TheDarkDwarf
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Longest SFA Game Thread Ever
Melbourne Demons - Jake Lever Player Sponsor 2018
Melbourne Demons - Katherine Smith AFLW Player Sponsor 2018
Melbourne Demons - Ben Kennedy Player Sponsor 2017
Melbourne Demons - Katherine Smith AFLW Player Sponsor 2017
Melbourne Demons - Ben Kennedy Player Sponsor 2016
Melbourne Demons - Jeremy Howe Player Sponsor 2015
(With Many apologies to Edgar Allen Poe)
THE DEMON
Once upon a midnight dreary, while Tex did ponder, weak and weary,
While reading death riding Melbourne that spurious volume of forgotten lore—
While he groaned as he was fapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at his bedroom door.
“’Tis some visitor,” he did stutter, “tapping at my bedroom door—
Only this and nothing more.”
And, distinctly did he then remember it was in that bleak September;
And with every score he was dying slowly upon the floor.
Eagerly he wished the morrow;—vainly he had sought to borrow
From the never-ending book of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lever—
For the rare and radiant defender whom the angels name Lever—
Who shall be nameless in Adelaide evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of the Grand Final curtain
Depressed him—and filled him with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of his heart, he stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my bedroom door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my bedroom door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said he, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was fapping, and so gently you came tapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my bedroom door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here he opened wide the door;—
A Demon there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long Tex stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no Crow ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lever!”
This he whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lever!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the bedroom turning, all his soul within him burning,
Soon again he heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said he, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis Josh Mahoney and nothing more!”
Open here he flung the shutter, when, with many a gasp and stutter,
In there stepped a stately Demon of the magic days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above his bedroom door—
Perched upon a bust of Dangerfield just above his bedroom door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling his sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” Tex said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Demon wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is at the AFL’s trade door!”
Quoth the Demon “Nevermore.”
But the Demon, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a scale then he fluttered—
Till Tex scarcely more than muttered “Other Crows have flown before—
On the morrow he will Leave(r) me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the Demon said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said Tex, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Kurt Tippet —nevermore’.”
But the Demon still beguiling all his fancy into smiling,
Straight he wheeled a cushioned seat in front of Danger bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, Tex betook himself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous Demon of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous beast of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
Thus Tex sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the Demon whose fiery eyes now burned into his bosom’s core;
This and more Tex sat divining, with his head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
It’s the Demon press, ah, we’ll never score!
Then, Tex thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censor
Swung by Cameron whose foot-falls tinkled on the Lions floor.
“Wretch,” he cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from my memories of Lever;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lever!”
Quoth the Demon “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said Tex, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Gunston sent, or whether tempest tossed Davis here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this empty land disenchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there hope for Adelaide?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Demon “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said Tex, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if crow or demon!
By McLachlan that soars above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Melbourne,
It shall clasp a great defender whom the angels name Lever—
Clasp a rare and radiant defender whom the angels name Lever.”
Quoth the Demon “Evermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” Tex shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the AFL’s Victorian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie that you hath spoken!
Leave my Doedee all unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Demon “Nevermore.”
And the Demon, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the bust of Dangerfield just above Tex’s bedroom door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a Demon as he is dreaming,
As the scoreboard lamp-light o’er him streaming throws its shadow on his bedroom floor;
And Levers goal on the siren leaves Tex still madly fapping on the floor
As he screams - “God Nevermore!”
Dees by One Point.
THE DEMON
Once upon a midnight dreary, while Tex did ponder, weak and weary,
While reading death riding Melbourne that spurious volume of forgotten lore—
While he groaned as he was fapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at his bedroom door.
“’Tis some visitor,” he did stutter, “tapping at my bedroom door—
Only this and nothing more.”
And, distinctly did he then remember it was in that bleak September;
And with every score he was dying slowly upon the floor.
Eagerly he wished the morrow;—vainly he had sought to borrow
From the never-ending book of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lever—
For the rare and radiant defender whom the angels name Lever—
Who shall be nameless in Adelaide evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of the Grand Final curtain
Depressed him—and filled him with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of his heart, he stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my bedroom door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my bedroom door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said he, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was fapping, and so gently you came tapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my bedroom door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here he opened wide the door;—
A Demon there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long Tex stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no Crow ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lever!”
This he whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lever!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the bedroom turning, all his soul within him burning,
Soon again he heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said he, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis Josh Mahoney and nothing more!”
Open here he flung the shutter, when, with many a gasp and stutter,
In there stepped a stately Demon of the magic days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above his bedroom door—
Perched upon a bust of Dangerfield just above his bedroom door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling his sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” Tex said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Demon wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is at the AFL’s trade door!”
Quoth the Demon “Nevermore.”
But the Demon, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a scale then he fluttered—
Till Tex scarcely more than muttered “Other Crows have flown before—
On the morrow he will Leave(r) me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the Demon said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said Tex, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Kurt Tippet —nevermore’.”
But the Demon still beguiling all his fancy into smiling,
Straight he wheeled a cushioned seat in front of Danger bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, Tex betook himself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous Demon of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous beast of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
Thus Tex sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the Demon whose fiery eyes now burned into his bosom’s core;
This and more Tex sat divining, with his head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
It’s the Demon press, ah, we’ll never score!
Then, Tex thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censor
Swung by Cameron whose foot-falls tinkled on the Lions floor.
“Wretch,” he cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from my memories of Lever;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lever!”
Quoth the Demon “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said Tex, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Gunston sent, or whether tempest tossed Davis here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this empty land disenchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there hope for Adelaide?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Demon “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said Tex, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if crow or demon!
By McLachlan that soars above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Melbourne,
It shall clasp a great defender whom the angels name Lever—
Clasp a rare and radiant defender whom the angels name Lever.”
Quoth the Demon “Evermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” Tex shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the AFL’s Victorian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie that you hath spoken!
Leave my Doedee all unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Demon “Nevermore.”
And the Demon, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the bust of Dangerfield just above Tex’s bedroom door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a Demon as he is dreaming,
As the scoreboard lamp-light o’er him streaming throws its shadow on his bedroom floor;
And Levers goal on the siren leaves Tex still madly fapping on the floor
As he screams - “God Nevermore!”
Dees by One Point.
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