1. Shock
Say what? We got Motlop, Rockliff and Watts? No way. Seriously? And Thomas & Trengove as veteran depth? Sam Hayes at #47 in the draft? Holy s**t, the Footy Gawds have blessed us this off-season. The Summer of George, indeed. We’re going all the way this year. Ain't no stoppin' us. Port Adelaide, Premiers 2018. Wow.
2. Denial
Okay, we’re not playing great. But it’s still early in the season and we’re still winning. Winning ugly! How good is that? Last year we blitzed teams. But had trouble grinding out tough wins. Now? We got dat grit. The players just need time to gel. Yep, it’ll click later in the year. Just in time for the finals. BANG! Our premiership assault is still on track. The Port Adelaide Express is going all the way in September. Last stop, Grand Final day, MCG. Like the great George Michael said:
3. Anger
F@%K YOU KEN! PLAY AN EXTRA F@%KING TALL SO WE DON’T HAVE TO ROB F@%KING PETER TO PLAY F@%KING PAUL! DIXON IN THE RUCK? F@%K ME DEAD! NOW WHAT’S THIS s**t? WINES RUCKING? EBERT? CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS MUTHA F@%KIN’ s**t? GAWD, WE PLAY THE SHITTEST BRAND OF FOOTY! OUR GAME-PLAN IS F@%KED SIX SATURDAYS FROM SEPTEMBER! F@%KOFF JANUS WITH YOUR HEAT MAPS, VOODOO ANALYTICS, TAROT CARD READING, TOTAL FOOTBALL MASTERY BULLSHIT!
4. Bargaining
Footy Gawds, I've never asked you for anything before. But if you’re listening, can you do me a kindness? Can you... turn our season around? Please? It's not too late. I'll do anything you want. Anything! Just name it. Barrack for the Crows. Read the Tiser, listen to 5AA, watch Channel 7 News. s**t, I'll even be the meat in some sick, twisted, perverted Elspeth/Goat F@%ker sandwich. You name it, I'll do it! What about my Star Wars stuff? It’s the original trilogy vintage s**t. The real McCoy. You can have it. The figures, the vehicles, the collector cases. It's yours, all of it. Even my Jawa with the vinyl cape action figure that’s worth at least $800 opened. Just get our season back on track. Please.
5. Guilt
Feel so bad for trusting this club, trusting this team and trusting Ken. They’ve betrayed me, they’ve betrayed all of us, they’e betrayed the Port Adelaide Football Club. If only we could turn back time and do things differently. So many regrets, so many what ifs, so many... sigh.
6. Depression
Eleven and four. From eleven and four and fighting for top spot to missing the finals. No September action. End this season. Put me out of my misery. Everything is hopeless right now. But I know what to do. I know what I have to. I'm gonna waltz into The Port Club, pocket the fourteen miniature replica Thomas Seymour-Hill premiership cups, use them to weigh down my Craig “21” Bradley duffel coat and walk into the Port River. Goodbye, cruel footy world.
Oops, anger relapse (so much anger!)
F@%KING HELL, STILL WITH THIS NEADE, SAM GARY, PITTARD, JOHNSON s**t? GET OFF THIS MUTHA-F@%KIN MERRY-GO-ROUND! WHY THE F@%K, AFTER FOUR F@%KING YEARS, IS NO-ONE UP FORWARD? STILL! THE PARKLANDS COWS ARE GRAZING INSIDE OUR FORWARD FIDDY, FOR F@%K’S SAKE! MOO, MUTHA F@%KAZ, MOOOOO! F@%K ME, YOU PANTS-WETTING, BED-SHITTING CAMPAIGNERS CHOKED AGAIN, ARRGGGHHHH! PLAY F@%KING FRAMPTON! SACK HINKLEY! F@%K!
7. Acceptance
We’re not gonna win the flag. Not this year. Not next year. Not ever. Not with these flakey fragile frontrunners. We’re just like Norwood supporters from the late-80s lamenting lost premierships despite (allegedly) having the best, most talented, highly-skilled (not us, lol) team in the comp. The difference being the Legs played handball-happy “champagne football” while we run around like Div. 7 Reserves scrubbers hacking it on the boot with our “goon footy farken.” It’s. Just. Not. Gonna. Happen. And I’m okay with that. Really. I am.
