Unofficial Preview Thy's Bye Thread 2023

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thylacine60 said:
Welcome to your Psychological Exploration Experience

Trust-Adapt-Prevail

Please be prepared to leave for the airport by 6pm, Friday 21st June

Dress in your training gear - bring nothing else​


A plane drops through the night sky landing smoothly on the wet runway. An hour later a bus moves through dark streets and draws up at a scruffy weatherboard house with a single globe lit.

The entire Carlton playing list along with several line-coaches & officials sit silently in the dark bus. Rain patters the roof as the group absorb the quiet night. No-one speaks for several moments.

Harry McKay: “Well this is mondo outlandish”.

Doc: “Trust, adapt, prevail, Harry”.

Harry: “Right. Ok then. Now I feel like a putz, Doc”.

Doc: “You're not a putz, Harry. Lochie Plowman is a putz”.

Plowman: “What's a putz?”

Fisher on his phone: “Siri, what's a putz?”

SIRI: “A stupid or worthless person”.

Plowman: “Oh”.

SIRI: “Also a **** footballer”.

Plowman: “**** it!”

Teague: “As I said earlier, we wanted to break up the boredom and repetition of training.”

Weitering: “I like boring, repetitive training.”

Charlie: “That's because you're a gimpoid”.

Weitering: “Whoever said that, I contest your assertion”.

Teague: “Let's go inside and see what's in store. Remember, keep an open mind ….....this is all about experiencing the different.”

Plowman: “Should that be difference?”

Teague: “No, different. Also, shut up”.

Murphy: “David, this is Marc Murphy speaking from the back of the bus. Before we go in I'd like to address the group”.

Teague: “That's going to interrupt the immersive nature of the exercise, Marc. Perhaps later”.

Murphy: “Ah geez.....”

Liddle: “Let's do this, guys”.

Teague: “And expect the unexpected”.

Pretty soon it's a navy blue line filing from the bus onto the street. Teague & Liddle approach the front door of the house , Teague knocks. A large, stooped man with wild hair in a Carlton jumper under a velvet smoking jacket opens it.

Teague: “Mr O'Hara?”

The man takes a drink from a 750ml steel can of Melbourne Bitter, a smoking bong in his other hand.

“It was always, George. Krishna Krishna. Blue Boys at the door of my crib, what the ****......”

Liddle:“Mr. O'Hara, we spoke on the phone? What if we gather in the lounge-room before getting started?”

Mr O'Hara: “Call me, Mr Numbers”.

Liddle: “Why?”

Numbers: “****** if I know. Did you bring the onions?”

Andrew Russell steps forward: “Got 'em here.”

He hands over a bag of brown onions. Numbers hefts them before moving inside the house. He puts them on a chopping block near a gas BBQ in the middle of the room.

Russell calls out: “What's the plan? Poultice? Inflammation rub? Tonic?”

Numbers: “For me snags. Pork & Apple tonight”.

McGovern: “Makes sense”.

Numbers: “Can't have snags without onions – un-Australian”.

McGovern: “You cannot”.

The players are moving inside the house. They pack into the front room.

Numbers: “Free the people……….any you boys wanna mull up?”

Charlie looks keen, Liddle looks askance. He gestures to Teague as the players stand looking around the grotty room.

Teague: “So like I said, guys, we wanted to do something a little different this bye week. Daisy, you with us?”

Daisy is looking into an upturned milk-crate behind the couch.

Daisy: “What the ****?”

Numbers: “That’s my little half-back flanker”.

A doll-sized figurine in a tiny Carlton jumper looks out from the milk-crate.

Kreuzer: “It’s a Murph Bobble-Head.”

Daisy: “I don't think so”.

Murphy: “Let me see” He peers into the milk-crate. “Nothing like me”.

“Hoy”, the little man pipes.

Daisy jumps back: “It’s ******* alive”.

“F5, F5, F5”, the tiny man dances around his plastic cage.

Numbers: “Don’t bring the little dude down. He's on quiet time”.

The players are looking decidedly unsettled.

Teague: “So anyway, this is one of our staunchest fans, Mr………er, Numbers. He played for the club at a lower level a long time ago. He has a strong interest in music and herb cultivation. He came up with the idea of a fan-based training night”.

Numbers: “Lucy in the ****en sky, I did.”

He pokes at some thick sausages on the grill before walking over to a large cupboard in the corner of the room. Teague & Liddle join him.

Liddle: “This it?”

Numbers: “As described. She don't lie, she don't lie.........”

Teague opens one of the cupboard doors slowly, looks in.

“Think I hear something”.

Numbers: “All in the 3-ply of your mind”.

He hands Harry McKay a chopping knife, points at the onions.

“Not too thin”.

Harry: “I'm on it” He chops as Numbers cranks the gas to 11 on the BBQ.

Teague: “Is that safe?”

Numbers: “Safer than your job I reckon”.

Liddle: “Fair call”.

Teague: “Hey, I'm right here? Ok. Count off and into the cupboard. Where’s Jack?

Stocker: “I’m not going after Brackets. What if he plugs it up? On the way out?”

McGovern puts his pinky to his lips: “Oh really?”

SOS: “Liam, I always expected you to go in earlier. Jack, swap places with Stocks.

Jack: “No way he goes that early, Daddy”.

SOS: “It’s just a number”.

