AGB Footy

THREE OF THE BUST

Footy speak - what's up with that then? What's with these oafs and their talent for kicking the shit out of the English language?

1. We lost badly today; all-beat with injuries.
2. Our young players have really stepped up; it all-goes well for the future.
3. It wasn't working for us early, so we tried a different tact.

What is your favourite mal-aphorism?

SWAN DRAFT

Last Wednesday at Treasury Place Kim Beazley was interviewed by a journalist.

Journo: "Being a Dockers fan, aren't you tempted to barrack for the Swans?"

KB: "No, no it doesn't. I'm a born and bred West Australian, mate. It's very hard to shake the sandgroper out of your skin."

What? "No, no it doesn't" doesn't make sense. Never mind. Last Saturday night in Little Bourke Street, Kim Beazley was ... err ... interviewed not by a journalist.

GW: "Beazer? What are you doing with those Swans fans?"

KB: "Oh, you know, I'm living in Sydney now so, you know ... "

SB: "YOU TRAITOR!"

KB: "Huh?"

SB: "FILTHY SELL-OUT!"

KB: " ... "

SB: "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

GW and SB are two West Aussie friends over for the Grand Final. They were less than gruntled Kim Beazley was such a lightweight he would support both The Dockers and The West Coast - AND flirt with The Swans! Affronted, they were. You can see where they are coming from, can't you? I mean, it's not as if politicians usually have a lick each-way.

MISTAKER

You can't have heroes without villains: we give you Brent Staker, scape-goat.

Not that we care what happens to other people's teams, bugger the winners and stiff shit the losers, instead let's talk about sex and fruit.

SIZEMORE DOES MATTER

Tom Sizemore in porn role

AMERICAN actor Tom Sizemore, who rose to fame in Saving Private Ryan and Blackhawk Down, has a new starring role in a home-made porn movie, distributors said today.

The 43-year-old, who is in court-ordered drug rehabilitation after he violated probation handed down for drug possession, will allow an adult movie firm to market his sexual escapades provided he gets a slice of the profits.

"This is the maraschino cherry on the banana split of bad luck I have been having,"

FOOTBAWL

Wet Toast vs The Pinks and the people have spoken: Vox populi? Vox fuck you boo hoo!

"I'm thinking of boycotting the GF," writes my friend Aytee. "Couldn't care less who wins." Ambivalence is popular here, but it's not the prevailing sentiment. "After the game - one of the teams will be shattered. Players in tears etc," writes another friend, B.A.Twisted from Collingwood. "This will be worth the wait." That's the ticket.

Two years ago I was in Perth when Brizroy pantsed Piewood. "Gee, Tone, I'm sooo sooorrry," came a patronising taunt. "It must be hard watching yet another interstate side win the flag." Hard? Balls! "You're missing the point, gloatboy, you just don't get it," was my haughty retort. And he didn't get it.

There is a delusion interstate that Victorians are troubled by so-called invaders winning premierships. Sure, it's easy to see where this misconception arises, the media is full of meatheads and politicians trying desperately to drive a Vics v The Rest agenda. It is rubbish, of course. What Victorians -- hardcore footy heads, anyway -- hate more than anything is the idea Collingwood, Richmond, Essendon, etc might win the flag. Port winning the flag didn't faze me, not in the slightest, it merely made me wonder if any Port fans have jobs. I would far prefer Freo to win the flag than Essendon. Adelaide beating St Kilda and a choking North put me in a good mood for weeks. You see, the idea Richmond might win a flag, shit, might even make the eight, fills me with dread. Christ, I went to school with those mutants. I don't want to see them happy; when they smile you can see their black, rotting teeth. St Kilda fans? Most eat with their mouths open, for fuck sake. Animals, the lot of them. What's the bet they have the highest percentage of fans with painstakingly sculpted facial hair.

That doesn't mean I don't also despise Wet Toast. I lived in WA for many years and when The Toast entered the competition had to endure deluded friends and their bizarre obsession with Victorians "Meet Tony, he's a Victorian." You what? So what? Fuck off! And then there was the blanket coverage from their furiously parochial media. And Chris Mainwairing did the weather! And the lotto numbers. And the lucerne report. But I've been back in Victoria for 16 years now and that horror is a distant memory. What's more, Toast, with their massive infrastructure advantages and guaranteed future is always going to be strong. It's a given. They should have won more flags and the fact they haven't proves them to be a bunch of underachieving, soft-on chardy sippers. Those blow-up thumping sticks scream lightweight!

The Pinks? Can take 'em or leave 'em. I barely know a Sydney Swans supporter and the ones I do know don't know footy. "That was forward!" when a hand-punch is given to a player who looks suspiciously offside. Their mysterious habit of clapping rabidly when the ball goes out of touch boundary means they have no credibility. And, of course, they are the AFL love-child. La-dee-da, dot-com, latté with nutmeg and cinnamon, Mardi Gras blousers. They do the Mexican Wave. The Waaave!

