JOHN KINGSMILL The best thing about radio cricket is that you know that it is on and that you don’t have to watch each delivery, each ponderous over. Radio lets you get on with your life. When life pauses, you flick a switch and it’s usually just at the right moment. The game is poised [Read more]
Footy Quatrains
November 3, 2011 by 9 Comments
The First Game of the Season A wife in marvellous Melbourne may well be tried for treason if she tries to stop her man attend the first game of the season.
Ode to a Magpie
October 11, 2011 by 8 Comments
This anonymous poem was handed to my cousin John Scopas by an old Collingwood fan. He passed it on to me in the hope that it will get a run on the site and that we may yet find the author. I have cleaned up a fair bit of punctuation (written by a Collingwood [Read more]
Yellow wins in ten syllables
October 10, 2011 by Leave a Comment
Australia shrug South Africa out of the World Cup; then Woodville-West Torrens stop the Dogs five years deep in victory to snare an unlikely cup. Their thick-set ruckman wins the medal and, on stage, says: “We’ll never fucking forget this.” And we will never forget those words, the TV says, drier than salt in [Read more]
the damp Sherrin
October 4, 2011 by 5 Comments
grand final dawn a bit of tightness in my hammys low cloud Cloke’s long drop punt splits the ‘G in half even on this day Stevie J reminds us the ‘G is a playing field half-time at the pub another round of texting lights on [Read more]
preliminary final – the clock stops
September 28, 2011 by 4 Comments
late september the veteran scores the winning goal the MCG in spring — alive with hawks, magpies and seagulls the moon punches a hole in the sky — Tarrant spoils bad live stream our hopes flickering spring haze a field of heavy-limbed footballers [Read more]
deeper into spring
September 14, 2011 by 5 Comments
spring sunset the difference a goal makes freshly cut fields Swan feeds on the MCG cloud then sun then cloud yet to hit our stride looking for the angle Krakouer turns his back to the goals a gap in the clouds Wellingham catches the [Read more]
Haiku Bob – round 24: some buds open
September 5, 2011 by 9 Comments
spring evening squealing cats spoil my dreams packed ‘G long after the goal I hear it fast moving clouds a chain of handpasses ends with a goal the curved path of the moon — Fasolo from the pocket last drinks our last goal turns out to be our last filling the half-empty stadium final siren [Read more]
the splintered pack
August 31, 2011 by 1 Comment
12 goals clear Krakouer kicks the last on impulse spring petals — Cloke plucks one close to home Sandilands jumps — the splintered pack releases the goal sneak the many paths life takes us peppering the goals Swan sets off everyone left behind winter’s [Read more]
round 22 – haiku bob – nearing spring
August 25, 2011 by 2 Comments
warmer nights — the kick-out reaches the centre square our latest back six concedes the first goal in under a minute the old world connects to the new — Fasolo curls one back late winter — gaps in our desire filled by Ball [Read more]
Haiku Bob Round 21: length of the wing
August 18, 2011 by 7 Comments
full moon Leon in every passage a forward thrust as far as Tarrant’s fist and no further six points such cheap reward for Wellingham’s goal buds begin to flower — Fasolo plucks one from the pack tucked under [Read more]
Haiku Bob Round 20: somewhere the moon
August 11, 2011 by 4 Comments
winter rain — the ball tossed between bodies of water somewhere the moon — Port players have trouble finding the ball soggy night — Blair uses his lack of height night rain — Collingwood players add to the glitter non-stop rain — a dyke erected across [Read more]
somewhere the moon
August 10, 2011 by Leave a Comment
winter rain — the ball tossed between bodies of water somewhere the moon — Port players have trouble finding the ball soggy night — Blair uses his lack of height night rain — Collingwood players add to the glitter non-stop rain — a dyke erected across the half-back line [Read more]
The White Mouse
August 10, 2011 by 2 Comments
by Damian O’Donnell She crept around; a tiny mouse, But when she struck, It was through the heart. She made Hitler’s list, Her name at the very top. Where is she? the lunatic raged. New Zealand saw her birth Australia her growth, The French her courage. Vale the White Mouse.
round 19: haiku bob – slipstreaming
August 5, 2011 by 1 Comment
This week’s match report comes from Budapest in Hungary where I attended the Formula 1 Grand Prix. Fascinating city. Wonderful race. And another Magpie victory. practice session — every one of Cloke’s kicks is a goal safety car — Prismall’s knee collapses at the first turn slipstreaming – Pendlebury moves [Read more]
backing into the swell
July 27, 2011 by 5 Comments
taking my lead from fellow floreat pican andrea mcnamara this week. i too was ‘by the sea’ for this game. actually, it was a lake – and we were in the middle of it. on an island about 3 hours north of stockholm called örjung. beautiful, peaceful place with classic swedish scenery – water, forest, [Read more]
A Heavenly Forum
July 24, 2011 by Leave a Comment
Oppy and Mocky were chesting the bar, Looking down on the Tour from a heavenly star, “Doesn’t seem fair we’ve all fought so long, The Champs Elysee needs an Aussie Fair song.” But things just don’t happen from man’s good intention, Just a small touch of luck – some divine intervention, So they called [Read more]
Rhys is home
July 20, 2011 by Leave a Comment
by John Kingsmill* My town is a little better, more loving, less convoluted. Still cold, but Adelaide’s winter skies are cloudless for a while and then a weather system settles in for three or four days of genuine rain. Partly clouded, they call it. I think
among the rotting leaves
July 19, 2011 by 2 Comments
cross wind — a betting slip among the rotting leaves no sunlight on that side of the ground — just Daisy but for their whistles the umpires would disappear * a chill in the winter sun — Swan scuffs his first kick the first petal separates.. Daisy’s one hander [Read more]
FOR THE OLD COACHES
July 14, 2011 by 1 Comment
I look at all our coaches nowadays And listen to them holding forth post-game: The stream of phrases, sausages, all the same, Ground up, churned out, consumable clichés. Where are the masters of the pithy phrase Whose wisdom, wit – and frequent lack of shame! – Brought World of Sport and Football Inquest fame? The [Read more]
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