Wisely, Sam Mitchell has apologised for his mocking injection motion and pledged that it won't happen again. Luke Hodge, too, was apologetic for belting his North counterpart Andrew Swallow, on the same evening that Jordan Lewis clobbered Todd Goldstein with a round arm.

Brian Lake issued an apology to Hawthorn fans for his choke hold on Drew Petrie late last season: "Having three kids of my own, I know it's not a great look for the game of AFL football."

Alastair Clarkson, after some initial reluctance, expressed remorse for shoving an obnoxious fan who was in his face when the coach was walking back to an Adelaide hotel earlier this season.

The Hawks are as well drilled in apologies as finding teammates inside 50m. But what do these remorseful words mean if they aren't followed by actions – or in this club's case, with greater control of these unnecessary "heat of the moment" actions?

On the day before Mitchell's injection taunt, Clarkson repeated his view that the Hawks played their best footy "when we play close to the line. Unfortunately for us," the coach added, "that sometimes means crossing over it."

Clarkson's belief  the Hawks play better when on the edge seems remarkably similar to the opinion expressed by Australian cricket team coach Darren Lehmann, who describes the hard-nosed style of our national 11 as "the Australian way."

The unsociable Hawks are increasingly resembling the Australian cricket team of the recent past – particularly the Test side that prospered under the leadership of Steve Waugh, who spoke – positively – of triggering the  "mental disintegration" of opponents. Waugh, more than anyone, reinforced a cricket perception that the Aussies perform better when they're breaching the boundaries of acceptable aggression. The Hawks, like the Waugh-ing test team, have played a brand that has improved their sport's spectacle, because they attack, score quickly and have sublime individuals. As with that super cricket side, they have been enterprising, innovative and outrageously successful. Their appeal is undeniable.

Alas, less commendably, Clarkson's Commandos also share the needless nastiness of the Ugly Aussie team, who, for all their greatness and entertaining style, were never regarded as paragons of sportsmanship. For some folk, the antics of the cricketers – the sledging, as seen in Glenn McGrath's exchange with Ramnaresh Sarwan and others – marred the experience of following an awesome team; many folk I know  openly barracked against the "arrogant" Aussies when they were smashing the opposition.

Hawthorn fans won't care what the rest of the world thinks. Fans of every club only want to win. But Clarkson and the club administration  ought to care about the club's image and legacy. This team has won three premierships and, should it take a fourth, will eclipse Geelong as the super club of the decade past.

But even if they surpass the Cats, this pattern of cheap shots  means they're less admired than Geelong, which, in its pomp, played with a more measured hardness, and with fewer unsporting moments (Joel Selwood's head ducking is the sole source of outrage).

Having won multiple premierships, Clarkson has sought to elevate his standing in the game to something akin to a statesman. He has been active in the coaching fraternity, taking strong stances, for instance, on the need for coaching apprenticeships and the Essendon debacle. But Clarko's claims to statesman-hood are undermined by his team's consistent  penchant for stepping over the line.

Like Lehmann, he thinks  the team's better when playing with a touch of dirt.

Sportsmanship, though, is a sibling of statesmanship. It means accepting that there are forms of conduct more important than winning. Mitchell doesn't deserve punishment for his thoughtless gesture. The embarrassment he's experienced, on the heels of a near suspension for corking Taylor Walker, is penalty enough.

The Hawk hierarchy, however, should re-define that "line" their players keep crossing and have a conversation about the image they project. Whatever you think of Essendon's awful injection regime, Mitchell's taunt just wasn't cricket.