“F***, I don’t want to know anything anymore. This is a world where nothing is solved. Someone once told me, ‘Time is a flat circle.’ Everything we’ve ever done or will do, we’re gonna do over and over and over again.”
Rust Cohle, True Detective
‘Time is a flat circle’.
The names have changed.
The coach has changed.
But it’s the same team I’ve been watching for the past ten fucking years.
The same wasted possessions.
The same lack of awareness.
The same footballing fuckuppery.
The same game plan that feels warmed over and dated.
The same lazy, bitch-hearted, poison-titted fuckmothers ruining my life.
To paraphrase the late American essayist David Rakoff, watching this team is like pulling teeth.
From my dick.
Ten minutes into the last quarter, still waiting to recall an effective disposal in the stats book
“You see we all got what I call a life trap, a gene deep certainty that things will be different… fucking fulfillment… and closure whatever the fuck those two fuckin’ empty jars to hold this shit storm. Nothing’s ever fulfilled, not until the very end. and closure. Nothing is ever over.”
The last quarter of last night’s game has me reaching for Freud’s Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious in a vain attempt to attain some erudition about the nature of funny. Or at the very least a foggy, philosophical witticism on football and the team you’ve followed all your life.
It’s a life trap.
And last night1 it didn’t begin terribly. Carlton was almost four goals up before David King had uttered his first banality.
To quote Matthew McConaughey, we were “alright, alright, alright”.
But see if you can guess what happened next.
Your choices are that either (a) Bryce Gibbs finally demonstrates his worth, driving his asking price from Port Adelaide up by around $50,0002; Menzel kicks three second-half goals and Carlton builds on its early advantage to win by five goals, or (b) Bryce Gibbs’ game is one befitting a man wearing a hairband and a glove; Menzel curiously does not come on until half way in the last quarter and Port Adelaide wins by five goals.
Here’s a hint: the answer is “b”.
“I’d consider myself a realist, alright? But in philosophical terms I’m what’s called a pessimist…”
I want you to take this video of last night’s game and burn it
So to recap…
Isaac Newton is still smarter than most of us.
In 1687, he noted what goes up, must come down.
He could easily have been speaking about Carlton. Or Tom Bell.
After another big pre-seaon, Bell is in danger of becoming the Billy Joel of Carlton — half-way impressive in the initial moment, but with the shelf-life of yoghurt.
But Bell is emblematic of an effort that has dealt my pre-season optimism an unhealthy dose of nihilism with a chaser of unwelcome pessimism.
Rust Cohle illustrates Carlton’s tinman defence in the last quarter
“I know who I am. And after all these years, there’s a victory in that.”
Carlton is more than a Daisy Thomas3 away from being a genuine threat.
I need half-a-dozen Lone Star beers and some coffee from a ‘Big Hug Mug’ as we have a long way to go. A long way to go.
But I’ll be at the MCG Thursday week4 to do it all over again.
‘Time is a flat circle’
The People’s (Elbow) Choice Award
3. Marc Murphy
2. Ed Curnow
1. David Ellard
0. Daisy Thomas
-1. Matthew Kruezer and Rob Warnock
-2. Matthew Watson
-3. Brock McLean
1. A Sunday night. Sunday night. And the man we’re expected to accept being nestled into the CEO’s chair is the man responsible for this. To rehash Rust Cohle: “People at AFL House, it’s like they don’t even know the outside world exists. Might as well be living on the fucking Moon.”
2. I know we’ve well tripped over the line where sport became a ‘business’, but Bryce Gibbs holding out on signing a new contract and flirting with free agency (particularly in the context of Murphy recently signing for four years) feels like the butt of that old joke about the proper lady who, when asked if she would have sex with a strange man for a million dollars, allows that yes she would do it. But when asked if she would do the same for a can of beer and a packet of nuts, reels back with an affronted, “What do you think I am?” to which the response is, “Madam, we have already established what you are. Now we’re just quibbling about the price.”
3. Daisy will be better for the run… and for now knowing to compensate for his teammates’ lack of awareness and ability to run to the right spots.
4. Again, another fixturing fuck-up — the Round 1 split round. Gillon must have had a few Lone Stars (or rather whatever it is they drink at the polo) rolling through his system when he pulled this together.