thylacine60
Premium Platinum
- Banned
- #1
Bolts stands next to Andy McKay watching the crowd of players skylarking around the room.
"This is deadset uncomfortable".
McKay: “Every 1 to 2 weeks they get like this”.
Bolts: “Guys, guys!”
Cunners pipes up: “Love ya, Bolts”.
“Shut-up, Cunners. You might want to work on getting a few more touches”.
Everyone laughs.
Cunners: “Harsh, Bolts”.
Cunners jogs around the room touching one player after another.
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5.......”
McKay :“He gets like this every 1 to 2 weeks”.
Bolts: “You blokes, as you know it's bye week. So, what does that mean for us – as a team, as a club, as a group?”
A long pause.
“Anyone?”
Players look at the floor, their phones.
Cripps: “I reckon we get a chance to re-set, have a look where we're at, stuff like that”.
“Thanks, Crippa”.
A voice from the back mimics“Thanks, Crippa. Ooh, ooh, I'm Patrick Cripps”.
Byrne: “Sherrup, Puss”.
Graham: “No you!”
Byrne: “Just shet the feck up”.
Bolts: “Everyone shet the feck up. Yes, we get the chance to re-set. But what does that mean?”
Sam Rowe:“Is that the same as re-group?”
Simmo: “Who gives a s**t?”
Everyone turns in his direction. He's sitting in an over-stuffed armchair, a cup of cooling Horlicks on a wine-table next to him.
Bolts: “Simmo, are your boots on the wrong feet?”
Simmo puts his knitting down, drops his face in his hands.
“Something new I'm trying. Please leave me alone – all of you”.
Bolts: “Seriously, this place”.
McKay: “Every couple of weeks...”
Marc Murphy interrupts him.
Murph: “I'd like to make a statement.”
Bolts: “Not now, Marc”.
Murph: “Ah, geez.....”
Bolts: “Re-set, re-group, re-build, whatever. It's a chance for some harsh truths – IF we are willing to listen to what our team-mates think of our efforts. Are we up for it? Can we take it without sulking like little bitches?”
“Bit sexist”.
Daisy looks nervous.
“Well it is. Suggesting only women sulk or feel emotions. I feel plenty of emotions – am I a woman?”
Plowman: “I think I may be a woman”.
Bolts: “You're not a woman, Loch. How many times.........?”
Weits: “I feel nothing”.
McKay: “That will sometimes happen.....”
Everyone in unison: “For 1 to 2 weeks!”
McKay: “Correct”.
Bolts: “So who's up for it? Who can take the heat of honesty about his performances?”
Silence.
Logiudice & Liddle enter the room, sense the awkward tension. They quickly set up a card-table and begin a game of checkers.
Logiudice: “Don't mind us, fellas”.
Bolts: “Got the whole club here now, boys. No better time for honesty and openness”.
Charlie: “This sucks”.
Graham: “No you!”
Charlie: “Dude, What is your problem?”
Nick drifts behind a group of players out of sight.
Someone yells out: “Fastest you've moved for a while”.
Graham: “Bite me”.
Cripps: “I'll go. I reckon my field kicking and shots on goal are pretty ordinary. Need to work on that stuff a fair bit”.
There's an uproar. Byrnes and Fisher fight to get near him.
Byrne: “You're too fecking hard on yerself, skip”.
Murphy: “Hey, I'm right here”.
Fisher: “You're the best, mate. You complete me”.
Simmo: “* me dead. Knit one, purl.........*!”.
Bolts: “Good work, Patrick. Maybe you blokes can be a little more realistic in your feedback”.
Fisher sits on Cripps' knee, rests his head on his shoulder.
“So warm”.
Cripps seems unsettled but not as much as Byrne.
Logiudice calls out without looking up from the table.
“What about you clowns number off? Talk about your strengths and weaknesses. See if people agree”.
More awkward silence.
Macreadie: “Who's that fat campaigner?”
