Preview Preview v Swans

[Deestroy]

AFL Premiership Round 17
Melbourne V Sydney Swans

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Sunday Jul 25
MCG 2:10 PM (Local Time)
Melbourne Forecast Melbourne Radar


Ladder:

Season Win/Loss

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The Melbourne Perspective:

Originally Posted by [NAME]Biffinator[/NAME]
Please note this interview is fictitious:

Recently I came across my old Demons jumper from 1985. Nostalgia overwhelmed me. I wore it to Dallas Brooks Hall in 1996 when I screamed all night at Tiger. I don’t remember much about 1985 as a season – who would? Off the top of my head, if was Barassi’s last year at the club, we had a great win over Carlton at the G (Danny Hughes B.O.G.), and there was a certain defection at the end of the season . . . . . . . .

A postie came to the door with a package. I accepted it and took it inside. Inside the parcel was a little black box. I pushed the button and the voice of Deestroy filled the room.

“Biff, get your sorry arse down to the Royal Huntingdale. Gerard Healy is going to play nine rounds with you. This message will self-destruct in sixty seconds.”

Great, I thought sourly to myself. Gerard Healy: Mister Perfect. The antipodean George Clooney. The Sandbelt King. The man with the perfect hair, the perfect looks, the perfect job, the perfect wife, the perfect family; the perfect investments; the perfect lifestyle, the perfect . . . .

The black box started to beep. I darted over to the bathroom and flushed it down the dunny. Twenty seconds later, there was an explosion further down the road.

Slipping on my ‘aerated’ Dunlop volleys, I drove over to Royal Huntingdale. Not having a set of clubs myself, I hired them from the pro-shop: the usual shithouse 3, 5, 7, a pitching wedge, a putter and a wood that looked as if it had fought its way out of Stalingrad. And there, standing on the first hole waiting to tee off, was the winner of the 1984 Bluey Truscott Medal, Gerard Healy himself. He was resplendently dressed. His golf clubs shone like the sun. No alabaster was whiter than his teeth. He looked tanned and relaxed.

“Biff,” he said in his mellifluously suave voice. “It is good to meet you at last. Deestroy has told me all about you. Hopefully we can make your preview this week a winner.”

I mumbled back a greeting. Truth to tell, I was somewhat abashed to be in his presence. In my youth, I had worshipped the guy.

“Have we met or spoken before?” he asked smoothly.

I clammed up. At the end of the 1987 First Semi Final – a great day for the Melbourne Football Club - I had lent over the fence at the end of the game and told him what a filthy Judas he was for having accepted Edelsten’s thirty pieces of silver.

“Not that I can remember,” I stammered. He gave me a thumbs-up. It was time to push on; other golfers were lining up behind us. Gerard pulled out an enormous titanium driver and thumped the ball unerringly towards the green. Nervous as hell, I firstly had a swing and a miss. I connected with the ball on the second attempt and it flew off to the left.

“Not a great start Biff,” Gerard said jovially. “I’ll see you on the green.”

This hole and the others that followed were a disaster. I had forgotten to hire a buggy so I was forced to lug around my wretched clubs, whereas Gerard scooted around regally in his motorised cart. Given the amount of time I spent in the bushes (being in the rough was a mere aspiration), it was pretty much a ‘get-to-know the flora and fauna’ expedition. Meanwhile Gerard pushed on remorselessly. Par followed par, dotted with the occasional birdie and a flirt with an eagle. What didn’t come effortlessly to this guy?

We came to the fourth hole.

“Gerard, my first year as a Melbourne member was 1982, and I have to say that I will never forget the Healy and Jackson show. One hundred and fifty goals as a combined output was great stuff.”

“Mark would say that it was the Jacko and Healy show,” he replied back wistfully. “We didn’t win a lot of games that year but it was certainly a marked improvement on the season before.”

On the sixth hole, I teed-off and the ball flew into a copse of trees.

“Nothing is going to save me now,” I moaned.

“Biff, are you a religiously sort of guy?” Gerard asked (something in my tone must have prompted the question.


“Sort of,” I replied sullenly. “Why do you ask?”

Gerard shrugged. “I don’t understand all that kind of stuff. I wake up in the morning. I read the papers online. I play golf most mornings before heading off to the studio. Some mornings I squeeze in a quick surf. What am I meant to be saved from? What’s redemption all about? Doesn’t make sense to me.”

With a scowl on my face, I dug up another golf ball from my bag.

“You don’t like me, do you Biff?” he asked me point-blank.

“Gerard, it’s not as simple as that.” I bit my lip.

“You’re not impressed by Sports Tonight on 3AW? It’s hard-hitting journalism as it’s best.”

“I prefer the Run Home because it’s more fun. Dwayne Wussell is a blight on the human race.”

