Autopsy **** you very much, season 2019!!

Oct 11, 2018
301
555
AFL Club
Melbourne
What do we need to do better next year imo:

1. Get fitter. We looked so slow all year. I know some guys had interrupted pre-season but not everyone did. On this note we need to get rid of/move plodders that aren't in key positions. Case in point Nathan Jones. Get him to 300 games playing FF and say thank you for your service. Draft/trade in some runners to help

There are probably more things but that will do me four now.
This guy has got it. So many games we'd be around the mark at 3/4 time and you just knew we'd blow it. Even when the opp had a man down sometimes! Remember the 2000 team? If we were within 20pts of a team at 3/4 time I'd expect us to win, and the opp would be nervous. I miss those days....
 
ANB, Jeffy, T Smith, JKH, Jones, Lewis gone

As much as I want to agree with you about Jones, that would be simply *ed, we'd have another James McDonald player revolt on our hands, he's earnt the right to retire on his terms. Removing the captaincy from him tho, that's a decent possibility.

I'm not cutting ANB after one poor season either, we struggle to "spread" enough as is.
 
May and Kolodjashnij saw the jumper parade in November
It was a long march home for Jess
The sixth pick did the tour and it was us who drew the card
We did Preuss and Hore and rookies before we left

And players lined the footpaths as they marched down to the surgery
This clipping from the paper shows them young and strong and clean
And there’s me down at Gosch’s with me Grand Final guarantee
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

From a Kardinia hiding to the dust at Alice Springs
We’ve been in and out of shockers now for months
And we made seventeenth a home, V.B. and pinups on the lockers
Coach is a ranga-orange muppet and a no-hoper scrub

And can you tell me, doctor, why vandenBerg still can’t get on his feet
Friday night time’s just a cluster * and a barking thick BT
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

Misson’s four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs
It was war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ‘til they handed you the captaincy
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else

And then Perty yelled out “Contract!” and the bloke behind me swore
We’re hooked in now for three years and God we’re ******* poor
And Tommy kicked one behind and we had one hand on the spoon
God help me
It was all over before June

And I can still see Maysie, drinkin pints in a Richmond hotel
On four-to-six week rehab from a bad hamstring
And I can still hear Maysie, standing screaming at Frosty
‘Til the media came and killed the bloody thing

And Anzac Eve legends only mention Martin, Reiwoldt, other tiges
And the stories that my father told me of wins I’ll never see
I saw some losses lying on my back that I didn’t even feel
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

And can you tell me, doctor, why Joel Smith still can’t get on his feet
And why the Channel Seven goal of the week never features any Dees
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen



Apologies if anyone finds it offensive that I've used a classic about a very serious topic to mock our year, but the themes of young men being led off to their ruination do resonate, even though the scale is quite different.

Here's the original:

 
Apr 13, 2015
4,637
12,301
AFL Club
Melbourne
May and Kolodjashnij saw the jumper parade in November
It was a long march home for Jess
The sixth pick did the tour and it was us who drew the card
We did Preuss and Hore and rookies before we left

And players lined the footpaths as they marched down to the surgery
This clipping from the paper shows them young and strong and clean
And there’s me down at Gosch’s with me Grand Final guarantee
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

From a Kardinia hiding to the dust at Alice Springs
We’ve been in and out of shockers now for months
And we made seventeenth a home, V.B. and pinups on the lockers
Coach is a ranga-orange muppet and a no-hoper scrub

And can you tell me, doctor, why vandenBerg still can’t get on his feet
Friday night time’s just a cluster **** and a barking thick BT
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

Misson’s four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs
It was war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ‘til they handed you the captaincy
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else

And then Perty yelled out “Contract!” and the bloke behind me swore
We’re hooked in now for three years and God we’re ******* poor
And Tommy kicked one behind and we had one hand on the spoon
God help me
It was all over before June

