Opinion The AFL narrative for 2024

[JackHiscoxWasFast]

Just like the scriptwriters for the WWE, AFL HQ is busy preparing the plot lines and pantomime villains for 2024. From the Bravedogs of 2016 to the epic rebuild of the Pies in 2023 what will be the storyline for 2024 ?

I think it will be about new beginnings and redemption starring Brodie Grundy

4

Brodie Grundy

Age

30

Ht

202cm

Wt

105kg

Pos.

Ruck

Career

Season

Last 5

D

17.5

4star

K

8.0

3star

HB

9.6

5star

CL

4.1

5star

HO

32.0

5star

D

16.4

4star

K

6.8

3star

HB

9.6

5star

CL

4.0

5star

HO

34.6

5star

D

13.8

4star

K

5.2

2star

HB

8.6

5star

CL

2.6

5star

HO

20.6

5star

and Tay Tay Adams. Imagine the ratings as we beat the Pies in the 2024 granny having beaten the Dees in the prelim the week prior. Much better than the Carrrrrrrlton 40 year rebuild story.

Just need the actors (umps) to stick to the script.

 

[RubbaDuck]

Just like the scriptwriters for the WWE, AFL HQ is busy preparing the plot lines and pantomime villains for 2024. From the Bravedogs of 2016 to the epic rebuild of the Pies in 2023 what will be the storyline for 2024 ?

I think it will be about new beginnings and redemption starring Brodie Grundy and Tay Tay Adams. Imagine the ratings as we beat the Pies in the 2024 granny having beaten the Dees in the prelim the week prior. Much better than the Carrrrrrrlton 40 year rebuild story.

Just need the actors (umps) to stick to the script.

Not gonna happen. Pies won't reach the granny despite finishing 4th, they'll be knocked out by a resurgent Demons in QF before the Giants finish them off for a straight sets exit. Turns out Ginnivan was their key player after all. Giants beat the crows in one PF, we knock out Brissy in the other.

The first ever all Sydney Grand Final was always destined to be an epic. NSW Premier Goodes refuses to relinquish the Grand Final to the Victorians. He leads 100,000 NSW AFL fans in a protest relay to the MCG. At the Murray river the baton is swum across to Swans and Giants fans from Victoria, who finally deliver the message to the AFL. It demands the Grand Final is played in Sydney or NSW will ban footy from school grounds. The AFL reluctantly agree to the demands.

The SCG is sold out, with only members of both clubs getting access to tickets, leaving AFL members, SCG members and life members of other clubs to watch on the giant screens the NSW government has set up through surrounding parklands, pubs and venues. The scene extends across all Sydney venues, parks and footy grounds all the way across the Blue Mountains and beyond. Half time sees a new world record set for the largest ever kick-to-kick. NRL and soccer teams are forced by law to abandon all games for their own safety, with millions of people crowding out streets, partying with their neighbours. Giant screens around the harbour can be watched from vantage points all over Sydney. Off the beaches, giant screens float on barges, just outside the surf. Highways are banked up all the way to QLD, people party on the roadways and watch the giant screens on trucks, festooned over the length of the Pacific and Princess Highways

The game is a low scoring affair as both teams probe for a weakness. The score remains tight, with neither team able to break free. Toby Green has been well held all day and a close finish is beckoning when with 5 minutes to play he kicks three goals within a single minute of play. The game day thread has gone a dark red, cursing players, cursing Horse, who does seems to be panicking. Horse makes a tactical play. He moves Parker and Grundy forward and subs out Amartey for a fresh Sam Reid. He motions Sam to take over the ruck, resting Grundy as a forward. Four minutes later and the Swans are back to within a goal, after Campbell launches from the centre square, the ball bouncing on end only 2 metres out, turning on its tip and spinning like a top it slips past three defenders who are left grabbing for air. Reid loses the tap but a lunging tackle causes Green to drop the ball. He's pinged for incorrect disposal. Gulden runs past for a handball receive. This throws the player on the mark who moves just enough to lose his balance, making him lunge towards Reid. The ump awards a 50m penalty, bringing Reid within 55m, testing his hammies. His kick sails through almost on the outstretched fingers of a couple of GWS defenders. They claim the ball was touched. The umpire gets the AFL voice in his ear, they want him to declare it touched. He follows their direction but he insists on calling for a review. The review makes it clear the ball was untouched. Reid pumps his fist in celebration.

The Giants dig in, leaving the Swans still three points behind with only 13 seconds of play remaining. Another centre bounce but with no clear winner in the ruck. Reid isn't finished he goes again and gets a 2nd tap out to Adams. With his knee stuffed and head heavily bandaged, Adams somehow manages to squirt a handball through a tiny gap in the congestion, finding Gulden. He's instantly gang tackled but somehow manages to throw the ball onto his boot. The kick sails high inside 50. A huge pack forms, the Giants almost inpenetrable defence sets itself, desperate to kill the ball and block the space for the Swans' forwards. A miracle is needed.

All eyes are fixed on the descending ball when a wounded resting Grundy, looking all but dead, suddenly launches off his opponent, who is caught ball watching. Grundy comes crashing out of the goal square, his huge legs pumping hard, his opponent two steps behind. Grundy's pace rises, incredibly, his momentum like a human battering ram, his eyes held fixed, glued to the incoming ball. He jumps early, lifts his giant frame high, rising until he almost seems to be flying. For a half second he seems to hover over the pack, gaining more height on the shoulders of friends and foes alike. His fingers reach out to the ball at his highest point, clinging desperately to the mark as he suddenly descends from high, completely and utterly flattening anyone in the pack. He holds the ball aloft, a whistle blows, a sound like air rushing out of a deflated Giants defence.

The siren goes as Grundy lines up from 40m out. He resets his runup. I expect I'm not the only one wondering how much forward craft he picked up in the Demon's VFL team. The irony that the failure of the Demon's dual ruck experiment could determine the outcome of an all Sydney grand final was lost on me, like most fans. The moment is all that matters. The silence is absolute, a pin dropped in Manly could echo around the SCG. A cockroach could be heard crunching on pie crumbs behind the Bill O'Reilly stand. Even the commentators have stopped their incessant babbling. Nothing they say will add to the suspense, and they dare not shatter such an electric atmosphere. The hush is total.

A camera slowly zooms in on Grundy's giant hands as he grips the ball tightly. The hair on his arms is standing on end. Every other player is camped around goals, mostly squeezed on or behind the goal line. There is only Grundy and one man on the mark. Any breeze has stilled as twenty million viewers around the world hold their breath. Horse clenches his fists to control the anxiety, pressing his fingernails into his palms so hard that they draw blood.

In the crowd, an old guy dressed in South Melbourne kit clutches at his heart and slumps forward. No-one notices. An asteroid enters the atmosphere, leaving a trail of flame across the dark blue sky. No-one looks up. Children cling forgotten to their mothers. Young men cling to their girlfriends. Fingers cross, uncross and cross again, like Sharon Stone at a police interview. Koalas fall half-stoned from eucalypts. They don't notice. Planes crash high above, the pilots fixed to the screens on their phones. A kaiju rises from middle hardbour, crushing apartment blocks and throwing cars into the water. The seas catch fire, the anti-Christ roams the earth, fire and brimstone rain down, Christians vanish from the crowd, called to heaven. "Not now", they cry to God begging him for a few minutes more on earth, just until the game finishes. A ship runs aground at Circular Quay, its captain entirely distracted by the game displayed on a huge screen on the side of the Harbour Bridge.

Someone farts loudly in the crowd, a quiet one that blasts loud at the end, but it breaks the ice, easing the tension. Rampe slides down off the goal post he'd been found himself clinging to. Unfortunately he lands on Daniels. A fight breaks out, other players join in, whistles blow, names are called, mothers are insulted, sisters' reputations are stained, more punches are thrown. The benches shake as trainers, doctors and coaching staff scramble over them to join the fray.

In the forward pocket Horse is gouging out Kingsley's eye. Cox lies on the ground, slowly being throttled by the bloke who cleans the GWS footy boots. Kirk meditates loudly in the centre of the melee, trying to calm everyone down. Sam Taylor decks him. Kirk Jnr decks Taylor. Logan is in full beserker mode, frothing at the mouth, cursing in ancient Norsk as he beats into Hogan and Himmelberg. Toby Green is punching and kicking anyone within reach, which is pretty much what he does during any game. Parker gives him a huge kick in the balls.

The violence has spread into the crowd where mums are punching dads, kids are kicking other kids, great uncles are head butting great aunts who beat them back with a hand bag and a thermos of gin. The tension of the game has been too much. Mandating all the gratuitous violence out of the game has left tensions to fester, until it finally surfaces. Around the world Aussies are being portrayed as violent sickos hiding under a veneer of civility. The Prime Minister calls an urgent cabinet meeting but his cabinet gang up on him. Penny Wong lets fly a Kung-Fu kick to his ear. Parliament becomes an all in brawl. Pressure needs release.

In a desperate bid to quell the violence before it spreads any further, the controlling umpire signals play on. Grundy seems to be the only one who hears it. Without a further glance at the murderous crowds pulling each other apart, he takes a short run up and lets fly, sending the ball clean through the middle of the goals at a height that leaves no doubt of the result, even for crying Crows supporters.

So engaged are they in their brawls, it takes a while before the players, footy staff, media and even the crowd realise something has happened. The fights stop, as all eyes swing towards the goal umpire. It's the same goal umpire who was suspended after 2023 Rd 23 Swans v. Crows, poor guy. He's about to make his call when a drunk Matthew Nicks calls out from the crowd "'Ow big's yer dick?". The goal umpire raises the index finger of each hand, holding them about 30cm apart. "This big" yells the Swans crowd, as they fall over with laughter and howls of relief. Even the GWS players manage a smile. They may have lost but the real winner was footy in NSW and they know it.

A number of Swans veterans take the opportunity to retire. A few cantankerous old Swans fans pass way, finally content.

In the back of an ambulance, its sirens blazing as it races towards hospital, the old South Melbourne supporter regains consciousness. He beckons a paramedic close towards him, "Did we win?" he mutters quietly. The paramedic smiles at him.

 

[tombomb]

I realise it's a quiet time of the year, but couldn't some of these random thoughts be put into some of pre-existing threads.

This board is getting full of junk.

 

[Jewelsbon]

Not gonna happen. Pies won't reach the granny despite finishing 4th, they'll be knocked out by a resurgent Demons in QF before the Giants finish them off for a straight sets exit. Turns out Ginnivan was their key player after all. Giants beat the crows in one PF, we knock out Brissy in the other.

The first ever all Sydney Grand Final was always destined to be an epic. NSW Premier Goodes refuses to relinquish the Grand Final to the Victorians. He leads 100,000 NSW AFL fans in a protest relay to the MCG. At the Murray river the baton is swum across to Swans and Giants fans from Victoria, who finally deliver the message to the AFL. It demands the Grand Final is played in Sydney or NSW will ban footy from school grounds. The AFL reluctantly agree to the demands.

The SCG is sold out, with only members of both clubs getting access to tickets, leaving AFL members, SCG members and life members of other clubs to watch on the giant screens the NSW government has set up through surrounding parklands, pubs and venues. The scene extends across all Sydney venues, parks and footy grounds all the way across the Blue Mountains and beyond. Half time sees a new world record set for the largest ever kick-to-kick. NRL and soccer teams are forced by law to abandon all games for their own safety, with millions of people crowding out streets, partying with their neighbours. Giant screens around the harbour can be watched from vantage points all over Sydney. Off the beaches, giant screens float on barges, just outside the surf. Highways are banked up all the way to QLD, people party on the roadways and watch the giant screens on trucks, festooned over the length of the Pacific and Princess Highways

The game is a low scoring affair as both teams probe for a weakness. The score remains tight, with neither team able to break free. Toby Green has been well held all day and a close finish is beckoning when with 5 minutes to play he kicks three goals within a single minute of play. The game day thread has gone a dark red, cursing players, cursing Horse, who does seems to be panicking. Horse makes a tactical play. He moves Parker and Grundy forward and subs out Amartey for a fresh Sam Reid. He motions Sam to take over the ruck, resting Grundy as a forward. Four minutes later and the Swans are back to within a goal, after Campbell launches from the centre square, the ball bouncing on end only 2 metres out, turning on its tip and spinning like a top it slips past three defenders who are left grabbing for air. Reid loses the tap but a lunging tackle causes Green to drop the ball. He's pinged for incorrect disposal. Gulden runs past for a handball receive. This throws the player on the mark who moves just enough to lose his balance, making him lunge towards Reid. The ump awards a 50m penalty, bringing Reid within 55m, testing his hammies. His kick sails through almost on the outstretched fingers of a couple of GWS defenders. They claim the ball was touched. The umpire gets the AFL voice in his ear, they want him to declare it touched. He follows their direction but he insists on calling for a review. The review makes it clear the ball was untouched. Reid pumps his fist in celebration.

The Giants dig in, leaving the Swans still three points behind with only 13 seconds of play remaining. Another centre bounce but with no clear winner in the ruck. Reid isn't finished he goes again and gets a 2nd tap out to Adams. With his knee stuffed and head heavily bandaged, Adams somehow manages to squirt a handball through a tiny gap in the congestion, finding Gulden. He's instantly gang tackled but somehow manages to throw the ball onto his boot. The kick sails high inside 50. A huge pack forms, the Giants almost inpenetrable defence sets itself, desperate to kill the ball and block the space for the Swans' forwards. A miracle is needed.

All eyes are fixed on the descending ball when a wounded resting Grundy, looking all but dead, suddenly launches off his opponent, who is caught ball watching. Grundy comes crashing out of the goal square, his huge legs pumping hard, his opponent two steps behind. Grundy's pace rises, incredibly, his momentum like a human battering ram, his eyes held fixed, glued to the incoming ball. He jumps early, lifts his giant frame high, rising until he almost seems to be flying. For a half second he seems to hover over the pack, gaining more height on the shoulders of friends and foes alike. His fingers reach out to the ball at his highest point, clinging desperately to the mark as he suddenly descends from high, completely and utterly flattening anyone in the pack. He holds the ball aloft, a whistle blows, a sound like air rushing out of a deflated Giants defence.

The siren goes as Grundy lines up from 40m out. He resets his runup. I expect I'm not the only one wondering how much forward craft he picked up in the Demon's VFL team. The irony that the failure of the Demon's dual ruck experiment could determine the outcome of an all Sydney grand final was lost on me, like most fans. The moment is all that matters. The silence is absolute, a pin dropped in Manly could echo around the SCG. A cockroach could be heard crunching on pie crumbs behind the Bill O'Reilly stand. Even the commentators have stopped their incessant babbling. Nothing they say will add to the suspense, and they dare not shatter such an electric atmosphere. The hush is total.

A camera slowly zooms in on Grundy's giant hands as he grips the ball tightly. The hair on his arms is standing on end. Every other player is camped around goals, mostly squeezed on or behind the goal line. There is only Grundy and one man on the mark. Any breeze has stilled as twenty million viewers around the world hold their breath. Horse clenches his fists to control the anxiety, pressing his fingernails into his palms so hard that they draw blood.

In the crowd, an old guy dressed in South Melbourne kit clutches at his heart and slumps forward. No-one notices. An asteroid enters the atmosphere, leaving a trail of flame across the dark blue sky. No-one looks up. Children cling forgotten to their mothers. Young men cling to their girlfriends. Fingers cross, uncross and cross again, like Sharon Stone at a police interview. Koalas fall half-stoned from eucalypts. They don't notice. Planes crash high above, the pilots fixed to the screens on their phones. A kaiju rises from middle hardbour, crushing apartment blocks and throwing cars into the water. The seas catch fire, the anti-Christ roams the earth, fire and brimstone rain down, Christians vanish from the crowd, called to heaven. "Not now", they cry to God begging him for a few minutes more on earth, just until the game finishes. A ship runs aground at Circular Quay, its captain entirely distracted by the game displayed on a huge screen on the side of the Harbour Bridge.

Someone farts loudly in the crowd, a quiet one that blasts loud at the end, but it breaks the ice, easing the tension. Rampe slides down off the goal post he'd been found himself clinging to. Unfortunately he lands on Daniels. A fight breaks out, other players join in, whistles blow, names are called, mothers are insulted, sisters' reputations are stained, more punches are thrown. The benches shake as trainers, doctors and coaching staff scramble over them to join the fray.

In the forward pocket Horse is gouging out Kingsley's eye. Cox lies on the ground, slowly being throttled by the bloke who cleans the GWS footy boots. Kirk meditates loudly in the centre of the melee, trying to calm everyone down. Sam Taylor decks him. Kirk Jnr decks Taylor. Logan is in full beserker mode, frothing at the mouth, cursing in ancient Norsk as he beats into Hogan and Himmelberg. Toby Green is punching and kicking anyone within reach, which is pretty much what he does during any game. Parker gives him a huge kick in the balls.

The violence has spread into the crowd where mums are punching dads, kids are kicking other kids, great uncles are head butting great aunts who beat them back with a hand bag and a thermos of gin. The tension of the game has been too much. Mandating all the gratuitous violence out of the game has left tensions to fester, until it finally surfaces. Around the world Aussies are being portrayed as violent sickos hiding under a veneer of civility. The Prime Minister calls an urgent cabinet meeting but his cabinet gang up on him. Penny Wong lets fly a Kung-Fu kick to his ear. Parliament becomes an all in brawl. Pressure needs release.

In a desperate bid to quell the violence before it spreads any further, the controlling umpire signals play on. Grundy seems to be the only one who hears it. Without a further glance at the murderous crowds pulling each other apart, he takes a short run up and lets fly, sending the ball clean through the middle of the goals at a height that leaves no doubt of the result, even for crying Crows supporters.

So engaged are they in their brawls, it takes a while before the players, footy staff, media and even the crowd realise something has happened. The fights stop, as all eyes swing towards the goal umpire. It's the same goal umpire who was suspended after 2023 Rd 23 Swans v. Crows, poor guy. He's about to make his call when a drunk Matthew Nicks calls out from the crowd "'Ow big's yer dick?". The goal umpire raises the index finger of each hand, holding them about 30cm apart. "This big" yells the Swans crowd, as they fall over with laughter and howls of relief. Even the GWS players manage a smile. They may have lost but the real winner was footy in NSW and they know it.

A number of Swans veterans take the opportunity to retire. A few cantankerous old Swans fans pass way, finally content.

In the back of an ambulance, its sirens blazing as it races towards hospital, the old South Melbourne supporter regains consciousness. He beckons a paramedic close towards him, "Did we win?" he mutters quietly. The paramedic smiles at him.

Ahhh Rubba, please tell me you're a novelist in the real world, a terrible waste of talent if you are not.
That was magical

 

[Kiama Chris]

Not gonna happen. Pies won't reach the granny despite finishing 4th, they'll be knocked out by a resurgent Demons in QF before the Giants finish them off for a straight sets exit. Turns out Ginnivan was their key player after all. Giants beat the crows in one PF, we knock out Brissy in the other.

The first ever all Sydney Grand Final was always destined to be an epic. NSW Premier Goodes refuses to relinquish the Grand Final to the Victorians. He leads 100,000 NSW AFL fans in a protest relay to the MCG. At the Murray river the baton is swum across to Swans and Giants fans from Victoria, who finally deliver the message to the AFL. It demands the Grand Final is played in Sydney or NSW will ban footy from school grounds. The AFL reluctantly agree to the demands.

The SCG is sold out, with only members of both clubs getting access to tickets, leaving AFL members, SCG members and life members of other clubs to watch on the giant screens the NSW government has set up through surrounding parklands, pubs and venues. The scene extends across all Sydney venues, parks and footy grounds all the way across the Blue Mountains and beyond. Half time sees a new world record set for the largest ever kick-to-kick. NRL and soccer teams are forced by law to abandon all games for their own safety, with millions of people crowding out streets, partying with their neighbours. Giant screens around the harbour can be watched from vantage points all over Sydney. Off the beaches, giant screens float on barges, just outside the surf. Highways are banked up all the way to QLD, people party on the roadways and watch the giant screens on trucks, festooned over the length of the Pacific and Princess Highways

The game is a low scoring affair as both teams probe for a weakness. The score remains tight, with neither team able to break free. Toby Green has been well held all day and a close finish is beckoning when with 5 minutes to play he kicks three goals within a single minute of play. The game day thread has gone a dark red, cursing players, cursing Horse, who does seems to be panicking. Horse makes a tactical play. He moves Parker and Grundy forward and subs out Amartey for a fresh Sam Reid. He motions Sam to take over the ruck, resting Grundy as a forward. Four minutes later and the Swans are back to within a goal, after Campbell launches from the centre square, the ball bouncing on end only 2 metres out, turning on its tip and spinning like a top it slips past three defenders who are left grabbing for air. Reid loses the tap but a lunging tackle causes Green to drop the ball. He's pinged for incorrect disposal. Gulden runs past for a handball receive. This throws the player on the mark who moves just enough to lose his balance, making him lunge towards Reid. The ump awards a 50m penalty, bringing Reid within 55m, testing his hammies. His kick sails through almost on the outstretched fingers of a couple of GWS defenders. They claim the ball was touched. The umpire gets the AFL voice in his ear, they want him to declare it touched. He follows their direction but he insists on calling for a review. The review makes it clear the ball was untouched. Reid pumps his fist in celebration.

The Giants dig in, leaving the Swans still three points behind with only 13 seconds of play remaining. Another centre bounce but with no clear winner in the ruck. Reid isn't finished he goes again and gets a 2nd tap out to Adams. With his knee stuffed and head heavily bandaged, Adams somehow manages to squirt a handball through a tiny gap in the congestion, finding Gulden. He's instantly gang tackled but somehow manages to throw the ball onto his boot. The kick sails high inside 50. A huge pack forms, the Giants almost inpenetrable defence sets itself, desperate to kill the ball and block the space for the Swans' forwards. A miracle is needed.

All eyes are fixed on the descending ball when a wounded resting Grundy, looking all but dead, suddenly launches off his opponent, who is caught ball watching. Grundy comes crashing out of the goal square, his huge legs pumping hard, his opponent two steps behind. Grundy's pace rises, incredibly, his momentum like a human battering ram, his eyes held fixed, glued to the incoming ball. He jumps early, lifts his giant frame high, rising until he almost seems to be flying. For a half second he seems to hover over the pack, gaining more height on the shoulders of friends and foes alike. His fingers reach out to the ball at his highest point, clinging desperately to the mark as he suddenly descends from high, completely and utterly flattening anyone in the pack. He holds the ball aloft, a whistle blows, a sound like air rushing out of a deflated Giants defence.

The siren goes as Grundy lines up from 40m out. He resets his runup. I expect I'm not the only one wondering how much forward craft he picked up in the Demon's VFL team. The irony that the failure of the Demon's dual ruck experiment could determine the outcome of an all Sydney grand final was lost on me, like most fans. The moment is all that matters. The silence is absolute, a pin dropped in Manly could echo around the SCG. A cockroach could be heard crunching on pie crumbs behind the Bill O'Reilly stand. Even the commentators have stopped their incessant babbling. Nothing they say will add to the suspense, and they dare not shatter such an electric atmosphere. The hush is total.

A camera slowly zooms in on Grundy's giant hands as he grips the ball tightly. The hair on his arms is standing on end. Every other player is camped around goals, mostly squeezed on or behind the goal line. There is only Grundy and one man on the mark. Any breeze has stilled as twenty million viewers around the world hold their breath. Horse clenches his fists to control the anxiety, pressing his fingernails into his palms so hard that they draw blood.

In the crowd, an old guy dressed in South Melbourne kit clutches at his heart and slumps forward. No-one notices. An asteroid enters the atmosphere, leaving a trail of flame across the dark blue sky. No-one looks up. Children cling forgotten to their mothers. Young men cling to their girlfriends. Fingers cross, uncross and cross again, like Sharon Stone at a police interview. Koalas fall half-stoned from eucalypts. They don't notice. Planes crash high above, the pilots fixed to the screens on their phones. A kaiju rises from middle hardbour, crushing apartment blocks and throwing cars into the water. The seas catch fire, the anti-Christ roams the earth, fire and brimstone rain down, Christians vanish from the crowd, called to heaven. "Not now", they cry to God begging him for a few minutes more on earth, just until the game finishes. A ship runs aground at Circular Quay, its captain entirely distracted by the game displayed on a huge screen on the side of the Harbour Bridge.

Someone farts loudly in the crowd, a quiet one that blasts loud at the end, but it breaks the ice, easing the tension. Rampe slides down off the goal post he'd been found himself clinging to. Unfortunately he lands on Daniels. A fight breaks out, other players join in, whistles blow, names are called, mothers are insulted, sisters' reputations are stained, more punches are thrown. The benches shake as trainers, doctors and coaching staff scramble over them to join the fray.

In the forward pocket Horse is gouging out Kingsley's eye. Cox lies on the ground, slowly being throttled by the bloke who cleans the GWS footy boots. Kirk meditates loudly in the centre of the melee, trying to calm everyone down. Sam Taylor decks him. Kirk Jnr decks Taylor. Logan is in full beserker mode, frothing at the mouth, cursing in ancient Norsk as he beats into Hogan and Himmelberg. Toby Green is punching and kicking anyone within reach, which is pretty much what he does during any game. Parker gives him a huge kick in the balls.

The violence has spread into the crowd where mums are punching dads, kids are kicking other kids, great uncles are head butting great aunts who beat them back with a hand bag and a thermos of gin. The tension of the game has been too much. Mandating all the gratuitous violence out of the game has left tensions to fester, until it finally surfaces. Around the world Aussies are being portrayed as violent sickos hiding under a veneer of civility. The Prime Minister calls an urgent cabinet meeting but his cabinet gang up on him. Penny Wong lets fly a Kung-Fu kick to his ear. Parliament becomes an all in brawl. Pressure needs release.

In a desperate bid to quell the violence before it spreads any further, the controlling umpire signals play on. Grundy seems to be the only one who hears it. Without a further glance at the murderous crowds pulling each other apart, he takes a short run up and lets fly, sending the ball clean through the middle of the goals at a height that leaves no doubt of the result, even for crying Crows supporters.

So engaged are they in their brawls, it takes a while before the players, footy staff, media and even the crowd realise something has happened. The fights stop, as all eyes swing towards the goal umpire. It's the same goal umpire who was suspended after 2023 Rd 23 Swans v. Crows, poor guy. He's about to make his call when a drunk Matthew Nicks calls out from the crowd "'Ow big's yer dick?". The goal umpire raises the index finger of each hand, holding them about 30cm apart. "This big" yells the Swans crowd, as they fall over with laughter and howls of relief. Even the GWS players manage a smile. They may have lost but the real winner was footy in NSW and they know it.

A number of Swans veterans take the opportunity to retire. A few cantankerous old Swans fans pass way, finally content.

In the back of an ambulance, its sirens blazing as it races towards hospital, the old South Melbourne supporter regains consciousness. He beckons a paramedic close towards him, "Did we win?" he mutters quietly. The paramedic smiles at him.

EPIC!

 

[rustycrate]

Not gonna happen. Pies won't reach the granny despite finishing 4th, they'll be knocked out by a resurgent Demons in QF before the Giants finish them off for a straight sets exit. Turns out Ginnivan was their key player after all. Giants beat the crows in one PF, we knock out Brissy in the other.

The first ever all Sydney Grand Final was always destined to be an epic. NSW Premier Goodes refuses to relinquish the Grand Final to the Victorians. He leads 100,000 NSW AFL fans in a protest relay to the MCG. At the Murray river the baton is swum across to Swans and Giants fans from Victoria, who finally deliver the message to the AFL. It demands the Grand Final is played in Sydney or NSW will ban footy from school grounds. The AFL reluctantly agree to the demands.

The SCG is sold out, with only members of both clubs getting access to tickets, leaving AFL members, SCG members and life members of other clubs to watch on the giant screens the NSW government has set up through surrounding parklands, pubs and venues. The scene extends across all Sydney venues, parks and footy grounds all the way across the Blue Mountains and beyond. Half time sees a new world record set for the largest ever kick-to-kick. NRL and soccer teams are forced by law to abandon all games for their own safety, with millions of people crowding out streets, partying with their neighbours. Giant screens around the harbour can be watched from vantage points all over Sydney. Off the beaches, giant screens float on barges, just outside the surf. Highways are banked up all the way to QLD, people party on the roadways and watch the giant screens on trucks, festooned over the length of the Pacific and Princess Highways

The game is a low scoring affair as both teams probe for a weakness. The score remains tight, with neither team able to break free. Toby Green has been well held all day and a close finish is beckoning when with 5 minutes to play he kicks three goals within a single minute of play. The game day thread has gone a dark red, cursing players, cursing Horse, who does seems to be panicking. Horse makes a tactical play. He moves Parker and Grundy forward and subs out Amartey for a fresh Sam Reid. He motions Sam to take over the ruck, resting Grundy as a forward. Four minutes later and the Swans are back to within a goal, after Campbell launches from the centre square, the ball bouncing on end only 2 metres out, turning on its tip and spinning like a top it slips past three defenders who are left grabbing for air. Reid loses the tap but a lunging tackle causes Green to drop the ball. He's pinged for incorrect disposal. Gulden runs past for a handball receive. This throws the player on the mark who moves just enough to lose his balance, making him lunge towards Reid. The ump awards a 50m penalty, bringing Reid within 55m, testing his hammies. His kick sails through almost on the outstretched fingers of a couple of GWS defenders. They claim the ball was touched. The umpire gets the AFL voice in his ear, they want him to declare it touched. He follows their direction but he insists on calling for a review. The review makes it clear the ball was untouched. Reid pumps his fist in celebration.

The Giants dig in, leaving the Swans still three points behind with only 13 seconds of play remaining. Another centre bounce but with no clear winner in the ruck. Reid isn't finished he goes again and gets a 2nd tap out to Adams. With his knee stuffed and head heavily bandaged, Adams somehow manages to squirt a handball through a tiny gap in the congestion, finding Gulden. He's instantly gang tackled but somehow manages to throw the ball onto his boot. The kick sails high inside 50. A huge pack forms, the Giants almost inpenetrable defence sets itself, desperate to kill the ball and block the space for the Swans' forwards. A miracle is needed.

All eyes are fixed on the descending ball when a wounded resting Grundy, looking all but dead, suddenly launches off his opponent, who is caught ball watching. Grundy comes crashing out of the goal square, his huge legs pumping hard, his opponent two steps behind. Grundy's pace rises, incredibly, his momentum like a human battering ram, his eyes held fixed, glued to the incoming ball. He jumps early, lifts his giant frame high, rising until he almost seems to be flying. For a half second he seems to hover over the pack, gaining more height on the shoulders of friends and foes alike. His fingers reach out to the ball at his highest point, clinging desperately to the mark as he suddenly descends from high, completely and utterly flattening anyone in the pack. He holds the ball aloft, a whistle blows, a sound like air rushing out of a deflated Giants defence.

The siren goes as Grundy lines up from 40m out. He resets his runup. I expect I'm not the only one wondering how much forward craft he picked up in the Demon's VFL team. The irony that the failure of the Demon's dual ruck experiment could determine the outcome of an all Sydney grand final was lost on me, like most fans. The moment is all that matters. The silence is absolute, a pin dropped in Manly could echo around the SCG. A cockroach could be heard crunching on pie crumbs behind the Bill O'Reilly stand. Even the commentators have stopped their incessant babbling. Nothing they say will add to the suspense, and they dare not shatter such an electric atmosphere. The hush is total.

A camera slowly zooms in on Grundy's giant hands as he grips the ball tightly. The hair on his arms is standing on end. Every other player is camped around goals, mostly squeezed on or behind the goal line. There is only Grundy and one man on the mark. Any breeze has stilled as twenty million viewers around the world hold their breath. Horse clenches his fists to control the anxiety, pressing his fingernails into his palms so hard that they draw blood.

In the crowd, an old guy dressed in South Melbourne kit clutches at his heart and slumps forward. No-one notices. An asteroid enters the atmosphere, leaving a trail of flame across the dark blue sky. No-one looks up. Children cling forgotten to their mothers. Young men cling to their girlfriends. Fingers cross, uncross and cross again, like Sharon Stone at a police interview. Koalas fall half-stoned from eucalypts. They don't notice. Planes crash high above, the pilots fixed to the screens on their phones. A kaiju rises from middle hardbour, crushing apartment blocks and throwing cars into the water. The seas catch fire, the anti-Christ roams the earth, fire and brimstone rain down, Christians vanish from the crowd, called to heaven. "Not now", they cry to God begging him for a few minutes more on earth, just until the game finishes. A ship runs aground at Circular Quay, its captain entirely distracted by the game displayed on a huge screen on the side of the Harbour Bridge.

Someone farts loudly in the crowd, a quiet one that blasts loud at the end, but it breaks the ice, easing the tension. Rampe slides down off the goal post he'd been found himself clinging to. Unfortunately he lands on Daniels. A fight breaks out, other players join in, whistles blow, names are called, mothers are insulted, sisters' reputations are stained, more punches are thrown. The benches shake as trainers, doctors and coaching staff scramble over them to join the fray.

In the forward pocket Horse is gouging out Kingsley's eye. Cox lies on the ground, slowly being throttled by the bloke who cleans the GWS footy boots. Kirk meditates loudly in the centre of the melee, trying to calm everyone down. Sam Taylor decks him. Kirk Jnr decks Taylor. Logan is in full beserker mode, frothing at the mouth, cursing in ancient Norsk as he beats into Hogan and Himmelberg. Toby Green is punching and kicking anyone within reach, which is pretty much what he does during any game. Parker gives him a huge kick in the balls.

