The God: Alastair Clarkson. A tiny god with a degree in wrathematics, the Clarko’s guidance has taken the Hawks from two-bit cult to world conquering religion.
The Prophet: Like the Greeks, the Hawks don’t worship just one god. While little Zeus sits up in the coaches box and hurls his mighty lightning bolts at the ground in pure anger, Cyril, Hodgey, Sammy, Roughy and basically any other player in the yellow and brown are worshipped with a similar degree of sickening devotion.
The Devil: Jeff Kennett. It is still unacceptable to talk about what the elders call “The Kennett Curse”, even though it had no real ramifications and didn’t stop the Hawks from being too bloody successful for their own good.
The Dogma: Strive for perfection to make up for our god-awful uniform.
The Holy Land: The MCG. Purists still gather at Glenferrie, but for the vast majority of recent Hawthorn fans they probably couldn’t find Hawthorn on a map. Followers are encouraged to be arrogant and sweary, like Collingwood supporters but with money and an education.
The God: Jim Stynes. No explanation needed.
The Prophet: Jack Watts. A reluctant augur, the Melbourne faithful believe Jack will lead the Demons to the promised land of maybe getting close to the finals one day, but nothing more. Jack is quickly losing followers to the word of Jesse.
The Devil: The MCG for not banning the unwashed masses from stinking up the game with their boisterous rebel-rousing and caterwauling.
The Dogma: And the Lord said let there be white, and there was white, and we skied it.
The Holy Land: The Members, where devotees can sit in respectful silence in their smoking jackets and pour scorn on the plebs.
The God: Wayne Carey. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us.
The Prophet: Wayne Carey…and love thy neighbour.
The Devil: Wayne Carey…just not to that extent.
The Dogma: Try not to be too controversial, too big, too rich or too successful. Think less Wayne Carey and more Corey Jones. That’s the club we want.
The Holy Land: Arden Street. Supporters are encouraged to visit once a week and think “fuck we’re boring.”
The God: Fos Williams. A small section of the faithful broke off to worship Warren Tredrea before they realised he was a complete dickhead.
The Prophet: Paddy Dangerfield. Because he completely screwed over the Crows. Preach!
The Devil: Anyone wearing an Adelaide jumper.
The Dogma: Apart from the Power, there is no name by which man can be saved in South Australia.
The Holy Land: Alberton. Followers must say three Fos’ and four Hail Choco’s before entering the ground.
The God: Richo. A man so glorious he sits in the same category as Madonna, Jesus and Hitler for needing no full introduction.
The Prophet: Ivan Maric. Followers are too fearful to not believe what he says.
The Devil: The pesky finals system that not only doesn’t include ninth, but makes you play teams lower than you in the first week. Impossible to crack.
The Dogma: When all else fails, trust in the song.
The Holy Land: Punt Road. Worshippers congregate on the last Saturday in September because it’s the closest they’ll get to the ‘G at that time of year.
The God: Barry Breen. For without him, the Saints would be 10x the laughing stock they are.
The Prophet: Nick Riewoldt. A man who has shed blood, sweat and plenty of tears for his congregation and carries on the message of so close but oh so far.
The Devil: Ross Lyon. Or as he’s known in the Arabic world, “Al Asad”. The Lyon brought the temptation of success to Saints followers. They were punished with heartache for their foolishness.
The Dogma: At least we’re not the Bulldogs.
The Holy Land: Molly’s house. You’re not a true follower until you’ve made the pilgrimage.
The God: Leo Barry. Legend has it he leapt into the heavens in 2005 and never came down.
The Prophet: Adam Goodes. Performs miracles. Unfairly crucified. Has a beard. Mum was a virgin…probably. He ticks all the boxes.
The Devil: Hawthorn followers. Collingwood followers. Carlton followers. You are all the anti-Goodes.
The Dogma: As long as Aussie Rules is on trend in Sydney, we’re in.
The Holy Land: Lake Oval. The SCG is like Jerusalem, but if you really want to shake down the thunder from the sky, Lake Oval is your Mecca.
The God: John Worsfold. Involved in every meaningful miracle in West Coast lore since the beginning of time (1987), Worsfold’s new found God-like status in Essendon is seen as a necessary evil to spread the word of the west.
The Prophet: Matt Priddis. Humble, quiet and with terrible hair, Priddis is the complete opposite to the demons that haunted the Eagle religion for the better part of a decade.
The Devil: Drugs. Ice, coke, you name it – they almost brought down the entire religion. Granted, there’s not much else to do in Perth.
The Dogma: When you’re feeling down, remember our record, our song, our uniform and basically everything else is better than the Dockers.
The Holy Land: Subiaco. As with Fremantle, a gloves-off fist fight between Michael Gardiner and Dale Kickett decides which religion worships on which day,
The God: EJ Whitten. And it will never change. Not even if Jesus himself came down and started at full-forward.
The Prophet: Bob Murphy. When Bob talks, people listen, because he’s worth listening to.
The Devil: The Cats. Every time it seems like the religion of the Bulldog is set to become the foremost religion in the league, the Cats come along and ruin everything. Followers take solace in the fact that the Hawks tend to ruin everything for the Cats.
The Dogma: At least we’re not the Saints.
The Holy Land: Western Oval. Followers are required to start their pilgrimage at Franco Cozzo’s before walking down Barkly St singing “Sons of the West”. They then must cross Geelong Rd as a reminder of their tormentors, and weep into their Ethiopian wat until they receive a Brad Johnson smile that makes everything better.