Carbine Chaos
See My Chess
- Apr 1, 2009
- 64,219
- 95,012
- AFL Club
- West Coast
- Other Teams
- Perth FC, Everton, Delhi
- Thread starter
- #26
"How are you feeling, champ?"
"Not bad, Duggo. I mean the swelling has gone down...but that weird rash just won't clear off my saggy..."
"Not you, Paddy, FFS. Lamby!"
McGinnity scowled before jogging away from our hero and down the wing of the empty Domain Stadium. Before he had gone too far, he bumped into young Will Maginness, carefully folding up a piece of paper to place into his pocket. "Whatcha got there, Will? Looks important!"
The skinny lad looked away, instantly wary. McGinnity wasn't known as the Honey Badger for no reason - he burrowed at the bottom of packs for hard ball gets, made excellent videos but on an infrequent basis that infuriated his supporter base, and he hunted in pairs during the mating season. He was sneaky, sly if you will - like a fox, or Dodoro at the trade table. "Oh...this? Nothing, really. Just a subscription to Embers' new cooking magazine."
Patrick knew this was a lie. Not only had Embley's magazine been a complete flop, being beaten out by Jonathan Giles' travel magazine Around Australia in 80 Jumpers and Chris Masten's fashion blog, but McGinnity also had a sort of sixth sense for when people were lying to him. He had felt it when his dad had told him he was going out for a packet of cigarettes all those years ago. He had felt it when Mitch Clark had told him that he'd meet him at Metros Freo for a night out. He felt it most of all when he read disparaging comments about his game on BigFooty. And he felt it now.
As quick as an Ash he grabbed the paper out of Maginness' hands and held it up. "A contract for 2016? Are you serious?"
The young midfielder snatched the piece of paper back from McGinnity and forced it down into his moon boot. "Yeah...what of it?"
"Oh, just you wait..."
Red flashed in front of McGinnity's eyes, though it just turned out to be Shuey's hideous Peri-Peri haircut bobbing past. The tagger spotted Adam Simpson in close discussions with Daniel Pratt on the edge of the boundary and he quickly made his way over to discuss matters with the senior coach.
"Macca?"
"Took an arrow to the knee," Pratt bemoaned. "Out for the year."
"Browny?"
"Joined his girlfriend's netball team - unavailable."
"Tommy B?"
"Hit by an old lady riding her Walker in Adelaide, won't recover in time."
"McGovern?"
"Fat."
"Jesus."
"Nah mate, he plays for Hawthorn now."
"Uh...Simmo?" McGinnity interjected. "Can I have a word?"
The senior coach narrowed his eyes at Patrick. "Give me a minute, Brad. Can't you see I'm working here? How about Duggo, Pratty? Look at him go...graceful, elegant...like a young Digby Morrell. Surely he'd be up to the job back there?"
The red flush on McGinnity's face quickly changed to a dark shade of purple. Ever since the young Victorian had joined the club, every second word out of Simpson's mouth had been Duggan this, Duggan that. To make matters worse, he couldn't even remember his name! How was he ever going to win a contract if Simmo couldn't remember who he was? Shuffling away with annoyance, his attentions turned towards Duggan, kicking the footy around in the pocket with his usual cronies in Tom Lamb and Jackson Nelson. Look at them there, McGinnity thought to himself. Bunch of entitled fools. If only they had to fight for every game, every possession like me, maybe they would...huh?
McGinnity's eyes focused on the large number 14 on Duggan's back. The jumper looked oddly familiar, as though worn by an ex-teammate. The tri-panel design, which had recently been dispensed with, saw the young midfielder stand out from the crowd as well. Paddy needed answers just as much as he needed a right foot. Running up to the young players, he spoke with an accusing tone.
"Where'd you get that jumper, Duggan? It looks familiar."
"It was Koby's," Duggan revealed as his friends looked on suspiciously. "What's it to you?"
McGinnity shrugged, trying to look as casual as Josh Hill running into an open goal on Grand Final day. "No reason...just interested, is all."
The tagger stepped back and pretended to take part in contested drills, just as Masten was doing, while keeping an eye on Duggan. The young midfielder skipped around Lamb with ease and slotted a goal from the boundary. The other boys, noticing, started to clap and watch in amazement as Duggan continued his masterclass. Nelson tried to tackle him - a decent effort, neither good nor bad - but Duggan managed to evade him eventually and torpedoed a goal from outside the 50. A few more spectacular attempts even brought Simpson over to the crowd, and the man started clapping heartily while Shuey cried softly at his proteges class.
McGinnity should have been furious - at Maginness' contract, at Duggan's arrogance, at the crabs slowly working their way around his freezer at home in preparation for that night's dinner. But all he could focus on was the number 14 on Duggan's special jumper. It seemed to sparkle in the bright sunlight. The number seemed to call out to him, softly, as if in Andrew Gaff's gentle tones.
Patrick...you...um, er, arr...want me...Patrick...um, um, um...come to me...