Jack: “Fair enough. Let's see. I'm pretty much the face of the club. Strong sporting heritage, angular good looks”.
Bolts: “Just the onfield stuff, Jack.
Jack:“Right. Well...”
Someone calls out “Over-rated”.
Jack: “* you, Williamson”.
Willo: “It was Puss”.
Graham: “No you!”
Bolts: “Christ Almighty. Paddy Dow?”
Dow: “Have found my feet quickly in the big-time and now playing like a seasoned veteran”.
Bolts: “Where'd you read that?”
Dow: “BigFooty”.
Everyone laughs.
Dow: “What? It's good”.
Byrne: “It's shite, man”.
Graham: “You are”.
Byrnes:“I'll punch your ******* face you soft *er”.
Doc: “It actually can be very good. That thylacine60 cat has some insane alacrity at times”.
Everyone in unison in a droning, robotic voice: “Yes, Sam. Whatever you say, Sam”.
Bolts: “Lochie O'Brien?”
Murph: “Hey, I'm right here”.
Bolts: “Relax, Marc. You know it's captain last”.
Murph: “Oh yeah, just a bit jumpy I guess. There's something I've been wanting to.....”
Bolts: “Loch, you're up”.
Murph: “Far out, geez”.
O'Brien: “Ah, a guided missile left peg, any signs of footsteps can be forgiven at this stage in his career”.
Bolts: “BigFooty?”
O'Brien: “Soapy V”.
Bolts: “Jesus wept”.
Logiudice: “He's the leak”.
Liddle: “Who?”
Logiudice: “The O'Brien kid. Direct link to BigFooty. We send misinformation through him”.
Liddle: “Yeah?”
Logiudice: “How do you think the Murphy rumour started?”
Liddle: “Which one?”
Logiudice: “Exactly”.
Liddle kings six times across the board.
Logiudice: “Vaffanculo!”
Bolts: “Samo”.
SPS thinks for a moment, licks his lips, looks at Logiudice, runs and jumps on his back.
Logiudice: “What the *?”
He stands up, SPS clinging to his back, whipping him with a rolled up copy of the Footy Record. The group watch the President stagger around the room bumping off walls, Samo with a handful of his suit, heels digging into his ribs.
Bolts: “At any other club that might seem strange”.
Finally Samo jumps off to the room erupting in applause. Jed Lamb dressed as a rodeo clown ushers Loguidice back to his table with a couple of shirt punches to go on with.
Bolts: “Bamster”.
Kennedy: “What about Simmo?”
Bolts: “You wanna wake him?”
Simmo snoozes in his chair, some food on his face, his drink spilt down his front.
Marchbank: “I wouldn't”.
Kennedy: “Injury prone, I guess”.
Bolts: “BigFooty?”
Kennedy: “Andy Mac”.
McKay: “He'll be back in full training in 1 to 2 weeks”.
Kennedy: “Woohoo!”
Kennedy is lying on the floor in a full-body plaster cast.
Bolts: “That's a real credit to our medical team”.
He starts a round of applause – all players join in.
Bolts: “Big fella”.
A door opens, a grey, hairy-head wearing a head-band appears.
Grey Man: “Kreuz doesn't need this s**t. His play does the talking”.
Kreuzer waves a hand, Grey Man nods, withdraws, the door closes.
Bolts: “Unbelievable, the great man”.
Macreadie: “Who was that old campaigner?”
Jack: “Get a clue”.
Graham: “No you!”
Bolts: “Nick, can you give it a rest, mate?”
Graham: “Can you give me a game, mate?”
Bolts: “Well come on then, let's hear from you”.
Graham: “Oh, you know. Too slow, too good for VFL too s**t for AFL”.
Bolts: “Comments?”
Massive silence in the room. Graham looks around desperate for some support.
Someone suggests “Good hair”.
Mutterings and agreement, they like Nick Graham's hair.
“Really, you really like it? Not too Flock of Seagulls”.
