Carlton Supporters – An Amplification

by Bernie Tuck

Remember the days of going to Waverley. You hated going there. It was mandatory to

have lunch at a Brunswick pub to muster the strength to tackle the journey. The skill

was to have some other unsuspecting bloke to drive.[ He usually only fell for the three

card trick once]. The reason for this was that it was a six can trip at least.

Stuck in the traffic on the freeway, and then there was the parking nightmare.

There were only two markers in the carpark: the dam and one tree. You’d try and

take your bearings after you parked,but by then the travellers had kicked in and you

had no idea where you’d parked.

Any way one Saturday afternoon the Bombers were playing Carlton out there. We’d run out of

cans on the way  and had to stop for refreshments at that pub on the top of the hill near the ground.

Eventually we made it and noted carefully where we’d parked, taking our bearings from the dam and

the tree. “No worries about finding it today ” we said in unison and progressed onwards.

Got there shortly after the start of play and took our seats.

Sitting in front of us were a group of Carlton supporters. One woman  in particular was, shall I say, over barracking

and not speaking kindly about the mighty Bombers players.

By midway through the second quarter I’d had my full of her and started to give her my personal perspective

of her parentage, Carlton players in general, who was looking after the greengrocer’s shop, whether they still had only a black and white

TV etc, and generally being quite obnoxious.

All of a sudden she turned round and hit me on the jaw with a clenched fist. This has been the only time a

sheila has done this to me, although I probably have deserved it on more than one occasion!

Realizing what she had done she apologized profusely .I stood up ,she took a backward step ,and I said there was only

one way to settle this- we would both go immediately  to the bar ,which we did.

We didn’t see any more of the game. We must have apologized a hundred times to each other. We were the last

to leave the bar. We shouted our friends numerous rounds, and left long after the final siren, arm in arm.

I can’t remember who won and I’m sure she didn’t even know then.

We went out into the carpark and found our car . It was about the only one left.

There are a number of morals to this story: I’ll leave it to you to work them out!



  1. Peter_B says

    Not a bad way to meet women. Is the “make up” sex as good as they say?

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