Jack: “Clearly he means more to you than your own son!”

SOS: “Only every single time the Crows lose, Jack. I promise”.

Ed Curnow stands by the cupboard with a pretend microphone as the players file inside.

Ed: “Thoughts on flying interstate to disappear into a cupboard in the name of progressive training and development? Stocks?

Stocker: “Just here to win the trust of my teammates”.

Ed: “********. Paddy?”

Dow: “Hoping to find some help with my running patterns”.

Murphy: “I probably should be going in last, ex-captain, club champion.....

Ed: “Thanks Murph, in you pop.”

Murph enters the cupboard: “I can't see a thing in here, can't see my place in the line-up anymore”.

O'Brien: “My uncle said there would be days like this. He's a big deal on BigFooty”.

SPS: “Ah, yeah, so this is ******** – and where there's ******** there's a bull. Yee-hah!!”.

Simpson: “Better than Arizona, Ed. My balls never thawed. Has Murphy shut up yet?”

Ed: “Does he ever?”

Kennedy: “I regret nothing”.

Kreuzer: “....”

Cripps: “Ed, at any other club this might seem bizarre”.

Ed: “Mate, at any other club you'd still have shoulders”.

McGovern: “Can you give me a shove, Tommy?”

TDK: “Looks amazing in there. Let's go Mitch”.

He shoves him hard into the cupboard's darkness.

Cripps: “Ah, ****, watch it!”

McGovern: “It was Tommy D! Hey, there are ******* spiders in here!”

TDK: “I hate spiders”.

Jack: “My second and third efforts are as good as any going round, Ed”.

Ed: “Don't tell me, BigFooty?”

Jack: “Mummy”.

Ed: “Get in the cupboard”.

Jones: “I already have a strong spiritual connection with the earth, Ed”.

Ed: “Whatever”.

Docherty: “Serious, serious, very serious”.

Ed: “Of course, Sam”.

Lang: “I'm just not a very good footballer”.

Ed: “BigFooty?”

Lang: “Jack's mum”.

Ed: “Bit harsh. Get in the cupboard though”.

Walsh: “I accept anything sent to challenge me that isn't Kane Cornes”.

Ed: “Boring”.

Angus: “Do you even know who I am?”

Ed: “No, no I don't”.

Plowman: “There's love in the room tonight, Ed”.

Ed: “Not for you though”.

Nick Graham's voice from the cupboard: “You're ****, Plowman. Everyone says”.

Plowman: “What's he doing in there?”

Ed: “You are pretty ****, Loch”.

Lochie sighs and disappears into the cupboard.

Garlett: “If there's a kick in this cupboard I want it”.

Marchbank: “My surname is made up of 2 words”.

Weitering: “What's down here, Ed. Flying toasters?”

Newman: “I'm more than a lame Seinfeld joke!”

Fisher: “I hope Crippa is safe in here”.

Harrison: “My face is quite long and angular”.

Ed: “Ok, I'm done. **** me rigid”.

He steps into the cupboard. The rest of the group follow him. Harry is the last inside, rubbing at his oniony eyes.

Now the room is very quiet save for the sizzle of the sausages and onions. Numbers is busy tapping on his laptop.

“T60, the great man. Stupid old ******. Stop calling me an idiot.”

He walks to the cupboard, moves to close the door.

“What do you think, little fella? Wanna go play?”

From behind the couch a tiny voice: “Hoy, hoy, hoy!”

He leaves the door open, sits down on his couch and pushes an invisible button. A false wall slides away revealing a 15 foot screen with a series of Marshall speakers down either side. Another button brings up vision of a stage, Black Sabbath performing Paranoid live in Birmingham 2012 – very, very loudly.

*****​

It's snowing and dark. The boys are jogging in a rough circle. Their breath is foggy in the air. In the middle of the circle a fairy type figure hovers above the frozen ground on tiny wings.

“Come on, my boys. Put 'em in you lovely ******s”.

“Who is that weird bitch?”

Aphrodite the Ice Queen, body a Metaxa brandy bottle, big hair drenched in VO5 hairspray, too much lippy, feet in Adidas sandals. She carries a tray of fancy cakes.

“Cake for you boys? Mr Cripps? See anything you fancy?”

Cripps is jogging, breathing hard, looks up, has no idea what to say: “Reckon I'm ok, thanks”.

Teague: “Maybe later”.

She flies alongside Tommy Williamson, hands him a red card. “Cheese pun my Lord?” He reads it.

“How do you know this even a curd?” He looks about confused:“What is this ****?”

Teague: “Immersive – be immersed”.

The snow is really coming down and the wind is howling.

Murph: “Ok, guys, back the other way”.

The circle continues the same way.

Murph: “Teegy, they can't hear me over this storm”.

Teague: “Right, the storm. Well, don't worry about it”.

Aphrodite clicks her Adidas sandals together and the storm suddenly stops. Silence. A colourful group of objects approaches. Dozens of floating avatars in formation, each of them holding a sign. The players watch as they silently pass, their signs withering testimony of their thoughts.

“LOL! The longer he stays, the worse we get”.

“Plowman? When will the clique give up on this hack?”

“Murphy has been cooked for 5 years! Get rid of him!”

“I will no longer take my kids to the game whilst JSOS is getting picked every week”.

“Plowman is ****!”

“Plowman is really **** I reckon!”

