Deestroy
Norm Smith Medallist
AFL Premiership Round 21
Port Adelaide V Melbourne
--------- V ---------
________________________________________________________
Sunday Aug 22
AAMI Stadium 12:40 PM (Local Time) 1:10 PM (EST Time)
Adelaide Forecast Adelaide Radar
Ladder:
Season Win/Loss
Port Adelaide V Melbourne
________________________________________________________
Sunday Aug 22
AAMI Stadium 12:40 PM (Local Time) 1:10 PM (EST Time)
Adelaide Forecast Adelaide Radar
Ladder:
Season Win/Loss
The Melbourne Perspective:
I was sitting in the Railway Hotel at Bunyip with my old mate, YouDon’tKnowJack. There was too much Melbourne Bitter in both of us. Indeed, the session was starting to turn into a bender. Sooner or later we were going to hit the beer-nuts and that, in itself, was an abyss.
“Mate,” I grumbled, “I’m knackered this week.”
“What do you mean?” YDKJ asked with a yawn.
“What am I supposed t o write about Port Power?” I stared gloomily into my half-empty glass. “While I much prefer them to the Crowbots – at least they’re a genuine football club - they’re still a pretty boring lot. I’ve already got the Norf preview in my head but nothing comes to mind when I think about Poort.”
YDKJ ordered another round and then piped up.
“Why don’t you do the rounds of the alumni of both clubs? It’s worked in other previews.”
I screwed up my face.
“Who ‘s there? Matthew Bishop? Deestroy would shot me on the spot.”
“Think harder Biff! What about Byron Pickett?”
“That’s better’” I said after a pause, “but he could be anywhere. Hell, he might even be driving around with the Bush Mechanics – all power to him! Besides, to what degree was he really one of ours? Colonel Sanders nuked his career in 2007.”
“What about Chokko? He’s a bit of the Human-Headliner! Hey – his tie from the 2004 Grand Final would be worth a bit of money on e-Bay!”
I shook my head. Fair dinkum.
“CBF, Jack. CBF. Could not be . . . . . . .”
The door opened and Teresa Palmer strolled in - the number one Ticket-Holder at Port Power. Infected by Yellow Fever though I am – and happily married as well - I have to say that she was looking sensational. She ticked all the boxes –with sassiness in spades. Thankfully, she was unaccompanied by Russell Brand. The old timers at the bar swung around in unison. Mesmerised, YDKJ sat there in awe.
“Hi Biff, how are you going? It’s been a while,” she whispered sultrily. She gave me a warm peck on the cheek and sat down beside us. Haltingly, I introduce her to YDKJ.
“Teresa, what brings you to the Railway Hotel here in Bunyip?” I asked. “Mulholland Drive in Hollywood it aint!”
“I have been reading your previews, Biff, and I wanted to participate,” she said brightly. “You missed the mark on the Adelaide preview but your form has been reasonable since then. Tell Deestroy to go easy on you! You might get a contract extension for 2011!”
Upon saying these words, she put both hands behind her head and stretched. Now I have always been a sucker for this gesture. A tsunami swept through my interior; all I could do was cling, life-raft style, to the remnants of my common sense. Oh, to walk on the surface of the sun – and how close it lay! As it slowly passed, I noticed that YDKJ’s knuckles had gone white as they clenched his pot of MB.
“Fair enough,” I replied falteringly. “You know your football. How do you see the match playing out, Teresa?”
For the next ten minutes or so she spoke authoritatively on Primus and his impact on the playing group. Most of what she said, however, ran off like rain on cement. I glanced at YDKJ: the sweat was pouring down his forehead like a ruptured hydrant. With glee, I kicked him under the table.
“On my part,” I responded at last, “I’m glad to see Jay Schulz starting to shine. Richo had a ‘Plugger Effect’ on the Tigers and he inadvertently impeded the development of the players around him such as Jay. Like Rodan, he was an astute pick up by the Power.”
She nodded her head.
“Yes indeed. And have you noticed that Westhoff is playing like a man possessed?”
It was not hard to be mesmerised by Theresa, both in terms of software and hardware. She radiated light AND heat. As I sat there trying to keep my vision above her shoulders – and in doing so I was markedly more successful than my drinking-mate - I mused to myself: being a Teresa Palmer clearly thumps being the fat chick at Red Rooter but it doesn’t make life easy. All women, even Helen of Troy, eventually turn into Old Bags and Teresa was no exemption. Her demise would be all the greater. All flesh is as grass, it withers and fades . . . . .
We spoke and giggled for the next hour or so. Near midnight, she glanced over at the nearby clock – were its hands pointing to something more elusive than time? – and stood up.
“Biff,” she whispered softly with her arms by her side. “I have to go. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
At that point, I felt like one of the Pommy batsmen about to face Thommo in his prime. By nodding my head, the yorker was evicted.
“Teresa,” I spluttered. “I need a tip for the week. Who will win: the Dees or Poort?”
“At home,” she whispered, “I will have to go with Port by 25 points. How can I say otherwise?”
Much like Halley’s Comet, she disappeared into the night – and who was to say if she would ever return. Wearily, I turned back to YDKJ.
“Mate, our season is over but I am pretty sure our boys want to win this game. I reckon the Dees by 5 points. Now pass me some beer-nuts!”
Biffinator.