Sellout Scully
Club Legend
- Jun 7, 2012
- 1,586
- 3,513
- AFL Club
- Melbourne
The sun was rising over the horizon at TIO Stadium in Northern Australia. I had hitchhiked all the way from Melbourne to Darwin just for the chance to have an exclusive one-on-one mentoring session with the man himself –Ross the Lyon King. In his session he was going to reveal the inner-workings of his coaching, teach me the rules of ‘Ross football’ and unveil how Fremantle plan to go into combat against the mighty Dees.
Usually coaches don’t surrender such crucial information to spectators, let alone spectators of the other team, but I had deceived him with a clever plan. I had sent him a letter in the mail with a simple message: “Tell me your game plan or Colin moves back in.” Okay so I didn’t really deceive him, nor was it that clever, but regardless it had still worked.
Ross was standing on the roof of the stadium overlooking the ground. I scaled the stadium walls so I could join him for my one-on-one session.
“Sellout,” said Ross in a deep calm voice. “On Saturday, this is our kingdom. Everything the light touches will be ours.”
“What about that land over there?” I asked pointing to the opposite end of the stadium where the sun had not touched.
Ross pondered deeply.
“That is the forward line,” he said. “We must never go there.”
At that moment two groups of Fremantle players ran onto the field and started running around the centre square in a circle pattern. One group was running in a clockwise direction and the other group in an anticlockwise direction with players repeatedly crashing into each other.
While they were doing this one man was standing in the middle trying to handball to the players who had fallen over. I soon worked out the person in the middle was Nate Fyfe. Any time a player didn’t get up after a collision, they were dragged into the shadow of the forward line and another Freo player took his place.
“Our whole game-plan exists in a delicate balance. As a king, I understand this better than any. From the Colossal Cox and the Blazing Bennell, right through to the Lucky Logue and the Dumbfounding Dawson.”
“But Ross,” I asked. “Don’t you delist the Dawson?”
He nodded.
“Yes Sellout, but let me explain,” he said. When I move on to my next club, I leave behind my spuds, and the Dawson’s of this world play with the spuds. They are all connected in perfect balance.”
As he said this more and more players were running into each other and being replaced by other players who continued to also run into each other.
“While they are all connected in this way, it does not matter because we win when we go through the circle. The circle of Fyfe!”
At that moment a Laboured Langdon lost his bearings and ran straight through the middle of the circle straight at Fyfe. The collision sent them both flying and injured Fyfe in the process. Ross paused for a moment, and then seemed to completely break character.
“Ah f*** this I’m going back to St Kilda.”
Melbourne by 28 unconvincing points
Usually coaches don’t surrender such crucial information to spectators, let alone spectators of the other team, but I had deceived him with a clever plan. I had sent him a letter in the mail with a simple message: “Tell me your game plan or Colin moves back in.” Okay so I didn’t really deceive him, nor was it that clever, but regardless it had still worked.
Ross was standing on the roof of the stadium overlooking the ground. I scaled the stadium walls so I could join him for my one-on-one session.
“Sellout,” said Ross in a deep calm voice. “On Saturday, this is our kingdom. Everything the light touches will be ours.”
“What about that land over there?” I asked pointing to the opposite end of the stadium where the sun had not touched.
Ross pondered deeply.
“That is the forward line,” he said. “We must never go there.”
At that moment two groups of Fremantle players ran onto the field and started running around the centre square in a circle pattern. One group was running in a clockwise direction and the other group in an anticlockwise direction with players repeatedly crashing into each other.
While they were doing this one man was standing in the middle trying to handball to the players who had fallen over. I soon worked out the person in the middle was Nate Fyfe. Any time a player didn’t get up after a collision, they were dragged into the shadow of the forward line and another Freo player took his place.
“Our whole game-plan exists in a delicate balance. As a king, I understand this better than any. From the Colossal Cox and the Blazing Bennell, right through to the Lucky Logue and the Dumbfounding Dawson.”
“But Ross,” I asked. “Don’t you delist the Dawson?”
He nodded.
“Yes Sellout, but let me explain,” he said. When I move on to my next club, I leave behind my spuds, and the Dawson’s of this world play with the spuds. They are all connected in perfect balance.”
As he said this more and more players were running into each other and being replaced by other players who continued to also run into each other.
“While they are all connected in this way, it does not matter because we win when we go through the circle. The circle of Fyfe!”
At that moment a Laboured Langdon lost his bearings and ran straight through the middle of the circle straight at Fyfe. The collision sent them both flying and injured Fyfe in the process. Ross paused for a moment, and then seemed to completely break character.
“Ah f*** this I’m going back to St Kilda.”
Melbourne by 28 unconvincing points