One avatar is slower than all the others, he runs to catch up. His avatar is a flock of seagulls. His sign says “Should have kept Nicky G!”

Charlie: “Puss, you utter tool!”

Nick Graham: “No you!”

Charlie: “What the **** was all that?”

Aphrodite flaps her way onto Patrick Cripps' shoulders. He looks decidedly uncomfortable. She props there, straddling his head, legs swinging back and forth, stroking his hair.

“Behold the Narnians of Narnia. They who speak the manure of the mind”.

Simpson: “I hate the Narnians of Narnia”.

Charlie: “I don't get it, Crippa. I can't take it, mate. I don't want it, Teegy! What the ****?”

Liddle: “You were told to expect the unexpected”.

Marchbank: “Yeah, but these last couple of hours have made Bolts' game plan look like a good deal”.

Aphrodite: “There is only one other challenge you must face before you accomplish all that you seek to accomplish”.

She clicks her sandals together once more. It begins to rain. But this isn't like any normal rain. It's big and soft, and warm – and doughy with pork and leak fillings. It's raining dumplings!

“Hoy, hoy, hoy!! My beautiful dumplings!!”

It's the little man from the milk-crate.

“This little campaigner”.

Teague: “So what's the challenge?” He's getting pummelled by steaming hot pork dumplings.

Aphrodite: “Simply eat of the magic dumplings”.

Liddle: “Seems easy enough. Fellas, let's scarf some of these and get out of here”.

Simpson:“This is deadset bent out of shape, Dave”.

Teague: “Sure, but what are you gonna do?”

The players begin to devour the delicious dumplings. They are so gorgeously tasty they can't stop. Pretty soon they find themselves rolling around on the ground, stomachs straining with the amount of pork dumplings stuffed inside.

The little Hoy Man runs about offering Soy and Chilli sauce condiments.

“F5, F5, F5”, he continues to call.

It must be said it's a strange vision with players spread across the ground, half submerged in pillows of steamy dough. The dumplings have stopped falling from the sky but they lie in thick layers like mattresses covering the representatives of the Carlton Football Club. Eventually, through the passage of time, all of them lie still – very, very still. An hour passes, then.......

“Through here, I can see endless possibilities”.

The real estate woman leads the excited couple across the carpet of cooling dumplings.

“Oh this is nice, I like this”.

The woman grabs her husbands arm excitedly.

“Look sweetheart, footballers blended through the dough!”

He nods approvingly.

“Shame it's Carlton, but yeah. Nice.”.

He pulls at a trainer on a foot sticking out of the dough. Real Estate Lady continues the tour.

“Some of the previous owner's crap is still here, this old Greek amphora we can have removed, the silly condiment-man stand is so anachronistic these days”.

The couple stand perusing the view.

Wife: “We love it – don't we hon?”

Real Estate Lady: “Imagine the times you will have out here, perhaps by a pool, a bocce court...”

Husband: “Ok, ok........”

Wife: “We'll take it”.

*****​

A large, stooped man with wild hair in a Carlton jumper under a velvet smoking jacket pushes a mop-bucket around a corridor. LoGiudice turns the corner looking about perplexed.

“Who are you?”

“Who are you........dude?”

“I'm the ******* CEO. Where is everybody?”

The stooped man nods at a door marked Virtual Reality.

“Last I saw 'em”.

LoGiudice opens it to an empty room. Dozens of virtual reality headsets lie strewn about the floor. He looks back at the man with the mop.

MopMan: "Carlton players go missing again? Come on, you're better than that, ya fat hippy".
Click to expand...
I read this instead of preparing for the four meetings I have back to back starting in 15 minutes. No ragrets. More please.
 
thylacine60 said:
Welcome to your Psychological Exploration Experience

Trust-Adapt-Prevail

Please be prepared to leave for the airport by 6pm, Friday 21st June

Dress in your training gear - bring nothing else​


A plane drops through the night sky landing smoothly on the wet runway. An hour later a bus moves through dark streets and draws up at a scruffy weatherboard house with a single globe lit.

The entire Carlton playing list along with several line-coaches & officials sit silently in the dark bus. Rain patters the roof as the group absorb the quiet night. No-one speaks for several moments.

Harry McKay: “Well this is mondo outlandish”.

Doc: “Trust, adapt, prevail, Harry”.

Harry: “Right. Ok then. Now I feel like a putz, Doc”.

Doc: “You're not a putz, Harry. Lochie Plowman is a putz”.

Plowman: “What's a putz?”

Fisher on his phone: “Siri, what's a putz?”

SIRI: “A stupid or worthless person”.

Plowman: “Oh”.

SIRI: “Also a **** footballer”.

Plowman: “**** it!”

Teague: “As I said earlier, we wanted to break up the boredom and repetition of training.”

Weitering: “I like boring, repetitive training.”

Charlie: “That's because you're a gimpoid”.

Weitering: “Whoever said that, I contest your assertion”.

Teague: “Let's go inside and see what's in store. Remember, keep an open mind ….....this is all about experiencing the different.”

Plowman: “Should that be difference?”

Teague: “No, different. Also, shut up”.

Murphy: “David, this is Marc Murphy speaking from the back of the bus. Before we go in I'd like to address the group”.

Teague: “That's going to interrupt the immersive nature of the exercise, Marc. Perhaps later”.

