Round 9 – Brisbane v Carlton: Say it with Carlton.

 

 

Round 9
Brisbane v Carlton
Friday 8 May 2026
Gabba, Brisbane

 

Tonight, marks Game 2 of the three-game membership experience.

 

Of course it needed to be this weekend. Was there any doubt? Mother’s Day weekend and a rare date night for Mel and I.

 

If Hallmark has taught me anything it’s that flowers and chocolates are fine, but for a true declaration of one’s love:

 

Say it…with Carlton.

 

Love is a two-way street, so the complete romantic experience is the one where both parties are considered and catered for.

 

She loves Hugh McCluggage. I love Hugh McCluggage.

She loves quiet, romantic strolls along the foreshore.

I love Hugh McCluggage.

 

Those of you that periodically read my stuff (yes, both of you), no doubt do so anticipating another unhinged rant about terrible food and inadequate seating, which is standard for my writing I grant you.

Let me just say that you are destined to leave this article disappointed (also standard for my writing).

 

To be fair, I don’t always complain about these things. Only when I’m conscious and vertical, otherwise hardly ever.

So, let us address both in a surprisingly uncustomary positive review.

 

Firstly, culinary redemption is at hand. Mel spied a Greek Souvlaki stand inside the ground. It was divine. All previous pre-packaged and deep-fried indiscretions are forgiven. Crispy lettuce and onion. Succulent chicken and a viscous ambrosia that goes by the name of tzatziki.

 

Do people know about this stuff? Is it readily available? I wish to brush my teeth with it henceforth. Amazing.

 

Secondly, pampered for so long, I can’t help but be nervous about where they’re likely to locate us this time around. Given previous debacles is it any wonder I anticipate being seated next to open wiring or a troupe of Cross-Fit Instructors?

However, in a sobering development, we are seated between two outwardly normal looking couples. Worryingly, if the rule of three can be trusted, that makes us the weirdos.

 

At this point it would be remiss of me to advance any further without addressing the still simmering furore over the preceding week’s whiteboard scandal. Especially given my club’s role in the matter.

 

Simply put, this might be the non-story of the year.

 

Let me assure you, this process of assessment is hardly exclusive to football clubs:

 

 

 

It was mildly harrowing at first, but lessons were learned and we are stronger for it.

(The joke’s on her though. I’ve been drinking her shampoo for years).

 

As it happens, we the people of Brisbane have much greater, more immediate concerns.

 

The city is in the grips of a sudden cold snap.

 

The forecast is suggesting the temperature could get as low as 10 degrees Celsius.

I glance to the BOM website on my phone: Currently 11 degrees. Feels like: End of Days.

Queenslanders get a little dramatic when the mercury drops. I’m not kidding.

 

Approaching Gate 4 we passed a group of around a dozen or more people huddled, palms raised, around a confused-looking cigarette smoker.

 

Any lower could have locals reaching for their knitted thongs.

 

It does make it easier to spot the Melburnians though. Striding confidently down Stanley Street in their crop tops and boob tubes. The women too for that matter.

 

The Blues enter the arena to near silence which is odd. Odd because they are certainly well represented. My theory is the funeral march that passes as their club song could not be less inspiring.

 

Media heavy weights such as Andy Maher and Steve Quartermain have openly denounced our playing of goal songs. Well, if you want to eradicate shit music from football games, consider starting with this spirit-killer of a club song.

 

Thankfully you won’t have to hear it too often this year.

 

I want to feel sorry for Carlton, but only for Michael Voss. A man who will almost certainly receive a statue outside the new stadium. He’s a given, but the cavalcade of suggestions to accompany him rages on.

Border, Leigh Matthews, Matt Hayden and now Fagan all have strong cases.

 

It’s the next tier where the interest lies for me: Warwick Capper, Mick Nolan, Scott Muller? Or do we broaden our view: Susie O’Neill, Anna Meares, Fine Cotton? (I’m O.k with the last one, so long as a water-based paint is used that runs every time it rains).

 

The Blues get an early chance via a Brodie Kemp set shot that misses the goals entirely and almost misses the suburb. It could be a long night for them.

 

At the other end, Logan Morris is making sure ‘On a Night like This’ is getting solid airplay.