And I can still see Maysie, drinkin pints in a Richmond hotel
On four-to-six week rehab from a bad hamstring
And I can still hear Maysie, standing screaming at Frosty
‘Til the media came and killed the bloody thing

And Anzac Eve legends only mention Martin, Reiwoldt, other tiges
And the stories that my father told me of wins I’ll never see
I saw some losses lying on my back that I didn’t even feel
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

And can you tell me, doctor, why Joel Smith still can’t get on his feet
And why the Channel Seven goal of the week never features any Dees
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen



Apologies if anyone finds it offensive that I've used a classic about a very serious topic to mock our year, but the themes of young men being led off to their ruination do resonate, even though the scale is quite different.

Here's the original:


I’m outraged.....


















at how s**t our season was.
 
May and Kolodjashnij saw the jumper parade in November
It was a long march home for Jess
The sixth pick did the tour and it was us who drew the card
We did Preuss and Hore and rookies before we left

And players lined the footpaths as they marched down to the surgery
This clipping from the paper shows them young and strong and clean
And there’s me down at Gosch’s with me Grand Final guarantee
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

From a Kardinia hiding to the dust at Alice Springs
We’ve been in and out of shockers now for months
And we made seventeenth a home, V.B. and pinups on the lockers
Coach is a ranga-orange muppet and a no-hoper scrub

And can you tell me, doctor, why vandenBerg still can’t get on his feet
Friday night time’s just a cluster **** and a barking thick BT
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

Misson’s four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs
It was war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ‘til they handed you the captaincy
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else

And then Perty yelled out “Contract!” and the bloke behind me swore
We’re hooked in now for three years and God we’re ******* poor
And Tommy kicked one behind and we had one hand on the spoon
God help me
It was all over before June

And I can still see Maysie, drinkin pints in a Richmond hotel
On four-to-six week rehab from a bad hamstring
And I can still hear Maysie, standing screaming at Frosty
‘Til the media came and killed the bloody thing

And Anzac Eve legends only mention Martin, Reiwoldt, other tiges
And the stories that my father told me of wins I’ll never see
I saw some losses lying on my back that I didn’t even feel
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

And can you tell me, doctor, why Joel Smith still can’t get on his feet
And why the Channel Seven goal of the week never features any Dees
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen



Apologies if anyone finds it offensive that I've used a classic about a very serious topic to mock our year, but the themes of young men being led off to their ruination do resonate, even though the scale is quite different.

Here's the original:


Very well done Sir Hugh, a haunting and evocative song that speaks of another time for some of us. Much like our continued failures, although as you succinctly point out, the scale is different.
 
May and Kolodjashnij saw the jumper parade in November
It was a long march home for Jess
The sixth pick did the tour and it was us who drew the card
We did Preuss and Hore and rookies before we left

And players lined the footpaths as they marched down to the surgery
This clipping from the paper shows them young and strong and clean
And there’s me down at Gosch’s with me Grand Final guarantee
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

From a Kardinia hiding to the dust at Alice Springs
We’ve been in and out of shockers now for months
And we made seventeenth a home, V.B. and pinups on the lockers
Coach is a ranga-orange muppet and a no-hoper scrub

And can you tell me, doctor, why vandenBerg still can’t get on his feet
Friday night time’s just a cluster **** and a barking thick BT
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

Misson’s four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs
It was war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ‘til they handed you the captaincy
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else

And then Perty yelled out “Contract!” and the bloke behind me swore
We’re hooked in now for three years and God we’re ******* poor
And Tommy kicked one behind and we had one hand on the spoon
God help me
It was all over before June

And I can still see Maysie, drinkin pints in a Richmond hotel
On four-to-six week rehab from a bad hamstring
And I can still hear Maysie, standing screaming at Frosty
‘Til the media came and killed the bloody thing

And Anzac Eve legends only mention Martin, Reiwoldt, other tiges
And the stories that my father told me of wins I’ll never see
I saw some losses lying on my back that I didn’t even feel
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

And can you tell me, doctor, why Joel Smith still can’t get on his feet
And why the Channel Seven goal of the week never features any Dees
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen



Apologies if anyone finds it offensive that I've used a classic about a very serious topic to mock our year, but the themes of young men being led off to their ruination do resonate, even though the scale is quite different.

