Round 9 – Hawthorn v Gold Coast: Suns swoop on Hawks amid thoughts of covalent bonding

I find myself watching the trees slightly quiver on this Sunday afternoon, as the Hawks take on the Suns in what looks to be one of the quieter games of the Indigenous Round. I was planning to head to the ‘G to watch Sam Grimley make his debut and remember what Campbell Brown looks like in the flesh but after four different friendship groups apologise and tell me they won’t be making the trek to the ‘G, instead opting to study for the upcoming week’s exams, I put the myki away.

Study, I scoff. Talk about getting your priorities mixed up.

I flick on the TV, ready for an afternoon in the armchair, disappointed to find no footy on the box. Wishing we had Foxtel, I decide maybe I should open those books. I do have a chemistry test tomorrow, and it will probably take me a few hours to wipe the dust off my textbook. Surely I won’t miss much. I decide to study like the conscientious pupil I am.

Who am I kidding? Hello Twitter!

Flitting between Tweets and sleep, I wake up to a living nightmare. Half time and Gold Coast have the Hawks by 11.

I’m not sure whether droplets of sweat or tears drip onto my non-working appliances. My radio emits static; my phone’s no help. Laptop! My homepage shouts ‘Always Hawthorn’ and I know I’m in luck.

Maybe this is what it’s like to be a drug addict. You feel absolutely hopeless as you shake violently, constantly. Cursing yourself for investing in such a tumultuous lifestyle, you feel so detached from the rest of the world. Nothing’s fast enough. Your heart bashes against your ribs, like criminals shaking jail bars. It’s too excruciating.

And then the faithful old AFL homepage loads. Too many thoughts.

I feel sick.

It looks like it’s been goal for goal.

The skinny kids have out tackled us. We’re wasting our chances.

Suns down to $6! With the way the Hawks are playing I would bet my entire piggy bank on it.

Sam Mitchell’s playing centre half back. Never in my sixteen years.

They may be winning now, but the franchise teams can’t put in a full four quarters. They’ve had the first half, we will take the second.

I think I am going to vomit.

The third quarter begins.

If I hear Andy Maher say ‘Gary’ one more time, I actually will vomit.

Mitchell goal. Thank goodness. Looks like someone’s snuck out of position.

Learning about covalent bonding is going to have to wait. What is chemistry even useful for?

The only kind of bonding I want to know about is the kind that joins Buddy’s feet with the ball, which seems to be spraying everywhere except between the big white sticks.

Five goals in a row for the Hawks send my heart rate down. I can now take a deep breath and see without black spots clouding my vision.

I think Buddy’s form should simply be put down to the fact he likes his mug in the paper. He clearly wants to help out the bored journos, give them something to speculate over. And maybe he wants to make the defenders of the comp to think they have a chance. Because when we need him, when we’re about to be as embarrassed as the entire Collingwood club was this weekend, fans and inner sanctum alike, he pulls out a handful of assists and a couple for his own name. He’s a champ, don’t you worry.

But the champions of today have been Gold Coast. They’ve given us an almighty scare. They’ve handled themselves very well, with Prestia, Hall and Matera playing strongly. The bald man doesn’t need to be discussed- forget King Midas, this man’s has the real golden touch.

SEN call the ‘nail in the coffin’ at the 17-minute mark.

A relatively uneventful few minutes play out.

And there’s the siren.

All the highs and lows vanish as another four points are given.

It’s just another day at the office.

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