 

Souvlaki al fresco and Kylie Minogue on the loudspeakers: The fire of romance still burns brightly in this old dog.

 

It’s hard to believe we got this kid (Morris) at pick 31. How did that happen?

 

On a weird tangent. My eye is constantly, and annoyingly, drawn to an advertising sign that proclaims: “Make some nnnoooooiiiissssseeeeeee!”

 

I don’t know why this bothers me so much, but I have this peculiar irritation at seeing the over emphasising of the wrong syllable or letter when elongating for effect. The above would effectively be pronounced “Noisy.” I can’t be the only person who hates this. There should only be one e. I see this on social media a lot.

 

I just had to get that off my chest.

 

Froggy Lester is having the Benjamin Button of careers. It defies reason and logic. His is the only career I can think of that has gotten progressively better in a flat upwardly ascending line.

He’ll be winning a Brownlow in his mid-fifties.

 

Mel points out the abundance of babies in earmuffs and wonders aloud if we could bring Archie to a game.

He could borrow the pair his mother endorses whenever I’m about to launch into a politically charged tirade or begin railing against the latest break in Kayo’s service.

It’s worthwhile considering but I doubt he has four quarters in him (insert your own Carlton joke here. I can’t be doing all the work).

 

It seems I went too early on the seating proclamation. A situation is developing.

 

Old mate to my left has started Manspreading exponentially. I’m aware men’s hips have evolved separately to women. I know, I’ve been the proud owner of a pair for some time now, but if your legs are at 10 and 2 on the sitting clock, there better be a mid-wife crouched down in front of you.

Worse still, he inexplicably feels the need to voice to me where he’s heading and why, every time he shuffles past me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, this is actually great news for us. It has the odds shortening dramatically on them being the weirdos.

 

Any pre-conceptions I might have planned on reporting about Carlton mediocrity are hastily erased on the other side of the break.

 

To their credit, the Baggers have served up a quarter of excellent, competitive football. Brisbane oozed arrogance but Carlton’s effort was supreme, causing one Carlton fan in front of me to muse: “Well this is confusing. I thought we’d settled on being shit in the second half.”

 

Big Harry McKay starts kicking set shots (and not around the corner!). He’s the one player that Andrews seems to struggle with regularly.

Shit, Carlton are back in this. Bugger Vossy, this is about me showing my face at work on Monday!

 

There’s a GABBA assist sign that displays a number in the event of unruly behaviour.

Desperate, I text: “For God’s sake, win a clearance!” I think it qualifies but have I left it too late to get this message down to ground level?

 

Brisbane hang on.

 

Carlton, you’re welcome. We might have just played you back into form. I saw a hunger in the second half they’ve lacked all year.

 

It’s been a charming night of acceptable food and music (provided you like Kylie Minogue and John Denver) and we walk hand in hand towards the car.

 

A perfect half-moon illuminates the hunched back of a patron urinating against a fence 5 metres from the door I’m holding open for my Princess. It’s our first date night all over again.

 

She looks at me with nostalgia, as if to say: “Did you plan this?”

 

No sweetie. Different bloke. Sometimes the stars just align.

 

It’s then the welcome stranger chooses to serenade us with: “Don’t mind me. Just havin’ a piss.”

 

Perfect.

 

Just two lovers, the moon’s good graces and the fragrant hint of asparagus.

 

Some beautiful poems just seem to write themselves.

 

 

BRISBANE    4.5   8.8   11.11  14.16 (100)
CARLTON      2.3   2.6   8.9     13.11 (89)

 

GOALS
Brisbane: Morris 4, L.Ashcroft 2, Cameron 2, Lohmann 2, Draper, Fort, McCluggage, Neale
Carlton: Hayward 3, McGovern 3, McKay 3, Ainsworth 2, Cripps, Smith

 

BEST
Brisbane: Neale, Lester, McCluggae, Morris, Reville, Draper
Carlton: McKay, Cripps, Hayward, McGovern, Smith

 

INJURIES
Brisbane: TBC
Carlton: TBC

 

Crowd: 31,147 at the Gabba

 

More Round 9 Reports can be read HERE

 

To read more by Jamie Simmons click here.

 

 

Our writers are independent contributors. The opinions expressed in their articles are their own. They are not the views, nor do they reflect the views, of Malarkey Publications.

 

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