Here's the original:


this is POTY
 
Apr 1, 2018
4,786
5,790
AFL Club
Tasmania
As much as I want to agree with you about Jones, that would be simply ******ed, we'd have another James McDonald player revolt on our hands, he's earnt the right to retire on his terms. Removing the captaincy from him tho, that's a decent possibility.

I'm not cutting ANB after one poor season either, we struggle to "spread" enough as is.
We can't keep handing out free passes just on sentiment though. Jones is so slow now and adds nothing to the midfield. I hope the coach does what he did with Lewis and tells him he will play the majority of games in the VFL and when he does play it will be predominantly up forward.
 
We can't keep handing out free passes just on sentiment though. Jones is so slow now and adds nothing to the midfield. I hope the coach does what he did with Lewis and tells him he will play the majority of games in the VFL and when he does play it will be predominantly up forward.

? Where did I say he should be given a game each week? I said he's earnt the right to retire on his own terms with the club. There's a difference.
 
Last edited:
Apr 13, 2015
4,637
12,301
AFL Club
Melbourne
Watching the game on the weekend, whilst raging at the TV. I noticed the cat curled up asleep next to me, she would occasionally raise her head and showed a dopey nonchalance towards the game before returning to her slumber. I suppose my question is: with her attitude, will she be selected as a first round draft pick or is she more suited to coaching or a key administrative position?
 
May and Kolodjashnij saw the jumper parade in November
It was a long march home for Jess
The sixth pick did the tour and it was us who drew the card
We did Preuss and Hore and rookies before we left

And players lined the footpaths as they marched down to the surgery
This clipping from the paper shows them young and strong and clean
And there’s me down at Gosch’s with me Grand Final guarantee
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

From a Kardinia hiding to the dust at Alice Springs
We’ve been in and out of shockers now for months
And we made seventeenth a home, V.B. and pinups on the lockers
Coach is a ranga-orange muppet and a no-hoper scrub

And can you tell me, doctor, why vandenBerg still can’t get on his feet
Friday night time’s just a cluster **** and a barking thick BT
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

Misson’s four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs
It was war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ‘til they handed you the captaincy
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else

And then Perty yelled out “Contract!” and the bloke behind me swore
We’re hooked in now for three years and God we’re ******* poor
And Tommy kicked one behind and we had one hand on the spoon
God help me
It was all over before June

And I can still see Maysie, drinkin pints in a Richmond hotel
On four-to-six week rehab from a bad hamstring
And I can still hear Maysie, standing screaming at Frosty
‘Til the media came and killed the bloody thing

And Anzac Eve legends only mention Martin, Reiwoldt, other tiges
And the stories that my father told me of wins I’ll never see
I saw some losses lying on my back that I didn’t even feel
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

And can you tell me, doctor, why Joel Smith still can’t get on his feet
And why the Channel Seven goal of the week never features any Dees
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen



Apologies if anyone finds it offensive that I've used a classic about a very serious topic to mock our year, but the themes of young men being led off to their ruination do resonate, even though the scale is quite different.