Plowman: “It's nice, Puss. Soft. Are you using sprunch mousse?”
"This is deadset uncomfortable".
McKay: “Every 1 to 2 weeks they get like this”.
Bolts: “Guys, guys!”
Cunners pipes up: “Love ya, Bolts”.
“Shut-up, Cunners. You might want to work on getting a few more touches”.
Everyone laughs.
Cunners: “Harsh, Bolts”.
Cunners jogs around the room touching one player after another.
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5.......”
McKay :“He gets like this every 1 to 2 weeks”.
Bolts: “You blokes, as you know it's bye week. So, what does that mean for us – as a team, as a club, as a group?”
A long pause.
“Anyone?”
Players look at the floor, their phones.
Cripps: “I reckon we get a chance to re-set, have a look where we're at, stuff like that”.
“Thanks, Crippa”.
A voice from the back mimics“Thanks, Crippa. Ooh, ooh, I'm Patrick Cripps”.
Byrne: “Sherrup, Puss”.
Graham: “No you!”
Byrne: “Just shet the feck up”.
Bolts: “Everyone shet the feck up. Yes, we get the chance to re-set. But what does that mean?”
Sam Rowe:“Is that the same as re-group?”
Simmo: “Who gives a s**t?”
Everyone turns in his direction. He's sitting in an over-stuffed armchair, a cup of cooling Horlicks on a wine-table next to him.
Bolts: “Simmo, are your boots on the wrong feet?”
Simmo puts his knitting down, drops his face in his hands.
“Something new I'm trying. Please leave me alone – all of you”.
Bolts: “Seriously, this place”.
McKay: “Every couple of weeks...”
Marc Murphy interrupts him.
Murph: “I'd like to make a statement.”
Bolts: “Not now, Marc”.
Murph: “Ah, geez.....”
Bolts: “Re-set, re-group, re-build, whatever. It's a chance for some harsh truths – IF we are willing to listen to what our team-mates think of our efforts. Are we up for it? Can we take it without sulking like little bitches?”
“Bit sexist”.
Daisy looks nervous.
“Well it is. Suggesting only women sulk or feel emotions. I feel plenty of emotions – am I a woman?”
Plowman: “I think I may be a woman”.
Bolts: “You're not a woman, Loch. How many times.........?”
Weits: “I feel nothing”.
McKay: “That will sometimes happen.....”
Everyone in unison: “For 1 to 2 weeks!”
McKay: “Correct”.
Bolts: “So who's up for it? Who can take the heat of honesty about his performances?”
Silence.
Logiudice & Liddle enter the room, sense the awkward tension. They quickly set up a card-table and begin a game of checkers.
Logiudice: “Don't mind us, fellas”.
Bolts: “Got the whole club here now, boys. No better time for honesty and openness”.
Charlie: “This sucks”.
Graham: “No you!”
Charlie: “Dude, What is your problem?”
Nick drifts behind a group of players out of sight.
Someone yells out: “Fastest you've moved for a while”.
Graham: “Bite me”.
Cripps: “I'll go. I reckon my field kicking and shots on goal are pretty ordinary. Need to work on that stuff a fair bit”.
There's an uproar. Byrnes and Fisher fight to get near him.
Byrne: “You're too fecking hard on yerself, skip”.
Murphy: “Hey, I'm right here”.
Fisher: “You're the best, mate. You complete me”.
Simmo: “* me dead. Knit one, purl.........*!”.
Bolts: “Good work, Patrick. Maybe you blokes can be a little more realistic in your feedback”.
Fisher sits on Cripps' knee, rests his head on his shoulder.
“So warm”.
Cripps seems unsettled but not as much as Byrne.
Logiudice calls out without looking up from the table.
“What about you clowns number off? Talk about your strengths and weaknesses. See if people agree”.
More awkward silence.
Macreadie: “Who's that fat campaigner?”
Jack: “Fair enough. Let's see. I'm pretty much the face of the club. Strong sporting heritage, angular good looks”.
