Rumour Conspiracy theories

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Incensed by the razor blades found at training, irate loutish Hawks supporters kept your team awake all night with crank calls and pizza orders to their hotel rooms.

Longmire was too much the gent to mention it.

Hird is annoyed that his razor blades vengeance failed so spectacularly.
 

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Invasion of the Body Snatchers is underway. The aliens recognised the Sydney Swans as the perfect male representations of humans and took over their bodies last week. To confirm this theory we only need to find the group of women who have been taken over.
 
bungee said:
Clarkson was doing his usual Thursday night dogging in the car park at Windy Hill when he noticed a plastic bag full of medical supplies. Picking it up carefully he saw 'Essendon Football Club - Dispose of sharps carefully' marked with a black felt pen. While still waiting his turn in line he casually opened the bag. Its contents made his hands shake and he giggled like a small girl. Here was the x-factor he needed to beat the Swans. Some nervous official had thrown out Hird's entire 'bag of tricks'. Clarkson licked his eyeballs (lizard like) and dialled Hodge.

The line moved. Clutching his mobile in one hand, the bag in the other and with his trousers around his ankles, Clarkson penguined forward. "Hey Hodgey" he whispered into his mobile (while taking his punt with Mrs McGuire in the back seat of her white BMW), "Call the boys over for a very special pizza tonight". Hodge was surprised. "But it's the GF in two days" he replied over the strange sounds his coach was making. "Shouldn't we get some sleep ?". "Hell no", ejaculated an excited Clarkson "I've got something way better than sleep".

Hastily zipping up, Clarkson slipped back to where his Hilux was parked in some trees and gunned off to Waverley. He stopped 10 metres from the sign which read "Please park at least 15 metres from this sign", put his 'Hawthorn Club' ticket on the dash and jumped out. The boys had already begun to arrive.

By the time Stevic had brought the pizzas around the whole team was buzzing with excitement. "Hilly", said Clarko. "How'd you like to burn off Jetta ?" "F&*k yeah" mumbled Hill, already stuffing his face full of toxic pizza. "Cyril". "Yes boss ?" "How'd you like to mend in time for the Granny ?" "Oh wow, would I ?" gushed Rioli, beaming the boyish grin that's broken the heart of many a young Hawks fan. "And you Spanker. How'd you like to play well ?" "Please, please Blue Fairy (for that's what Spangher called Clarko). Please make me into a real player so my team mates will love me". "Eat up my friends, eat up", slurred Clarko, pretty much off his **** by now. Whatever was in the mystery bag it was doing some pretty good s**t to the team. Mitchell had grown a pair of horns and Cyril's legs were mended. Roughy's balls felt bigger than ever and Lake was so pumped he started throttling Suckling. Sure there were some weird side effects, just ask Gibson's wife, but it was worth it. This was some crazy s**t purple rage powder and they were sucking it up like camels at a watering hole.

Around at Horse's house the Swans team had all gone to bed nice and early, tucked up with a hot cocoa and blissfully unaware of the cruel fate that would befall them. Horse returned from his weekly volunteer work for the 'Sweet ruddy faced children with no hope' charity and gave Mrs Horse a nice kiss on the cheek. "Good night dear", said Mrs Horse as she climbed the stairs in her modest Victorian style nightgown. "There's a little left over stew and dumplings in the oven" "Good night my sweet" replied Horse. "Gosh, darn", he thought to himself. "I sure am a lucky guy". He climbed the stairs to look at his team, all fast asleep in their dorm bunks. Buddy's toy had fallen from his bed. Horse gently lifted her up and tucked her back in. He smiled. He knew he could trust these boys to give their all in the Grand Final.

No sooner had Horse gone to bed than Clarkson climbed through his kitchen window. "What luck", he thought, for here were all the players' porridge bowls, named and lined out along the large oak trestle table. Taking a bag of grey powder from his pocket he slipped a little into each bowl. 'Wimp powder' it read on the side of the bag. 'Use sparingly'. Just then the lights came on at the top of the stairs. Clarkson panicked. Leaving out the 5 or 6 bowls on the far side of the table, he slipped the entire bag of powder into the ones closest to him and dashed out the back door.
Click to expand...
Brilliant bungee, waiting for part two.
 
MickyG said:
Invasion of the Body Snatchers is underway. The aliens recognised the Sydney Swans as the perfect male representations of humans and took over their bodies last week. To confirm this theory we only need to find the group of women who have been taken over.
Click to expand...

The swans were replaced by submissive automatons while we slept.

What we saw on the weekend were the Stepford Swans. Can't play for s**t . But they look pretty and can bake a seriously good cake.
 
baja said:
Brilliant bungee, waiting for part two.
Click to expand...

By popular demand there will be a part two but be patient. I just bought an iPhone 6+ and I'm having a serious play with it.

(Sorry, I've been living in England too long. The English don't actually have sex but they do like to sfellow or guffaw over a double entendre)
 
bungee said:
By popular demand there will be a part two but be patient. I just bought an iPhone 6+ and I'm having a serious play with it.

(Sorry, I've been living in England too long. The English don't actually have sex but they do like to sfellow or guffaw over a double entendre)
Click to expand...
Fnurrr fnurr! PHWOOOAAAR!

I'm in Old Blighty myself right now. Re-acquainting myself with the majesty of Viz Magazine.
 

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For those of you who have waited 72 hours for the sequel. "THIS IS IT"

bungee said:
Clarkson was doing his usual Thursday night dogging in the car park at Windy Hill when he noticed a plastic bag full of medical supplies. Picking it up carefully he saw 'Essendon Football Club - Dispose of sharps carefully' marked with a black felt pen. While still waiting his turn in line he casually opened the bag. Its contents made his hands shake and he giggled like a small girl. Here was the x-factor he needed to beat the Swans. Some nervous official had thrown out Hird's entire 'bag of tricks'. Clarkson licked his eyeballs (lizard like) and dialled Hodge.

The line moved. Clutching his mobile in one hand, the bag in the other and with his trousers around his ankles, Clarkson penguined forward. "Hey Hodgey" he whispered into his mobile (while taking his punt with Mrs McGuire in the back seat of her white BMW), "Call the boys over for a very special pizza tonight". Hodge was surprised. "But it's the GF in two days" he replied over the strange sounds his coach was making. "Shouldn't we get some sleep ?". "Hell no", ejaculated an excited Clarkson "I've got something way better than sleep".

Hastily zipping up, Clarkson slipped back to where his Hilux was parked in some trees and gunned off to Waverley. He stopped 10 metres from the sign which read "Please park at least 15 metres from this sign", put his 'Hawthorn Club' ticket on the dash and jumped out. The boys had already begun to arrive.

