boncer34
Formerly "Dos23"
Zombie Lover
Werewolf - Verdant Hollow
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Werewolf - Town of Salem
Sweet F.A. Reigning Premiers - East Side Hawks Season 39 - SFA
Sweet FA 500 Games Played
Essendon Player Sponsor 2022 - Anthony McDonald-Tipungwuti and Archie Perkins
Essendon Player Sponsor 2024 - Archie Perkins and Nic Martin
Boncer34 Declares Hostile Takeover of East Side Hawks Captaincy in Explosive Press Conference
In one of the most chaotic, theatrical, and undeniably entertaining press conferences in Sweet FA history, Boncer34 strode to the podium Monday morning and announced—without invitation, mandate, or apparent hesitation—that he was launching a hostile takeover of the East Side Hawks captaincy.
The backdrop was the Hawks’ disappointing straight-sets exit from the SFA finals series, a collapse that reopened old wounds and prompted questions about leadership, direction, and hunger within the club. But if Hawks supporters were expecting calm reflection or a tempered review of the season, Boncer offered something closer to a political coup blended with stand-up comedy and a touch of professional wrestling heel energy.
“Ladies, gentlemen, haters, doubters, and all who have suffered through this finals series,” Boncer began, resting both hands firmly on the lectern like a man ready to deliver a state-of-the-union address. “The East Side Hawks are no longer a team. They are a hostage of mediocrity. And I—yes, me—am hereby announcing my hostile takeover of the captaincy. Effective immediately.”
Reporters exchanged glances. Phones came out. Someone whispered, “Can he do that?” The answer, judging by Boncer’s posture, was irrelevant. This was not a press conference designed for procedural accuracy. This was theatre, pure and uncut.
Boncer then launched into a blistering critique of what he saw as the source of the Hawks’ downfall.
“And let’s talk about the so-called leadership,” he said, pacing in front of the microphone. “This entire mess, this straight-sets embarrassment, lands squarely at the feet of Tarkyn_24. The man’s been strutting around like he’s still the centre of the universe, like the club should be grateful for his presence, like he personally invented the torpedo punt. Please. The only thing he’s invented lately is new ways to fail at the business end of the season!”
Boncer was warming up now, eyebrows flaring, diction crisp with theatrical indignation.
“You know what the problem is? Tarks is out here living off a legacy older than half the league. He’s basically retired but refuses to admit it. He’s like that guy who keeps showing up to uni tutorials ten years after graduating because he wants people to remember he once got a High Distinction. Well guess what, Tarks—”
A hand suddenly appeared from off-camera and tapped Boncer on the shoulder. A Hawks media assistant leaned in and whispered something into his ear.
Boncer paused.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Was this the moment someone finally reined him in?
Instead, he nodded once, returned to the microphone, and without even resetting his breath continued:
“—Callum_Guns! Yes, that’s right, Callum_Guns, the actual current captain, the man who has somehow escaped accountability despite piloting this aircraft directly into the side of a mountain! Guns, you’ve been asleep at the wheel so long I’m starting to wonder if the Hawks’ leadership box is fitted with recliners and warm milk!”
The pivot was so smooth, so instantaneous, that several reporters began laughing. One dropped their pen.
Boncer pushed on, utterly unbothered.
“You know what the defining quality of a captain should be? Vision. Fire. Authority. And what do we have? A man who leads like he’s unsure whether he even turned up to the game. Guns, my friend, the only time you showed urgency this finals series was when the post-game pizza arrived early.”
Gasps. Laughter. A camera flash.
“And don’t get me started on strategy,” Boncer continued, waving a hand like he was fanning smoke away. “I’ve seen better planning from a toddler stacking wooden blocks. At least they understand the concept of balance and foundation. But with you? With the Hawks? It’s like watching a house of cards collapse in slow motion while the builder shrugs.”
Despite the sharpness of the tirade, Boncer maintained an almost jovial tone, a performer playing his biggest hits for a delighted crowd. Every blow was exaggerated, every criticism dialled up for dramatic effect.
He then planted both palms on the lectern again.
“This club needs leadership that bites back. Leadership that demands excellence. Leadership that refuses to accept the faint smell of resignation that’s been hanging over the Hawks like an expired barbecue chicken. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am stepping forward.”
He straightened up, broadening his stance with the pomp of a conquering general.
“So hear me now: I am launching my hostile takeover. Effective today. Effective yesterday. Effective the moment the Hawks decided going out in straight sets was a lifestyle choice. I don’t need a vote. I don’t need permission. I’m not even sure I need a contract. What I do need is for someone—anyone—in this club to show a pulse. And until they do, I’m taking the reins.”
He paused for dramatic effect.
“Questions?”
Chaos erupted. Reporters shouted over one another. A Hawks official dropped their clipboard. Meanwhile, Boncer34 folded his arms, satisfied, as though the crown had already been placed on his head.
If the Hawks’ season ended in disappointment, their off-season had now begun with fireworks—and a self-appointed captain determined to seize control, one rant at a time.
In one of the most chaotic, theatrical, and undeniably entertaining press conferences in Sweet FA history, Boncer34 strode to the podium Monday morning and announced—without invitation, mandate, or apparent hesitation—that he was launching a hostile takeover of the East Side Hawks captaincy.
The backdrop was the Hawks’ disappointing straight-sets exit from the SFA finals series, a collapse that reopened old wounds and prompted questions about leadership, direction, and hunger within the club. But if Hawks supporters were expecting calm reflection or a tempered review of the season, Boncer offered something closer to a political coup blended with stand-up comedy and a touch of professional wrestling heel energy.
“Ladies, gentlemen, haters, doubters, and all who have suffered through this finals series,” Boncer began, resting both hands firmly on the lectern like a man ready to deliver a state-of-the-union address. “The East Side Hawks are no longer a team. They are a hostage of mediocrity. And I—yes, me—am hereby announcing my hostile takeover of the captaincy. Effective immediately.”
Reporters exchanged glances. Phones came out. Someone whispered, “Can he do that?” The answer, judging by Boncer’s posture, was irrelevant. This was not a press conference designed for procedural accuracy. This was theatre, pure and uncut.
Boncer then launched into a blistering critique of what he saw as the source of the Hawks’ downfall.
“And let’s talk about the so-called leadership,” he said, pacing in front of the microphone. “This entire mess, this straight-sets embarrassment, lands squarely at the feet of Tarkyn_24. The man’s been strutting around like he’s still the centre of the universe, like the club should be grateful for his presence, like he personally invented the torpedo punt. Please. The only thing he’s invented lately is new ways to fail at the business end of the season!”
Boncer was warming up now, eyebrows flaring, diction crisp with theatrical indignation.
“You know what the problem is? Tarks is out here living off a legacy older than half the league. He’s basically retired but refuses to admit it. He’s like that guy who keeps showing up to uni tutorials ten years after graduating because he wants people to remember he once got a High Distinction. Well guess what, Tarks—”
A hand suddenly appeared from off-camera and tapped Boncer on the shoulder. A Hawks media assistant leaned in and whispered something into his ear.
Boncer paused.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Was this the moment someone finally reined him in?
Instead, he nodded once, returned to the microphone, and without even resetting his breath continued:
“—Callum_Guns! Yes, that’s right, Callum_Guns, the actual current captain, the man who has somehow escaped accountability despite piloting this aircraft directly into the side of a mountain! Guns, you’ve been asleep at the wheel so long I’m starting to wonder if the Hawks’ leadership box is fitted with recliners and warm milk!”
The pivot was so smooth, so instantaneous, that several reporters began laughing. One dropped their pen.
Boncer pushed on, utterly unbothered.
“You know what the defining quality of a captain should be? Vision. Fire. Authority. And what do we have? A man who leads like he’s unsure whether he even turned up to the game. Guns, my friend, the only time you showed urgency this finals series was when the post-game pizza arrived early.”
Gasps. Laughter. A camera flash.
“And don’t get me started on strategy,” Boncer continued, waving a hand like he was fanning smoke away. “I’ve seen better planning from a toddler stacking wooden blocks. At least they understand the concept of balance and foundation. But with you? With the Hawks? It’s like watching a house of cards collapse in slow motion while the builder shrugs.”
Despite the sharpness of the tirade, Boncer maintained an almost jovial tone, a performer playing his biggest hits for a delighted crowd. Every blow was exaggerated, every criticism dialled up for dramatic effect.
He then planted both palms on the lectern again.
“This club needs leadership that bites back. Leadership that demands excellence. Leadership that refuses to accept the faint smell of resignation that’s been hanging over the Hawks like an expired barbecue chicken. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am stepping forward.”
He straightened up, broadening his stance with the pomp of a conquering general.
“So hear me now: I am launching my hostile takeover. Effective today. Effective yesterday. Effective the moment the Hawks decided going out in straight sets was a lifestyle choice. I don’t need a vote. I don’t need permission. I’m not even sure I need a contract. What I do need is for someone—anyone—in this club to show a pulse. And until they do, I’m taking the reins.”
He paused for dramatic effect.
“Questions?”
Chaos erupted. Reporters shouted over one another. A Hawks official dropped their clipboard. Meanwhile, Boncer34 folded his arms, satisfied, as though the crown had already been placed on his head.
If the Hawks’ season ended in disappointment, their off-season had now begun with fireworks—and a self-appointed captain determined to seize control, one rant at a time.