The jumper, McGinnity thought to himself. It's the jumper!
"My precious..."
TO BE CONTINUED...
"Not bad, Duggo. I mean the swelling has gone down...but that weird rash just won't clear off my saggy..."
"Not you, Paddy, FFS. Lamby!"
McGinnity scowled before jogging away from our hero and down the wing of the empty Domain Stadium. Before he had gone too far, he bumped into young Will Maginness, carefully folding up a piece of paper to place into his pocket. "Whatcha got there, Will? Looks important!"
The skinny lad looked away, instantly wary. McGinnity wasn't known as the Honey Badger for no reason - he burrowed at the bottom of packs for hard ball gets, made excellent videos but on an infrequent basis that infuriated his supporter base, and he hunted in pairs during the mating season. He was sneaky, sly if you will - like a fox, or Dodoro at the trade table. "Oh...this? Nothing, really. Just a subscription to Embers' new cooking magazine."
Patrick knew this was a lie. Not only had Embley's magazine been a complete flop, being beaten out by Jonathan Giles' travel magazine Around Australia in 80 Jumpers and Chris Masten's fashion blog, but McGinnity also had a sort of sixth sense for when people were lying to him. He had felt it when his dad had told him he was going out for a packet of cigarettes all those years ago. He had felt it when Mitch Clark had told him that he'd meet him at Metros Freo for a night out. He felt it most of all when he read disparaging comments about his game on BigFooty. And he felt it now.
As quick as an Ash he grabbed the paper out of Maginness' hands and held it up. "A contract for 2016? Are you serious?"
The young midfielder snatched the piece of paper back from McGinnity and forced it down into his moon boot. "Yeah...what of it?"
"Oh, just you wait..."
Red flashed in front of McGinnity's eyes, though it just turned out to be Shuey's hideous Peri-Peri haircut bobbing past. The tagger spotted Adam Simpson in close discussions with Daniel Pratt on the edge of the boundary and he quickly made his way over to discuss matters with the senior coach.
"Macca?"
"Took an arrow to the knee," Pratt bemoaned. "Out for the year."
"Browny?"
"Joined his girlfriend's netball team - unavailable."
"Tommy B?"
"Hit by an old lady riding her Walker in Adelaide, won't recover in time."
"McGovern?"
"Fat."
"Jesus."
"Nah mate, he plays for Hawthorn now."
"Uh...Simmo?" McGinnity interjected. "Can I have a word?"
The senior coach narrowed his eyes at Patrick. "Give me a minute, Brad. Can't you see I'm working here? How about Duggo, Pratty? Look at him go...graceful, elegant...like a young Digby Morrell. Surely he'd be up to the job back there?"
The red flush on McGinnity's face quickly changed to a dark shade of purple. Ever since the young Victorian had joined the club, every second word out of Simpson's mouth had been Duggan this, Duggan that. To make matters worse, he couldn't even remember his name! How was he ever going to win a contract if Simmo couldn't remember who he was? Shuffling away with annoyance, his attentions turned towards Duggan, kicking the footy around in the pocket with his usual cronies in Tom Lamb and Jackson Nelson. Look at them there, McGinnity thought to himself. Bunch of entitled fools. If only they had to fight for every game, every possession like me, maybe they would...huh?
McGinnity's eyes focused on the large number 14 on Duggan's back. The jumper looked oddly familiar, as though worn by an ex-teammate. The tri-panel design, which had recently been dispensed with, saw the young midfielder stand out from the crowd as well. Paddy needed answers just as much as he needed a right foot. Running up to the young players, he spoke with an accusing tone.
"Where'd you get that jumper, Duggan? It looks familiar."
"It was Koby's," Duggan revealed as his friends looked on suspiciously. "What's it to you?"
McGinnity shrugged, trying to look as casual as Josh Hill running into an open goal on Grand Final day. "No reason...just interested, is all."
The tagger stepped back and pretended to take part in contested drills, just as Masten was doing, while keeping an eye on Duggan. The young midfielder skipped around Lamb with ease and slotted a goal from the boundary. The other boys, noticing, started to clap and watch in amazement as Duggan continued his masterclass. Nelson tried to tackle him - a decent effort, neither good nor bad - but Duggan managed to evade him eventually and torpedoed a goal from outside the 50. A few more spectacular attempts even brought Simpson over to the crowd, and the man started clapping heartily while Shuey cried softly at his proteges class.
McGinnity should have been furious - at Maginness' contract, at Duggan's arrogance, at the crabs slowly working their way around his freezer at home in preparation for that night's dinner. But all he could focus on was the number 14 on Duggan's special jumper. It seemed to sparkle in the bright sunlight. The number seemed to call out to him, softly, as if in Andrew Gaff's gentle tones.
Patrick...you...um, er, arr...want me...Patrick...um, um, um...come to me...
The jumper, McGinnity thought to himself. It's the jumper!
"My precious..."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Last edited: