The football
The following must be read in a variety of tones, and should probably only be read by expatriates.
(Restrained, almost diffident tone):
Several hours ago, two groups of young men struck, kicked and punched a small inflated bladder around on the grass. At the end of the allotted time, it was apparent that the group of young men of whom I have previously spoken quite highly had done this with marginally superior dexterity, fortitude or aplomb, and had to all intents and purposes, "won".
What does this mean?
(Trumpeting tone): It means that for the next few months I am one of the chosen!
(Exultant, monamaniacal tone): I am of divine blood, the lineage of kings, I am an emissary from a higher race! A man who walks while others much cringe! Others, those who in their folly supported the team of wealth, power and priveledge, must do obesiance as I am carried past! For we are the true men, and others of our city are but boys!
(Exultant, monamaniacal English country preacher tone): Yea (and verily). And it came to pass that we did see the West Coast in their pride, waxing* in their arrogance.
And we didst see the men and women of their tribe drinking chardonnay, while the people of Fremantle drank beer or cheap wine like decent people who have to work for a living because their father didn't leave them stock portfolios and investment properties.
And we didst suffer indignities at their hands, with their tales of multiple premierships and sequential Brownlow Medallists and their treasure-rooms groaning with goblets which they in their wickedness had accrued.
And we didst read in the so-called newspapers how we were daily mocked, and we didst see how our mighty warrior Jeff Farmer had been banished for being fleet of foot and admittedly fleeter of temper, and had accidentally and possibly even reflexively given fleeting contact to some thug, helpfully attempting to brush an insect from the villain's ugly face with his fist, last week during the Great Tasmanian Game Robbery. And how he had been given a week's suspension on the eve of the Big Game.
And we didst see in the course of the game, the very game of which I speak, how great Sandilands, our two hundred and eleven centimetre tall camel-human hybrid ruckman, had been viciously struck in the head, fifty metres behind play and out of sight of the umpires, and how he had received a broken jaw, and would be out for six weeks. Plus the pain and the associated emotional trauma and stuff.
And we cried out in our misery, because Longmuir (backup ruckman) was unable to play because of a sore knee sustained a week ago, and while it was not immediately apparent how this could be attributed to the villainy of the West Coast, investigations are proceeding, and will proceed until we can blame that on the bastards too.
But we did not turn aside. We did not falter.
We slew.
We pillaged.
We smote. Yes, on the replay, especially in the second quarter, you can definitely see a bit of smoting going on.
And we triumphed.
Fremantle 12.16 (88)
West Coast 12.11 (83)
(Hoarse voice):
Bloody hell. I am having intravenous strepsils and getting two artificial knees put in tomorrow. I think in that last ten minutes when the lead changed twice, before we goaled in the last forty seconds... I think I got actual angina. There's a writeup that will interest only the expatriates here that gives some hint of the feelings this whole thing generates.
Anyway. That's pretty much it.
Responses to comments and some posts of actual substance to resume possibly tonight.
Thanks for listening
John
*full leg, probably
(Restrained, almost diffident tone):
Several hours ago, two groups of young men struck, kicked and punched a small inflated bladder around on the grass. At the end of the allotted time, it was apparent that the group of young men of whom I have previously spoken quite highly had done this with marginally superior dexterity, fortitude or aplomb, and had to all intents and purposes, "won".
What does this mean?
(Trumpeting tone): It means that for the next few months I am one of the chosen!
(Exultant, monamaniacal tone): I am of divine blood, the lineage of kings, I am an emissary from a higher race! A man who walks while others much cringe! Others, those who in their folly supported the team of wealth, power and priveledge, must do obesiance as I am carried past! For we are the true men, and others of our city are but boys!
(Exultant, monamaniacal English country preacher tone): Yea (and verily). And it came to pass that we did see the West Coast in their pride, waxing* in their arrogance.
And we didst see the men and women of their tribe drinking chardonnay, while the people of Fremantle drank beer or cheap wine like decent people who have to work for a living because their father didn't leave them stock portfolios and investment properties.
And we didst suffer indignities at their hands, with their tales of multiple premierships and sequential Brownlow Medallists and their treasure-rooms groaning with goblets which they in their wickedness had accrued.