Murphy: “Ah geez.....”

Liddle: “Let's do this, guys”.

Teague: “And expect the unexpected”.

Pretty soon it's a navy blue line filing from the bus onto the street. Teague & Liddle approach the front door of the house , Teague knocks. A large, stooped man with wild hair in a Carlton jumper under a velvet smoking jacket opens it.

Teague: “Mr O'Hara?”

The man takes a drink from a 750ml steel can of Melbourne Bitter, a smoking bong in his other hand.

“It was always, George. Krishna Krishna. Blue Boys at the door of my crib, what the ****......”

Liddle:“Mr. O'Hara, we spoke on the phone? What if we gather in the lounge-room before getting started?”

Mr O'Hara: “Call me, Mr Numbers”.

Liddle: “Why?”

Numbers: “****** if I know. Did you bring the onions?”

Andrew Russell steps forward: “Got 'em here.”

He hands over a bag of brown onions. Numbers hefts them before moving inside the house. He puts them on a chopping block near a gas BBQ in the middle of the room.

Russell calls out: “What's the plan? Poultice? Inflammation rub? Tonic?”

Numbers: “For me snags. Pork & Apple tonight”.

McGovern: “Makes sense”.

Numbers: “Can't have snags without onions – un-Australian”.

McGovern: “You cannot”.

The players are moving inside the house. They pack into the front room.

Numbers: “Free the people……….any you boys wanna mull up?”

Charlie looks keen, Liddle looks askance. He gestures to Teague as the players stand looking around the grotty room.

Teague: “So like I said, guys, we wanted to do something a little different this bye week. Daisy, you with us?”

Daisy is looking into an upturned milk-crate behind the couch.

Daisy: “What the ****?”

Numbers: “That’s my little half-back flanker”.

A doll-sized figurine in a tiny Carlton jumper looks out from the milk-crate.

Kreuzer: “It’s a Murph Bobble-Head.”

Daisy: “I don't think so”.

Murphy: “Let me see” He peers into the milk-crate. “Nothing like me”.

“Hoy”, the little man pipes.

Daisy jumps back: “It’s ******* alive”.

“F5, F5, F5”, the tiny man dances around his plastic cage.

Numbers: “Don’t bring the little dude down. He's on quiet time”.

The players are looking decidedly unsettled.

Teague: “So anyway, this is one of our staunchest fans, Mr………er, Numbers. He played for the club at a lower level a long time ago. He has a strong interest in music and herb cultivation. He came up with the idea of a fan-based training night”.

Numbers: “Lucy in the ****en sky, I did.”

He pokes at some thick sausages on the grill before walking over to a large cupboard in the corner of the room. Teague & Liddle join him.

Liddle: “This it?”

Numbers: “As described. She don't lie, she don't lie.........”

Teague opens one of the cupboard doors slowly, looks in.

“Think I hear something”.

Numbers: “All in the 3-ply of your mind”.

He hands Harry McKay a chopping knife, points at the onions.

“Not too thin”.

Harry: “I'm on it” He chops as Numbers cranks the gas to 11 on the BBQ.

Teague: “Is that safe?”

Numbers: “Safer than your job I reckon”.

Liddle: “Fair call”.

Teague: “Hey, I'm right here? Ok. Count off and into the cupboard. Where’s Jack?

Stocker: “I’m not going after Brackets. What if he plugs it up? On the way out?”

McGovern puts his pinky to his lips: “Oh really?”

SOS: “Liam, I always expected you to go in earlier. Jack, swap places with Stocks.

Jack: “No way he goes that early, Daddy”.

SOS: “It’s just a number”.

Jack: “Clearly he means more to you than your own son!”

SOS: “Only every single time the Crows lose, Jack. I promise”.

Ed Curnow stands by the cupboard with a pretend microphone as the players file inside.

Ed: “Thoughts on flying interstate to disappear into a cupboard in the name of progressive training and development? Stocks?

Stocker: “Just here to win the trust of my teammates”.

Ed: “********. Paddy?”

Dow: “Hoping to find some help with my running patterns”.

Murphy: “I probably should be going in last, ex-captain, club champion.....

Ed: “Thanks Murph, in you pop.”

Murph enters the cupboard: “I can't see a thing in here, can't see my place in the line-up anymore”.

O'Brien: “My uncle said there would be days like this. He's a big deal on BigFooty”.

SPS: “Ah, yeah, so this is ******** – and where there's ******** there's a bull. Yee-hah!!”.

Simpson: “Better than Arizona, Ed. My balls never thawed. Has Murphy shut up yet?”

Ed: “Does he ever?”

Kennedy: “I regret nothing”.

Kreuzer: “....”

Cripps: “Ed, at any other club this might seem bizarre”.

Ed: “Mate, at any other club you'd still have shoulders”.

McGovern: “Can you give me a shove, Tommy?”

TDK: “Looks amazing in there. Let's go Mitch”.

He shoves him hard into the cupboard's darkness.

Cripps: “Ah, ****, watch it!”

McGovern: “It was Tommy D! Hey, there are ******* spiders in here!”

TDK: “I hate spiders”.

Jack: “My second and third efforts are as good as any going round, Ed”.

Ed: “Don't tell me, BigFooty?”

Jack: “Mummy”.

Ed: “Get in the cupboard”.

Jones: “I already have a strong spiritual connection with the earth, Ed”.

