tribey
ʎǝlʞuᴉH ʞɔɐS
Veteran
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OR: HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND BACK AWAY QUIETLY
by Tina Pringles
The incumbent full forward of the Farnhamian SFA franchise-elect Alberton Swamprats fidgets relentlessly before finally handing back my dictaphone after smelling it for what seemed like and probably was minutes.
"You always keep it in your back pocket", he says with all the assurance of a Hansie Cronje declaration but with an upward inflection that poses a question that outdoes Ian Thorpe's sexuality on the creepy scale.
This is Tribey, a self-styled 'olfactory hand' whose goalsquare performances in the Swamprats' recent month of trial games have seen him claim the scalps of Port Greatest Team fullback John Abley, Han Solo lower intestine irrigator Chewbacca and SCOSA client Simon Trenorden.
"I guess you could say I'm a perfect cross between Kingsley Hunter and Jeff Hogg", he grins without a hint of sarcasm.
"But it hasn't been all fun and games", he winces, perhaps thinking of the crunching bump delivered to him by Boba Fett on an asteroid that used to be the flagship in a chain of Alderaan Rub'n'Tugs.
"Tom Lonergan gave me a bath a few weeks back, and when it comes getting my hair out of the plughole he's no David Hille".
The Swamprats' next game is expected to take place somewhere in Westeros where Tribey expects to line up against the midget from Elf or the nonce from Goldeneye because he's only ever seen the ads.
As the interview winds up I ask Tribey what he's doing later, instantly realising my mistake. Thankfully he seems to be as busy as he is utensil-eyed:
"Smoking a few **** in Veale Gardens".
by Tina Pringles
The incumbent full forward of the Farnhamian SFA franchise-elect Alberton Swamprats fidgets relentlessly before finally handing back my dictaphone after smelling it for what seemed like and probably was minutes.
"You always keep it in your back pocket", he says with all the assurance of a Hansie Cronje declaration but with an upward inflection that poses a question that outdoes Ian Thorpe's sexuality on the creepy scale.
This is Tribey, a self-styled 'olfactory hand' whose goalsquare performances in the Swamprats' recent month of trial games have seen him claim the scalps of Port Greatest Team fullback John Abley, Han Solo lower intestine irrigator Chewbacca and SCOSA client Simon Trenorden.
"I guess you could say I'm a perfect cross between Kingsley Hunter and Jeff Hogg", he grins without a hint of sarcasm.
"But it hasn't been all fun and games", he winces, perhaps thinking of the crunching bump delivered to him by Boba Fett on an asteroid that used to be the flagship in a chain of Alderaan Rub'n'Tugs.
"Tom Lonergan gave me a bath a few weeks back, and when it comes getting my hair out of the plughole he's no David Hille".
The Swamprats' next game is expected to take place somewhere in Westeros where Tribey expects to line up against the midget from Elf or the nonce from Goldeneye because he's only ever seen the ads.
As the interview winds up I ask Tribey what he's doing later, instantly realising my mistake. Thankfully he seems to be as busy as he is utensil-eyed:
"Smoking a few **** in Veale Gardens".
