points in today’s physically demanding and mentally tough, unpredictable Grand Final at the MCG. My arms were stretched out to the heavens, as I remained chuckling in delight. My aunty had her palms pressed together at her lips and through her fogging glasses I could see a few hanging tears. Then here we are, this very moment, a very satisfied European/ Aussie bunch whose team just won the premiership, this was easily the most fun I’ve ever had in my history of sporting events that really impacted on my life, a moment I will never cease to forget- but unfortunately, as all things do, this day came to an end. So, It was home time for us, and a chilly stroll down the street for my thoughtless yet very happy bare butt 24-year old cousin.

To admit that the celebration continued throughout the night would be an understatement. With our spirit, drive and passion we chanted our beloved club song all the way home, waving our flags, tooting our horns, pounding our mini drums and blowing our whistles. Fair to say, within our excited state of minds, the involvement and encouragement of fellow neighbourhood supporters- our streets were buzzing, with the rumbling of the crowd believed to be heard many streets away, which remained unsettled and completely outrageous until the dawn of midnight. We are indeed a happy team at hawthorn.