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- Oct 15, 2011
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The modifications to the bandwagon had taken their toll on the performance of the engine.
I crept it along Footscray Road as best I could. Traffic was banking up behind me and I could hear the horns and abuse being directed at me.
But I continued on.
On to Buckley Street, down under the Princes Freeway via Cross Street, I slowly approached my destination.
The traffic died off and everything went quiet. Night time had arrived and it was an eerie calm. All I could hear now was the puttering of the clearly suffering bandwagon engine.
I pulled up out the front of what was formerly known as Whitten Oval. Turning the bandwagon engine off, the sound of its suffering was replaced by the sound of running water. I looked out of the windshield and read the sign.
‘WELCOME TO BATHWATER GARDENS’
I slowly approached the barricaded front entrance. I knocked.
Nothing.
I knocked again.
“… who goes there?”, the voice came back.
Clearing my throat, I started “I have been sent by the Melbourne Football Club to deliver a gift to the Lord of Bathwater Gardens”.
30 seconds passed. Silence.
Finally, I heard the sound of a lock turning, and the front entrance opened. No one appeared to be there.
I looked down to see Caleb Daniel’s head sticking out from behind the door.
Looking behind me at the converted bandwagon, his mouth slightly dropped open. “Is…. is this the gift?”, he asked.
I nodded.
“Bring it through the side entrance. I’ll let Milord know that you’re here”.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I parked the converted bandwagon up where requested by Caleb. Stepping out, I was surrounded by a most spectacular sight. Whitten Oval had been converted into a stunning water garden.
A stunning water garden of baths.
Bathtubs of all shapes and sizes were ornamentally arranged into a cascading series of fountains, waterfalls and pools. The Bulldogs players lazed about in the baths, frolicking, laughing, drinking and flirtatiously playing with numerous Western Suburbs ‘Water Nymphs’. I had never seen a sight quite like it. I certainly hadn’t seen nymphs with so few teeth before…
I noticed Troy Pannell in one of the baths. I shuddered at his gawky face staring back at me, as he chugged down some bathwater. I hoped he wasn’t umpiring the game this week.
“HERE COMES……..THE PACKAGE!” came a scream from my right. It was Jake Stringer screaming his own nickname as he bombed into a large, deep bath. Bathwater went everywhere. The toothless nymphs giggled. He had jumped a bit early and was lucky not to injure some of the other bathers, but I noted Pannell was looking the other way so there was unlikely to be any ramifications...
“Ahhhh, so you’ve been sent by the Demons with a gift for me, I see”?
I looked up at the entrance to a palace. A tall figure was walking towards me, with a crown of ornamental baths on his head.
It was Lord Tom Boyd.
“Quite an impressive sight, isn’t it?”, he continued “I designed it myself. With the money offered to me by the Bulldogs, I was able to buy Whitten Oval and this is the efforts of my labour. Well, not my labour so much, but you know what I mean.. We spend our days in the baths, bathing and drinking the water. Bathing and drinking. Such a communal way to live, don’t you think?”
I looked behind Lord Boyd and noted a large mural, running alongside the main bathing area. It portrayed an Adonis-like figure, towering over a group of small men. The Adonis-like figure was headbutting a football into the heavens. Angels seemed to be singing to the football as it flew past them.
“Yes, yes. That’s an artistic portrayal of my greatest footballing feat”, explained Lord Boyd “Quite a striking depiction, don’t you think?”
I nodded politely.
Lord Boyd continued. “So, this gift you brought is quite…. Interesting. Can’t say that anyone has ever brought me a giant wooden bulldog before. Although it sort of looks like a horse with a bulldogs head….. Anyway, I suppose we could provide you safe passage to round 9 for such an offering. We’ll only beat you by, say, 6 goals then? Hrmmm?”
I nodded politely again.
“Ok, it is done”, Lord Boyd smiled. “So, will you join me for our nightly feast? It would be impolite of me not to offer given this magnificent wooden specimen”
I nodded politely once again, conscious of not saying anything to bring suspicion. I followed Lord Boyd into the dining hall…
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was after midnight, and most of the Bulldogs players were passed out, drunk on their own bathwater. I crept back out to the Trojan Bulldog, and entered via the hatch in it’s arse.
Turning on a torch, I looked at the Big Footy Melbourne Board posters sitting quietly on wooden benches along each side of the bulldog.
There were two large chests sitting in the middle of the bulldog.
I opened the first. Inside was an ornate bath bubbling with hot water which smelt of sulphur.
I twitched, and instinctively reached for a golden ladle that was sitting in the bath. I filled the ladle with the bubbling bathwater and brought it towards my mouth.
Striker stood up from the bench and put his hand on my shoulder. “No”, he said firmly. “Not now. Not ever”.
I twitched again. Staring at Striker for 10 seconds, and then the rest of the posters, I started to sweat.
Eventually, I put the ladle down.
I moved over to the second large chest and opened it.
Inside the chest was 500 bottles of Palmolive dishwashing liquid.
A small smile crept across my lips.
I started handing the bottles of dishwashing liquid out.
“It’s time”, I whispered. “You know what to do”.