Ed: “Whatever”.

Docherty: “Serious, serious, very serious”.

Ed: “Of course, Sam”.

Lang: “I'm just not a very good footballer”.

Ed: “BigFooty?”

Lang: “Jack's mum”.

Ed: “Bit harsh. Get in the cupboard though”.

Walsh: “I accept anything sent to challenge me that isn't Kane Cornes”.

Ed: “Boring”.

Angus: “Do you even know who I am?”

Ed: “No, no I don't”.

Plowman: “There's love in the room tonight, Ed”.

Ed: “Not for you though”.

Nick Graham's voice from the cupboard: “You're ****, Plowman. Everyone says”.

Plowman: “What's he doing in there?”

Ed: “You are pretty ****, Loch”.

Lochie sighs and disappears into the cupboard.

Garlett: “If there's a kick in this cupboard I want it”.

Marchbank: “My surname is made up of 2 words”.

Weitering: “What's down here, Ed. Flying toasters?”

Newman: “I'm more than a lame Seinfeld joke!”

Fisher: “I hope Crippa is safe in here”.

Harrison: “My face is quite long and angular”.

Ed: “Ok, I'm done. **** me rigid”.

He steps into the cupboard. The rest of the group follow him. Harry is the last inside, rubbing at his oniony eyes.

Now the room is very quiet save for the sizzle of the sausages and onions. Numbers is busy tapping on his laptop.

“T60, the great man. Stupid old ******. Stop calling me an idiot.”

He walks to the cupboard, moves to close the door.

“What do you think, little fella? Wanna go play?”

From behind the couch a tiny voice: “Hoy, hoy, hoy!”

He leaves the door open, sits down on his couch and pushes an invisible button. A false wall slides away revealing a 15 foot screen with a series of Marshall speakers down either side. Another button brings up vision of a stage, Black Sabbath performing Paranoid live in Birmingham 2012 – very, very loudly.

*****​

It's snowing and dark. The boys are jogging in a rough circle. Their breath is foggy in the air. In the middle of the circle a fairy type figure hovers above the frozen ground on tiny wings.

“Come on, my boys. Put 'em in you lovely ******s”.

“Who is that weird bitch?”

Aphrodite the Ice Queen, body a Metaxa brandy bottle, big hair drenched in VO5 hairspray, too much lippy, feet in Adidas sandals. She carries a tray of fancy cakes.

“Cake for you boys? Mr Cripps? See anything you fancy?”

Cripps is jogging, breathing hard, looks up, has no idea what to say: “Reckon I'm ok, thanks”.

Teague: “Maybe later”.

She flies alongside Tommy Williamson, hands him a red card. “Cheese pun my Lord?” He reads it.

“How do you know this even a curd?” He looks about confused:“What is this ****?”

Teague: “Immersive – be immersed”.

The snow is really coming down and the wind is howling.

Murph: “Ok, guys, back the other way”.

The circle continues the same way.

Murph: “Teegy, they can't hear me over this storm”.

Teague: “Right, the storm. Well, don't worry about it”.

Aphrodite clicks her Adidas sandals together and the storm suddenly stops. Silence. A colourful group of objects approaches. Dozens of floating avatars in formation, each of them holding a sign. The players watch as they silently pass, their signs withering testimony of their thoughts.

“LOL! The longer he stays, the worse we get”.

“Plowman? When will the clique give up on this hack?”

“Murphy has been cooked for 5 years! Get rid of him!”

“I will no longer take my kids to the game whilst JSOS is getting picked every week”.

“Plowman is ****!”

“Plowman is really **** I reckon!”

One avatar is slower than all the others, he runs to catch up. His avatar is a flock of seagulls. His sign says “Should have kept Nicky G!”

Charlie: “Puss, you utter tool!”

Nick Graham: “No you!”

Charlie: “What the **** was all that?”

Aphrodite flaps her way onto Patrick Cripps' shoulders. He looks decidedly uncomfortable. She props there, straddling his head, legs swinging back and forth, stroking his hair.

“Behold the Narnians of Narnia. They who speak the manure of the mind”.

Simpson: “I hate the Narnians of Narnia”.

Charlie: “I don't get it, Crippa. I can't take it, mate. I don't want it, Teegy! What the ****?”

Liddle: “You were told to expect the unexpected”.

Marchbank: “Yeah, but these last couple of hours have made Bolts' game plan look like a good deal”.

Aphrodite: “There is only one other challenge you must face before you accomplish all that you seek to accomplish”.

She clicks her sandals together once more. It begins to rain. But this isn't like any normal rain. It's big and soft, and warm – and doughy with pork and leak fillings. It's raining dumplings!

“Hoy, hoy, hoy!! My beautiful dumplings!!”

It's the little man from the milk-crate.

“This little campaigner”.

Teague: “So what's the challenge?” He's getting pummelled by steaming hot pork dumplings.

Aphrodite: “Simply eat of the magic dumplings”.

Liddle: “Seems easy enough. Fellas, let's scarf some of these and get out of here”.

Simpson:“This is deadset bent out of shape, Dave”.

Teague: “Sure, but what are you gonna do?”

The players begin to devour the delicious dumplings. They are so gorgeously tasty they can't stop. Pretty soon they find themselves rolling around on the ground, stomachs straining with the amount of pork dumplings stuffed inside.