Here's the original:

Very good, unlike everything Melbourne
 
Feb 15, 2015
31,552
70,822
South Yarra
AFL Club
Melbourne
Other Teams
Mt Buller Demons
May and Kolodjashnij saw the jumper parade in November
It was a long march home for Jess
The sixth pick did the tour and it was us who drew the card
We did Preuss and Hore and rookies before we left

And players lined the footpaths as they marched down to the surgery
This clipping from the paper shows them young and strong and clean
And there’s me down at Gosch’s with me Grand Final guarantee
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

From a Kardinia hiding to the dust at Alice Springs
We’ve been in and out of shockers now for months
And we made seventeenth a home, V.B. and pinups on the lockers
Coach is a ranga-orange muppet and a no-hoper scrub

And can you tell me, doctor, why vandenBerg still can’t get on his feet
Friday night time’s just a cluster **** and a barking thick BT
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

Misson’s four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs
It was war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ‘til they handed you the captaincy
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else

And then Perty yelled out “Contract!” and the bloke behind me swore
We’re hooked in now for three years and God we’re ******* poor
And Tommy kicked one behind and we had one hand on the spoon
God help me
It was all over before June

And I can still see Maysie, drinkin pints in a Richmond hotel
On four-to-six week rehab from a bad hamstring
And I can still hear Maysie, standing screaming at Frosty
‘Til the media came and killed the bloody thing

And Anzac Eve legends only mention Martin, Reiwoldt, other tiges
And the stories that my father told me of wins I’ll never see
I saw some losses lying on my back that I didn’t even feel
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

And can you tell me, doctor, why Joel Smith still can’t get on his feet
And why the Channel Seven goal of the week never features any Dees
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen



Apologies if anyone finds it offensive that I've used a classic about a very serious topic to mock our year, but the themes of young men being led off to their ruination do resonate, even though the scale is quite different.

Here's the original:


Breathtaking Sir Hugh
 
No I belive Rolf Harris, Steve Randall, Gary Glitter & Robert Hughes were the pallbearers at that one.

No one from the Catholic church?

Jeffery Epstein and Prince Andrew sent their best wishes
 
Remember the hype and optimism as fans this time last year?

Pepperidge Farm remembers.


On iPhone using BigFooty.com mobile app
Yep, that hype and optimism is what has made this year as bad a year as 2012. Been a horrible soul destroying, faith dissolving piss cop of a year.

Get fycked 2019, you campaigner of an annus
 
May and Kolodjashnij saw the jumper parade in November
It was a long march home for Jess
The sixth pick did the tour and it was us who drew the card
We did Preuss and Hore and rookies before we left

And players lined the footpaths as they marched down to the surgery
This clipping from the paper shows them young and strong and clean
And there’s me down at Gosch’s with me Grand Final guarantee
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

From a Kardinia hiding to the dust at Alice Springs
We’ve been in and out of shockers now for months
And we made seventeenth a home, V.B. and pinups on the lockers
Coach is a ranga-orange muppet and a no-hoper scrub

And can you tell me, doctor, why vandenBerg still can’t get on his feet
Friday night time’s just a cluster **** and a barking thick BT
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

Misson’s four week operation, when each step can mean your last one on two legs
It was war within yourself
But you wouldn’t let your mates down ‘til they handed you the captaincy
So you closed your eyes and thought about somethin’ else

And then Perty yelled out “Contract!” and the bloke behind me swore
We’re hooked in now for three years and God we’re ******* poor
And Tommy kicked one behind and we had one hand on the spoon
God help me
It was all over before June

And I can still see Maysie, drinkin pints in a Richmond hotel
On four-to-six week rehab from a bad hamstring
And I can still hear Maysie, standing screaming at Frosty
‘Til the media came and killed the bloody thing

And Anzac Eve legends only mention Martin, Reiwoldt, other tiges
And the stories that my father told me of wins I’ll never see
I saw some losses lying on my back that I didn’t even feel
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen

And can you tell me, doctor, why Joel Smith still can’t get on his feet
And why the Channel Seven goal of the week never features any Dees
And what’s this rage that comes and goes, can you tell me what it means?
God help me
It was twenty-nineteen



Apologies if anyone finds it offensive that I've used a classic about a very serious topic to mock our year, but the themes of young men being led off to their ruination do resonate, even though the scale is quite different.

Here's the original:


Well, I think that was magnificent.
 
Back