The Ghost has never been one to kick a man when he’s down. It’s not our way to take something that’s been said or done in a moment of weakness, tuck it away until a vengeful opportunity arises, then throw it gleefully back in an embarrassed face. We’re happy to live and let live, turn the other cheek and move on.

Angus, however, is another matter.

My old brown and gold mate has a memory like a demented elephant. Nothing, but nothing, can be said about the Hawks without being processed, scanned and weighed for any trace of insult, rated on a scale of retribution required, then filed away for future use when the appropriate moment bobs up like Shaun Burgoyne at a must-win centre bounce. No-one is safe.

By way of example, Angus carries around a little notebook which for the past 15 years he’s regularly taken out of his pocket, flicked to a dog-eared page and recited: Round 2, 2002, Collingwood v West Coast, MCG, Chris Judd stars on debut. The Ghost wonders out loud, “Maybe we stuffed up taking that pudgy kid from Colac at No.1.”

Another disintegrating page, another example: Round 12, 1999, St Kilda are beating us by 63 points in the second quarter at Waverley. In the Channel Seven commentary box Peter Landy says, “I bet they wish they had Hudson, Crimmins and Matthews on the bench.” Angus’s notes after we pulled off the second-greatest comeback of all-time read, “Who needs them when you’ve got Holland, Lekkas and Collica?” Given the other stuff he wrote that can’t be repeated on a family website, Peter Landy is lucky he retired before Twitter came along.

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Which brings us to last Sunday, walking the walk of winners through Yarra Park, with the kind of spring in our steps that can only be found in the afterglow of a win over Collingwood. Dusk had descended, the temperature was falling fast, but we were as warm as a couple of hatchlings nestled under Mama Hawk’s wing.

“Punch me in the arm,” Angus said out of nowhere, daft grin on his face.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I replied.

 “Go on, punch me in the arm!”

“No!”

This went on until I could see he wasn’t going to let up, so I bopped him half-heartedly on the bicep.

“Gee, you really got a lot of me there, Ghost!” Angus said. “But you didn’t hurt me! Oh no, you didn’t hurt me at all!”

I had no idea what he was on about, but the penny started to drop when he bounded over to a young Hawker in a No.3 jumper who had his arm wedged in one of those giant, inflatable, brown and gold hands. “Slap me in the face with your big hand!” Angus ordered the mini-Hawk. “Go on, as hard as you can!”

The young bloke wasn’t as hard to coerce as I’d been, and let fly with a huge round-arm that swatted the side of Angus’s head like he was being hit by a flying airbed. Gus reeled back, then started laughing like a loon and telling his mock assailant, “Yep, you sure got a lot of me there! You got a whole heap of me, no doubt about it! But you didn’t hurt me! No siree, you didn’t hurt me at all!”

Before he could get arrested for pure lunacy I ushered Angus off up the hill and we headed home to watch the replay. We were toasting the heroics of “Richard” Burton and Daniel “I’ll Show Ya” Howe when the last quarter came on. At the sight of Tom Mitchell’s goal from just inside 50 eight minutes in that put us 11 points in front, Angus was at it again. “That didn’t hurt, did it Pies?” Ten minutes later, Mitch’s encore was like an instant replay. “And I suppose that one didn’t hurt either!” Gus bellowed, laughing so hard he fell off the couch.

Yep, 85 touches from T.Mitchell in two games against Eddiewood is some going. Good enough to get a gig in Angus’s notebook.

“Didn’t hurt us at all. Nope, not one bit.”

I’ll let Angus dance on that particular grave for a little while longer, but I’m already looking forward, not back. If the Pies are still a mathematical chance of making finals then we’re even better than that, but it’s not a time to get ahead of ourselves. All that matters is that once again we’re a happy team at Hawthorn, and we head down to Tassie this weekend with the scent of victory in our nostrils.

Go Hawks.