“You’re not annoyed at my new golf-resort that was announced last week? It is going to transform the economy of French Island. We have all the necessary environmental approvals. We’ll be working closely with the indigenous community too.”

“Gerard, I don’t give a stuff about it.”

He stared at me.

“So answer the question, Biff.”

Thankfully it was my turn to tee off. While the ball went towards the hole, it killed 200 ants as it ran feebly along the ground.

“First things first!” I pleaded.

It took me ten minutes and eight golf balls to finish that hole. When I staggered up to the Seventh, Gerard was leering into his i-pad.

“Sorry about that Biff, but there is an important women’s tennis tournament about to kick off in the States. Maria Bonkarova is coming back from injury and it will be interesting to see how her second serve stands up.”

He put his i-pad away and looked up. OK, the Moment was upon me.

“Gerard,” I began nervously, “I looked you up recently on Google images, and while there was plenty of photos of you and the red and white, there was bugger all of you in the Demons livery. Nor could I sense any real adulation from either camp.”

“Is that my fault?” he countered.

I shook my head. “No, it’s not. But that is how you are going to be remembered – as a two club player, betwixt and between. Was the money worth it? Yeah, you won a Brownlow at the Swans, but Edelsten’s mercs crashed and burnt in the finals and never had a sniff. We could have used you in 1987 at VFL Park – it might have made a difference. And if you had been in the team – and Strawbs as well - who knows what we could have done against Hawthorn in ‘88?”

Gerard smiled breezily. “Biff, you are over-estimating my powers if you think that I could have bridged a 96 point abyss, even if you throw O’Dwyer into the mix.”

The emotion welled up inside me. I paused for breath.

“You remind me of Greg Williams in a way.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he replied smoothly.

“His first Brownlow at the Swans does not count, because he is primarily remembered for being a Bluebagger – you can also forget about the Best and Fairest he won at Geelong, who threw him a lifeline. Similarly, people don’t think of you as being a Demons player. Google images is the barometer.”

The slightest of scowls surfaced. Had the mention of the Best and Fairest award drawn his mind back to the 1985 Bluey Truscott, which had been awarded to Danny Hughes with plenty of innuendo?

“You have to get over my transfer, Biff. It’s old news and tired news. Football is a business. If the Clubs have a meat-market approach to list-management, why shouldn’t the reverse apply? Besides, I bled for the Melbourne Football Club. I played at VFL Park in 1979 when we lost by 190 points. I was also included in Melbourne’s best 150 players. I was damn proud to be up on the stage that night.”

Window-dressing, I steamed to myself. It’s all window-dressing. Paul Hopgood had more of a right to be up there on the stage that night.

I leant over and placed the ball – a Hot-Dot –on the tee and gave it to the old heave-ho. That was last I saw of it. It ended its days in the nearby water-hazard.

“Poor old Biff,” Gerard murmured. “Is that the best you can do?”

We finished up not long afterwards and shook hands. Gerard took off as I returned my clubs to the pro-shop. As I walked back to my battered 1988 Magna, the thought came to me: fool, you have missed something – something lucent – something that will come but once. What is it, I asked myself. A tip for the game? No , stuff it. The chance to vent my age-old anger at Gerard? Not really. So what is it, I asked myself. Sadly, the insight melted back into the cranial gloom. It could have been anything - now it was nothing.

A sparkling DB-9 put up alongside as I was about to jump into the car. Gerard rolled down his window.

“Biff, if it is any consolation to you,” he paused gleefully at this point, “the Dees will win this week by ten points. Give my regards to the boys on the Demons forum and tell them to give us a ring on Sports Today. Farewell, and keep practising that swing!”

Biffinator.

 

[Flyswatter]

These are absolute gold to read, I look forward to them as much as I do team lists 5pm Thursday.
They should be combined and published as a book at the end of the season, you've got serious writing talent there Biff, not a dull paragraph to be seen.

 

[cannons]

Not a bad read there, Biff.

The reference to Gerard scooting around regally was particularly amusing

 

[RandB]

"Deestroy has told me all about you. Hopefully we can make your preview this week a winner"

Liked that.

 

[Captain Jack]

"Deestroy has told me all about you. Hopefully we can make your preview this week a winner"

Liked that.

Seconded.

Also enjoyed the Stalingrad line. Crisp stuff as usual Biff.

 

[TelkoTheGreat]

another epic preview Biff

 

[Biffinator]

Merc alert. Who can name them all?

 

[Wonaeamirri33]

Oozing with quality again Biff - got a chuckle out of the Maria Bonkarova line and the spontaneous religion query too mate

 

[LITTLE STINGA]

Merc alert. Who can name them all?

Tunbridge?, Healy, Paul Morwood?, Edleston, Hafey, Bolton, Toohey, Williams and Neagle.