And we didst read in the so-called newspapers how we were daily mocked, and we didst see how our mighty warrior Jeff Farmer had been banished for being fleet of foot and admittedly fleeter of temper, and had accidentally and possibly even reflexively given fleeting contact to some thug, helpfully attempting to brush an insect from the villain's ugly face with his fist, last week during the Great Tasmanian Game Robbery. And how he had been given a week's suspension on the eve of the Big Game.
And we didst see in the course of the game, the very game of which I speak, how great Sandilands, our two hundred and eleven centimetre tall camel-human hybrid ruckman, had been viciously struck in the head, fifty metres behind play and out of sight of the umpires, and how he had received a broken jaw, and would be out for six weeks. Plus the pain and the associated emotional trauma and stuff.
And we cried out in our misery, because Longmuir (backup ruckman) was unable to play because of a sore knee sustained a week ago, and while it was not immediately apparent how this could be attributed to the villainy of the West Coast, investigations are proceeding, and will proceed until we can blame that on the bastards too.
But we did not turn aside. We did not falter.
We slew.
We pillaged.
We smote. Yes, on the replay, especially in the second quarter, you can definitely see a bit of smoting going on.
And we triumphed.
Fremantle 12.16 (88)
West Coast 12.11 (83)
(Hoarse voice):
Bloody hell. I am having intravenous strepsils and getting two artificial knees put in tomorrow. I think in that last ten minutes when the lead changed twice, before we goaled in the last forty seconds... I think I got actual angina. There's a writeup that will interest only the expatriates here that gives some hint of the feelings this whole thing generates.
Anyway. That's pretty much it.
Responses to comments and some posts of actual substance to resume possibly tonight.
Thanks for listening
John
*full leg, probably
posted by Bronze John at 12:10 PM
6 Comments:
So, the game went the way you wanted it to do? Truly, you a most macho and manly dude. Otherwise your team would have lost. Right?
Oh I love it! That was as good as a Dockerland write up :D
I'll say it again (because I can): CARN THE MIGHTY DOCKERS!!!! :D :D :D
And the Righteous did win through scoring a goal, and the banished did fail but goaled...
enough grammer...
some more pontification
I think they missed a bit in these quotes (I've corrected them)
Out of the spoils won in battles did they dedicate to maintain the house of the LORDS Hasleby, Pavlich and Carr....
Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world
- Bible - John 16:33
This is how you are to treat all the cities that are at a distance from you and do not belong to the nations nearby.
However, in the cities of the nations the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance, do not leave alive anything that breathes. Completely destroy them—the Crows, Collingwood, Sydney, Brisbane, Kangaroos and St Kilda—as the Lord your God has commanded you. Deuteronomy 20:14-17
"Go up, my warriors, against the land of Weagles and against the people of Melbourne. Yes, march against Brisbane, the land of rebels, a land that I will judge! Pursue, kill, and completely destroy them, as I have commanded you," says the LORD. "Let the battle cry be heard in the land, a shout of great destruction". Jeremiah 50:21-22 NLT
Just don't ask about our local Derby
Benedict
Oh please - Freo ahd to go to the AFL commission to get a win. As for Farmer? He thinks everyone on the ground is his missus and gives them all a belt or two.
Can't work out Freo - they have one of the most talented lists going around and have yet to do anything and get a trophy (other than a wooden spoon) to show for it.
Oh, look... I did mention it.
Foils - it's a weird thing. I know it doesn't make any sense. I know my connection with the people who played and won is tenuous at best. I know that the connection between the $500 000 a year players and the struggling workers I imagine is even weaker.
And yet...
It's a weird thing. It's like an audiovisual testosterone infusion - and that's a ghastly mental image we can all leave right where we found it. But it works. They win, I bestride the ED like a colossus. They lose, and I skulk in like Brown Jenkin (can't link, here it is: http://www.brownejenkyn.com/jackass1.gif.).
Seriously. Next derby I'm going to post wearing purple face-paint and one of those hats with beer cans on them.
Ben',
Don't worry, your team will rise. And if you reckon your local media coverage is bad, you should have a look at ours.
And Danny,
I don't know you'll be able to say that much longer. CC is coaching well. The players are working well together. Good rucking, first class centre, under-rated backline and damn handy forwards. I feel the tide is turning.
See you in September... if you haven't peaked too early. If you have, you can come around to our place and watch us in the finals. I'll save you a seat.
John
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