The little Hoy Man runs about offering Soy and Chilli sauce condiments.

“F5, F5, F5”, he continues to call.

It must be said it's a strange vision with players spread across the ground, half submerged in pillows of steamy dough. The dumplings have stopped falling from the sky but they lie in thick layers like mattresses covering the representatives of the Carlton Football Club. Eventually, through the passage of time, all of them lie still – very, very still. An hour passes, then.......

“Through here, I can see endless possibilities”.

The real estate woman leads the excited couple across the carpet of cooling dumplings.

“Oh this is nice, I like this”.

The woman grabs her husbands arm excitedly.

“Look sweetheart, footballers blended through the dough!”

He nods approvingly.

“Shame it's Carlton, but yeah. Nice.”.

He pulls at a trainer on a foot sticking out of the dough. Real Estate Lady continues the tour.

“Some of the previous owner's crap is still here, this old Greek amphora we can have removed, the silly condiment-man stand is so anachronistic these days”.

The couple stand perusing the view.

Wife: “We love it – don't we hon?”

Real Estate Lady: “Imagine the times you will have out here, perhaps by a pool, a bocce court...”

Husband: “Ok, ok........”

Wife: “We'll take it”.

*****​

A large, stooped man with wild hair in a Carlton jumper under a velvet smoking jacket pushes a mop-bucket around a corridor. LoGiudice turns the corner looking about perplexed.

“Who are you?”

“Who are you........dude?”

“I'm the ******* CEO. Where is everybody?”

The stooped man nods at a door marked Virtual Reality.

“Last I saw 'em”.

LoGiudice opens it to an empty room. Dozens of virtual reality headsets lie strewn about the floor. He looks back at the man with the mop.

MopMan: "Carlton players go missing again? Come on, you're better than that, ya fat hippy".
Click to expand...


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thylacine60 said:
Welcome to your Psychological Exploration Experience

Trust-Adapt-Prevail

Please be prepared to leave for the airport by 6pm, Friday 21st June

Dress in your training gear - bring nothing else​


A plane drops through the night sky landing smoothly on the wet runway. An hour later a bus moves through dark streets and draws up at a scruffy weatherboard house with a single globe lit.

The entire Carlton playing list along with several line-coaches & officials sit silently in the dark bus. Rain patters the roof as the group absorb the quiet night. No-one speaks for several moments.

Harry McKay: “Well this is mondo outlandish”.

Doc: “Trust, adapt, prevail, Harry”.

Harry: “Right. Ok then. Now I feel like a putz, Doc”.

Doc: “You're not a putz, Harry. Lochie Plowman is a putz”.

Plowman: “What's a putz?”

Fisher on his phone: “Siri, what's a putz?”

SIRI: “A stupid or worthless person”.

Plowman: “Oh”.

SIRI: “Also a **** footballer”.

Plowman: “**** it!”

Teague: “As I said earlier, we wanted to break up the boredom and repetition of training.”

Weitering: “I like boring, repetitive training.”

Charlie: “That's because you're a gimpoid”.

Weitering: “Whoever said that, I contest your assertion”.

Teague: “Let's go inside and see what's in store. Remember, keep an open mind ….....this is all about experiencing the different.”

Plowman: “Should that be difference?”

Teague: “No, different. Also, shut up”.

Murphy: “David, this is Marc Murphy speaking from the back of the bus. Before we go in I'd like to address the group”.

Teague: “That's going to interrupt the immersive nature of the exercise, Marc. Perhaps later”.

Murphy: “Ah geez.....”

Liddle: “Let's do this, guys”.

Teague: “And expect the unexpected”.

Pretty soon it's a navy blue line filing from the bus onto the street. Teague & Liddle approach the front door of the house , Teague knocks. A large, stooped man with wild hair in a Carlton jumper under a velvet smoking jacket opens it.

Teague: “Mr O'Hara?”

The man takes a drink from a 750ml steel can of Melbourne Bitter, a smoking bong in his other hand.

“It was always, George. Krishna Krishna. Blue Boys at the door of my crib, what the ****......”

Liddle:“Mr. O'Hara, we spoke on the phone? What if we gather in the lounge-room before getting started?”

Mr O'Hara: “Call me, Mr Numbers”.

Liddle: “Why?”

Numbers: “****** if I know. Did you bring the onions?”

Andrew Russell steps forward: “Got 'em here.”

He hands over a bag of brown onions. Numbers hefts them before moving inside the house. He puts them on a chopping block near a gas BBQ in the middle of the room.

Russell calls out: “What's the plan? Poultice? Inflammation rub? Tonic?”

Numbers: “For me snags. Pork & Apple tonight”.

McGovern: “Makes sense”.

Numbers: “Can't have snags without onions – un-Australian”.

McGovern: “You cannot”.

The players are moving inside the house. They pack into the front room.

Numbers: “Free the people……….any you boys wanna mull up?”

Charlie looks keen, Liddle looks askance. He gestures to Teague as the players stand looking around the grotty room.

Teague: “So like I said, guys, we wanted to do something a little different this bye week. Daisy, you with us?”

Daisy is looking into an upturned milk-crate behind the couch.

Daisy: “What the ****?”

Numbers: “That’s my little half-back flanker”.

A doll-sized figurine in a tiny Carlton jumper looks out from the milk-crate.

