The weekend's football began with a vigorous contest in Adelaide: first Hawkins and Talia start to form a human centipede then Walker knocks two Cat heads together like two ball bearings in a pendulum swing. The Cats are spraying their stinky wiz everywhere early with three points before Motlop converts two chances. Tex Walker manages to combine Bruce Lee style deft goalkicking with wildebeest power. The martial spirit is contagious and Dangerfield is soon judo thrown by Cameron.
In the second half Lingy implores the tall timber to 'be big men and bring it to ground', rather than send it hurtling off into the orbit of Mars - sage advice. Josh Jenkins finds time to do impressions of the 'jizz in my pants' guy. A couple of quick Crow goals brings it back to a point before Motlop kicks over a postcode to get it to Duncan who goals before Jizz Pants kicks one in reply.
It's a tad messy early in the final term and Bruce lets slip a Freudian 'kick it out of the sloppage' but there's much gesticulating. Scott Thompson gives away a 50 following a pointed death threat, Betts wraps Henderson up in a scissor lock reminiscent of a Russ Meyer movie, Seedsman marks the ball like he's being raised from a funeral bier and Enright does a Hillbilly stomp after goaling. When in Rome…The Cats pulls away and also win the game.
The North/Bombers game starts ominously with air-raid sirens sounding but alas in the first half the siren tolls for the Bombers. For some reason Cooney has a haberdashery case with needle and thread stuffed in his spandex, presumably to serve as medic to those actually physically involved. Despite the fact Essendon will get roundly spanked in the first half you can see that Z Merret, Parish and Zaharakis will be a formidable emerging mid combo. Scott Thompson crawls over Daniher like a drunk stumbling for water in the night. The Bombers can't get into the game so Dr Tim Watson does, pumping up the players and hearing Essendon fingers touching North goals – but sadly for the umpires they lack the senses and sensibility of Dr Watson and make glaring omissions.
In quarter 2 Brown takes a lovely chin mark and we learn he's only missed 5 games since debuting and that North have lost all 5. He's clearly a Talisman, a good luck clown. Daw finishes the work and soon Brown gets it again, with Kelly on the mark pretending to throw a stone at him. What do they say about those in shit-houses and stones? It's half way through the term before Fantasia marks and kicks Essendon's vital 3rd point. It's now 45 to 3. Watching this is like viewing a game of underwater ping-pong while on Valium, and I mean players and spectators alike. But soon Daw takes two great grabs – one as though he's busted through closing doors of a lift and the second one where he appears to be plucking the moon from the sky.
The second half is a Jeremy Iron Reversal of Fortune, but the ironing isn't delicious for North fans. They put on two goals and Essendon 8, only being beaten by 14 points. Medicos from Arden Street believe North may have been overwhelmed by opiates released from a corking first half…and also that they were shit in the second. Live and learn.
Up at Spotless it's the Battle of the Money Sinks when Gold Coast and GWS clash. Years ago I thought the Suns projected as football surgeons, but then again I thought Wa Wa Nee would dominate world music for a decade. Scully draws first blood in the quarter sporting a US military crew cut while Hopper debuts with quite a rude hair-do of his own. Scully, buoyed by his early success tries to run away from a stoppage but Hall drags him down in an expert tackle which makes it appear Scully is doing the old 'walking down the stairs behind the couch' trick. But the Giants pile on three goals to zero within 8 minutes. Grant, the footballer formerly known as Amish, sets up like a trestle table in front of Hopper and is penalised but when Steve Johnson does similarly in front of Day, Dunstall declares no block ad nauseum. Methinks the Dunstall protesteth too much.
In the second, Johnson comes off the ground looking like an extra from Cat People after Lord Ablett scratches him up with a boot stud. We learn Lobb put 5 kilos on in the off season, presumably it 2 kilos was hair and the rest skin. Dunstall shows vision of Ablett getting caught on the offensive side of a stoppage and mentions Gary was also caught doing a poo when the phone rang. After recovering from his Ablett cat scratches, Johnson charges into the goal mouth for a certain six points but runs into Palmer and comes off looking like a plucked Hellraiser.
But the horror show doesn't end there. Soon Rocket gives us a Trilogy of Terror. Behold!
The Suns are in awful shape and in the 3rd quarter it's apparent not only that Saad doesn't have a right foot, but that it's a clog. Jizz Cameron kicks his 5th in this quarter, the shit truck Day takes a good intercept mark and Mumford stalks the Suns backline like a bent 1920s Boston cop on the beat – all thuggery and entitlement. It's well and truly done by the 4th quarter with little to extract from it for the Suns except that Lonergan is the beating testicle of the team. Thoroughgoing terror from the Giants.
Up north the Pies are on early. Christensen is gobbled up early like a canape, Lester looks like he's pulled from the saddle by Frost and Howe is looking good in defence. I go to pinch myself but think better of it and pinch my daughter to learn if this is real. She hits me, Fasolo climbs an air ladder to nowhere and the Pies start peppering the goals and I realise, hey, this is no dream. But we're looking okay and after a super Crocker goal from the boundary I'm feeling it. I'm riding this game like a sailor on the rigging.
