- Sep 7, 2015
- 15,711
- 36,243
- AFL Club
- Tasmania
Thursday morning at Whitten Oval
Players are waiting to hear their name called for senior selection.
“Picken...Bontempelli...Morris...”
The usual suspects are called first, as always. Then the other guys, the guys who were hoping to get a game but weren't quite sure.
“Webb...Hrovat...Cordy...”
21 players named so far. Who will be the last? Will it be Adcock? Will it be Bailey Dale?
“Biggs.”
The room is silent. The players look around, perplexed by what they just heard. “Who?” they silently mouth to each other. A blond-haired man with smooth features steps forward. With a perfectly sculpted jawline he looks around the room, confident...almost smug. A barely distinguishable, blonde moustach adorns his upper lip, adding to his charm. Every person in the room melts at his beauty, yet they still do not know who he is. Finally, Stringer cannot contain himself. “Who is this man, Coach?” he demands of Beveridge.
“This man plays in our back line. Most of you do not know him. Most posters on BigFooty neglect to place him in their theoretical best 22. When he retires there will be no songs written about this man. He will never win a Brownlow medal, nor a Norm Smith, nor will he place in the top 10 in our best and fairest. For he is the hero that Footscray deserves, but not the one it needs right now. So we will forget him. Because he can take it. Because he's not our hero. He is a Silent Guardian. A Watchful Protector. A Blonde Knight.”
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