By the time Stevic had brought the pizzas around the whole team was buzzing with excitement. "Hilly", said Clarko. "How'd you like to burn off Jetta ?" "F&*k yeah" mumbled Hill, already stuffing his face full of toxic pizza. "Cyril". "Yes boss ?" "How'd you like to mend in time for the Granny ?" "Oh wow, would I ?" gushed Rioli, beaming the boyish grin that's broken the heart of many a young Hawks fan. "And you Spanker. How'd you like to play well ?" "Please, please Blue Fairy (for that's what Spangher called Clarko). Please make me into a real player so my team mates will love me". "Eat up my friends, eat up", slurred Clarko, pretty much off his **** by now. Whatever was in the mystery bag it was doing some pretty good s**t to the team. Mitchell had grown a pair of horns and Cyril's legs were mended. Roughy's balls felt bigger than ever and Lake was so pumped he started throttling Suckling. Sure there were some weird side effects, just ask Gibson's wife, but it was worth it. This was some crazy s**t purple rage powder and they were sucking it up like camels at a watering hole.

Around at Horse's house the Swans team had all gone to bed nice and early, tucked up with a hot cocoa and blissfully unaware of the cruel fate that would befall them. Horse returned from his weekly volunteer work for the 'Sweet ruddy faced children with no hope' charity and gave Mrs Horse a nice kiss on the cheek. "Good night dear", said Mrs Horse as she climbed the stairs in her modest Victorian style nightgown. "There's a little left over stew and dumplings in the oven" "Good night my sweet" replied Horse. "Gosh, darn", he thought to himself. "I sure am a lucky guy". He climbed the stairs to look at his team, all fast asleep in their dorm bunks. Buddy's toy had fallen from his bed. Horse gently lifted her up and tucked her back in. He smiled. He knew he could trust these boys to give their all in the Grand Final.

No sooner had Horse gone to bed than Clarkson climbed through his kitchen window. "What luck", he thought, for here were all the players' porridge bowls, named and lined out along the large oak trestle table. Taking a bag of grey powder from his pocket he slipped a little into each bowl. 'Wimp powder' it read on the side of the bag. 'Use sparingly'. Just then the lights came on at the top of the stairs. Clarkson panicked. Leaving out the 5 or 6 bowls on the far side of the table, he slipped the entire bag of powder into the ones closest to him and dashed out the back door.
Click to expand...

Chapter 2 - A little inspiration from Hirdy

Clarko hightailed it over the white painted picket fence surrounding Horse Cottage, scraping his love nuts on the rose bushes. He cursed gently under his breath. A sharp thorn had wedged itself into his right testicle but it wasn't until he slid behind the wheel that it really made its presence felt. "FARAAAAAACK" screamed Clarko, his fingers clutching at his family jewels. It was no use. The thorn had gone through his jeans and he couldn't get a grip on it. As he whipped his designer jeans and Hawthorn underpants down he remembered a party trick Hodge used to do in the showers after training. Bending forward and pushing the back of his own head he slowly worked his mouth toward his crotch. By flexing and releasing his back muscles he could gradually bounce his head closer and closer to the offending thorn. Each time he bobbed up and down he got his teeth a little closer to his scrotum. Finally his teeth seized on the thorn. He gave a sharp yelp of pain followed by a groan of relief as he spat the offending thorn out of the open window.

"Hello, what's all this ?" asked Constable Plod who'd been watching the entire performance from the footpath across the road. Clarko became very aware of his lack of trousers. "Er, sorry officer. It's just that I had to whip the little prick out. It was killing me. The pain in my balls was too much. I couldn't do it with my hands so I had to use my mouth" "So you thought you should just spit it out the window onto the street did you ?" demanded the policeman firmly. "You do realise children play in this street ?" "I'm sorry officer. You're right of course. I should have thought about the kids. A prick like that could really hurt"

Just then a light went on at Horse's front porch. Mrs Horse, woken by the kerfuffle outside appeared in her nightgown and rollers. "Everything all right officer ?" "Nothing to worry about Mrs Horse" "Oh, but it's Mr Clarkson isn't it ?" Clarko blushed purple as he scrambled to get his trousers on. "Hello Mrs Horse". "You know this pervert ?" asked the policeman. "Why of course officer. It's nice Mr Clarkson of the Hawthorn Hawks" she reassured the officer. "The what ?" asked the policeman. "The Hawthorn Hawks. They wear brown and yellow underpants". She turned to Clarko "What are you doing here at this time of night Alistair ?" Clarko thought quickly. "Just nervous about the big game and I thought maybe Horse would like a beer with me" he replied. "Well I'm not sure about beer but I'm sure we can find you some nice hot tea". The policeman said his goodnights and Clarko was ushered into the Horses' front room.

Horse was having a lovely dream. Young Parker had just taken a mark over the entire MCG crowd. The video showed it in ultra slow motion. He must have been 25m off the ground. Goodes, waiting front and centre for the spill, caught him as he drifted soft as a snowflake back to earth. The crowd all cheered and supporters from both sides embraced. The umpires awarded 2 free kicks to the Swans for such a jolly nice show. Hodge suggested pony rides and merry-go-rounds for the children and they magically appeared. The Grand Final was abandoned as families spread picnic rugs and placed wicker hampers packed with ham and cucumber sandwiches, cream cakes and home made lemonade onto the long green grass. A flotilla of red and white butterflies made the $ sign above the Swans team. Buddy pirouetted in a powder blue tutu while Spanker played a harp. Suddenly Mrs Horse was shaking him. "Wake up Horse, it's young Alistair from the Hawthron Hawks" Sure enough there was Clarko, riding bareback across the MCG on a handsome pink unicorn. "It's Mr Clarkson Horse, he's come to see you". "I've made you both tea". The dream shattered. Horse squinted into the light of the single bulb overhead. "Clarko is here ?" asked Horse. "Whatever for ?".

