By R. G. Fraser
Leo Bloom had it with his blue blanket…Linus did too. Steve Waugh’s little red hanky springs to mind. Things we need to touch, to feel, to have about our person. Things we do, or think, or say. Illogical practices in which we engage in order to influence a situation, usually to our advantage or benefit. To give us comfort in times of anxiety.
Superstition and football go hand in hand in the Fraser family. We cannot have one without the other. Let me explain…
Home and away rounds
The Signature Piece of the ensemble is my beloved jacket – brown wool, satin lined with brilliant leather yellow/gold sleeves. Given to me by Kathleen, an Irish girl working at the Hawthorn Social Club who I met after that monumental shoot out against the Cats at Princes Park in Round 6, May 1989. I received the jacket for my birthday in June that year. By August Kathleen and I were no more, but the jacket has accompanied me to every Hawks game I have attended ever since…with the exception of Grand Finals (more on that later). Over the years I have collected badges for the lapels – a Hawks logo, MCC when I joined in 2006, then “Back-to-Back” and “Threepeat” in 2014 and 2015 respectively.
A yellow-ish shirt and brown corduroy pants. Membership scarf and lanyard (with MCC members card) from the year in question. R M Williams brown boots over “old school” Hawthorn footy socks….white in the foot, then successive brown and gold hoops.
Grand Finals
If superstition determined apparel in the home and away season, it reached even greater importance in the Finals.
The Golden Years (1983-1991)
The Hawks made it to every Grand Final between 1983 and 1989, and so did I. I do love a bit of theatre, so I asked Mum to make me a pair of pants in brown and gold cotton material…which she lovingly did. Still having brown hair back then, I decided to apply temporary yellow stripes via spray on hair dye. Old style woollen jumper and the same footy socks I am still wearing today. To me the crowning glory of the outfit was the pair of Adidas Rome sneakers I painstakingly dyed gold and brown (gold for the body, three brown stripes). I still have them in my “treasures” cupboard – holes in the rubber sole reflecting the use to which they were put walking to and from that succession of Grand Finals.
Speaking of Grand Finals in that period, they say you always remember your first. I certainly do. As I said, I love a bit of theatre, but that is easy when you are sitting at home coming up with what seems like a good idea at the time. It is different when you are walking down the hill to the MCG, gold and brown pants standing out like beacons with gold streaks in your hair. Made worse by the first group of people you pass supporting them…the red and black Voldemorts. They were having a barbecue in the car park, about 20 of them, and did they give me heaps. Walk on young Hawker, walk on. Fortunately, they were there again after the final siren. I made a point of jauntily strolling past them and their looks of sorrow and despair. I spoke not a word, looked straight ahead…with a smile that said it all. ”Laughs best” as they say.
The picture below was taken as my St Kilda supporting mate Steve Sweeney and I made our way to the ground for the 1987 Grand Final (Saints playing in the Reserves). A journo and photographer from the Herald Sun happened to spy us en route to the ‘G. I am not sure whether they were taken by my brilliant yellow hair, triathlete physique or Steve’s blazing red undies worn outside his shorts. Neither of our teams took the chocolates that day, but at least we had a few moments of fame to console us.
I didn’t make it to Waverley for the ’91 Premiership, but was not overly fussed as there would be plenty more soon enough (or so I thought). How wrong I was. Years passed, then a decade. No return to glory. Getting older, hair turning grey. In the mid-2000s my hairdresser was Norm Dare’s daughter, so she knew a bit about footy. I shared the story of my antics in the 80s, including putting streaks of yellow in my hair. We resolved that if the Hawks returned to The Big One, she would dye my hair brown so the stripes could return. Which is exactly what we did for 2008 – and the pants Mum made for me were still able to fit around my now broader butt.
Grand Final Day 2008 will go down as one of the most anxious yet joyous days of my life. There will always be a tinge of sadness, however, as it was the day the Adidas Romes gave up the ghost. The rubber soles flapped like a pair of thongs as I made my way home that day. I had a few years to find a pair of replacements, and inspired by the great J. T. Harms and his footwear of choice I bought a pair of Dunlop Volleys and applied gold and brown colouring for 2013 (wisely missing the game in 2012). Pants the same, socks the same, but the footy jumper was a few sizes larger. The picture below is from 2014, taken at our annual Grand Final wine bottling before I jumped on a train from Eltham to Jolimont. Darling wife Sheridan is keeping the tradition of wearing the woollen jumper alive. Thank God I ditched the idea of dying my hair.
Come on Hawks
When the umpire holds the ball aloft and the siren sounds, I feel the need to commence my own little incantation:
Come on Hawks Come on Hawks Come on Hawks Come on Hawks COME ON HAWKS!
The volume and intensity increases with each step the umpire takes toward the centre circle, reaching a crescendo as the Sherrin crashes into the turf and the opposing ruckmen fling themselves at each other.
Rinse and repeat at the commencement of each quarter….and more often if we are in trouble.