Kreuzer: “It’s a Murph Bobble-Head.”

Daisy: “I don't think so”.

Murphy: “Let me see” He peers into the milk-crate. “Nothing like me”.

“Hoy”, the little man pipes.

Daisy jumps back: “It’s ******* alive”.

“F5, F5, F5”, the tiny man dances around his plastic cage.

Numbers: “Don’t bring the little dude down. He's on quiet time”.

The players are looking decidedly unsettled.

Teague: “So anyway, this is one of our staunchest fans, Mr………er, Numbers. He played for the club at a lower level a long time ago. He has a strong interest in music and herb cultivation. He came up with the idea of a fan-based training night”.

Numbers: “Lucy in the ****en sky, I did.”

He pokes at some thick sausages on the grill before walking over to a large cupboard in the corner of the room. Teague & Liddle join him.

Liddle: “This it?”

Numbers: “As described. She don't lie, she don't lie.........”

Teague opens one of the cupboard doors slowly, looks in.

“Think I hear something”.

Numbers: “All in the 3-ply of your mind”.

He hands Harry McKay a chopping knife, points at the onions.

“Not too thin”.

Harry: “I'm on it” He chops as Numbers cranks the gas to 11 on the BBQ.

Teague: “Is that safe?”

Numbers: “Safer than your job I reckon”.

Liddle: “Fair call”.

Teague: “Hey, I'm right here? Ok. Count off and into the cupboard. Where’s Jack?

Stocker: “I’m not going after Brackets. What if he plugs it up? On the way out?”

McGovern puts his pinky to his lips: “Oh really?”

SOS: “Liam, I always expected you to go in earlier. Jack, swap places with Stocks.

Jack: “No way he goes that early, Daddy”.

SOS: “It’s just a number”.

Jack: “Clearly he means more to you than your own son!”

SOS: “Only every single time the Crows lose, Jack. I promise”.

Ed Curnow stands by the cupboard with a pretend microphone as the players file inside.

Ed: “Thoughts on flying interstate to disappear into a cupboard in the name of progressive training and development? Stocks?

Stocker: “Just here to win the trust of my teammates”.

Ed: “********. Paddy?”

Dow: “Hoping to find some help with my running patterns”.

Murphy: “I probably should be going in last, ex-captain, club champion.....

Ed: “Thanks Murph, in you pop.”

Murph enters the cupboard: “I can't see a thing in here, can't see my place in the line-up anymore”.

O'Brien: “My uncle said there would be days like this. He's a big deal on BigFooty”.

SPS: “Ah, yeah, so this is ******** – and where there's ******** there's a bull. Yee-hah!!”.

Simpson: “Better than Arizona, Ed. My balls never thawed. Has Murphy shut up yet?”

Ed: “Does he ever?”

Kennedy: “I regret nothing”.

Kreuzer: “....”

Cripps: “Ed, at any other club this might seem bizarre”.

Ed: “Mate, at any other club you'd still have shoulders”.

McGovern: “Can you give me a shove, Tommy?”

TDK: “Looks amazing in there. Let's go Mitch”.

He shoves him hard into the cupboard's darkness.

Cripps: “Ah, ****, watch it!”

McGovern: “It was Tommy D! Hey, there are ******* spiders in here!”

TDK: “I hate spiders”.

Jack: “My second and third efforts are as good as any going round, Ed”.

Ed: “Don't tell me, BigFooty?”

Jack: “Mummy”.

Ed: “Get in the cupboard”.

Jones: “I already have a strong spiritual connection with the earth, Ed”.

Ed: “Whatever”.

Docherty: “Serious, serious, very serious”.

Ed: “Of course, Sam”.

Lang: “I'm just not a very good footballer”.

Ed: “BigFooty?”

Lang: “Jack's mum”.

Ed: “Bit harsh. Get in the cupboard though”.

Walsh: “I accept anything sent to challenge me that isn't Kane Cornes”.

Ed: “Boring”.

Angus: “Do you even know who I am?”

Ed: “No, no I don't”.

Plowman: “There's love in the room tonight, Ed”.

Ed: “Not for you though”.

Nick Graham's voice from the cupboard: “You're ****, Plowman. Everyone says”.

Plowman: “What's he doing in there?”

Ed: “You are pretty ****, Loch”.

Lochie sighs and disappears into the cupboard.

Garlett: “If there's a kick in this cupboard I want it”.

Marchbank: “My surname is made up of 2 words”.

Weitering: “What's down here, Ed. Flying toasters?”

Newman: “I'm more than a lame Seinfeld joke!”

Fisher: “I hope Crippa is safe in here”.

Harrison: “My face is quite long and angular”.

Ed: “Ok, I'm done. **** me rigid”.

He steps into the cupboard. The rest of the group follow him. Harry is the last inside, rubbing at his oniony eyes.

Now the room is very quiet save for the sizzle of the sausages and onions. Numbers is busy tapping on his laptop.

“T60, the great man. Stupid old ******. Stop calling me an idiot.”

He walks to the cupboard, moves to close the door.

“What do you think, little fella? Wanna go play?”

From behind the couch a tiny voice: “Hoy, hoy, hoy!”

He leaves the door open, sits down on his couch and pushes an invisible button. A false wall slides away revealing a 15 foot screen with a series of Marshall speakers down either side. Another button brings up vision of a stage, Black Sabbath performing Paranoid live in Birmingham 2012 – very, very loudly.

