Deestroy
Norm Smith Medallist
AFL Premiership Round 12
Melbourne V Collingwood
--------- V ---------
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Monday Jun 14
MCG 2:10 PM (Local Time)
Melbourne Forecast Melbourne Radar
Ladder:
Season Win/Loss
Melbourne V Collingwood
________________________________________________________
Monday Jun 14
MCG 2:10 PM (Local Time)
Melbourne Forecast Melbourne Radar
Ladder:
Season Win/Loss
The Melbourne Perspective:
Originally Posted by [NAME]Biffinator[/NAME]
READERS - PLEASE NOTE THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION;
In the interests of symmetry, I decided to visit my old mate Nathan Buckley, particularly as the Queen’s Birthday clash was bearing down upon us. Not only did I want to mine his thoughts on the fixture, but I had heard that his wine collection was second to none.
It is fair to say that Bucks’ new bay-side house is palatial by any standard. The scent of the nearby ocean was apparent as I strode up to the massive security gate and declared my presence.
“Come right in, Biff,” the steely voice rumbled. Seconds later, the gates opened and I strolled in. Bucks himself appeared and nearly crushed every phalange in my right hand with his handshake.
“Nice set of wheels!” I said, pointing to the Mercedes SL 65 AMG that was sitting in the driveway. “Can I take it for a spin?”
Bucks shrugged.
“Biff, to me it is just another means of self-exploration. I just got back from Phillip Island. I rented out the track so I could put it through its paces. Take something that is perfect on paper – such as this car or the physique of the 17 year old Nathan Buckley – push it to the extreme and gauge the results!”
He led me inside.
I walked into an atrium. On either side lay a well-lit trophy cabinet. Copeland Trophies predominated, but I also spotted his Brownlow and Norm Smith medals. Polished up as they were, I was left blinded when some sunlight fell upon them.
“What’s the go here, Bucks?” I asked. “Why don’t you have them on display over at the Lexus Centre? Plenty of people would like to see them up close! You were a great player!”
“No, I am not out to impress anyone, Biff,” he said with a dignified air. “My achievements are inscribed on the public record. People can make up their own minds. I am in and out of the house all day. The silverware is a reminder: that’s the person I was yesterday. That’s the old benchmark. What am I going to do today to surpass it? The journey is not over.”
After a crunching slap on the back, he led me down a couple of corridors.
There was a gym in the house, replete with the latest gear. I also noticed four video-cameras stationed in each of the corners. I drew Bucks’ attention to them. He smiled.
“This is not some big ego-trip - it’s all about self-improvement. Get the technique right and the results will follow. Continuous improvement is a way of life, be it shagging Mrs Bucks or bench-pressing.”
Somewhat to my surprise, there was a library in the house. Sport predominated as a genre. Bucks commented sagely:
“They’re all here: Greg Norman, Michael Schumacher, Vince Lombardi, Norm Smith, Kevin Sheedy, Tiger Woods. They are all my mentors. Have you ever seen that Gillette advertisement: the best a man can get? That was the focus of their lives. They forged a way forward. It is my job to follow.”
He led me out on his massive balcony overlooking the bay.
“Now Biff, you stay here,” he boomed, “while I knock up something in the kitchen. Matt Preston is one of my new mentors, but it is a two-way dialogue. There is an i-pad over there which comes preloaded with my autobiography. Feel free to have a read. It will answer a lot of your questions.”
Bucks strutted into the kitchen. Ignoring his offer, I sat back in my recliner chair and soaked in the early-winter sun. Twenty minutes later, Bucks emerged, bearing an array of platters and a bottle of Chateau Margaux 1978.
“Have you ever heard of a guy called Auden?” I asked out of the blue.
“Who did he play for?” Bucks grunted as he uncorked the bottle.
“He was a poet. He had plenty of gun lines. One of my favourites is this: we are lived by powers that we pretend to understand. Does that resonate with you?”
“Was he referring to electrolytes? They play a big role in our performance.”
“Maybe,” I replied, turning my attention to the meatloaf.
Silence prevailed as we tore into the food. The meal was clearly the work of a talented amateur rather than a Michelin-accredited chef - but it was enjoyable all the same. The wine was masterly.
“Bucks, Collingwood has had a good season,” I stated, refilling the glasses. “They are clearly Top 4 candidates. How do you see the rest of the year panning out for the Maggies?”
“I don’t want to talk about premierships or even finals. It’s all about the actualisation of potential. We are going on a journey together. I don’t know where it will end. Exciting times lie ahead.”
At that moment – disconcertingly – he rolled up his t-shirt and undertook a skin-fold test on himself
“Fair enough. Now Bucks, a lot of people have said that you did not take the job at Norf because of the shit facilities at Oil Drum Lane, the dud playing-list and, of course, less mullah. How do you respond to that?
The Collingwood great furrowed up his brow.
“No - that’s not true at all. I’ve got a lot of respect for the Shinboner spirit – you know, that Glenn Archer stuff. There was a lack of . . . . synergies . . . . . between us. Yes, that’s right: synergies.”
“And what does synergies mean?” I probed.
“Synergies means synergies. Next question please!”
“What is your relationship like with Mick nowadays?”
Bucks bowed his head.
“There is a lot of deep respect between the two of us . . . . . yes, deep respect. We no longer talk about the Master and the Apprentice. The so-called Succession Plan is a misnomer at best. When we’re in the box together, we think with one mind. I call it Ying and Yang, if you know what I mean.”
As we ate, Bucks carefully noted down his intake of carbs, proteins and fat on his i-pad.
The conversation turned to the upcoming match. Bucks spoke confidently about corridor-talls, rotations, hydration-points, efficacious disposals, pseudo ruckmen and penetration-zones but his gobbledegook left me nonplussed.
“Sorry Bucks, but you’ve lost me. Are we talking about a football match or what? Who is going to win and by how much?”
“Maggies by 45 points” he rumbled.
The sunlight dimmed faintly. Afternoon was upon us.
“Bucks, it is not hard to be impressed by what you have achieved,” I commented with a wave of my hand. “But here is the real question: the obvious stuff aside, do you have any regrets?”
A stony expression came to his face.
“I wish I had served Australia in wartime like Father Bucks and Grandfather Bucks – and perhaps won a Victoria Cross or two. I have been to Lone Pine and the Nek – I wanted to claw back the ninety-five years and grab a Gat. Alternatively, it would have been great to have participated in the NASA space-race in the 1960s. They talk about the Right Stuff. I am pretty sure I could have stepped up to the plate.”
As Bucks was undertaking another skin-fold test, a little bird flew over and pecked at some of the crumbs. A verse came to mind: can you not buy two sparrows for a farthing? It was time to leave.
“Bucks, I don’t need to wish you well since you seem to have everything under control. “
His mobile phone rang at that point. It was Harry O’Brien.
“Biff, would you mind showing yourself out? I am mentoring this guy. It’s time to have a chat. Drop in again soon!”
Thus ended the day. Bucks said the Maggies by 45 points. Me, I believe that the Demons will prevail over the Great Enemy by one point.
Biffinator (with a nod to SLF)