Let’s * this place up.
Demons by 12 points.
I crept it along Footscray Road as best I could. Traffic was banking up behind me and I could hear the horns and abuse being directed at me.
But I continued on.
On to Buckley Street, down under the Princes Freeway via Cross Street, I slowly approached my destination.
The traffic died off and everything went quiet. Night time had arrived and it was an eerie calm. All I could hear now was the puttering of the clearly suffering bandwagon engine.
I pulled up out the front of what was formerly known as Whitten Oval. Turning the bandwagon engine off, the sound of its suffering was replaced by the sound of running water. I looked out of the windshield and read the sign.
‘WELCOME TO BATHWATER GARDENS’
I slowly approached the barricaded front entrance. I knocked.
Nothing.
I knocked again.
“… who goes there?”, the voice came back.
Clearing my throat, I started “I have been sent by the Melbourne Football Club to deliver a gift to the Lord of Bathwater Gardens”.
30 seconds passed. Silence.
Finally, I heard the sound of a lock turning, and the front entrance opened. No one appeared to be there.
I looked down to see Caleb Daniel’s head sticking out from behind the door.
Looking behind me at the converted bandwagon, his mouth slightly dropped open. “Is…. is this the gift?”, he asked.
I nodded.
“Bring it through the side entrance. I’ll let Milord know that you’re here”.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I parked the converted bandwagon up where requested by Caleb. Stepping out, I was surrounded by a most spectacular sight. Whitten Oval had been converted into a stunning water garden.
A stunning water garden of baths.
Bathtubs of all shapes and sizes were ornamentally arranged into a cascading series of fountains, waterfalls and pools. The Bulldogs players lazed about in the baths, frolicking, laughing, drinking and flirtatiously playing with numerous Western Suburbs ‘Water Nymphs’. I had never seen a sight quite like it. I certainly hadn’t seen nymphs with so few teeth before…
I noticed Troy Pannell in one of the baths. I shuddered at his gawky face staring back at me, as he chugged down some bathwater. I hoped he wasn’t umpiring the game this week.
“HERE COMES……..THE PACKAGE!” came a scream from my right. It was Jake Stringer screaming his own nickname as he bombed into a large, deep bath. Bathwater went everywhere. The toothless nymphs giggled. He had jumped a bit early and was lucky not to injure some of the other bathers, but I noted Pannell was looking the other way so there was unlikely to be any ramifications...
“Ahhhh, so you’ve been sent by the Demons with a gift for me, I see”?
I looked up at the entrance to a palace. A tall figure was walking towards me, with a crown of ornamental baths on his head.
It was Lord Tom Boyd.
“Quite an impressive sight, isn’t it?”, he continued “I designed it myself. With the money offered to me by the Bulldogs, I was able to buy Whitten Oval and this is the efforts of my labour. Well, not my labour so much, but you know what I mean.. We spend our days in the baths, bathing and drinking the water. Bathing and drinking. Such a communal way to live, don’t you think?”
I looked behind Lord Boyd and noted a large mural, running alongside the main bathing area. It portrayed an Adonis-like figure, towering over a group of small men. The Adonis-like figure was headbutting a football into the heavens. Angels seemed to be singing to the football as it flew past them.
“Yes, yes. That’s an artistic portrayal of my greatest footballing feat”, explained Lord Boyd “Quite a striking depiction, don’t you think?”
I nodded politely.
Lord Boyd continued. “So, this gift you brought is quite…. Interesting. Can’t say that anyone has ever brought me a giant wooden bulldog before. Although it sort of looks like a horse with a bulldogs head….. Anyway, I suppose we could provide you safe passage to round 9 for such an offering. We’ll only beat you by, say, 6 goals then? Hrmmm?”
I nodded politely again.
“Ok, it is done”, Lord Boyd smiled. “So, will you join me for our nightly feast? It would be impolite of me not to offer given this magnificent wooden specimen”
I nodded politely once again, conscious of not saying anything to bring suspicion. I followed Lord Boyd into the dining hall…
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was after midnight, and most of the Bulldogs players were passed out, drunk on their own bathwater. I crept back out to the Trojan Bulldog, and entered via the hatch in it’s arse.
Turning on a torch, I looked at the Big Footy Melbourne Board posters sitting quietly on wooden benches along each side of the bulldog.
There were two large chests sitting in the middle of the bulldog.
I opened the first. Inside was an ornate bath bubbling with hot water which smelt of sulphur.
I twitched, and instinctively reached for a golden ladle that was sitting in the bath. I filled the ladle with the bubbling bathwater and brought it towards my mouth.
Striker stood up from the bench and put his hand on my shoulder. “No”, he said firmly. “Not now. Not ever”.
I twitched again. Staring at Striker for 10 seconds, and then the rest of the posters, I started to sweat.
Eventually, I put the ladle down.
I moved over to the second large chest and opened it.
Inside the chest was 500 bottles of Palmolive dishwashing liquid.
A small smile crept across my lips.
I started handing the bottles of dishwashing liquid out.
“It’s time”, I whispered. “You know what to do”.
Let’s * this place up.
Demons by 12 points.