At that very moment 'young Alistair' was pouring a little of his grey powder into Horse's tea. He gave it a stir then quickly sat back and pretended to read a magazine from the coffee table. 'Swan Monthly' was not a publication Clarko was familiar with. It seemed to consist entirely of nude torso shots of Dane Rampe, with his hair styled differently in each one. "Oh dear, I am sorry", flushed Mrs Horse. "I really shouldn't be reading that kind of thing". "Oh, that's alright", Clarko assured her. "Mrs Clarkson is forever reading the Pee & Poo Gazette. Sometimes I think she's in love with half the team". "Oh, i can assure you it's not that" exclaimed Mrs Horse a little indignantly. "It's just that Mr Horse spends a lot of time away from home these days and I do sometimes get lonely. Dane can be such a dear and he takes ever so much care with his hair". Just then Horse came into the room. He had on a bright pair of red and white pyjamas. On his feet he wore fluffy cyggy slippers. "Why Mr Clarkson" greeted Horse warmly, "My wife tells me you're a little nervous about tomorrow"

The two adversaries sat and chatted like old friends. Horse sipped his WIMP laced tea and Clarkson could see it was beginning to work. Horse had that idiotic smile on his face that he usually reserved for press conferences after a good thrashing. He almost expected him to come out with the familiar line "We just didn't play the way we wanted to" but instead he pulled out a box of Cluedo. "Fancy a game of Cluedo to take your mind off the big game ?" he beamed to Clarkson. "I always go for Reverend Green in the Study with the Knife". Clarko hid a smirk. "Really I should be getting back" he replied. "It's a big day tomorrow". Horse looked up at the mantelpiece clock but then his eyes fell on the snow dome next to it, 'Swans for Premiers 1996' it read in faded plastic lettering. He felt a little melancholic. "Alistair my dear friend. Shall we make a promise not to play too hard tomorrow ?. It's just that I hate the idea of losing and I hate the idea of a nice friend like you losing". Alistair nodded. "Of course Horse, after all, there are other things much more important".

As Clarko drove away the Swans players were already lining up at the bathroom. "Jetta looks so cuddly in his onesie", thought Mrs Horse as she waited her turn. At last the toilet was free but to her annoyance she found that Hanners had left the seat up, Kennedy had peed on the floor and someone else (probably McGlynn) had left skid marks on the toilet bowl. Mrs Horse couldn't stand skid marks. She had asked the team time and again to clean them off the change room toilet bowls but she hadn't dreamed they'd be so careless in Horse's own house. She wished Kenny was here. He was always useful for removing skid marks. A few of the boys would shove his shaggy mop of white hair down the bowl, give it a good flush and it'd be as clean as new. Kenny was such a sport about it too. He'd wipe the smear from his face and laugh it off as just a bit of high jinks, even when Goodes held him down there just a bit too long.

In the kitchen the Swans tucked into their porridge. "I say", said Rohan. "This porridge has a terrible after taste. All the boys agreed. Mrs Horse was quite upset. "They're only teasing you", said Goodes. "Look, Buddy isn't complaining". Sure enough Buddy was tucking right in. He seemed to be in a great mood this morning. Jesinta popped her head out from under the table. "Hello Mrs H" she said brightly. "Won't be long. Are we off to the game soon ?". Parker looked puzzled. "What game ?" he asked. "I thought Horse said we might have a picnic" replied Tippet. "But it's GF day" declared an incredulous Goodes. "Don't any of you remember ". Macca pointed the finger at Goodes. "You didn't eat all of your porridge" he admonished."Who cares ?" said Goodes. "It's the Grand Final". Are we in it ?" asked a puzzled Smith. Macca pointed at his porridge. "I'm not happy with this taste". He pointed at Mrs Horse. "More commitment, Mrs Horse. That's all I ask". He pointed at Horse's dog. "More commitment from you too"

At the Hawks bunker things had taken a much more serious turn. "Order", cried Hodge. "Order" as the players fought among themselves. Mitchell snorted back another line of purple powder. His nostrils flared with the rush of rage. "I vote we kill Horse" he declared. "Get the bastards by cutting off their coach's head". "That'll upset their game plan". sfellowed Sewer. Lake pissed himself laughing at Rioli trying to open a can of alphabet spaghetti. "I thought you were half Italian Cyril ?" "How come you can't open a can of pasta ? "FU%$K off, screamed Rioli as he lunged at Lake. "Crikey", said Hodge as he pulled them apart, "when do we get to kill some Swans ? Langford was punching the budgerigar to a pulp and Spanger was choking Breust under the table just as Clarko walked in. "Keep it for the Swans lads" he yelled at the rabble. Their bloodshot eyes and trembling hands told him the purple powder had done its work. None of them had slept for the last 2 days. Hill had gone missing overnight. They'd found him attacking chickens in someone's backyard. Covered in blood and feathers he grinned at Clarko. "Kill, kill chickens" he mumbled. "No Hilly, kill, kill Swans", corrected Clarko. The chant went up then "Kill the Swannies, kill the Swannies, kill the Swannies". Clarko knew the time was right. He tapped Stevic on the shoulder. "Let's get this thing started"

In the Swans changing rooms the mood was somewhat cheerier. Smith had found a CD of favourite nursery rhymes. As a team they chorused "Old King Cole" and "10 little ducks". Goodes was perplexed. Where was the fighting spirit ? Did they really believe this would be a cake walk ? And why was Jetta wearing Hawthorn underpants. He'd had clean white ones on this morning. Macca took out his flute. "Hey team, I'm the Pied Piper. Follow me". He led the team out onto the field and through the banner. "Ouch" said Gary as he pushed through the banner. "That banner material is all rough and scratchy". Bird couldn't believe the behaviour of his teammates. "Hey Budster", he whispered. "What's with everyone". Bud too was bemused. "No idea Craig. Perhaps they're still enjoying the festivities. I hope they can knuckle down soon". The photographer asked them all to pose for the team photo. "Come on Dane", McVeigh pointed at him. "Stop doing your hair already". Rampe gave his hair one last flick and put on his best Clark Gable smile. "I hope I don't get my hair all mussed up today" he confided to Parker. Parker giggled. He felt love for Rampe's hair. In fact, he loved everything today. The grass was deliciously green, the colours of the crowd shone brightly and he wanted to hug the Hawks players as they took their positions on the ground.

Stevic adjudicated the toss. "Do you have the double headed coin I gave you ?" he whispered to the terrified fan, whose family were being held at knife point under the stands of Waverley Park. Hodge called heads. "Heads it is" cried Stevic, before the coin had even touched the ground. Macca was disappointed at not having another chance to point. He liked pointing. He was the best pointer in the game. He had wanted his team mates to nick name him Sharky (the great White Pointer) but instead they had named him after a soggy fat-laden hamburger. He shuffled back to the huddle to give his team one last telling off. "OK guys. Today I want you all to have fun. Don't get hurt. Don't let their dirty tactics get you angry. Don't risk breaking a nail in a tackle. We're here to chase our tails" Most of the guys laughed. Buddy tried to inject some seriousness. "Get in their guys and hurt them. Let's hit them with everything we have. Leave nothing in the tank". Jack was surprised at his aggressive tone. "Whoa Big Buds. That's way too heavy. Why can't we just be friends ?" Most of the team nodded. Goodes pointed to a girl in the crowd. "Oh look, there's my cousin" said Goodes. No-one cared.