The Punkin Effect
The 2007 Elimination Final at the Artist Formerly Known as Telstra Dome. Things looked pretty bleak for most of the day, and into the last quarter it appeared that our first foray into the finals since 2001 would be short lived. Then momentum shifted our way. The last quarter was an absolute nail biter, with ascendancy tipping our way, then back to the Crows with only minutes remaining, and back to us.
Some credit our ultimate victory to our former #23 (it still hurts to say his name) with the last of his seven goals. But I know better. Not being able to attend the game, I was speaking to my elder daughter Courtney in the first half when things were looking gloomy. Being an intense and anxious supporter, I was very downcast. But then my Punkin uttered the words that caused me to raise up my head and believe we may be okay after all:
Thereafter, whenever we really needed it in Finals, all I had to do was send Punkin a simple message…“you know what to do”.
“Don’t worry Daddy, we got this” would be the immediate reply – and we usually did.
Piggle on yer boot
The following year, 2008, my second daughter Alexis was born. In a premiership year, like her Dad. Piggle shares my love of the Hawks and is my regular companion at the footy. Being able to go to games has meant a lot, especially for the last two years, as it is something we can enjoy together. Being in her early teens, it is often not cool for kids to do things with their parents.
Over the last two seasons I have noticed that whenever the opposition has a set shot for goal Piggle would close her eyes and bow forward. Her fingers would cross, her arms would cross, as would her toes and legs. When settled in position, back and neck arched and forehead almost touching the seat in front, she would whisper softly to herself “miss miss miss miss miss”. Her head would only raise when the crowd noise let her know the kick for goal had been completed. She would then look across to me and ask “Did it work? Did he miss? Did he miss?” It may be a reflection on the poor kicking for goal that seems to afflict many modern day footballers…but if you are playing against Hawthorn, it may just be Alexis Fraser and her incantation has got to you.
Grant Fraser is an avid Hawthorn supporter who cannot believe his good luck at having experienced two sets of “glory years” in the one lifetime.
It’s not important
It’s a minor compulsion
I can deal with it if I want to
Leo Bloom, ‘The Producers’
Leo Bloom had it with his blue blanket…Linus did too. Steve Waugh’s little red hanky springs to mind. Things we need to touch, to feel, to have about our person. Things we do, or think, or say. Illogical practices in which we engage in order to influence a situation, usually to our advantage or benefit. To give us comfort in times of anxiety.
Superstition and football go hand in hand in the Fraser family. We cannot have one without the other. Let me explain…
Clothing
I simply cannot attend the football in any old rags. There is a uniform that must be worn to every game. Not to do so means almost inevitable defeat – or at least that is what the little voice tells me. The order in which I don the attire is of no consequence – I mean, that would be weird – but it is important that I am wearing the same items of clothing when I leave the house to go and see the Mighty Fightings play. To do otherwise would lead to calamity…I think I nearly wore something different in 1996, and we all know how that almost turned out.Home and away rounds
The Signature Piece of the ensemble is my beloved jacket – brown wool, satin lined with brilliant leather yellow/gold sleeves. Given to me by Kathleen, an Irish girl working at the Hawthorn Social Club who I met after that monumental shoot out against the Cats at Princes Park in Round 6, May 1989. I received the jacket for my birthday in June that year. By August Kathleen and I were no more, but the jacket has accompanied me to every Hawks game I have attended ever since…with the exception of Grand Finals (more on that later). Over the years I have collected badges for the lapels – a Hawks logo, MCC when I joined in 2006, then “Back-to-Back” and “Threepeat” in 2014 and 2015 respectively.
A yellow-ish shirt and brown corduroy pants. Membership scarf and lanyard (with MCC members card) from the year in question. R M Williams brown boots over “old school” Hawthorn footy socks….white in the foot, then successive brown and gold hoops.
Grand Finals
If superstition determined apparel in the home and away season, it reached even greater importance in the Finals.
The Golden Years (1983-1991)
The Hawks made it to every Grand Final between 1983 and 1989, and so did I. I do love a bit of theatre, so I asked Mum to make me a pair of pants in brown and gold cotton material…which she lovingly did. Still having brown hair back then, I decided to apply temporary yellow stripes via spray on hair dye. Old style woollen jumper and the same footy socks I am still wearing today. To me the crowning glory of the outfit was the pair of Adidas Rome sneakers I painstakingly dyed gold and brown (gold for the body, three brown stripes). I still have them in my “treasures” cupboard – holes in the rubber sole reflecting the use to which they were put walking to and from that succession of Grand Finals.
Speaking of Grand Finals in that period, they say you always remember your first. I certainly do. As I said, I love a bit of theatre, but that is easy when you are sitting at home coming up with what seems like a good idea at the time. It is different when you are walking down the hill to the MCG, gold and brown pants standing out like beacons with gold streaks in your hair. Made worse by the first group of people you pass supporting them…the red and black Voldemorts. They were having a barbecue in the car park, about 20 of them, and did they give me heaps. Walk on young Hawker, walk on. Fortunately, they were there again after the final siren. I made a point of jauntily strolling past them and their looks of sorrow and despair. I spoke not a word, looked straight ahead…with a smile that said it all. ”Laughs best” as they say.
