Monday 8:10am. Ouch. Did yesterday really happen? A hammering � both on and off the fields. Sh*t, we suck. After 20 years of never missing a game, I promise never to watch another St George game. As for going to the club afterwards and dancing to DJ Otzi, that was just letting off steam. That�s it for me. NO MORE FOOTY. Time for the Mercury to arrive at the newsagent. Not even those hacks can put a positive spin on yesterday�s performance.
1010 am. Latte and cream bun. Better cut down on the calories. Make it skim. I can�t believe Trent is injured again. He is a liability. When he runs with the ball he should pass. And when he passes he should run. No point letting these thoughts store up inside, better SMS a few of the lads and fire them up.
1245 pm. Time for John Stanley, 2UE. He�ll have something to say about the game. I know he isn�t supposed to, but if you heard all that bellyaching Boz did about the Bears, Stanley should be allowed to talk about the Dragons for the next 11 years straight. If I ring will they put me through? If I don�t get on, I can always call 2SM. They�re easy. My answering machine has more listeners.
530pm. The WIN news. Jeez that $800 for the multi directional antenna was worth it. At least three Dragon stories tonight. Barrett may be in, damn. Looks like there�s doubt about Timmo. And there�s Doust chewing gum while being interviewed. I�m not going to bother any more. They can all get rooted.
915pm. SMS in from the Duck. Wants to know who�s injured. This SMS business is costing a fortune so I�ll call him on the mobile. Last time we spoke for three hours. Poor bastard has no life. I�m all he has. I'm like friggin' Lifeline.
Tuesday Noon. Must say I�m enjoying life without footy. A lazy day reading the paper . Da De Do. Da De Do. A free man with no ties. A wandering spirit like a dandelion, to be blown wherever the breeze may take me. Screw this. If I leave now I can make training at OKI.
Tuesday 5pm. The whole first, Premier, Flegg Matthews and Ball teams are announced, and bench. Takes me me three hours to type them into an SMS. I can�t believe Barrett is still captain. Ship him off to the UK now. Well, after this weekend, as he always lifts at WIN. Not that I will see it. I�ve given up and all the better for it.
Thursday lunch at NSW RL. Doorman asks �How are the Mighties?� I smile, but explain my retirement from all things leather. Except, of course, my Friday night spanking, which thankfully the doorman knows nothing of. Think I may stay out. The sun's shining and I�ve remembered to pop in a video for the Fox replay.
Friday. Lunch at St George Leagues. It�s a football free zone, as they got out of the business years ago. Across the road I see Head, Baz, Gaz, Creyon, Crab, and Banana all on crutches. Looks like a parade down the gang plank of the Kuttabul, after the Japs got em.
One of the scouts gives me the drum. Apparently were in line for a kid from Scone. He�s only a youngster. Well, he's not actually born yet, but the doc sent an x-ray to George Mimmis who got him 25K a year and a scholarship to St Gregory�s. It�s not quite sealed, as he has a counter offer from Union and Superleague to consider. Picked up a copy of the Leader on the way home and used a Brad Forrest article to wipe dog poo off my shoe.
Saturday 7 am and feeling fan-bloody-tastic. Almost a week without League. Hang on, who rings this early? Don�t listen to the message. Now the mobile�s ringing. Look, an SMS. Might be important.
Am I going to the footy today? Am I going to subject myself to misery? Am I going to ruin my day, my week, my life complaining about every aspect of the game?
Of course I am. Is Trent Barrett a Catholic?