Player Watch #9: Luke Davies-Uniacke - signs until end 2025! Runner up in the 2022 Syd Barker Medal Award

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You and I both ferbs, and the daughters' teenage years lie ahead to age us rapidly as well. :thumbsu:

I know - something to look forward to...:drunk:

I've had offers from people with shotguns and the odd excavator operator who doesn't mind burying teenage boys already.
 
I've had offers from people with shotguns and the odd excavator operator who doesn't mind burying teenage boys already.

Get him straight to work on the moat in the interim.

Not teenage lads like you of course LDU.
 

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There was a game, I can't remember now if it was against West Coast or Adelaide, but it was a few years ago and we were up by **** all with not long remaining. From memory the ball was at a boundary throw in deep in our defensive 50. Swallow proceeded to win 3 or 4 clearances in a row and single handedly forced the ball towards our half forward flank and we won the game. His efforts had my mates texting me in awe of his sheer will to win the contest and his leadership in seeing out the win.

I remember that game. He moved it up the wing at Etihad in front of where me and the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen stand and offer our trademark wit and wisdom on proceedings. One of the finest passages of play ever by a person wearing a North jumper. Ever. In my top five things I've seen a North player do. That includes Carey's mark and subsequent goal from 65 at the Western Oval, and Boomer's three goals in five minutes to smash Essendon into tiny pieces with his bare hands.

Subsequent to that game, me and a key member of the League went out and got hammered, as was our way. So hammered I couldn't front for work on Monday, more accurately could have but chose not to as I was in the shits with work.

The Monday morning comes - I was sharing a house with a member of the League in West Melbourne - and some dudes we had forgotten about rock up 10AM to fix the kitchen or some s**t. So we're effectively turfed out of the house.

Being extraordinary gentlemen, we decided the best course of action at 10AM on a Monday morning with shocking hangovers was to go to the casino. We get a Joe Baxi down King Street and within 30 mins had lost our self imposed limit of $250 each at the blackjack and not even got through the two beers required to touch the sides of the hangover.

We were dejectedly walking through the casino wondering what to do when my mate finds a last chip in his pocket, there's a roulette table. We stop to take one wild last waltz in the temple of Gamblor.

"What number should I put it on?" he goes.

"Who was best on yesterday for us?" I go.

"Spitta freakin' Swallow!" he goes.

He places the chip on the number 9, the wheel spins and ladies, gentlemen and Zondors, I s**t you not, the ball landed on number 9.

$800 plus (it was like $875 I think) of rapidly cashed in chips later, we were sitting at a fine establishment on Collins Street having steak lunches and we drank so much I had to take Tuesday off too.

That passage of play by Spitta Swallow, got me two days off work. A great man.
 
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I remember that game. He moved it up the wing at Etihad in front of where me and the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen stand and offer our trademark wit and wisdom on proceedings. One of the finest passages of play ever by a person wearing a North jumper. Ever. In my top five things I've seen a North player do. That includes Carey's mark and subsequent goal from 65 at the Western Oval, and Boomer's three goals in five minutes to smash Essendon into tiny pieces with his bare hands.

Subsequent to that game, me and a key member of the League went out and got hammered, as was our way. So hammered I couldn't front for work on Monday, more accurately could have but chose not to as I was in the shits with work.

The Monday morning comes - I was sharing a house with a member of the League in West Melbourne - and some dudes we had forgotten about rock up 10AM to fix the kitchen or some s**t. So we're effectively turfed out of the house.

Being extraordinary gentlemen, we decided the best course of action at 10AM on a Monday morning with shocking hangovers was to go to the casino. We get a Joe Baxi down King Street and within 30 mins had lost our self imposed limit of $250 each at the blackjack and not even got through the two beers required to touch the sides of the hangover.

We were dejectedly walking through the casino wondering what to do when my mate finds a last chip in his pocket, there's a roulette table. We stop to take one wild last waltz in the temple of Gamblor.

"What number should I put it on?" he goes.

"Who was best on yesterday for us?" I go.

"Spitta freakin' Swallow!" he goes.

He places the chip on the number 9, the wheel spins and ladies, gentlemen and Zondors, I s**t you not, the ball landed on number 9.

$800 plus (it was like $875 I think) of rapidly cashed in chips later, we were sitting at a fine establishment on Collins Street having steak lunches and we drank so much I had to take Tuesday off too.

That passage of play by Spitta Swallow, got me two days off work. A great man.

Its posts like this that make me long for the next "Rebecca's Journey" epic to appear here or thereabouts.
 
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