AFL Round 8: The 2013 ‘Mopsy’ Fraser Cup

Greetings Tipsters

That was the kinda weekend that’s good for football.  Close matches, upsets, the hitherto bad teams beating the hitherto good, everyone got something out of it, even the Fushcias and the Kebabs.    But maybe not the Churchills.

You know what it’s like to watch a game when you’ve tipped with your head but you’re barracking with your heart?  That was Frinite for me.  Grandad was a North fan, they’ve always been one of those teams I like to see do well (except in 1996).

Grandad, better known as Bill O’Neill, played for East Sydney and was selected in the NSW team for an interstate carnival in the 1920s.  Transport wasn’t provided and he couldn’t afford the train fare.  If his family hadn’t moved from Nathalia to West Wyalong in 1912, he might’ve played in North’s first season, maybe.  But he wouldn’t have met my gran and dad wouldn’t have been born.

He was a cheeky rover.  I remember his nose, a misshapen lump on a handsome face.  The Danihers’ grandad did that and if I meet Terry Daniher, 313 games, centre half forward, I’ll have a thing or two to say to him!

Frinite’s match was a cracker, tough and hard and, with a Fijian on one team and a Sudanese on the other, the AFL gave itself a big slap on the back for being so multicultural.  I’ve a bit of a problem with that, in a way, given that the whole world already lives here.  Take a peak hour train with the commuters from the outer suburbs one day, there’s not a lot of Skips riding the rails, what sport are all those Indians, Chinese, Vietnamese, Persians, etc, following?

The Shinboners went down after the siren, courtesy of a great mark from Nic, and I was left somewhat troubled, so I turned up the stereo and played guitar along with it, leaping around the loungeroom like a goon.

Satarvo, the pattern continued.  The Gorillas didn’t play like Monkeys and got over the Mosquitoes.  The Kebabs were beaten by less than 100 points and out-tackled the Mayblooms and matched them for goals in the Premiership Term.  Jezza Cameron will be an outright champion forward one day, he’s well on the way already.

If football was not the winner at any point on the weekend, it was on the Gold Coast.  The Churchills have gone backwards at an alarming rate since sacking Rodney Eade and it’s only the slow-motion car crash that is the Fuschias that has spared them the cruel spotlight.  That’s changing.

Not to take anything from the Schoolies, though.  They’re four from eight and looking more and more like a credible team.

Football may not have been the winner at the SCG either.  It was in large patches, a dreary game (thank you, Ross Lyon, you may now go join Paul Roos in the media where you can do no harm), the draw seeming a fitting result when no team really deserved a win.  The Sparkies seem intent on a mid-season slump.  I guess the mid-season is the best time to do that.  I had the stereo up and the guitars out before the last break.

Meantime, down south…  It was something of a predictor.  On Sunday night I watched the Moto GP and Jorge Lorenzo had his worst finish since his first year, in 2008, and his first finish off the podium since the Indianapolis race in August 2011.  And so, the legendary Pivotonians went down by one goal to the hapless 4&20s.  Sure, they had a great third quarter, but they’ve been doing that for several years now, winning matches off a great burst.  Maybe this is ‘the loss they had to have,’ and they’ll be even better from now on, maybe play a full game.  Flipping heck!

Sunday’s matches went much as expected, tho the Fushcias showed a bit of pluck, a bit of fight, and stayed in the game for more than half of it, even leading a few times.  The Pirates never headed the Café Set, but gave out a few hits to the head in true traditional fashion.

Back in their hometown, the Murder must’ve handed out nightclub passes to the Party Boys at half time, because they were thinking of something other than football, talking amongst themselve at the bounce instead of looking at the football.  “Hey Leigh, did you hear that Earl’s got a Who Fillmore show from May ’68?  Mate, I wish I was at his place with a ginger beer and not running around getting thumped by ruckmen.  OUCH!  Bloody hell, that was our ruckman!”

Cheers Tipsters

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Brought to you with the assistance of The Who, live at the Fillmore, May 1968.