The violence has spread into the crowd where mums are punching dads, kids are kicking other kids, great uncles are head butting great aunts who beat them back with a hand bag and a thermos of gin. The tension of the game has been too much. Mandating all the gratuitous violence out of the game has left tensions to fester, until it finally surfaces. Around the world Aussies are being portrayed as violent sickos hiding under a veneer of civility. The Prime Minister calls an urgent cabinet meeting but his cabinet gang up on him. Penny Wong lets fly a Kung-Fu kick to his ear. Parliament becomes an all in brawl. Pressure needs release.

In a desperate bid to quell the violence before it spreads any further, the controlling umpire signals play on. Grundy seems to be the only one who hears it. Without a further glance at the murderous crowds pulling each other apart, he takes a short run up and lets fly, sending the ball clean through the middle of the goals at a height that leaves no doubt of the result, even for crying Crows supporters.

So engaged are they in their brawls, it takes a while before the players, footy staff, media and even the crowd realise something has happened. The fights stop, as all eyes swing towards the goal umpire. It's the same goal umpire who was suspended after 2023 Rd 23 Swans v. Crows, poor guy. He's about to make his call when a drunk Matthew Nicks calls out from the crowd "'Ow big's yer dick?". The goal umpire raises the index finger of each hand, holding them about 30cm apart. "This big" yells the Swans crowd, as they fall over with laughter and howls of relief. Even the GWS players manage a smile. They may have lost but the real winner was footy in NSW and they know it.

A number of Swans veterans take the opportunity to retire. A few cantankerous old Swans fans pass way, finally content.

In the back of an ambulance, its sirens blazing as it races towards hospital, the old South Melbourne supporter regains consciousness. He beckons a paramedic close towards him, "Did we win?" he mutters quietly. The paramedic smiles at him.

Can you do a video or short movie of this? I can just see the camera panning in on the cockroach, who looks over his shoulder glancing briefly at the camera, whilst munching on the pie crumb.

 

[Troystenvic]

Carlton's flag to lose. Vic media will be going with the 2 big Vic clubs winning flags

 

[RubbaDuck]

Can you do a video or short movie of this? I can just see the camera panning in on the cockroach, who looks over his shoulder glancing briefly at the camera, whilst munching on the pie crumb.

I lived in Manly 20+ years ago. Drop a pie crumb and the challenge would be keeping other cockroaches out of the shot.

Damn, I'm thinking about the pie shop/bakery at the ferry end of the Corso. It began life as Shakespeare's Pies before changing the name to Hamlet's pies. The place was an icon. The mince steak, bacon & cheese pie was my fave, the gravy perfect. It closed its doors in 2020, a silent victim of the global pandemic.

 

[RubbaDuck]

Ahhh Rubba, please tell me you're a novelist in the real world, a terrible waste of talent if you are not.
That was magical

Thanks Jewels. With praise like that I'll be anything you want me to be.

 

[rustycrate]

I lived in Manly 20+ years ago. Drop a pie crumb and the challenge would be keeping other cockroaches out of the shot.

Damn, I'm thinking about the pie shop/bakery at the ferry end of the Corso. It began life as Shakespeare's Pies before changing the name to Hamlet's pies. The place was an icon. The mince steak, bacon & cheese pie was my fave, the gravy perfect. It closed its doors in 2020, a silent victim of the global pandemic.

I lived at Fairlight at about the same time. I had a flat overlooking the harbour. I could see through the Sydney heads looking south. Not on the harbour but across the street. I loved watching the storms brewing from the south. Lightening. Thunder. The ominous grey clouds building up. The wind would precede the storm and it would get the hairs up on your arms as it hit you in the face.
I would walk around the water to the ferry terminal at Manly and take the ferry to work in Sydney. I would get sun tanned on the way to work. In stormy weather there were some big swells coming through the heads. The ferries always ran though. They would time their run coming at a 90 degree angle at the swells and at the last minute turn and ride the swells toward Sydney. Bags would slide 20metres inside the ferry back and forth. On sunny days I had my sunnies on and a coffee sitting with my feet up outside on the side of the ferry. It was a great way to go to work every day.

 

[RubbaDuck]

I lived at Fairlight at about the same time. I had a flat overlooking the harbour. I could see through the Sydney heads looking south. Not on the harbour but across the street. I loved watching the storms brewing from the south. Lightening. Thunder. The ominous grey clouds building up. The wind would precede the storm and it would get the hairs up on your arms as it hit you in the face.
I would walk around the water to the ferry terminal at Manly and take the ferry to work in Sydney. I would get sun tanned on the way to work. In stormy weather there were some big swells coming through the heads. The ferries always ran though. They would time their run coming at a 90 degree angle at the swells and at the last minute turn and ride the swells toward Sydney. Bags would slide 20metres inside the ferry back and forth. On sunny days I had my sunnies on and a coffee sitting with my feet up outside on the side of the ferry. It was a great way to go to work every day.

I did the same. I even moved to Fairlight for a year or so and did the very same walk. I loved the ferry ride. There was a Belgian coffee and waffle place at the Manly wharf, Liége style waffles with the small pieces of crystalised sugar. One particularly gloomy grey morning I was on deck enjoying my coffee and waffle, standing on the bow as the ferry turned into the huge swell coming in through the heads. It rose high on the first wave then crashed down hard into the next, burying the bow. All the regulars knew to drop their knees to duck the spray, popping back up with a cheer to brush off any salt. As I brushed flecks of salt off my suit I turned to the guy standing next to me. It was like looking into a mirror. We both wore the very same huge idiotic grin. "Best commute in the world" one of us declared. We both grinned and nodded. It was the only commute I've ever had where I would have happily turned around and done it again.

I also loved coming home on warm summer evenings, beer in hand, charging a path through fast planing skiffs with their daredevil crews on trapezes, trying desperately to squeeze past the bow to leave their competition behind. Sometimes there was a collision, one made the papers, with the ferry snagging a skiff by its rigging, the crew bailing out, boatless and bobbing in the harbour. Crews of larger yachts would try to fend off as their boats bumped along the sides of the ferry, frantic, yelling and trying to re-gain control of their boats. I've experienced it from both perspectives and I can safely say that being on the ferry is the more comfortable option. That big diamond on top of the Manly Ferry is the key. It means "Vessel with restricted manoeuvrability" and gives the ferry the right of way over just about everything.

 

[rustycrate]

I did the same. I even moved to Fairlight for a year or so and did the very same walk. I loved the ferry ride. There was a Belgian coffee and waffle place at the Manly wharf, Liége style waffles with the small pieces of crystalised sugar. One particularly gloomy grey morning I was on deck enjoying my coffee and waffle, standing on the bow as the ferry turned into the huge swell coming in through the heads. It rose high on the first wave then crashed down hard into the next, burying the bow. All the regulars knew to drop their knees to duck the spray, popping back up with a cheer to brush off any salt. As I brushed flecks of salt off my suit I turned to the guy standing next to me. It was like looking into a mirror. We both wore the very same huge idiotic grin. "Best commute in the world" one of us declared. We both grinned and nodded. It was the only commute I've ever had where I would have happily turned around and done it again.

