Ben Santamaria
What a 24 hours! More ups and downs than a pogo-stick convention. A snapshot of my day:
2pm Thursday: A single-man living in a shared house in Fulham, London.
5pm Thursday: Collected the keys to my new house and hung the first painting on the wall.
8pm Thursday: Caught in a torrential downpour at Craven Cottage only to realise that the usual custom of meeting my cousins at the ground had not been organised.
I sit alone by the Thames, a drowned rat, as the players come out.
9.30pm Thursday: Fulham have given me and the rest of the devoted faithful a slick 3-0 win to announce their arrival on the European scene.
10.40am Friday: What had been called amongst the antipodean Blues “the massacre at the ‘G” kicks off many thousands of miles .
It’s going to be a long morning listening as the ABC dissect the shortcomings of the Carlton Football Club as they ply their wares against the awe of Geelong.
11am Friday: Punter loses another toss and Billy Bowden his marbles by not giving the England captain his marching orders after the first ball.
11.10am Friday: Blues lead the Cats by 7 points at ¼ time.
11.30am Friday: Australia have two early wickets and England are 16/2.
11.45am Friday: Blues by 13 points at ½ time.
1pm Friday: England are 72/6 at lunch and I think I can see Aurora Borealis in the northern sky. Perhaps it’s just the oft-discussed aura of the Australia cricket team creeping back.
1.10pm Friday: Blues smash the Cats by 6 goals and secure finals’ footy for the first time since 2001.
Difficult to imagine a better 24 hours.
That said, I am getting married in the morning, so who knows?
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Crikey! The massacre at the G didn’t eventuateso obviously you’re onto a winner today. All the best mate and see you on the other side.
Congrats!!!! :)
i love weddings, So Romantical!!! :)