ponsdale
Premiership Player
Sydney Swans - Jake Lloyd 2020 Player Sponsor
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Melbourne Demons - Katherine Smith AFLW Player Sponsor 2018
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Melbourne Demons - Ben Kennedy Player Sponsor 2017
Melbourne Demons - Katherine Smith AFLW Player Sponsor 2017
Sydney Swans - George Hewett Player Sponsor 2017
Sitting on the couch late on Sunday afternoon watching the Demons test the strength of my love for them, my mobile started buzzing beside me. The texts were coming in thick and fast. I glanced down knowing I could comfortably group them into two categories: a) from my two brothers at the MCG starting to drown their sorrows or b) from “mates” taking every opportunity to sink the boot in.
But there was one that caught my eye, one number that hadn’t pulled a name out of my contact’s list, one unrecognised number. I paused thinking it was likely to be an unsolicited sales pitch, may be for a caravan or some type of life insurance. But it was just enough of an unknown to distract me from Bruce’s special commentary.
“Pons, I know you’re in Sydney. The Demons need your help. Call me – Striker475”
Three sentences; so many questions.
Who was this Striker? How did he know where I lived? And as I watched Watts drop a chest-mark in the forward pocket, what could I possibly do to help?
With a mix or trepidation and curiosity, I picked up the phone and hit dial.
“Did you watch the Weagles game?” Striker launched straight in without formality.
“I taped it and am watching it now. I’m about 3 hours behind live” I replied.
“Let me just put you on speaker, I’ve called a war conference here at the pub with Biff, Captain Jack and TPM.” There was a clunk as Striker dropped his phone on the table and the loud jangles of pokies and the call of a greyhound race filled the phone line.
“Ahh, the ‘brains trust’ of Big Footy, no wonder there are anorexic zombies around Jolimont” I said sarcastically.
But Striker ploughed on oblivious. “It’s clear the Demons just can’t find their way to the goals. We have a real fear that they may not even be able to find their way to the ground in Sydney next weekend.” The more Striker spoke, the more I heard the terror coming through in his voice.
Then a new voice chimed in.
“Can you play chaperone and make sure that the get to the ground?”. To room at the other end seemed to fall silent as the plea wavered towards me. I guess I’ll never know who it was that thought I was the right person for this task. “The Dees land on Saturday. Make it happen.” And then just silence…
-------------------
On the Saturday afternoon, as I neared the end of my third pint at the Coopers Ale House in Sydney airport, I contemplated why the 2pm the flight was empty. Striker had confirmed the details with Brad Miller. At least he had told me that he had. But I decided to wait at the airport in case there had been some kind of mix-up. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a phalanx of red and blue wandering around in a couple of groups.
I started to recognise a few faces. It looked like Howe was leading a couple of youngsters into the Coach Leatherware store and I could see another group following Frawley into the Carry On store.
“This is worse than I thought,” I said to no one in particular and leapt out into the walkway to head off another stray Demon from wandering into the Blue Illusion shop. “This could end in tears”.
It was only once I was started to corral them in the Black Tonic espresso bar that I noticed every second player was carrying a fold up set of stairs. I grabbed Blease: “what’s with the stairs?”.
“There’s no one tall enough left in the team to put our luggage in the overhead compartment!”
Fair enough, but a bit of drastic solution.
So I changed tack. “Oi. Bail. Why weren’t you on the scheduled flight?”
“Pedersen put his hand up to drive the mini-bus out to the airport and we ended up at Avalon on a long and searching drive” came the reply.
“Ok, let me have a chat to Roosy and I straighten this all out”.
“But Roosy and the other coaches took an earlier flight. Something about forward scouting our opposition” said Bail. “Although I don’t know why they need to understand how our opposition play?”
-------------------
Sunday morning and I’m standing next to the team bus at the Ibis hotel in Darling Harbour. I’d given them all strict instructions to be in the foyer at 8:30am. So far only Georgiou and Nate Jones had showed up.
“Typical” I muttered.
I could see someone in a team shirt arguing with the hotel desk clerk. It kind of looked like Dunn, but a pale imitation of him without a moustache.
A group of confused western Sydney school girls was milling outside. Probably come in from the suburbs on an excursion. Yes, some people think it’s that far out that they need to stay in a hotel overnight. Viney broke through the middle of the pack and charged straight up to me. “George Stone told me to take over, out of my way” as I bounced off his forearm and almost into the cargo hold under the bus. Several young Demons were drawn along in his slipstream.
I took a few minutes to regain my composure and by the time I had reached the top of the steps, the bus was full. At least we’ll have enough blokes to field a team. Of more concern was that Trengove and Grimes were politely trying debate over programing the GPS. I would have left them to sort it out but I noticed that they were trying to key in the SCG.
“Listen you two. Sit down and let me sort it out. Don’t you realise that you’re not playing the Swans?” My temperate was rising with each trial.
Then the suggestions started coming in thick and fast from the group:
“Greater Western Sydney!” came the cry from Kent.
At we’d least we’re headed in the right general direction, I thought.
“Sheedy Stadium!” another wild suggestion from Fitzpatrick.
He was good for the game, but not that good.
“Skoda Stadium!” yelled Jamar.
“Stop living in the past, Mark” I replied.