I also loved coming home on warm summer evenings, beer in hand, charging a path through fast planing skiffs with their daredevil crews on trapezes, trying desperately to squeeze past the bow to leave their competition behind. Sometimes there was a collision, one made the papers, with the ferry snagging a skiff by its rigging, the crew bailing out, boatless and bobbing in the harbour. Crews of larger yachts would try to fend off as their boats bumped along the sides of the ferry, frantic, yelling and trying to re-gain control of their boats. I've experienced it from both perspectives and I can safely say that being on the ferry is the more comfortable option. That big diamond on top of the Manly Ferry is the key. It means "Vessel with restricted manoeuvrability" and gives the ferry the right of way over just about everything.

Those were the days my friend!!

 

[RubbaDuck]

Normally I'd mention something on topic to escape a ticking off by the thread police, but I figure most are too happy, too pissed, too sleepy to care right now, and by the time they read this they'll all be too hungover to type a reply.

But just to be safe.

Happy New Year 2024 Swannies. Best wishes to all Swans players, staff, volunteers, well-wishers, supporters and rusted on Bloods fans. Have a truly great year of footy.

Also on topic for 2024.... Happy 150th Birthday to the Sydney/South Melbourne Swans. Obviously it's the club that turns 150 this year, not the staff, players or fans (except maybe Bedford).

This preseason is the time to dust out the trophy cabinet and shuffle the Premiership Cups along to create space for more. In the Australian Zodiac, 2024 is the year of the Swan.

The Australian Zodiac

2012 Year of the Frill Neck Lizard
2013 Year of the Stingray
2014 Year of the Quoll
2015 Year of the Blue Tongue
2016 Year of the Emu (or any chook big enough to kick down a door)
2017 Year of the Koala
2018 Year of the Lyrebird
2019 Year of the Red Bellied Black Snake
2020 Year of the Echidna
2021 Year of the Dingo
2022 Year of the Kookaburra
2023 Year of the Jumping Jack/Jack Jumper
2024 Year of the Swan
2025 Year of the Huntsman
2026 Year of the Barramundi
2027 Year of the Funnel Web
2028 Year of the Jellyfish
2029 Year of the Flathead
2030 Year of the Platypus
2031 Year of the Blue Ring Octopus
2032 Year of the Budgie
2033 Year of the Saltwater Crocodile
2034 Year of the Blue Ringed Octopus
2035 Year of the Tassie Devil
2036 Year of the Yabby
2037 Year of the Shingleback (Stumptail) lizard
2038 Year of the (Drop Tail) Skink
2039 Year of the Fairy (Little) Penguin
2040 Year of the Wombat
2041 Year of the Cockatoo

 

[sthmelb_dimmies]

The first ever all Sydney Grand Final was always destined to be an epic.

This is actually not a bad call. This could be the year the scriptwriters plan a Sydney derby GF. Both teams in the window.

 

[The King!]

We need leading teams for the board

 

[Heeney2Franklin]

This is actually not a bad call. This could be the year the scriptwriters plan a Sydney derby GF. Both teams in the window.

No sadly i think it will be Carlton and one of Geelong/Collingwood/Brisbane.

Oliver and Goodwin sagas have killed any momentum MFC had after 2021.

 

[sthmelb_dimmies]

No sadly i think it will be Carlton and one of Geelong/Collingwood/Brisbane.

Oliver and Goodwin sagas have killed any momentum MFC had after 2021.

Geelong? They won’t make the 8 this year

 

[Jewelsbon]

Geelong? They won’t make the 8 this year

Agreed and don't think Carlton will play in the GF. They'll play finals but I don't see them as any great threat. They were lucky to advance past the first week last year.

 

[JackHiscoxWasFast]

With VFL now shot, the AFL is about to dominate the NRL - all Sydney GF !!

 

[anotherletdown]

Not gonna happen. Pies won't reach the granny despite finishing 4th, they'll be knocked out by a resurgent Demons in QF before the Giants finish them off for a straight sets exit. Turns out Ginnivan was their key player after all. Giants beat the crows in one PF, we knock out Brissy in the other.

The first ever all Sydney Grand Final was always destined to be an epic. NSW Premier Goodes refuses to relinquish the Grand Final to the Victorians. He leads 100,000 NSW AFL fans in a protest relay to the MCG. At the Murray river the baton is swum across to Swans and Giants fans from Victoria, who finally deliver the message to the AFL. It demands the Grand Final is played in Sydney or NSW will ban footy from school grounds. The AFL reluctantly agree to the demands.

The SCG is sold out, with only members of both clubs getting access to tickets, leaving AFL members, SCG members and life members of other clubs to watch on the giant screens the NSW government has set up through surrounding parklands, pubs and venues. The scene extends across all Sydney venues, parks and footy grounds all the way across the Blue Mountains and beyond. Half time sees a new world record set for the largest ever kick-to-kick. NRL and soccer teams are forced by law to abandon all games for their own safety, with millions of people crowding out streets, partying with their neighbours. Giant screens around the harbour can be watched from vantage points all over Sydney. Off the beaches, giant screens float on barges, just outside the surf. Highways are banked up all the way to QLD, people party on the roadways and watch the giant screens on trucks, festooned over the length of the Pacific and Princess Highways

The game is a low scoring affair as both teams probe for a weakness. The score remains tight, with neither team able to break free. Toby Green has been well held all day and a close finish is beckoning when with 5 minutes to play he kicks three goals within a single minute of play. The game day thread has gone a dark red, cursing players, cursing Horse, who does seems to be panicking. Horse makes a tactical play. He moves Parker and Grundy forward and subs out Amartey for a fresh Sam Reid. He motions Sam to take over the ruck, resting Grundy as a forward. Four minutes later and the Swans are back to within a goal, after Campbell launches from the centre square, the ball bouncing on end only 2 metres out, turning on its tip and spinning like a top it slips past three defenders who are left grabbing for air. Reid loses the tap but a lunging tackle causes Green to drop the ball. He's pinged for incorrect disposal. Gulden runs past for a handball receive. This throws the player on the mark who moves just enough to lose his balance, making him lunge towards Reid. The ump awards a 50m penalty, bringing Reid within 55m, testing his hammies. His kick sails through almost on the outstretched fingers of a couple of GWS defenders. They claim the ball was touched. The umpire gets the AFL voice in his ear, they want him to declare it touched. He follows their direction but he insists on calling for a review. The review makes it clear the ball was untouched. Reid pumps his fist in celebration.