Say what? We got Motlop, Rockliff and Watts? No way. Seriously? And Thomas & Trengove as veteran depth? Sam Hayes at #47 in the draft? Holy s**t, the Footy Gawds have blessed us this off-season. The Summer of George, indeed. We’re going all the way this year. Ain't no stoppin' us. Port Adelaide, Premiers 2018. Wow.
2. Denial
Okay, we’re not playing great. But it’s still early in the season and we’re still winning. Winning ugly! How good is that? Last year we blitzed teams. But had trouble grinding out tough wins. Now? We got dat grit. The players just need time to gel. Yep, it’ll click later in the year. Just in time for the finals. BANG! Our premiership assault is still on track. The Port Adelaide Express is going all the way in September. Last stop, Grand Final day, MCG. Like the great George Michael said:
3. Anger
F@%K YOU KEN! PLAY AN EXTRA F@%KING TALL SO WE DON’T HAVE TO ROB F@%KING PETER TO PLAY F@%KING PAUL! DIXON IN THE RUCK? F@%K ME DEAD! NOW WHAT’S THIS s**t? WINES RUCKING? EBERT? CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS MUTHA F@%KIN’ s**t? GAWD, WE PLAY THE SHITTEST BRAND OF FOOTY! OUR GAME-PLAN IS F@%KED SIX SATURDAYS FROM SEPTEMBER! F@%KOFF JANUS WITH YOUR HEAT MAPS, VOODOO ANALYTICS, TAROT CARD READING, TOTAL FOOTBALL MASTERY BULLSHIT!
4. Bargaining
Footy Gawds, I've never asked you for anything before. But if you’re listening, can you do me a kindness? Can you... turn our season around? Please? It's not too late. I'll do anything you want. Anything! Just name it. Barrack for the Crows. Read the Tiser, listen to 5AA, watch Channel 7 News. s**t, I'll even be the meat in some sick, twisted, perverted Elspeth/Goat F@%ker sandwich. You name it, I'll do it! What about my Star Wars stuff? It’s the original trilogy vintage s**t. The real McCoy. You can have it. The figures, the vehicles, the collector cases. It's yours, all of it. Even my Jawa with the vinyl cape action figure that’s worth at least $800 opened. Just get our season back on track. Please.
5. Guilt
Feel so bad for trusting this club, trusting this team and trusting Ken. They’ve betrayed me, they’ve betrayed all of us, they’e betrayed the Port Adelaide Football Club. If only we could turn back time and do things differently. So many regrets, so many what ifs, so many... sigh.
6. Depression
Eleven and four. From eleven and four and fighting for top spot to missing the finals. No September action. End this season. Put me out of my misery. Everything is hopeless right now. But I know what to do. I know what I have to. I'm gonna waltz into The Port Club, pocket the fourteen miniature replica Thomas Seymour-Hill premiership cups, use them to weigh down my Craig “21” Bradley duffel coat and walk into the Port River. Goodbye, cruel footy world.
Oops, anger relapse (so much anger!)
F@%KING HELL, STILL WITH THIS NEADE, SAM GARY, PITTARD, JOHNSON s**t? GET OFF THIS MUTHA-F@%KIN MERRY-GO-ROUND! WHY THE F@%K, AFTER FOUR F@%KING YEARS, IS NO-ONE UP FORWARD? STILL! THE PARKLANDS COWS ARE GRAZING INSIDE OUR FORWARD FIDDY, FOR F@%K’S SAKE! MOO, MUTHA F@%KAZ, MOOOOO! F@%K ME, YOU PANTS-WETTING, BED-SHITTING CAMPAIGNERS CHOKED AGAIN, ARRGGGHHHH! PLAY F@%KING FRAMPTON! SACK HINKLEY! F@%K!
7. Acceptance
We’re not gonna win the flag. Not this year. Not next year. Not ever. Not with these flakey fragile frontrunners. We’re just like Norwood supporters from the late-80s lamenting lost premierships despite (allegedly) having the best, most talented, highly-skilled (not us, lol) team in the comp. The difference being the Legs played handball-happy “champagne football” while we run around like Div. 7 Reserves scrubbers hacking it on the boot with our “goon footy farken.” It’s. Just. Not. Gonna. Happen. And I’m okay with that. Really. I am.
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