The whistle blew and it was game on. Parker noticed daisies growing around the centre square. He bent down to pick one up. Stevic blew his whistle. "No picking daisies". Parker dropped it in surprise. "That'll be fifty" smirked Stevic. "Dang" thought Hanners. "Soft free. And I so wanted to pick some myself". In the forward line Buddy took an enormous hit from Lake. "You filthy mongrel C&%t, die, die die" screamed Lake as he repeatedly drove his elbow into the back of Buddy's head. Stevic awarded a free. Lake took it and put the Hawks on the offensive. Breust marked inside 50. He started to bite into the ball. "Die, you leather C&$t, die" he screamed at the ball. Stevic awarded fifty against the ball. As play resumed Jetta was crunched head high on the half back flank. He lay on the ground as if dazed. His teammates immediately went over to remonstrate with him. "How come you get to lie down ?" asked McGlynn. "It's not fair, now you get to go for a nap in the rooms". Horse picked up the phone. "You idiots" he screamed. "I told you no contact. Do you want to hurt yourselves even before the 2015 season begins ?". Jetta asked sheepishly, "Do I have to go back on ?". "But we need your speed", said Horse. "Can't you just say I have concussion ?" pleaded Jetta. "Ok", said Horse, "we'll give Birdy a run. He'll like that". Bird jumped at the chance. Immediately he got in under and angry. He laid tackles, he grabbed contested possessions, he smashed into bodies. "Steady on Craig" pointed Macca. "You'll hurt yourself"

With the game entering the final quarter Jack addressed the players. "Come on guys" he pleaded. "Do it for Goodes". The players raised their heads as one and McGlynn spoke for all of them when he said "OK, just one more verse". They launched into a wonderful rendition of "Old King Cole". Bud held his head in his hands. "What the f%^k is wrong with you people ?" he groaned. "Now don't be a sore loser" chided Macca, pointing at him.

In the Hawks huddle Langford had lost it. He was trying to gnaw Hodges ear off. Clarko held him while Rioli slipped the straight-jacket over his head. "Just hang in their guys" he beseeched them. "One more quarter and we have the cup. A cup filled with the blood of Swans". "Really ?" asked Hale, his eyes mad with blood lust. "Really" said Clarko (for he'd slaughtered a few at the Botanical Gardens just that morning). "Mitchell", called Breust. "Stop humping the ground". Mitchell was indeed humping the ground. He had tried to hump pretty much everything that day. Now he may even get to hump the cup. He smiled. The purple powder affected everyone differently.

As the Swans folded in the last quarter (to a cheery rendition of "Little Miss Muffet" led by co-captains Jack & Macca) the effects of the drugs began to wear off. "I can't understand why we didn't play the sort of football we normally play" said a bemused Macca to the assembled press. Horse looked dazed. "Did we really sing nursery rhymes ?" he asked Buddy. Buds was pissed off but Goodes was beginning to suspect foul play. "How many of you thought your porridge was off this morning ?" he asked. All but five raised their hands. Macca pointed at Mrs Horse. "Your fault" he yelled at her, frantically waving his arms. "More commitment. I want more commitment". Dane sulked next to Hanners. He was so dejected he could barely adjust his hair for the cameras.

Over at the cup giving ceremony Mitchell had found himself humping the cup. "What the .... ?" he suddenly realised the Australian press were watching him. "Er...just really pleased to have won", he said sheepishly. "Did we win ?" asked Gunston. "I can't remember a thing". Clarko smirked. He'd have to replay the game to them a few times so they'd remember it. That night he dropped the bag of drugs into Hird's letter box, called ASADA anonymously and slipped a fat envelope to Stevic. "What the f&%k were you guys on ?" asked Stevic. "Just a little inspiration from Hirdy" replied Clarko.
 
Last edited:
Kavliaris69 said:
That is brilliant work there bungee. One of the best posts I've seen this year. Please tell me there is a part-2 coming up. Loved the description of the scenes at Horse's place. Classic.
Click to expand...

New in Part 2 of the Clarkson conspiracy.....

Clarko gives himself a BJ. Mrs Horse gets off on Rampe. Parker picks daisies. Mitchell humps the cup. Jetta wears a onesie. McGlynn leaves skid marks. Goodes points out a girl in the crowd.
 
Holy Moly!
:eek::D:thumbsu:

The comparison of the two dressing rooms is amazing. It's like the you've matched the words to their moving lips on the pregame footage exactly. haha
 
bungee said:
For those of you who have waited 72 hours for the sequel. "THIS IS IT"



Chapter 2 - A little inspiration from Hirdy

Clarko hightailed it over the white painted picket fence surrounding Horse Cottage, scraping his love nuts on the rose bushes. He cursed gently under his breath. A sharp thorn had wedged itself into his right testicle but it wasn't until he slid behind the wheel that it really made its presence felt. "FARAAAAAACK" screamed Clarko, his fingers clutching at his family jewels. It was no use. The thorn had gone through his jeans and he couldn't get a grip on it. As he whipped his designer jeans and Hawthorn underpants down he remembered a party trick Hodge used to do in the showers after training. Bending forward and pushing the back of his own head he slowly worked his mouth toward his crotch. By flexing and releasing his back muscles he could gradually bounce his head closer and closer to the offending thorn. Each time he bobbed up and down he got his teeth a little closer to his scrotum. Finally his teeth seized on the thorn. He gave a sharp yelp of pain followed by a groan of relief as he spat the offending thorn out of the open window.

"Hello, what's all this ?" asked Constable Plod who'd been watching the entire performance from the footpath across the road. Clarko became very aware of his lack of trousers. "Er, sorry officer. It's just that I had to whip the little prick out. It was killing me. The pain in my balls was too much. I couldn't do it with my hands so I had to use my mouth" "So you thought you should just spit it out the window onto the street did you ?" demanded the policeman firmly. "You do realise children play in this street ?" "I'm sorry officer. You're right of course. I should have thought about the kids. A prick like that could really hurt"

Just then a light went on at Horse's front porch. Mrs Horse, woken by the kerfuffle outside appeared in her nightgown and rollers. "Everything all right officer ?" "Nothing to worry about Mrs Horse" "Oh, but it's Mr Clarkson isn't it ?" Clarko blushed purple as he scrambled to get his trousers on. "Hello Mrs Horse". "You know this pervert ?" asked the policeman. "Why of course officer. It's nice Mr Clarkson of the Hawthorn Hawks" she reassured the officer. "The what ?" asked the policeman. "The Hawthorn Hawks. They wear brown and yellow underpants". She turned to Clarko "What are you doing here at this time of night Alistair ?" Clarko thought quickly. "Just nervous about the big game and I thought maybe Horse would like a beer with me" he replied. "Well I'm not sure about beer but I'm sure we can find you some nice hot tea". The policeman said his goodnights and Clarko was ushered into the Horses' front room.

Horse was having a lovely dream. Young Parker had just taken a mark over the entire MCG crowd. The video showed it in ultra slow motion. He must have been 25m off the ground. Goodes, waiting front and centre for the spill, caught him as he drifted soft as a snowflake back to earth. The crowd all cheered and supporters from both sides embraced. The umpires awarded 2 free kicks to the Swans for such a jolly nice show. Hodge suggested pony rides and merry-go-rounds for the children and they magically appeared. The Grand Final was abandoned as families spread picnic rugs and placed wicker hampers packed with ham and cucumber sandwiches, cream cakes and home made lemonade onto the long green grass. A flotilla of red and white butterflies made the $ sign above the Swans team. Buddy pirouetted in a powder blue tutu while Spanker played a harp. Suddenly Mrs Horse was shaking him. "Wake up Horse, it's young Alistair from the Hawthron Hawks" Sure enough there was Clarko, riding bareback across the MCG on a handsome pink unicorn. "It's Mr Clarkson Horse, he's come to see you". "I've made you both tea". The dream shattered. Horse squinted into the light of the single bulb overhead. "Clarko is here ?" asked Horse. "Whatever for ?".

At that very moment 'young Alistair' was pouring a little of his grey powder into Horse's tea. He gave it a quick stir then quickly sat back and pretended to read a magazine from the coffee table. 'Swan Monthly' was not a publication Clarko was familiar with. It seemed to consist entirely of nude torso shots of Dane Rampe, with his hair styled differently in each one. "Oh dear, I am sorry", flushed Mrs Horse. "I really shouldn't be reading that kind of thing". "Oh, that's alright", Clarko assured her. "Mrs Clarkson is forever reading the Pee & Poo Gazette. Sometimes I think she's in love with half the team". "Oh, i can assure you it's not that" exclaimed Mrs Horse a little indignantly. "It's just that Mr Horse spends a lot of time away from home these days and I do sometimes get lonely. Dane can be such a dear and he takes ever so much care with his hair". Just then Horse came into the room. He had on a bright pair of red and white pyjamas. On his feet he wore fluffy cyggy slippers. "Why Mr Clarkson" greeted Horse warmly, "My wife tells me you're a little nervous about tomorrow"

The two adversaries sat and chatted like old friends. Horse sipped his WIMP laced tea and Clarkson could see it was beginning to work. Horse had that idiotic smile on his face that he usually reserved for press conferences after a good thrashing. He almost expected him to come out with the familiar line "We just didn't play the way we wanted to" but instead he pulled out a box of Cluedo. "Fancy a game of Cluedo to take your mind off the big game ?" he beamed to Clarkson. "I always go for Reverend Green in the Study with the Knife". Clarko hid a smirk. "Really I should be getting back" he replied. "It's a big day tomorrow". Horse looked up at the mantelpiece clock but then his eyes fell on the snow dome next to it, 'Swans for Premiers 1996' it read in faded plastic lettering. He felt a little melancholic. "Alistair my dear friend. Shall we make a promise not to play too hard tomorrow ?. It's just that I hate the idea of losing and I hate the idea of a nice friend like you losing". Alistair nodded. "Of course Horse, after all, there are other things much more important".

As Clarko drove away the Swans players were already lining up at the bathroom. "Jetta looks so cuddly in his onesie", thought Mrs Horse as she waited her turn. At last the toilet was free but to her annoyance she found that Hanners had left the seat up, Kennedy had peed on the floor and someone else (probably McGlynn) had left skid marks on the toilet bowl. Mrs Horse couldn't stand skid marks. She had asked the team time and again to clean them off the change room toilet bowls but she hadn't dreamed they'd be so careless in Horse's own house. She wished Kenny was here. He was always useful for removing skid marks. A few of the boys would shove his shaggy mop of white hair down the bowl, give it a good flush and it'd be as clean as new. Kenny was such a sport about it too. He'd wipe the smear from his face and laugh it off as just a bit of high jinks, even when Goodes held him down there just a bit too long.

In the kitchen the Swans tucked into their porridge. "I say", said Rohan. "This porridge has a terrible after taste. All the boys agreed. Mrs Horse was quite upset. "They're only teasing you", said Goodes. "Look, Buddy isn't complaining". Sure enough Buddy was tucking right in. He seemed to be in a great mood this morning. Jesinta popped her head out from under the table. "Hello Mrs H" she said brightly. "Won't be long. Are we off to the game soon ?". Parker looked puzzled. "What game ?" he asked. "I thought Horse said we might have a picnic" replied Tippet. "But it's GF day" declared an incredulous Goodes. "Don't any of you remember ". Macca pointed the finger at Goodes. "You didn't eat all of your porridge" he admonished."Who cares ?" said Goodes. "It's the Grand Final". Are we in it ?" asked a puzzled Smith. Macca pointed at his porridge. "I'm not happy with this taste". He pointed at Mrs Horse. "More commitment, Mrs Horse. That's all I ask". He pointed at Horse's dog. "More commitment from you too"

At the Hawks bunker things had taken a much more serious turn. "Order", cried Hodge. "Order" as the players fought among themselves. Mitchell snorted back another line of purple powder. His nostrils flared with the rush of rage. "I vote we kill Horse" he declared. "Get the bastards by cutting off their coach's head". "That'll upset their game plan". sfellowed Sewer. Lake pissed himself laughing at Rioli trying to open a can of alphabet spaghetti. "I thought you were half Italian Cyril ?" "How come you can't open a can of pasta ? "FU%$K off, screamed Rioli as he lunged at Lake. "Crikey", said Hodge as he pulled them apart, "when do we get to kill some Swans ? Langford was punching the budgerigar to a pulp and Spanger was choking Breust under the table just as Clarko walked in. "Keep it for the Swans lads" he yelled at the rabble. Their bloodshot eyes and trembling hands told him the purple powder had done its work. None of them had slept for the last 2 days. Hill had gone missing overnight. They'd found him attacking chickens in someone's backyard. Covered in blood and feathers he grinned at Clarko. "Kill, kill chickens" he mumbled. "No Hilly, kill, kill Swans", corrected Clarko. The chant went up then "Kill the Swannies, kill the Swannies, kill the Swannies". Clarko knew the time was right. He tapped Stevic on the shoulder. "Let's get this thing started"

In the Swans changing rooms the mood was somewhat cheerier. Smith had found a CD of favourite nursery rhymes. As a team they chorused "Old King Cole" and "10 little ducks". Goodes was perplexed. Where was the fighting spirit ? Did they really believe this would be a cake walk ? And why was Jetta wearing Hawthorn underpants. He'd had clean white ones on this morning. Macca took out his flute. "Hey team, I'm the Pied Piper. Follow me". He led the team out onto the field and through the banner. "Ouch" said Gary as he pushed through the banner. "That banner material is all rough and scratchy". Bird couldn't believe the behaviour of his teammates. "Hey Budster", he whispered. "What's with everyone". Bud too was bemused. "No idea Craig. Perhaps they're still enjoying the festivities. I hope they can knuckle down soon". The photographer asked them all to pose for the team photo. "Come on Dane", McVeigh pointed at him. "Stop doing your hair already". Rampe gave his hair one last flick and put on his best Clark Gable smile. "I hope I don't get my hair all mussed up today" he confided to Parker. Parker giggled. He felt love for Rampe's hair. In fact, he loved everything today. The grass was deliciously green, the colours of the crowd shone brightly and he wanted to hug the Hawks players as they took their positions on the ground.

Stevic adjudicated the toss. "Do you have the double headed coin I gave you ?" he whispered to the terrified fan, whose family were being held at knife point under the stands of Waverley Park. Hodge called heads. "Heads it is" cried Stevic, before the coin had even touched the ground. Macca was disappointed at not having another chance to point. He liked pointing. He was the best pointer in the game. He had wanted his team mates to nick name him Sharky (the great White Pointer) but instead they had named him after a soggy fat-laden hamburger. He shuffled back to the huddle to give his team one last telling off. "OK guys. Today I want you all to have fun. Don't get hurt. Don't let their dirty tactics get you angry. Don't risk breaking a nail in a tackle. We're here to chase our tails" Most of the guys laughed. Buddy tried to inject some seriousness. "Get in their guys and hurt them. Let's hit them with everything we have. Leave nothing in the tank". Jack was surprised at his aggressive tone. "Whoa Big Buds. That's way too heavy. Why can't we just be friends ?" Most of the team nodded. Goodes pointed to a girl in the crowd. "Oh look, there's my cousin" said Goodes. No-one cared.

The whistle blew and it was game on. Parker noticed daisies growing around the centre square. He bent down to pick one up. Stevic blew his whistle. "No picking daisies". Parker dropped it in surprise. "That'll be fifty" smirked Stevic. "Dang" thought Hanners. "Soft free. And I so wanted to pick some myself". In the forward line Buddy took an enormous hit from Lake. "You filthy mongrel C&%t, die, die die" screamed Lake as he repeatedly drove his elbow into the back of Buddy's head. Stevic awarded a free. Lake took it and put the Hawks on the offensive. Breust marked inside 50. He started to bite into the ball. "Die, you leather C&$t, die" he screamed at the ball. Stevic awarded fifty against the ball. As play resumed Jetta was crunched head high on the half back flank. He lay on the ground as if dazed. His teammates immediately went over to remonstrate with him. "How come you get to lie down ?" asked McGlynn. "It's not fair, now you get to go for a nap in the rooms". Horse picked up the phone. "You idiots" he screamed. "I told you no contact. Do you want to hurt yourselves even before the 2015 season begins ?". Jetta asked sheepishly, "Do I have to go back on ?". "But we need your speed", said Horse. "Can't you just say I have concussion ?" pleaded Jetta. "Ok", said Horse, "we'll give Birdy a run. He'll like that". Bird jumped at the chance. Immediately he got in under and angry. He laid tackles, he grabbed contested possessions, he smashed into bodies. "Steady on Craig" pointed Macca. "You'll hurt yourself"

With the game entering the final quarter Jack addressed the players. "Come on guys" he pleaded. "Do it for Goodes". The players raised their heads as one and McGlynn spoke for all of them when he said "OK, just one more verse". They launched into a wonderful rendition of "Old King Cole". Bud held his head in his hands. "What the f%^k is wrong with you people ?" he groaned. "Now don't be a sore loser" chided Macca, pointing at him.

In the Hawks huddle Langford had lost it. He was trying to gnaw Hodges ear off. Clarko held him while Rioli slipped the straight-jacket over his head. "Just hang in their guys" he beseeched them. "One more quarter and we have the cup. A cup filled with the blood of Swans". "Really ?" asked Hale, his eyes mad with blood lust. "Really" said Clarko (for he'd slaughtered a few at the Botanical Gardens just that morning). "Mitchell", called Breust. "Stop humping the ground". Mitchell was indeed humping the ground. He had tried to hump pretty much everything that day. Now he may even get to hump the cup. He smiled. The purple powder affected everyone differently.

As the Swans folded in the last quarter (to a cheery rendition of "Little Miss Muffet" led by co-captains Jack & Macca) the effects of the drugs began to wear off. "I can't understand why we didn't play the sort of football we normally play" said a bemused Macca to the assembled press. Horse looked dazed. "Did we really sing nursery rhymes ?" he asked Buddy. Buds was pissed off but Goodes was beginning to suspect foul play. "How many of you thought your porridge was off this morning ?" he asked. All but five raised their hands. Macca pointed at Mrs Horse. "Your fault" he yelled at her, frantically waving his arms. "More commitment. I want more commitment". Dane sulked next to Hanners. He was so dejected he could barely adjust his hair for the cameras.

Over at the cup giving ceremony Mitchell had found himself humping the cup. "What the .... ?" he suddenly realised the Australian press were watching him. "Er...just really pleased to have won", he said sheepishly. "Did we win ?" asked Gunston. "I can't remember a thing". Clarko smirked. He'd have to replay the game to them a few times so they'd remember it. That night he dropped the bag of drugs into Hird's letter box, called ASADA anonymously and slipped a fat envelope to Stevic. "What the f&%k were you guys on ?" asked Stevic. "Just a little inspiration from Hirdy" replied Clarko.
Click to expand...

Great stuff there. Had me in tears. You should have posted this on the bay page.
 
bungee said:
For those of you who have waited 72 hours for the sequel. "THIS IS IT"



Chapter 2 - A little inspiration from Hirdy

Clarko hightailed it over the white painted picket fence surrounding Horse Cottage, scraping his love nuts on the rose bushes. He cursed gently under his breath. A sharp thorn had wedged itself into his right testicle but it wasn't until he slid behind the wheel that it really made its presence felt. "FARAAAAAACK" screamed Clarko, his fingers clutching at his family jewels. It was no use. The thorn had gone through his jeans and he couldn't get a grip on it. As he whipped his designer jeans and Hawthorn underpants down he remembered a party trick Hodge used to do in the showers after training. Bending forward and pushing the back of his own head he slowly worked his mouth toward his crotch. By flexing and releasing his back muscles he could gradually bounce his head closer and closer to the offending thorn. Each time he bobbed up and down he got his teeth a little closer to his scrotum. Finally his teeth seized on the thorn. He gave a sharp yelp of pain followed by a groan of relief as he spat the offending thorn out of the open window.