“Mumble mumble mumble”. There was a quiet squeak from the centre of the bus.
“What’s that Tyson? Speak up son” I barked.
“Soulless, err I mean Spotless Stadium at Homebush” muttered Tyson, quietly rocking in his seat, his head twitching from side to side.
“That’s it, Tyson knows where this team needs to go. Now jump on board and follow his lead…..”
GWS by 22
But there was one that caught my eye, one number that hadn’t pulled a name out of my contact’s list, one unrecognised number. I paused thinking it was likely to be an unsolicited sales pitch, may be for a caravan or some type of life insurance. But it was just enough of an unknown to distract me from Bruce’s special commentary.
“Pons, I know you’re in Sydney. The Demons need your help. Call me – Striker475”
Three sentences; so many questions.
Who was this Striker? How did he know where I lived? And as I watched Watts drop a chest-mark in the forward pocket, what could I possibly do to help?
With a mix or trepidation and curiosity, I picked up the phone and hit dial.
“Did you watch the Weagles game?” Striker launched straight in without formality.
“I taped it and am watching it now. I’m about 3 hours behind live” I replied.
“Let me just put you on speaker, I’ve called a war conference here at the pub with Biff, Captain Jack and TPM.” There was a clunk as Striker dropped his phone on the table and the loud jangles of pokies and the call of a greyhound race filled the phone line.
“Ahh, the ‘brains trust’ of Big Footy, no wonder there are anorexic zombies around Jolimont” I said sarcastically.
But Striker ploughed on oblivious. “It’s clear the Demons just can’t find their way to the goals. We have a real fear that they may not even be able to find their way to the ground in Sydney next weekend.” The more Striker spoke, the more I heard the terror coming through in his voice.
Then a new voice chimed in.
“Can you play chaperone and make sure that the get to the ground?”. To room at the other end seemed to fall silent as the plea wavered towards me. I guess I’ll never know who it was that thought I was the right person for this task. “The Dees land on Saturday. Make it happen.” And then just silence…
-------------------
On the Saturday afternoon, as I neared the end of my third pint at the Coopers Ale House in Sydney airport, I contemplated why the 2pm the flight was empty. Striker had confirmed the details with Brad Miller. At least he had told me that he had. But I decided to wait at the airport in case there had been some kind of mix-up. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a phalanx of red and blue wandering around in a couple of groups.
I started to recognise a few faces. It looked like Howe was leading a couple of youngsters into the Coach Leatherware store and I could see another group following Frawley into the Carry On store.
“This is worse than I thought,” I said to no one in particular and leapt out into the walkway to head off another stray Demon from wandering into the Blue Illusion shop. “This could end in tears”.
It was only once I was started to corral them in the Black Tonic espresso bar that I noticed every second player was carrying a fold up set of stairs. I grabbed Blease: “what’s with the stairs?”.
“There’s no one tall enough left in the team to put our luggage in the overhead compartment!”
Fair enough, but a bit of drastic solution.
So I changed tack. “Oi. Bail. Why weren’t you on the scheduled flight?”
“Pedersen put his hand up to drive the mini-bus out to the airport and we ended up at Avalon on a long and searching drive” came the reply.
“Ok, let me have a chat to Roosy and I straighten this all out”.
“But Roosy and the other coaches took an earlier flight. Something about forward scouting our opposition” said Bail. “Although I don’t know why they need to understand how our opposition play?”
-------------------
Sunday morning and I’m standing next to the team bus at the Ibis hotel in Darling Harbour. I’d given them all strict instructions to be in the foyer at 8:30am. So far only Georgiou and Nate Jones had showed up.
“Typical” I muttered.
I could see someone in a team shirt arguing with the hotel desk clerk. It kind of looked like Dunn, but a pale imitation of him without a moustache.
A group of confused western Sydney school girls was milling outside. Probably come in from the suburbs on an excursion. Yes, some people think it’s that far out that they need to stay in a hotel overnight. Viney broke through the middle of the pack and charged straight up to me. “George Stone told me to take over, out of my way” as I bounced off his forearm and almost into the cargo hold under the bus. Several young Demons were drawn along in his slipstream.
I took a few minutes to regain my composure and by the time I had reached the top of the steps, the bus was full. At least we’ll have enough blokes to field a team. Of more concern was that Trengove and Grimes were politely trying debate over programing the GPS. I would have left them to sort it out but I noticed that they were trying to key in the SCG.
“Listen you two. Sit down and let me sort it out. Don’t you realise that you’re not playing the Swans?” My temperate was rising with each trial.
Then the suggestions started coming in thick and fast from the group:
“Greater Western Sydney!” came the cry from Kent.
At we’d least we’re headed in the right general direction, I thought.
“Sheedy Stadium!” another wild suggestion from Fitzpatrick.
He was good for the game, but not that good.
“Skoda Stadium!” yelled Jamar.
“Stop living in the past, Mark” I replied.
“Mumble mumble mumble”. There was a quiet squeak from the centre of the bus.
“What’s that Tyson? Speak up son” I barked.
“Soulless, err I mean Spotless Stadium at Homebush” muttered Tyson, quietly rocking in his seat, his head twitching from side to side.
“That’s it, Tyson knows where this team needs to go. Now jump on board and follow his lead…..”
GWS by 22
