The 2012 ‘Mopsy’ Fraser Cup – Round Six

Greetings Tipsters

I’ve watched the football on teev in many places, from my loungeroom to an open-air bar in Asia, but before Sunday, I’d never watched it in the Commanding Officer’s cabin of a heavily-armed warship. Perky Girl and I were given a tour of the ship by the CO and I was much taken with the atmosphere of the bridge, not to mention the light weight and balance of the high-powered assault rifle which, disappointingly, I was not allowed to take home as a souvenir of the visit.

Then we repaired to the CO’s personal quarters to watch the Port-Richmond match along with several other beer-drinking blokes all of whom (your correspondent aside) are current or former officers in the RAN. This is when it became just a little bit disturbing. You see, the CO and at least one other attendee are Richmond fans. We all know how they can be, poor shattered souls that they are. With the Tiggers 40 points up they were still yelling abuse at the screen, the commentators, Jack, Tyrone, Dustin’s neck tatts and I sat there munching on crackers and camembert thinking ‘Gee, this guy could blow up my suburb’.

Of course, some of these things deserve yelling, like Tyrone who lumbers around without much of a clue about anything. Much in the manner Tom Hawkins did until August 2011 when he suddenly discovered his inner Dermie, so there is hope for Tyrone yet. Not that he’ll ever get to display his wares in a Grand Final, this is Richmond after all, there’ll be bloodlettings aplenty before anyone can find the key to the premiership window.

Speaking of bloodletting, Port’s CEO has guaranteed Primus’s job, so the odds on him being sacked must have shortened considerably. Worse yet for Matty, the players support him. They had a meeting in the cinderblock sheds borrowed from the local council for use as club rooms and agreed that Matty is a top bloke before pulling a couple of names out of a hat to see which one of them would make an effort this week.

Across town, lolling about in the geisha girl-staffed recovery rooms, the Murder of Crows congratulated themselves on successfully shoving a lump of timber between the wheel spokes of the Swans’ bandwagon. The band fell off and were crushed beneath the wheels but as it was Thirsty Merc no-one was bothered except for a few blonde girls in tiny dresses who accepted invitations to a consolation party in Taylor Walker’s hotel room.

Hey, weren’t the Purps supposed to be some kind of genuine threat or something this year? So how come they nearly got done by the Goldies? It was very nearly the peak of the Goldies’ short career and but for one minute and one goal might have kept Bluey in a job next year. As it stands, he and the youngsters have to gird their loins and all that sort of thing for next week when the Schoolies Clash Of The Round sees them taking on the Barbecues.

Creditably, the Barbecues kept with Carlton for three-quarters before Mum called them in for dinner and they won’t be hanging around with any of those older fellows (ie, 20 plus) any more because they’re a bad influence and have broken bones and busted knees. Thus, next week Mad Sheeds will select a team whose combined games tally is about one tenth of Dustin Fletcher’s.

Cheers, Tipsters

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About Earl O'Neill

Freelance gardener, I've thousands of books, thousands of records, one fast motorcycle and one gorgeous smart funny sexy woman. Life's pretty darn neat.

Comments

  1. John Harms says:

    I like Adelaide being called The Murder – very South Australian.

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