But nor do I know many Melbourne Swans supporters. So couple that with their 72 year flag drought and they are definitely the lesser of two evils. I don't live in Sydney, though, so I can only guess at what it would be like to be a Victorian living up there, gloated at by a bunch of bandwagon know-nothings.

In short, I am happy when my team wins, and unhappy when any one of the other 15 teams win. Fuck them! There is no point following a team if you are happy when other teams win. That's crazy talk. We win - Yay! They win - Boo! That's the way of these things. (Gambling aside.) I will not be happy if Sydney wins, and I will be even more not-happy if Toast win. So there is really only one satisfactory outcome - tears. Someone has to lose. A goal after the siren from a dodgy freekick would be the optimum result. Crowd violence a bonus.

Another friend, Deebee, is a keen footy fan but he will instead be "out all day visiting display homes in Melbourne's salubrious northern suburbs." And me? Well, I'm going to a barbeque where I will ignore the game, talk cricket and do the crossword. But the barby is right across from the MCG, so prior to the match I will sit in the front yard and heckle those poor slobs hunting for scalpers. "Look, I am not using my ticket," I'll call. Then just as they think they've struck it lucky; "And neither are you. I hope you can see my empty seat on the television."

Disclaimer: I do know ONE South (not Sydney) fan and it would be nice for her and her family should they win the flag. I know, I know, I am soft. But only slightly. The Pinks will get none of my support; Wet Toast will get even less.

ACCENTIMETER PERFECT

In today's Hun TV liftout, Darren Devlyn and Robert Pidgeon pick their ideal commentator packages for the Grand Final. Devlyn's first.

• Dennis Cometti - In recent times has worked too hard to coin phrases (Cometti-isms), but remains the standout caller.
• Tim Lane - His ability to analyse on the run and read play make him invaluable.
• Malcolm Blight - One of the games most entertaining and lateral thinkers.
• Wayne Schwass - The boundary rider is renowned for his honest opinions.

Pretty bloody reasonable. In fact, give or take Blight, it would be the best team going around. Dennis has indeed lately overcooked the one-liners, but is still the best footy caller in the land. (He's a bloody good cricket commentator, by the way.) Tim Lane's participation is a given. Blight says some interesting things, but his so-called lateral talk is more often gratuitous nonsense. He adheres to that old maxim - "throw enough stuff and some will shtick." Tighten it up, man. Schwass stated out shaky and a little biased. Now, though, he's across all teams and does excellent work. Well spoken, good sense of humour, knows his layered bulbs. He's wasted on the boundary; that role is an irritating gimmick, anyway. Get him up where he deserves to be; in the box doing proper special comments.

Apart from the reasons mentioned above, Tim Lane and Dennis Cometti have one other important thing in common; something central to all sports commentary. Strangely, though, it's a reason most punters and pundits neglect to mention when they tell you who they like. They both have excellent accents; smooth, clear delivery combined with excellent timbre. Others, Anthony Hudson, Steve Quarterbrain, and the rest of the Sesame Street hypsters generally get the game across, but they tend to be shrill and excitable. (Hudson is a shocking offender, there are times I want to slap him. He is a weed, too, so he wouldn't hit me back.) On the other hand, both Tim and Den are crystal clear when the heat is on and they don't unnecessarily send the excito-meter into the red when a game is dragging. Cometti does have a tendency to overdo the Americanisms, but you can't have everything; and it's not as if many others (especially the younger ones) don't do it, too.

Pidgeon's list is:

• Dennis Cometti - Simply the best in the business.
• Clinton Grybas - Accurate, fast and brings plenty of colour to his call.
• Garry Lyon - Hard to split with Robert Walls for special comments.
• Wayne Schwass - Has become our top boundary rider.

Robert Walls? Pidge obviously appreciates the finer points; what a ball, kick or handpass are. Walls is just the man; he'll say it with conviction, too. Despite becoming a media machine-man, Garry Lyon is a more-than able pundit. Grybas is a nightmare, having modelled himself fastidiously on American presenters. His delivery (especially his tempo) is plastic and contrived. Try listening to Joe Buck, then listen to Clumpton. "A fine mark by .... Mateerrra .... Teeerrrrrrific .... play .... right here on .... Fox Footy."

Mentioned elsewhere is Jason Dunstall. (Under the stupid-wrong heading The Brownlow Medallist.) His show on Saturday arvo is passable, but hardly unmissable. Side-kick Wayne Carey is an excellent footy-head and Dunstall keeps it moving along. But quite obviously Jason is a hipster fuckwit in love with himself. He has growth under his bottom lip, afterall. But worse, he has the fakest of fake laughs. The. Fakest. No thank you.