The picture below was taken as my St Kilda supporting mate Steve Sweeney and I made our way to the ground for the 1987 Grand Final (Saints playing in the Reserves). A journo and photographer from the Herald Sun happened to spy us en route to the ‘G. I am not sure whether they were taken by my brilliant yellow hair, triathlete physique or Steve’s blazing red undies worn outside his shorts. Neither of our teams took the chocolates that day, but at least we had a few moments of fame to console us.
I didn’t make it to Waverley for the ’91 Premiership, but was not overly fussed as there would be plenty more soon enough (or so I thought). How wrong I was. Years passed, then a decade. No return to glory. Getting older, hair turning grey. In the mid-2000s my hairdresser was Norm Dare’s daughter, so she knew a bit about footy. I shared the story of my antics in the 80s, including putting streaks of yellow in my hair. We resolved that if the Hawks returned to The Big One, she would dye my hair brown so the stripes could return. Which is exactly what we did for 2008 – and the pants Mum made for me were still able to fit around my now broader butt.
Grand Final Day 2008 will go down as one of the most anxious yet joyous days of my life. There will always be a tinge of sadness, however, as it was the day the Adidas Romes gave up the ghost. The rubber soles flapped like a pair of thongs as I made my way home that day. I had a few years to find a pair of replacements, and inspired by the great J. T. Harms and his footwear of choice I bought a pair of Dunlop Volleys and applied gold and brown colouring for 2013 (wisely missing the game in 2012). Pants the same, socks the same, but the footy jumper was a few sizes larger. The picture below is from 2014, taken at our annual Grand Final wine bottling before I jumped on a train from Eltham to Jolimont. Darling wife Sheridan is keeping the tradition of wearing the woollen jumper alive. Thank God I ditched the idea of dying my hair.
The things we do
In addition to the attire, the Frasers have quirky little things that must be done at appropriate times before or during a game.Come on Hawks
When the umpire holds the ball aloft and the siren sounds, I feel the need to commence my own little incantation:
Come on Hawks Come on Hawks Come on Hawks Come on Hawks COME ON HAWKS!
The volume and intensity increases with each step the umpire takes toward the centre circle, reaching a crescendo as the Sherrin crashes into the turf and the opposing ruckmen fling themselves at each other.
Rinse and repeat at the commencement of each quarter….and more often if we are in trouble.
The Punkin Effect
The 2007 Elimination Final at the Artist Formerly Known as Telstra Dome. Things looked pretty bleak for most of the day, and into the last quarter it appeared that our first foray into the finals since 2001 would be short lived. Then momentum shifted our way. The last quarter was an absolute nail biter, with ascendancy tipping our way, then back to the Crows with only minutes remaining, and back to us.
Some credit our ultimate victory to our former #23 (it still hurts to say his name) with the last of his seven goals. But I know better. Not being able to attend the game, I was speaking to my elder daughter Courtney in the first half when things were looking gloomy. Being an intense and anxious supporter, I was very downcast. But then my Punkin uttered the words that caused me to raise up my head and believe we may be okay after all:
Don’t worry Daddy….we got this
Fast forward to late in the last quarter. Goal seven sails through with seconds to spare. I am heading down Barkers Road in Kew, the Hawks three now points in front. I was driving and hitting the steering wheel with my left hand so hard in my elation I don’t know how I retained control of the car. Lance played a role…sure…but it was the faith of my (then) 13 year-old elder daughter that I believe got us over the line.Thereafter, whenever we really needed it in Finals, all I had to do was send Punkin a simple message…“you know what to do”.
“Don’t worry Daddy, we got this” would be the immediate reply – and we usually did.
Piggle on yer boot
The following year, 2008, my second daughter Alexis was born. In a premiership year, like her Dad. Piggle shares my love of the Hawks and is my regular companion at the footy. Being able to go to games has meant a lot, especially for the last two years, as it is something we can enjoy together. Being in her early teens, it is often not cool for kids to do things with their parents.
Over the last two seasons I have noticed that whenever the opposition has a set shot for goal Piggle would close her eyes and bow forward. Her fingers would cross, her arms would cross, as would her toes and legs. When settled in position, back and neck arched and forehead almost touching the seat in front, she would whisper softly to herself “miss miss miss miss miss”. Her head would only raise when the crowd noise let her know the kick for goal had been completed. She would then look across to me and ask “Did it work? Did he miss? Did he miss?” It may be a reflection on the poor kicking for goal that seems to afflict many modern day footballers…but if you are playing against Hawthorn, it may just be Alexis Fraser and her incantation has got to you.
Conclusion
Football is passion. My family and I are passionate, proud, paid up and will #always be Hawthorn. We are also just a little bit crazy…but I wouldn’t have it any other way.Grant Fraser is an avid Hawthorn supporter who cannot believe his good luck at having experienced two sets of “glory years” in the one lifetime.