*****​

It's snowing and dark. The boys are jogging in a rough circle. Their breath is foggy in the air. In the middle of the circle a fairy type figure hovers above the frozen ground on tiny wings.

“Come on, my boys. Put 'em in you lovely ******s”.

“Who is that weird bitch?”

Aphrodite the Ice Queen, body a Metaxa brandy bottle, big hair drenched in VO5 hairspray, too much lippy, feet in Adidas sandals. She carries a tray of fancy cakes.

“Cake for you boys? Mr Cripps? See anything you fancy?”

Cripps is jogging, breathing hard, looks up, has no idea what to say: “Reckon I'm ok, thanks”.

Teague: “Maybe later”.

She flies alongside Tommy Williamson, hands him a red card. “Cheese pun my Lord?” He reads it.

“How do you know this even a curd?” He looks about confused:“What is this ****?”

Teague: “Immersive – be immersed”.

The snow is really coming down and the wind is howling.

Murph: “Ok, guys, back the other way”.

The circle continues the same way.

Murph: “Teegy, they can't hear me over this storm”.

Teague: “Right, the storm. Well, don't worry about it”.

Aphrodite clicks her Adidas sandals together and the storm suddenly stops. Silence. A colourful group of objects approaches. Dozens of floating avatars in formation, each of them holding a sign. The players watch as they silently pass, their signs withering testimony of their thoughts.

“LOL! The longer he stays, the worse we get”.

“Plowman? When will the clique give up on this hack?”

“Murphy has been cooked for 5 years! Get rid of him!”

“I will no longer take my kids to the game whilst JSOS is getting picked every week”.

“Plowman is ****!”

“Plowman is really **** I reckon!”

One avatar is slower than all the others, he runs to catch up. His avatar is a flock of seagulls. His sign says “Should have kept Nicky G!”

Charlie: “Puss, you utter tool!”

Nick Graham: “No you!”

Charlie: “What the **** was all that?”

Aphrodite flaps her way onto Patrick Cripps' shoulders. He looks decidedly uncomfortable. She props there, straddling his head, legs swinging back and forth, stroking his hair.

“Behold the Narnians of Narnia. They who speak the manure of the mind”.

Simpson: “I hate the Narnians of Narnia”.

Charlie: “I don't get it, Crippa. I can't take it, mate. I don't want it, Teegy! What the ****?”

Liddle: “You were told to expect the unexpected”.

Marchbank: “Yeah, but these last couple of hours have made Bolts' game plan look like a good deal”.

Aphrodite: “There is only one other challenge you must face before you accomplish all that you seek to accomplish”.

She clicks her sandals together once more. It begins to rain. But this isn't like any normal rain. It's big and soft, and warm – and doughy with pork and leak fillings. It's raining dumplings!

“Hoy, hoy, hoy!! My beautiful dumplings!!”

It's the little man from the milk-crate.

“This little campaigner”.

Teague: “So what's the challenge?” He's getting pummelled by steaming hot pork dumplings.

Aphrodite: “Simply eat of the magic dumplings”.

Liddle: “Seems easy enough. Fellas, let's scarf some of these and get out of here”.

Simpson:“This is deadset bent out of shape, Dave”.

Teague: “Sure, but what are you gonna do?”

The players begin to devour the delicious dumplings. They are so gorgeously tasty they can't stop. Pretty soon they find themselves rolling around on the ground, stomachs straining with the amount of pork dumplings stuffed inside.

The little Hoy Man runs about offering Soy and Chilli sauce condiments.

“F5, F5, F5”, he continues to call.

It must be said it's a strange vision with players spread across the ground, half submerged in pillows of steamy dough. The dumplings have stopped falling from the sky but they lie in thick layers like mattresses covering the representatives of the Carlton Football Club. Eventually, through the passage of time, all of them lie still – very, very still. An hour passes, then.......

“Through here, I can see endless possibilities”.

The real estate woman leads the excited couple across the carpet of cooling dumplings.

“Oh this is nice, I like this”.

The woman grabs her husbands arm excitedly.

“Look sweetheart, footballers blended through the dough!”

He nods approvingly.

“Shame it's Carlton, but yeah. Nice.”.

He pulls at a trainer on a foot sticking out of the dough. Real Estate Lady continues the tour.

“Some of the previous owner's crap is still here, this old Greek amphora we can have removed, the silly condiment-man stand is so anachronistic these days”.

The couple stand perusing the view.

Wife: “We love it – don't we hon?”

Real Estate Lady: “Imagine the times you will have out here, perhaps by a pool, a bocce court...”

Husband: “Ok, ok........”

Wife: “We'll take it”.

*****​

A large, stooped man with wild hair in a Carlton jumper under a velvet smoking jacket pushes a mop-bucket around a corridor. LoGiudice turns the corner looking about perplexed.

“Who are you?”

“Who are you........dude?”

“I'm the ******* CEO. Where is everybody?”

The stooped man nods at a door marked Virtual Reality.

“Last I saw 'em”.

LoGiudice opens it to an empty room. Dozens of virtual reality headsets lie strewn about the floor. He looks back at the man with the mop.

MopMan: "Carlton players go missing again? Come on, you're better than that, ya fat hippy".
Click to expand...

Weirdly brilliant
 

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