The Giants dig in, leaving the Swans still three points behind with only 13 seconds of play remaining. Another centre bounce but with no clear winner in the ruck. Reid isn't finished he goes again and gets a 2nd tap out to Adams. With his knee stuffed and head heavily bandaged, Adams somehow manages to squirt a handball through a tiny gap in the congestion, finding Gulden. He's instantly gang tackled but somehow manages to throw the ball onto his boot. The kick sails high inside 50. A huge pack forms, the Giants almost inpenetrable defence sets itself, desperate to kill the ball and block the space for the Swans' forwards. A miracle is needed.

All eyes are fixed on the descending ball when a wounded resting Grundy, looking all but dead, suddenly launches off his opponent, who is caught ball watching. Grundy comes crashing out of the goal square, his huge legs pumping hard, his opponent two steps behind. Grundy's pace rises, incredibly, his momentum like a human battering ram, his eyes held fixed, glued to the incoming ball. He jumps early, lifts his giant frame high, rising until he almost seems to be flying. For a half second he seems to hover over the pack, gaining more height on the shoulders of friends and foes alike. His fingers reach out to the ball at his highest point, clinging desperately to the mark as he suddenly descends from high, completely and utterly flattening anyone in the pack. He holds the ball aloft, a whistle blows, a sound like air rushing out of a deflated Giants defence.

The siren goes as Grundy lines up from 40m out. He resets his runup. I expect I'm not the only one wondering how much forward craft he picked up in the Demon's VFL team. The irony that the failure of the Demon's dual ruck experiment could determine the outcome of an all Sydney grand final was lost on me, like most fans. The moment is all that matters. The silence is absolute, a pin dropped in Manly could echo around the SCG. A cockroach could be heard crunching on pie crumbs behind the Bill O'Reilly stand. Even the commentators have stopped their incessant babbling. Nothing they say will add to the suspense, and they dare not shatter such an electric atmosphere. The hush is total.

A camera slowly zooms in on Grundy's giant hands as he grips the ball tightly. The hair on his arms is standing on end. Every other player is camped around goals, mostly squeezed on or behind the goal line. There is only Grundy and one man on the mark. Any breeze has stilled as twenty million viewers around the world hold their breath. Horse clenches his fists to control the anxiety, pressing his fingernails into his palms so hard that they draw blood.

In the crowd, an old guy dressed in South Melbourne kit clutches at his heart and slumps forward. No-one notices. An asteroid enters the atmosphere, leaving a trail of flame across the dark blue sky. No-one looks up. Children cling forgotten to their mothers. Young men cling to their girlfriends. Fingers cross, uncross and cross again, like Sharon Stone at a police interview. Koalas fall half-stoned from eucalypts. They don't notice. Planes crash high above, the pilots fixed to the screens on their phones. A kaiju rises from middle hardbour, crushing apartment blocks and throwing cars into the water. The seas catch fire, the anti-Christ roams the earth, fire and brimstone rain down, Christians vanish from the crowd, called to heaven. "Not now", they cry to God begging him for a few minutes more on earth, just until the game finishes. A ship runs aground at Circular Quay, its captain entirely distracted by the game displayed on a huge screen on the side of the Harbour Bridge.

Someone farts loudly in the crowd, a quiet one that blasts loud at the end, but it breaks the ice, easing the tension. Rampe slides down off the goal post he'd been found himself clinging to. Unfortunately he lands on Daniels. A fight breaks out, other players join in, whistles blow, names are called, mothers are insulted, sisters' reputations are stained, more punches are thrown. The benches shake as trainers, doctors and coaching staff scramble over them to join the fray.

In the forward pocket Horse is gouging out Kingsley's eye. Cox lies on the ground, slowly being throttled by the bloke who cleans the GWS footy boots. Kirk meditates loudly in the centre of the melee, trying to calm everyone down. Sam Taylor decks him. Kirk Jnr decks Taylor. Logan is in full beserker mode, frothing at the mouth, cursing in ancient Norsk as he beats into Hogan and Himmelberg. Toby Green is punching and kicking anyone within reach, which is pretty much what he does during any game. Parker gives him a huge kick in the balls.

The violence has spread into the crowd where mums are punching dads, kids are kicking other kids, great uncles are head butting great aunts who beat them back with a hand bag and a thermos of gin. The tension of the game has been too much. Mandating all the gratuitous violence out of the game has left tensions to fester, until it finally surfaces. Around the world Aussies are being portrayed as violent sickos hiding under a veneer of civility. The Prime Minister calls an urgent cabinet meeting but his cabinet gang up on him. Penny Wong lets fly a Kung-Fu kick to his ear. Parliament becomes an all in brawl. Pressure needs release.

In a desperate bid to quell the violence before it spreads any further, the controlling umpire signals play on. Grundy seems to be the only one who hears it. Without a further glance at the murderous crowds pulling each other apart, he takes a short run up and lets fly, sending the ball clean through the middle of the goals at a height that leaves no doubt of the result, even for crying Crows supporters.

So engaged are they in their brawls, it takes a while before the players, footy staff, media and even the crowd realise something has happened. The fights stop, as all eyes swing towards the goal umpire. It's the same goal umpire who was suspended after 2023 Rd 23 Swans v. Crows, poor guy. He's about to make his call when a drunk Matthew Nicks calls out from the crowd "'Ow big's yer dick?". The goal umpire raises the index finger of each hand, holding them about 30cm apart. "This big" yells the Swans crowd, as they fall over with laughter and howls of relief. Even the GWS players manage a smile. They may have lost but the real winner was footy in NSW and they know it.

A number of Swans veterans take the opportunity to retire. A few cantankerous old Swans fans pass way, finally content.

In the back of an ambulance, its sirens blazing as it races towards hospital, the old South Melbourne supporter regains consciousness. He beckons a paramedic close towards him, "Did we win?" he mutters quietly. The paramedic smiles at him.

So, I see you put a bit of thought into it

 

[anotherletdown]

I lived in Manly 20+ years ago. Drop a pie crumb and the challenge would be keeping other cockroaches out of the shot.

Damn, I'm thinking about the pie shop/bakery at the ferry end of the Corso. It began life as Shakespeare's Pies before changing the name to Hamlet's pies. The place was an icon. The mince steak, bacon & cheese pie was my fave, the gravy perfect. It closed its doors in 2020, a silent victim of the global pandemic.

Shakespeare's. What an institution that was. I miss living in that area...

 

[RubbaDuck]

Shakespeare's. What an institution that was. I miss living in that area...

No idea why the best pie shop on the planet would just shut down. I vaguely recall coming home on the ferry from a huge night out, scent of freshly baked goodies wafting out of the Corso. Queuing for delicious pies while still half off my **** in the wee hours. Finally sitting on the beach with a couple of pies, watching the sun rise, thinking sleep is for wimps.

Do you know where they went?

 

[MR0808]

This is actually not a bad call. This could be the year the scriptwriters plan a Sydney derby GF. Both teams in the window.

Eddie will need a defibrillator

 

[sataris]

With VFL now shot, the AFL is about to dominate the NRL - all Sydney GF !!

Won't ever happen.