They say you can love someone or something so much it hurts. I know the feeling. When I was a younger Ghost I had a pet guinea pig (brown with lighter, almost golden markings). I named him Mewy. Some unkind souls reckoned Mewy wasn’t very attractive and never did anything exciting, but I couldn’t have loved him more if his fur was made out of chocolate.

In one of those random and inexplicable happenings that could scar a young Hawk for life, Mewy got taken by a huge black cat in a red collar on grand final day 1984, just after Essendon had turned a 23-point three-quarter time deficit into a four-goal win. I cried for days. To this day I still turn the other way when I walk past one of those shopping centre pet stores, in case there’s a cage full of little Mewys in the window. (Hearing the name “Leon” or any mention of the profession of “baker” sets me off too, but that’s another story.)

Love isn’t something you can turn on and off. It’s got a power like a 10-goal wind. It doesn’t give you a choice – once you’re smitten, you’re on a carnival ride full of heart-soaring rises and gut-dropping descents. You can’t just call out, “Stop, I’ve had enough!” Love doesn’t work like that.

I love Roughy.

More than I loved Mewy. More than I love my mate Angus (in a because-we-both-love-the-Hawks kinda way). More than I love the brown and gold goldfish, Tom, Jaeger and Tyrone. More than I love beating Essendon. More than words can say.

I love Roughy. I just love him.

It’s been a crazy old time at Ghost Manor. A couple of Saturday nights ago the so-called experts were patting themselves on the back for predicting our demise (like they’ve been doing every year since 2009). Their basis this time around was something that happened against Collingwood that I couldn’t comment on even if I wanted to. (Angus and I had a session of hypnotherapy first thing the next Monday morning. I’ll admit I was a bit sceptical before then, but since neither of us can remember a thing after James Sicily’s second goal put us 43 points up nine minutes into the second quarter, I’m a convert).

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Then we came out the next Friday night and beat Sydney at the SCG. And now we’re four points out of the eight and two wins away from the top four. And the same so-called experts are saying you wouldn’t want to be coming up against Hawthorn if they’re still kicking at the business end, because no-one knows more about getting it done in September than the Hawks. Angus and I are taking it one week and one hypnosis at a time, but at least it’s nice to see “the footy world” coming slowly to its senses.

And who do we have to thank for this rapid reversal of opinion? Our beloved skipper. Our hero. Our beacon. Our guardian angel. Our inspiration. Our Rough. Rough! Raaaaaaarrrrrrrfffff!!!! (And Burger too, of course. Dead-set, has anyone ever worn the No.67 brown and gold jumper with more pride, power and panache? No. Case closed.)

Yep, we’ve been happier than Tom Mitchell in a Sherrin factory. And just quietly, 50 possessions is 50 times the other mob haven’t got it if you ask us. And four more than a certain Collingwood coach ever managed in a game, not that we’re counting.

Angus is into compiling “Top 5s”. For example: “Top 5 Hawthorn players whose names make really good rhyming slang” (Michael Tuck – chuck; Gary Ayres – stairs; Greg or Paul Dear – beer; Alan Goad – road. You get the picture.) He’s sure Roughy’s long bomb against the Swans warrants a place in his “Top 5 Hawk Moments That Don’t Include Premierships, Finals, Brownlows Or Ridiculously Big Bags Kicked By Jason Dunstall (eg, Dicko’s after-the-siren winner against Carlton in 2001; beating Essendon by 120 points at the MCG in 1992; beating Essendon by any margin, anywhere, anytime).

The emotional rollercoaster of recent times (and perhaps the hypnotherapy) have set Angus’s mind racing. He’s actually trying to make a case that Rough’s goal should get a guernsey in a “Top 5 All-Time Greatest Moments In Australian Sport”, somewhere behind Cathy Freeman’s gold in Sydney but in front of Warney’s “Gatting ball”. I’m starting to wonder if the bye can’t come soon enough for Gus.

But we’re not there yet. One week at a time and all that. Port on Thursday night, where they’ll have home ground advantage, a packed house warbling Never Tear Us Apart, a spot in the eight they don’t want to let go.

And we’ll have Rough. Go Hawks.

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