Biffinator
Norm Smith Medallist
Comrades - for whatever el cheapo reason my previews of matches against the Tigers have attracted a degree of notoriety. I would like to think this is one of the fairer of my efforts in this domain - and all the more so as I have immense respect for the Richmond Football Club
Goaded by their own self-loathing, I suspect that some of our Richmond visitors will not be able to help themselves. The Moderators will allow banter - a key word - in this thread (alone). Unsubtle abuse will invoke holiday-time.
“Today,” I declared to my team, “is the most important day of our lives. Today – with apologies to the Carlton Cheats - we will broadcast to the world that the Richmond Football Club is the biggest piece of excrement in existence – and in doing so, we will exacerbate the self-loathing that lies at the heart of every single Richmond supporter!”
My team listened on via Skype.
“Biff, we’re ready to go here at the Happy Sausage Rainbow Hotel!” Raoul screeched in a high-pitched voice. Raoul bats for the ‘other side’ but we are a tolerant and inclusive club here at the Dees.
“That’s good to know mate, because our little friend is coming your way first. You know what to do. I want footage from each of you! You all know the sequence. Just make it happen!”
That said, I ended the session and dialled Dusty Martin’s mobile number. After a couple of rings, he answered in his usual catatonic fashion.
“Hellllllo! Grrrrrrr!.”
“Hi Dusty, it’s Brendon Gale here,” I said in my best impersonation ever. “You know, the President of the Mighty Tigers. Sorry if I have interrupted something, like your mum rubbing those fake tatts onto your neck with a twenty cent piece. What are you doing today pre-match?”
“Errrrrrr, not much. I was gonna play with my x-Box and help Lids dye his hair again. That guy is a real fashion icon! Grrrrr!”
“How fascinating. Now Dusty, we need you. Some of our sponsors have asked us to lend them a hand today. Are you up to it?”
“Yeah, sure Benny. What do I have to do? Grrrrr!”
“OK – that’s good to hear. Now get your arse down to the Happy Sausage Rainbow Hotel. The Richmond Football Club is at the forefront of the battle against prostate cancer.”
“Really? Grrrrr!”
“Dusty, billions of Australian guys die from it every year. One can never be too young to have a check up. Just go to there and asked for Raoul. We want you to publicise the cause! There’ll be some intrusive medical procedures involved but I am sure you can handle it. We’re gonna film it too. Once you’re finished there, gimme a ring and it’s onto the next sponsor!”
“Yeah, no worries Benny! I’ll speak to you afterwards – grrrr!”
I spent the next hour or so pacing around the office. I was finally put out of my misery when the mobile rang.
“Hi Benny. It’s Dusty here. I’m right to go. What’s next? Grrrr!”
“Hang on, how did you get on with the prostate check-up?”
“It’s was a bit funny. They tried this new technique on me where the quack had a hand on each of me shoulders as he checked out me prostate. I’m feeling OK but a bit gooey. Grrrrr!”
“Mate, you are a hero! OK, second up, I want you to drive over to Harvey Normans at Knifepoint Shopping Centre. You must have heard that moronic Richmond supporter on the radio – Mario from Doncaster - who is always microwaving his membership card. Well, the marketing department at Punt Road has developed a microwave-proof membership card. Ask for Nathan. He’ll give you an apron and what not – we’re gonna make a commercial to publicise its launch.”
“Yeah, no worries Benny. Sounds like fun – grrrrr!”
I spent the next hour staring at the clock. Sure enough, Dusty rang through on the mobile and reported success with the latest venture. A microwave, painted in yellow and black, had demonstrated the resilence of the new membership card over the old. It was time to move onto the third challenge.
“Dusty, as you yourself know, Richmond supporters love to spit – on you the players as you hobble up the race after a pounding; on each other and on themselves when their self-hatred goes off the Richter scale. We have to stop this practice. It is disgusting. Not even the pooches of the Port supporters exhibit this filthy behaviour. Now, it is a little known fact that there is a high calorific value to human spittle. We want to put the spittle of Richmond supporters to good use. We have developed a variant of the internal combustion engine that runs on spittle. I want you to head on down to Bartlett Motors and speak to my old friend Con. He’s got the prototype – the ‘Richo Rocket’ in the yard. Grab some chewy and work up some gorbies in your mouth – we’re gonna make an educational doco for the Richmond supporters with the aim of changing their behaviour. Here’s the schedule: we’re gonna film you doing all the bad things first – like imagining it is VFL Park back in 1991 and spitting on yourself – followed by the good things – like spitting into the petrol-tank. Reckon you can do it, Dusty? Cometh the hour, cometh the man?”
The star midfielder replied in the affirmative. That allowed me to weed the garden for the next hour or so. At that point I grabbed the mobile and rang Dusty.
“Mate, it’s Benny here. How did the doco get on?”
“No worries at all. I even had a drive of the Richo Rocket. It runs a bit rough but it’s a dream ride! Richmond supporters saving the planet - right on ! Grrrrr!”
“Dusty, you are a star,” I purred as the third video-file showed up in my Inbox. “The Richmond Football Club is proud of you. Now get to the ground and have a big one for the Mighty Tigers.”
“Grrrrr!”
The big match was upon us. Ever so deftly, my IT experts hacked into the MCG’s scoreboard and progressively played each of the three videos, accompanied by the livery and theme song of the mighty Richmond Football Club. What a larf it was. Goaded beyond endurance, the Richmond supporters turned on each like wild animals. Even the Richmond Grog Squad surpassed themselves in their bestial treatment of one another. Yes indeed: a streak of self-loathing lies at the heart of every Richmond supporter and it is a wonder to behold.