In the 2nd quarter I notice Smith is really enjoying elbowing and being elbowed by Zorko. The laughs continue in the Pie forward 50. As Derm points out, there are no traps set by the Lions in their defensive 50 to prevent clear Collingwood runs at goal, not even any Scooby Doo trap-doors. With 11:00 left in the quarter Zorko kicks the Lions first, then second goal but the Pies are neck deep in score, 10 deep. Varcoe comes late to the goal party which is by now a late Roman Imperial orgy.
Early in quarter 3 Taylor is rolled out like shortbread dough and Jesse White will make hay while the sun's shining, with the trusty old constipated, squinty, faux-pass face. Dermott is fixated with Green's lamb chop sideburns and the Pies get a domino goal – a series of relayed kicks for pushes in the back which results in Cox's 4th goal. In the final quarter Pendlebury continues to slice Brisbane up like a professional sadist, Crocker nets his 3rd goal and the umpire puts the whistle away because he doesn't want to see any more of this game than necessary. An old fashioned belting from the Woods.
At the MCG, before you know it Rance is mimicking Sam 'the shit-truck' Day and frontally careens into Franklin who gets a free and goals. Then Heeney goals, Vickery misses, the Tigers give away a 50 metre, Franklin goals again and you think 'I've seen this movie.' I've also seen Griffiths in his Biggles flying hat before tonight, but wait. Whooooo, is that? It's Ted Richards in a Biggles hat! This thing is catching on like a contagion and it's getting close to time we talked about all the Gary Wilson's buzzing around in their flying nerf hats at the moment.
The Tigers are evading Sydney's press by kicking dinky little 10 metre Hawthorn specials and Longmire goes into conniptions – either that or he chose this moment to pay homage to one of the lesser Dadaists, John Heartfield.
It's all very touching, as is Franklin who cops a cheap feel of Morris before the quarters out.
Vickery returns in quarter 2 with a bad case of stink-eye and Franklin celebrates passing Stix Kernahan's goal tally by throwing 17 cans down on the bench. Grimes introduces Heeney Stormborn to terra firma and Horse Longmire goes all Caligula now in the box – spitting on the back of Dew's neck and threatening to make his horse a senator, it's madness, by Jupiter! The original Biggles, aka Griffith is in everything, including come dressed as Gareth from The Office day.
In the 3rd, Franklin is thrown by Rance into another dimension but Longmire's totally sanguine. There's been a coup at court, someone's slipped Horse a late Roman mickey. Franklin is hotter than the hot bits of the sun that are too hot to mention in this article but the Tigers won't buzz off. Sydney lead 75 to 57 into the final break.
Goals are going back and forth in blocs and some medieval tactics come into vogue. Edwards and Rance treat Franklin like a wishbone and wish that he was split in two, but before they can get their wish they must split him in two. And after the Biggles twin shock, no one knows what's going on when Tippett and Vickery enter the same dimension.
And just when you thought your mind was blown, here comes the Lloyd confusion. Jake Lloyd decides to put a sleeper hold on Riewoldt, with no discernible effect, but it's Richmond's Sam Lloyd who will kick the sealer after the siren which sees the Tigers win by a point.
On Sunday at Etihad, Liam Sumner's hair pays homage to a Gary. No-one knows if it's Gary Numan or Gary Oldman but it's a step back to the 80s. Speaking of the 80's, the Blues are building a Berlin Wall just outside their forward 50 and it's driving Hinkley coco bananas.
In other fashion news Walker struts around like a lunk from Venice Beach while Trengove runs to the bench to freak out the olds with his emo blood tear stigmata.
Kreuzer needs an emergency poo after Ebert knees him in the solar plexus. Curnow handballs to himself but isn't expecting it and fumbles. Despite these minor setbacks Carlton is well competitive and the old arrogance returns as Bolton takes choc top orders in the coaches box.
Early in the 3rd Carlton lead clearances 22 to 11. There's a lot of back and forth and Dwayne calls this 'a heart stopper'. Alas it proved not to be. In the final quarter Carlton looked set for an honourable defeat but came on strong and the constipated Kreuzer kicked the sealer.
At the MCG Wood set the tone early against the Demons by taking two players in hand like Homer escorting Patty and Selma from Evergreen Terrace. The Dogs got on the board early with Redpath looming nicely. Wood tries to uncork Petracca's head in the first term, so early in the second Vince tries to guillotine Wallis with all the force of a restorationist monarch from Sardinia.
Billy Stark does the best Benny Hill impression I've seen but Kennedy and Garlett kick two bringing Melbourne within three goals. Watts returns to form in the first half with 2 possessions. Melbourne never really look threatening but we can enjoy moments like Harmes spilling the ball like a man tripping over with the wedding cake or waiting for Liberatore to break the 18 high tackle record. Waiting for Redpath to kick a 4th goal is like waiting for Godot. Despite Melbourne's improved form Hogan with his bow-legs looks like he can't wait to ride off into the western sunset. Bulldogs emerge victorious with comfort despite the injury list.
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