At a certain point on Hawthorn's premiership lap of honour at the MCG on Saturday, some players gestured to the crowd with upswept arms, as if to ask for more noise. It was the sort of motion sportspeople use to summon support when they are in pinch, or at the start of a surge, not the climax. In that moment, it was possible to think that there is such thing as flag fatigue.
It's virtually impossible to tire of winning premierships, of course, and more than 10,000 convened at Glenferrie Oval on Sunday, as they do annually, to bask in sun and premierships, to laugh and cheer with the players and to wait in long, patient queues at a merchandise stall.
On stage, captain Luke Hodge awkwardly juggled three premiership cups. A fourth, from 2008, discreetly was not mentioned, though it belongs to the same era and coach, and six of the same players. Momentarily, the Hawks had too much of a good thing.
Hawthorn's third successive premiership had all the elements - mastery, joy, brilliance, satisfaction - but not the sort of sheer and innocent surprise that marks other clubs' premiership (at least as far as anyone can remember them). As the goals were replayed at Glenferrie, fans were selective about which they cheered; after all, over three years, they've kicked 48.
President Andrew Newbold unwittingly summed up the mood. "We all know these things are incredibly hard to win," he said, almost too humbly, because Hawthorn make them look easier than other clubs. That, said Newbold, did not lessen the wonder as each new one was added. "I walked across this morning and thought, did we actually do what we did yesterday?" he said.
This was an extraordinary premiership triumph. Saturday was 10 degrees hotter than the Boxing Day when Shane Warne took his 700th Test wicket. The Hawks had been to Perth and back twice in the finals series, and had no break, and were old. Between them, they have 16 children, with a 17th due any day; veritably they are a Daddy's Army. Yet they annihilated hapless West Coast to claim not just this premiership, but pole position for yet another.
Some achievements are too big to be grasped in their moment, some teams too virtuoso for their own good. On Sunday, two players especially relieved that perception. One was Cyril Rioli, perhaps the first player to win the Norm Smith Medal on a show of hands. Now even his teammates bowed to him, and only half-mockingly. "We always put our faith in our system," said Sam Mitchell, "and we've always got Cyril."
The other was Brian Lake, the Bulldogs refugee who in three years at Hawthorn has won three flags. MC Mark Howard began to put to him a question about marking, but he said: "Don't worry about 'clunk', what about the smother?" In the last quarter, he had bluffed former Bulldogs teammate Josh Hill by leaving the goal-mouth open for him, then dived and muffled his kick.
Too incoherently to quote here, Lake then satirised football cliche, saying he couldn't have made the smother without his teammates. Dispossessed of the microphone, he protested: "I've got a crowd wrapped around my little finger." So he did.
The celebrating Hawks let their hair down more this year than others. Mitchell and Hodge both spoke of getting back to work soon, but you knew that this day at least, they were mouthing platitudes. Even coach Alastair Clarkson, now among the greats with four premierships, was all out of gravitas. HIs speech to the team, attested Mitchell, consisted of one swear word, followed by "beauty".
Other times, other clubs, on a day like this, the song would be on continuous loop, reflecting the novelty. For the Hawks and their fans, one chorus was enough before they separately went about their celebratory business.
In a memorable malapropism, Alan Joyce, coach of Hawthorn in a previous prosperous era, said after one grand final: "We're just happy to get the four points." Next year, it might be a case of "we're just happy to get the four flags".