Bolts: “Just the onfield stuff, Jack.
Jack:“Right. Well...”
Someone calls out “Over-rated”.
Jack: “* you, Williamson”.
Willo: “It was Puss”.
Graham: “No you!”
Bolts: “Christ Almighty. Paddy Dow?”
Dow: “Have found my feet quickly in the big-time and now playing like a seasoned veteran”.
Bolts: “Where'd you read that?”
Dow: “BigFooty”.
Everyone laughs.
Dow: “What? It's good”.
Byrne: “It's shite, man”.
Graham: “You are”.
Byrnes:“I'll punch your ******* face you soft *er”.
Doc: “It actually can be very good. That thylacine60 cat has some insane alacrity at times”.
Everyone in unison in a droning, robotic voice: “Yes, Sam. Whatever you say, Sam”.
Bolts: “Lochie O'Brien?”
Murph: “Hey, I'm right here”.
Bolts: “Relax, Marc. You know it's captain last”.
Murph: “Oh yeah, just a bit jumpy I guess. There's something I've been wanting to.....”
Bolts: “Loch, you're up”.
Murph: “Far out, geez”.
O'Brien: “Ah, a guided missile left peg, any signs of footsteps can be forgiven at this stage in his career”.
Bolts: “BigFooty?”
O'Brien: “Soapy V”.
Bolts: “Jesus wept”.
Logiudice: “He's the leak”.
Liddle: “Who?”
Logiudice: “The O'Brien kid. Direct link to BigFooty. We send misinformation through him”.
Liddle: “Yeah?”
Logiudice: “How do you think the Murphy rumour started?”
Liddle: “Which one?”
Logiudice: “Exactly”.
Liddle kings six times across the board.
Logiudice: “Vaffanculo!”
Bolts: “Samo”.
SPS thinks for a moment, licks his lips, looks at Logiudice, runs and jumps on his back.
Logiudice: “What the *?”
He stands up, SPS clinging to his back, whipping him with a rolled up copy of the Footy Record. The group watch the President stagger around the room bumping off walls, Samo with a handful of his suit, heels digging into his ribs.
Bolts: “At any other club that might seem strange”.
Finally Samo jumps off to the room erupting in applause. Jed Lamb dressed as a rodeo clown ushers Loguidice back to his table with a couple of shirt punches to go on with.
Bolts: “Bamster”.
Kennedy: “What about Simmo?”
Bolts: “You wanna wake him?”
Simmo snoozes in his chair, some food on his face, his drink spilt down his front.
Marchbank: “I wouldn't”.
Kennedy: “Injury prone, I guess”.
Bolts: “BigFooty?”
Kennedy: “Andy Mac”.
McKay: “He'll be back in full training in 1 to 2 weeks”.
Kennedy: “Woohoo!”
Kennedy is lying on the floor in a full-body plaster cast.
Bolts: “That's a real credit to our medical team”.
He starts a round of applause – all players join in.
Bolts: “Big fella”.
A door opens, a grey, hairy-head wearing a head-band appears.
Grey Man: “Kreuz doesn't need this s**t. His play does the talking”.
Kreuzer waves a hand, Grey Man nods, withdraws, the door closes.
Bolts: “Unbelievable, the great man”.
Macreadie: “Who was that old campaigner?”
Jack: “Get a clue”.
Graham: “No you!”
Bolts: “Nick, can you give it a rest, mate?”
Graham: “Can you give me a game, mate?”
Bolts: “Well come on then, let's hear from you”.
Graham: “Oh, you know. Too slow, too good for VFL too s**t for AFL”.
Bolts: “Comments?”
Massive silence in the room. Graham looks around desperate for some support.
Someone suggests “Good hair”.
Mutterings and agreement, they like Nick Graham's hair.
“Really, you really like it? Not too Flock of Seagulls”.
Plowman: “It's nice, Puss. Soft. Are you using sprunch mousse?”