"Hello, what's all this ?" asked Constable Plod who'd been watching the entire performance from the footpath across the road. Clarko became very aware of his lack of trousers. "Er, sorry officer. It's just that I had to whip the little prick out. It was killing me. The pain in my balls was too much. I couldn't do it with my hands so I had to use my mouth" "So you thought you should just spit it out the window onto the street did you ?" demanded the policeman firmly. "You do realise children play in this street ?" "I'm sorry officer. You're right of course. I should have thought about the kids. A prick like that could really hurt"

Just then a light went on at Horse's front porch. Mrs Horse, woken by the kerfuffle outside appeared in her nightgown and rollers. "Everything all right officer ?" "Nothing to worry about Mrs Horse" "Oh, but it's Mr Clarkson isn't it ?" Clarko blushed purple as he scrambled to get his trousers on. "Hello Mrs Horse". "You know this pervert ?" asked the policeman. "Why of course officer. It's nice Mr Clarkson of the Hawthorn Hawks" she reassured the officer. "The what ?" asked the policeman. "The Hawthorn Hawks. They wear brown and yellow underpants". She turned to Clarko "What are you doing here at this time of night Alistair ?" Clarko thought quickly. "Just nervous about the big game and I thought maybe Horse would like a beer with me" he replied. "Well I'm not sure about beer but I'm sure we can find you some nice hot tea". The policeman said his goodnights and Clarko was ushered into the Horses' front room.

Horse was having a lovely dream. Young Parker had just taken a mark over the entire MCG crowd. The video showed it in ultra slow motion. He must have been 25m off the ground. Goodes, waiting front and centre for the spill, caught him as he drifted soft as a snowflake back to earth. The crowd all cheered and supporters from both sides embraced. The umpires awarded 2 free kicks to the Swans for such a jolly nice show. Hodge suggested pony rides and merry-go-rounds for the children and they magically appeared. The Grand Final was abandoned as families spread picnic rugs and placed wicker hampers packed with ham and cucumber sandwiches, cream cakes and home made lemonade onto the long green grass. A flotilla of red and white butterflies made the $ sign above the Swans team. Buddy pirouetted in a powder blue tutu while Spanker played a harp. Suddenly Mrs Horse was shaking him. "Wake up Horse, it's young Alistair from the Hawthron Hawks" Sure enough there was Clarko, riding bareback across the MCG on a handsome pink unicorn. "It's Mr Clarkson Horse, he's come to see you". "I've made you both tea". The dream shattered. Horse squinted into the light of the single bulb overhead. "Clarko is here ?" asked Horse. "Whatever for ?".

At that very moment 'young Alistair' was pouring a little of his grey powder into Horse's tea. He gave it a quick stir then quickly sat back and pretended to read a magazine from the coffee table. 'Swan Monthly' was not a publication Clarko was familiar with. It seemed to consist entirely of nude torso shots of Dane Rampe, with his hair styled differently in each one. "Oh dear, I am sorry", flushed Mrs Horse. "I really shouldn't be reading that kind of thing". "Oh, that's alright", Clarko assured her. "Mrs Clarkson is forever reading the Pee & Poo Gazette. Sometimes I think she's in love with half the team". "Oh, i can assure you it's not that" exclaimed Mrs Horse a little indignantly. "It's just that Mr Horse spends a lot of time away from home these days and I do sometimes get lonely. Dane can be such a dear and he takes ever so much care with his hair". Just then Horse came into the room. He had on a bright pair of red and white pyjamas. On his feet he wore fluffy cyggy slippers. "Why Mr Clarkson" greeted Horse warmly, "My wife tells me you're a little nervous about tomorrow"

The two adversaries sat and chatted like old friends. Horse sipped his WIMP laced tea and Clarkson could see it was beginning to work. Horse had that idiotic smile on his face that he usually reserved for press conferences after a good thrashing. He almost expected him to come out with the familiar line "We just didn't play the way we wanted to" but instead he pulled out a box of Cluedo. "Fancy a game of Cluedo to take your mind off the big game ?" he beamed to Clarkson. "I always go for Reverend Green in the Study with the Knife". Clarko hid a smirk. "Really I should be getting back" he replied. "It's a big day tomorrow". Horse looked up at the mantelpiece clock but then his eyes fell on the snow dome next to it, 'Swans for Premiers 1996' it read in faded plastic lettering. He felt a little melancholic. "Alistair my dear friend. Shall we make a promise not to play too hard tomorrow ?. It's just that I hate the idea of losing and I hate the idea of a nice friend like you losing". Alistair nodded. "Of course Horse, after all, there are other things much more important".

As Clarko drove away the Swans players were already lining up at the bathroom. "Jetta looks so cuddly in his onesie", thought Mrs Horse as she waited her turn. At last the toilet was free but to her annoyance she found that Hanners had left the seat up, Kennedy had peed on the floor and someone else (probably McGlynn) had left skid marks on the toilet bowl. Mrs Horse couldn't stand skid marks. She had asked the team time and again to clean them off the change room toilet bowls but she hadn't dreamed they'd be so careless in Horse's own house. She wished Kenny was here. He was always useful for removing skid marks. A few of the boys would shove his shaggy mop of white hair down the bowl, give it a good flush and it'd be as clean as new. Kenny was such a sport about it too. He'd wipe the smear from his face and laugh it off as just a bit of high jinks, even when Goodes held him down there just a bit too long.

In the kitchen the Swans tucked into their porridge. "I say", said Rohan. "This porridge has a terrible after taste. All the boys agreed. Mrs Horse was quite upset. "They're only teasing you", said Goodes. "Look, Buddy isn't complaining". Sure enough Buddy was tucking right in. He seemed to be in a great mood this morning. Jesinta popped her head out from under the table. "Hello Mrs H" she said brightly. "Won't be long. Are we off to the game soon ?". Parker looked puzzled. "What game ?" he asked. "I thought Horse said we might have a picnic" replied Tippet. "But it's GF day" declared an incredulous Goodes. "Don't any of you remember ". Macca pointed the finger at Goodes. "You didn't eat all of your porridge" he admonished."Who cares ?" said Goodes. "It's the Grand Final". Are we in it ?" asked a puzzled Smith. Macca pointed at his porridge. "I'm not happy with this taste". He pointed at Mrs Horse. "More commitment, Mrs Horse. That's all I ask". He pointed at Horse's dog. "More commitment from you too"

At the Hawks bunker things had taken a much more serious turn. "Order", cried Hodge. "Order" as the players fought among themselves. Mitchell snorted back another line of purple powder. His nostrils flared with the rush of rage. "I vote we kill Horse" he declared. "Get the bastards by cutting off their coach's head". "That'll upset their game plan". sfellowed Sewer. Lake pissed himself laughing at Rioli trying to open a can of alphabet spaghetti. "I thought you were half Italian Cyril ?" "How come you can't open a can of pasta ? "FU%$K off, screamed Rioli as he lunged at Lake. "Crikey", said Hodge as he pulled them apart, "when do we get to kill some Swans ? Langford was punching the budgerigar to a pulp and Spanger was choking Breust under the table just as Clarko walked in. "Keep it for the Swans lads" he yelled at the rabble. Their bloodshot eyes and trembling hands told him the purple powder had done its work. None of them had slept for the last 2 days. Hill had gone missing overnight. They'd found him attacking chickens in someone's backyard. Covered in blood and feathers he grinned at Clarko. "Kill, kill chickens" he mumbled. "No Hilly, kill, kill Swans", corrected Clarko. The chant went up then "Kill the Swannies, kill the Swannies, kill the Swannies". Clarko knew the time was right. He tapped Stevic on the shoulder. "Let's get this thing started"

