One for all and all for one?
Dear Hawthorn, If what is alleged is true, I no longer want you in my life. I’m not sure you think I even exist. But that’s not the problem, is it? The problem is that I’m not sure you think anyone other than blokes like you exist. Or matter. But we do. And you mattered to us. And you have trashed everything that meant for our family. There aren’t that many properly working class families who love Hawthorn as passionately as catholics love Collingwood or Mancunians love United. But my family is one of them. Dear Hawthorn, When I grew up, my mum and siblings and I would join my cousins and aunties and uncles and grandparents, and we’d drive out to VFL park with our little plush hawks dolls, with the number of our favourite player drawn on the back. We’d eat pies at half time, and bang the advertising boards when you got a goal. My brother had a poster of Peter Knights on his wall. After family lunches at Pa’s place, all seven grandkids would climb the fence with a footbal