PS: Not mentioned anywhere. 3AW, despite having Caroline Wilson and Rohan Connolly who are excellent, is becoming increasingly unlistenable. What's up with their chronic self-promotion? Is it really necessary for them to repeatedly tell us how good they are? Will a round ever go by without Gerard Healy sucking up to Rex? "Last weeks call was your best ever, big fella." The unctuous tongue-browning makes me seethe. Christ, give us a break. And as for Hunt and his luminous past "That's not how I was brought up to play!" Well, fuck me, he was a shy-boy carried by a team of tough champions at Tigerland and as soon as he had to play with duds (St Kilda and Gee-Long) he ended up looking like the front-runner he always was. A cunting blowhard!

PPS: A non-footy friend has asked me for a list of AFL related blogs AND sites (any sites); any suggestions? I've given the two Demons ones (Demonland and Demonology), A Cork In The Ocean, Everyday Is Like Sunday and Big Footy. What others are there? Is Uber off the footy? She is going to look at your comments and pick a selection.

GUT REACTION

Barry Hall punches Matt McGuire in the guts, McGuire hits the deck, and Robert Walls calls McGuire a squibb and/or a cheat. Robert Walls is a tool. When is someone going to call this oaf out? All he ever offers up is the bleedin' obvious or the plain wrong.

These days, though, that is every pundit's first thought when someone hits the deck. But it doesn't mean everyone who falls over when thumped is trying to con the umpire. As anyone knows, you cop a swift one when you're not ready and you go down like a sack of spuds. It doesn't have to be in the noggin, either, it's just as effective in the guts. All you need is for the punch to hit the sweet spot.

Barry Hall was a boxer and would know how to drop an opponent. He's a big bugger, too, so he no doubt packs a punch. Another (better) boxer Barry Michael often says that although head-shots are the punches that get all the notoriety, it's the body-shots that ultimately contribute most to weakening the opponent. Michael even knows of several fighters who, upon being smacked in the guts, automatically shat themselves. Be mighty ... err ... "interesting" had THAT happened on Friday night.

Update: Hall has been cited: Reckless, low impact, behind the play and body contact - two weeks. The Pinks will take that to the tribunal and argue the incident was not behind play. If that passes, the charge tally will amount to a week. The Pinks would then take a guilty plea which would allow Hall to play on Saturday.

PRICE CHECK

Matt Price often delves into his anecdotal past when cobbling together an article. "Bob Dylan once told me he roots for Fremantle." It's not verbatim, you understand, but I'm sure you get the picture. For Pricey it's all about resonant memories from the good old days. Occasionally, though, he gets tangled up in purple.

Two can play at that game.

I cannot believe it has been 12 years since the most exciting day's cricket I have ever watched. (Recent events notwithstanding) It was - technically still is - the biggest match played in the east. A day so huge that every single detail is firmly etched in my memory. It seems like only yesterday Australia lost by one run to the West Indies at the MCG.

I'm ready to do Eagle rock

I CAN'T believe it's 11 years since the Eagles played in a preliminary final. Seems like yesterday, tagging along with dad, a West Coast member, to watch the Eagles play Melbourne at Subiaco Oval.

It was - technically still is - the biggest match played in the west. When the Eagles won the flag in 1992 they played the penultimate game at the MCG. Nowadays western derbies evoke greater local fervour, but since Fremantle is hardly ever in the eight, these are played for bragging rights, not passage to the grand final.

So 1994 was huge and there I was, perched in the stand surrounded by Eagles, a lone voice screeching with joy when the Demons kicked the opener. It looked like the good guys might get up; Melbourne went to the main break a couple of goals down.

Alas, West Coast romped home.

[ ... ]

Thinking back to that 1994 final, I like to imagine Ben somewhere else at Subi, engaging in futile cheering for the Demons. Perhaps we shared a knowing glance barracking against West Coast at other games.

Bonus Correction: Penultimate means next to last. The next to last game of 1992 was the Preliminary Final between Geelong and Footscray. West Coast beat Geelong the previous week in a Semi Final. The Penultimate Preliminary Final, if you like.

Gratuitous Correction: In that 1994 Preliminary Final Price was not "a lone voice screeching with joy when the Demons kicked the opener". He could not be further from the truth. Miles out, in fact. There were at the very least 20 other ... err ...  lone voices; one of which was mine.

PIE EYED

The Big Night OUT?

Eddie McGuire enjoys a fine old time in the "ladies" bar at the The Prince Of Wales Hotel.

And no, before you all jump to confusions, Eddie is not the subject of that earlier post. Eddie, in fact, became infatuated with one of the girls at The Prince. Even delving into a grab-bag of assorted cheesey pick-up lines: "I can't wait to kiss you later on" and "Come with me ... I have apartments all over Melbourne ... we can just go back to one of them ... no-one will ever know".