The Spew Round 18 - ​North vs Collingwood and Port vs Giants

Previously:
Round 17
Round 16

During Friday night's pre-game interview with Nathan Buckley for the Pies/North game at Etihad, Tim Watson is wearing spectacular, thick rimmed glasses that make him look like Arthur Calwell. On field, the Pies are getting all rowdy and shirt renty in the true believer fashion, which leaves Petrie boobily exposed.

It's a crazed opening as Marsh buzzes around like a blue-arsed fly and Harvey somehow manages to body slam Pendlebury in a tackle. In short order Brown goals for North and one fan goes puce very early in the piece.

The ball spends so much time in North's forward 50 it starts to look around the area for decent schools. Unexpectedly, Blair sneaks a goal, but it's a rare Woody treat. The Pies are being embarrassed at a poo in the pantaloons type of level and are playing looser than a Hanson-Trump political lovechild. The score reads 41:14 by the end of the first quarter.

Harvey tries what is the shortest 'don't argue' in history. Despite full arm extension he's still nose to nose with his opponent. Greenwood executes a perfect switch in front of Collingwood goals, unfortunately to North's advantage and I'm thinking this guy is the most damaging fifth columnist since Malcolm Turnbull.

There's not much football interest here but in human interest terms Firrito grabs White's man-bun and when a small scuffles ensues, Firrito unexpectedly deploys '60's style, non-violent resistance. I would prefer some self-immolation at this juncture but it's not on the cards.

In quarter 3 Bruce describes Grundy as 'a master of the dark arts'. I don't know how Bruce has come to learn that but it sounds promising. It appears briefly that North have fallen under a stupor, a soporific trap laid by the Pies poor play, but North snap out of the reverie soon enough and the Woods resume their circus act.

Wells is playing okay for someone requiring a new cardiovascular system. After a Firrito lasso on Moore he goals and Bruce thinks the Pies are half a sniff which I refute. Not only is Collingwood 33 points down but more importantly, there is no such thing as a half-sniff. There is however entertainment galore in the crowd as Ricky Gervais and Batman make cameo appearances.

My viewing accomplice believes North just need to keep being North and the Pies can win as the final quarter starts, but when I see White display all the urgency of a jogger around the Tan I lose any microscopic hope. North proceed to bury the Pies in a middling depth grave and even have time to pat down any loose dirt with the back of a spade before swigging from a whiskey flask and wiping their brow. It's a thorough 40 point thrashing 124:84.

The Giants get to prove their bona-fides on the road when they take on Port on Sunday evening. Before the bounce Kennedy looks like a young Cameron Mooney and gets all nice and thuggy with Mitchell.

There's a few look-a-likes out there as the game starts, including Haynes who resembles David St. Hubbins of Spinal Tap fame. But if it's a fertile sex farm he's after he may have come to the wrong place. In the squally conditions seed is spraying everywhere which is something of a mixed blessing for Butcher whose errant kicks might finally be straightened up. We'll never know if his poor kicks were good ones caught by the breeze or just more rubbish but his hands prove butchery, all stabby and unsupple like a set of knives.

There's not much scoring in the game as everything is blown off course. There is, however, a player named Himmelberg who has the same boyish complexion as McCarthy who has the same complexion as Lance from Portlandia.

I don't know what the broadcasters have done with the microphones but it sounds like they have been abducted by seagulls. There are all manner of zoological noises from the crowd which would be better left muted. As though to match the audio a camera focuses in on Young's varicose vein. It looks like a carpet snake and is the type of thing usually only seen in a Hungarian deli.

It's late in the quarter before Robbie Gray opens Port's account—a low interest passbook saver—and by the end of the quarter it's 14:2 Port's way.

In the second quarter the ball resembles a fly and GWS's forward 50 a vomiting frog. The ball keeps escaping the 50 only to be drawn back in before being vomited out again. This goes on for some time until Green scores the Giants first goal. Despite the low-scoring nature of the game Dwayne is off to a blinder in the commentary box and is already up to 2 'Modus Operandi' before half-time and one 'bee-line' in the first quarter. The half ends at 39:19 with Port advancing a slight lead.

Quarter 3 starts and all manner of rubbish has blown onto the ground; chip packets, pie wrappers, John Butcher. Ebert is in the wars again and Ricciuto believes he has 'a cut in his hair'. By the looks of things Ebert has some major arteries coursing through there.

Soon Kelly puts his sublime skills on display when he taps a ball over the line with his nose. He's no Roof Seal but nobody's perfect. Nevertheless his display stiffens GWS's resolve and they pile on 3 quick goals to be 1 point shy of Port. Hinkley freaks out and starts to turn into that lobster thing from Futurama.

He's not the only one undergoing changes. Mitchell is fast becoming a walrus while Ebert continues spurting blood like the Trevi Fountain. Given how shouty Dwayne is becoming in the box as GWS continue to score, it's amazing that no-one's ears are bleeding. The 2rd quarter ends with GWS leading 53 to 47.

Some quick stats to start the final term. Dwayne buzz-phrases: Bee-line (4), Modus Operandi (2), he's done his shoulder (2), Big Mummy (12), massive (836). Despite Ebert valiantly kicking 4 goals—1 for every litre of blood spilt—the Giants run away with the game. When Smith goals it's the equivalent of an atomic elbow drop onto Port's dicky heart valve and Shiels' goal is like positioning a cadaver for a camel clutch. In a last gesture of defiance Port people inexplicably give the Black Panther salute before players retire to their rooms defeated—like the revolution—79 to 60.