THERE was always a real danger of a letdown after the heroics of last week. Of course I was well aware of this but I tried to convince myself otherwise. I employed every tactic I could think of to push this notion out of my head.

Each time someone mentioned the possibility of “post Showdown blues” I switched play effortlessly. In recent times I’ve mastered the art of the seamless transition. It gets me out of all sorts of tight situations – in football and life. “Forget about the footy for a moment. Have you been watching the US Masters?” Do you think Nick D’Arcy should go to Beijing? Does anybody give a flying falafel about the Davis Cup in Townsville? Did you know Australia has its own curling team? That’s one of the benefits of living in a sport-obsessed country. It’s easy to deflect the conversation.

I chose to watch the game alone on Sunday. I do have friends in this town but after a full-on week of TV and radio commitments I thought it was best I rest my voice and stay away from all the temptations that go with an afternoon at the pub, namely alcohol. Instead, I enjoyed some quality time with a few friends from the carbohydrate family – spinach and ricotta cannelloni. After lunch I immersed myself in a world of essential oils and herbal tea. A practice commonly referred to as “me time.”

I slapped on a deep penetrating cream mask for the first quarter and, as it turned out, nothing else came close as far as highlights go. The only part of the first term I remember is Birdman’s gorgeous goal from an acute angle. Not only was the “checkside” kick beautiful to watch it also reminded me I had to buy my weekly bunch of bananas to get me through the rigours of breakfast radio and 4am starts.  There was something else that stood out in the first quarter for the wrong reasons; two misses from Goody. For those who rely on “signs” you’d have to say the signs weren’t good.

I painted my toe nails in the second term which wasn’t an easy task. I had to re-do a few of them thanks to Buddy Franklin. Every time he slotted one through I lost my rhythm, and when Hodge scored to put the Hawks five goals up I lost the plot as well. The bottle of “Dark Pleasures” tipped over, thankfully none of it spilled onto the carpet. In the end it was, dare I say it, a pretty polished job. The only other highlight for the term was Symes’ goal from that part of the ground referred to by the commentators as “The Bermuda Triangle.”

Desperately in need of another distraction I filed and buffed my finger nails in the third. With every Hawthorn goal I filed harder. I normally twirl my hair when I’m stressed but there’s something far more satisfying about holding an instrument. And when I wasn’t filing I was yelling out “who the *#@& is on Brent Guerra?”  By the end of the term I was filing and twirling feverishly.

All I could do in the final quarter was sit back and admire my handy work. Guerra ended up with 38 disposals and I ended up a little disappointed but on the outside I was glowing.