Dees by 95 points.
Goaded by their own self-loathing, I suspect that some of our Richmond visitors will not be able to help themselves. The Moderators will allow banter - a key word - in this thread (alone). Unsubtle abuse will invoke holiday-time.
“Today,” I declared to my team, “is the most important day of our lives. Today – with apologies to the Carlton Cheats - we will broadcast to the world that the Richmond Football Club is the biggest piece of excrement in existence – and in doing so, we will exacerbate the self-loathing that lies at the heart of every single Richmond supporter!”
My team listened on via Skype.
“Biff, we’re ready to go here at the Happy Sausage Rainbow Hotel!” Raoul screeched in a high-pitched voice. Raoul bats for the ‘other side’ but we are a tolerant and inclusive club here at the Dees.
“That’s good to know mate, because our little friend is coming your way first. You know what to do. I want footage from each of you! You all know the sequence. Just make it happen!”
That said, I ended the session and dialled Dusty Martin’s mobile number. After a couple of rings, he answered in his usual catatonic fashion.
“Hellllllo! Grrrrrrr!.”
“Hi Dusty, it’s Brendon Gale here,” I said in my best impersonation ever. “You know, the President of the Mighty Tigers. Sorry if I have interrupted something, like your mum rubbing those fake tatts onto your neck with a twenty cent piece. What are you doing today pre-match?”
“Errrrrrr, not much. I was gonna play with my x-Box and help Lids dye his hair again. That guy is a real fashion icon! Grrrrr!”
“How fascinating. Now Dusty, we need you. Some of our sponsors have asked us to lend them a hand today. Are you up to it?”
“Yeah, sure Benny. What do I have to do? Grrrrr!”
“OK – that’s good to hear. Now get your arse down to the Happy Sausage Rainbow Hotel. The Richmond Football Club is at the forefront of the battle against prostate cancer.”
“Really? Grrrrr!”
“Dusty, billions of Australian guys die from it every year. One can never be too young to have a check up. Just go to there and asked for Raoul. We want you to publicise the cause! There’ll be some intrusive medical procedures involved but I am sure you can handle it. We’re gonna film it too. Once you’re finished there, gimme a ring and it’s onto the next sponsor!”
“Yeah, no worries Benny! I’ll speak to you afterwards – grrrr!”
I spent the next hour or so pacing around the office. I was finally put out of my misery when the mobile rang.
“Hi Benny. It’s Dusty here. I’m right to go. What’s next? Grrrr!”
“Hang on, how did you get on with the prostate check-up?”
“It’s was a bit funny. They tried this new technique on me where the quack had a hand on each of me shoulders as he checked out me prostate. I’m feeling OK but a bit gooey. Grrrrr!”
“Mate, you are a hero! OK, second up, I want you to drive over to Harvey Normans at Knifepoint Shopping Centre. You must have heard that moronic Richmond supporter on the radio – Mario from Doncaster - who is always microwaving his membership card. Well, the marketing department at Punt Road has developed a microwave-proof membership card. Ask for Nathan. He’ll give you an apron and what not – we’re gonna make a commercial to publicise its launch.”
“Yeah, no worries Benny. Sounds like fun – grrrrr!”
I spent the next hour staring at the clock. Sure enough, Dusty rang through on the mobile and reported success with the latest venture. A microwave, painted in yellow and black, had demonstrated the resilence of the new membership card over the old. It was time to move onto the third challenge.
“Dusty, as you yourself know, Richmond supporters love to spit – on you the players as you hobble up the race after a pounding; on each other and on themselves when their self-hatred goes off the Richter scale. We have to stop this practice. It is disgusting. Not even the pooches of the Port supporters exhibit this filthy behaviour. Now, it is a little known fact that there is a high calorific value to human spittle. We want to put the spittle of Richmond supporters to good use. We have developed a variant of the internal combustion engine that runs on spittle. I want you to head on down to Bartlett Motors and speak to my old friend Con. He’s got the prototype – the ‘Richo Rocket’ in the yard. Grab some chewy and work up some gorbies in your mouth – we’re gonna make an educational doco for the Richmond supporters with the aim of changing their behaviour. Here’s the schedule: we’re gonna film you doing all the bad things first – like imagining it is VFL Park back in 1991 and spitting on yourself – followed by the good things – like spitting into the petrol-tank. Reckon you can do it, Dusty? Cometh the hour, cometh the man?”
The star midfielder replied in the affirmative. That allowed me to weed the garden for the next hour or so. At that point I grabbed the mobile and rang Dusty.
“Mate, it’s Benny here. How did the doco get on?”
“No worries at all. I even had a drive of the Richo Rocket. It runs a bit rough but it’s a dream ride! Richmond supporters saving the planet - right on ! Grrrrr!”
“Dusty, you are a star,” I purred as the third video-file showed up in my Inbox. “The Richmond Football Club is proud of you. Now get to the ground and have a big one for the Mighty Tigers.”
“Grrrrr!”
The big match was upon us. Ever so deftly, my IT experts hacked into the MCG’s scoreboard and progressively played each of the three videos, accompanied by the livery and theme song of the mighty Richmond Football Club. What a larf it was. Goaded beyond endurance, the Richmond supporters turned on each like wild animals. Even the Richmond Grog Squad surpassed themselves in their bestial treatment of one another. Yes indeed: a streak of self-loathing lies at the heart of every Richmond supporter and it is a wonder to behold.
Dees by 95 points.