In the Swans changing rooms the mood was somewhat cheerier. Smith had found a CD of favourite nursery rhymes. As a team they chorused "Old King Cole" and "10 little ducks". Goodes was perplexed. Where was the fighting spirit ? Did they really believe this would be a cake walk ? And why was Jetta wearing Hawthorn underpants. He'd had clean white ones on this morning. Macca took out his flute. "Hey team, I'm the Pied Piper. Follow me". He led the team out onto the field and through the banner. "Ouch" said Gary as he pushed through the banner. "That banner material is all rough and scratchy". Bird couldn't believe the behaviour of his teammates. "Hey Budster", he whispered. "What's with everyone". Bud too was bemused. "No idea Craig. Perhaps they're still enjoying the festivities. I hope they can knuckle down soon". The photographer asked them all to pose for the team photo. "Come on Dane", McVeigh pointed at him. "Stop doing your hair already". Rampe gave his hair one last flick and put on his best Clark Gable smile. "I hope I don't get my hair all mussed up today" he confided to Parker. Parker giggled. He felt love for Rampe's hair. In fact, he loved everything today. The grass was deliciously green, the colours of the crowd shone brightly and he wanted to hug the Hawks players as they took their positions on the ground.

Stevic adjudicated the toss. "Do you have the double headed coin I gave you ?" he whispered to the terrified fan, whose family were being held at knife point under the stands of Waverley Park. Hodge called heads. "Heads it is" cried Stevic, before the coin had even touched the ground. Macca was disappointed at not having another chance to point. He liked pointing. He was the best pointer in the game. He had wanted his team mates to nick name him Sharky (the great White Pointer) but instead they had named him after a soggy fat-laden hamburger. He shuffled back to the huddle to give his team one last telling off. "OK guys. Today I want you all to have fun. Don't get hurt. Don't let their dirty tactics get you angry. Don't risk breaking a nail in a tackle. We're here to chase our tails" Most of the guys laughed. Buddy tried to inject some seriousness. "Get in their guys and hurt them. Let's hit them with everything we have. Leave nothing in the tank". Jack was surprised at his aggressive tone. "Whoa Big Buds. That's way too heavy. Why can't we just be friends ?" Most of the team nodded. Goodes pointed to a girl in the crowd. "Oh look, there's my cousin" said Goodes. No-one cared.

The whistle blew and it was game on. Parker noticed daisies growing around the centre square. He bent down to pick one up. Stevic blew his whistle. "No picking daisies". Parker dropped it in surprise. "That'll be fifty" smirked Stevic. "Dang" thought Hanners. "Soft free. And I so wanted to pick some myself". In the forward line Buddy took an enormous hit from Lake. "You filthy mongrel C&%t, die, die die" screamed Lake as he repeatedly drove his elbow into the back of Buddy's head. Stevic awarded a free. Lake took it and put the Hawks on the offensive. Breust marked inside 50. He started to bite into the ball. "Die, you leather C&$t, die" he screamed at the ball. Stevic awarded fifty against the ball. As play resumed Jetta was crunched head high on the half back flank. He lay on the ground as if dazed. His teammates immediately went over to remonstrate with him. "How come you get to lie down ?" asked McGlynn. "It's not fair, now you get to go for a nap in the rooms". Horse picked up the phone. "You idiots" he screamed. "I told you no contact. Do you want to hurt yourselves even before the 2015 season begins ?". Jetta asked sheepishly, "Do I have to go back on ?". "But we need your speed", said Horse. "Can't you just say I have concussion ?" pleaded Jetta. "Ok", said Horse, "we'll give Birdy a run. He'll like that". Bird jumped at the chance. Immediately he got in under and angry. He laid tackles, he grabbed contested possessions, he smashed into bodies. "Steady on Craig" pointed Macca. "You'll hurt yourself"

With the game entering the final quarter Jack addressed the players. "Come on guys" he pleaded. "Do it for Goodes". The players raised their heads as one and McGlynn spoke for all of them when he said "OK, just one more verse". They launched into a wonderful rendition of "Old King Cole". Bud held his head in his hands. "What the f%^k is wrong with you people ?" he groaned. "Now don't be a sore loser" chided Macca, pointing at him.

In the Hawks huddle Langford had lost it. He was trying to gnaw Hodges ear off. Clarko held him while Rioli slipped the straight-jacket over his head. "Just hang in their guys" he beseeched them. "One more quarter and we have the cup. A cup filled with the blood of Swans". "Really ?" asked Hale, his eyes mad with blood lust. "Really" said Clarko (for he'd slaughtered a few at the Botanical Gardens just that morning). "Mitchell", called Breust. "Stop humping the ground". Mitchell was indeed humping the ground. He had tried to hump pretty much everything that day. Now he may even get to hump the cup. He smiled. The purple powder affected everyone differently.

As the Swans folded in the last quarter (to a cheery rendition of "Little Miss Muffet" led by co-captains Jack & Macca) the effects of the drugs began to wear off. "I can't understand why we didn't play the sort of football we normally play" said a bemused Macca to the assembled press. Horse looked dazed. "Did we really sing nursery rhymes ?" he asked Buddy. Buds was pissed off but Goodes was beginning to suspect foul play. "How many of you thought your porridge was off this morning ?" he asked. All but five raised their hands. Macca pointed at Mrs Horse. "Your fault" he yelled at her, frantically waving his arms. "More commitment. I want more commitment". Dane sulked next to Hanners. He was so dejected he could barely adjust his hair for the cameras.

Over at the cup giving ceremony Mitchell had found himself humping the cup. "What the .... ?" he suddenly realised the Australian press were watching him. "Er...just really pleased to have won", he said sheepishly. "Did we win ?" asked Gunston. "I can't remember a thing". Clarko smirked. He'd have to replay the game to them a few times so they'd remember it. That night he dropped the bag of drugs into Hird's letter box, called ASADA anonymously and slipped a fat envelope to Stevic. "What the f&%k were you guys on ?" asked Stevic. "Just a little inspiration from Hirdy" replied Clarko.
Click to expand...

Great stuff bungee always good for a laugh just so you know your writing talent is appreciated here especially in the down times..
 
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