Hawks Coach Alastair Clarkson stunned the footy world when he dropped in on premiership stars Sam Mitchell and Jordan Lewis to suggest it would help them and the club to move on. I've asked my mate "Clarko" to have a chat with a few footy personalities that are in need of some straight talk.


CLARKO: G'day Bucks, thanks for seeing me. I've got a bit of a proposition for you, this coaching caper, how's it going for you?

BUCKS: Really good.

CLARKO: Really? Good? I'm not seeing that Bucks, I'm seeing a bloke who has taken a team fresh from a Grand Final and systematically depleted it, before bringing in has-been's and Lyndon Dunn.

I have an idea that can help both you and Collingwood, you'd like to help the club wouldn't you Bucks?

BUCKS: Absolutely

CLARKO: At a boy, my plan is, lets get you a full time job in the media. Even people who cant stand you or Collingwood enjoy listening to your thoughts on the game. Your a natural, so what if you sapped big Trav's confidence in the one thing he could do...marking. Who cares if your one coaching achievement thus far is Jessie White has improved....slightly. The main point is you're good at something.


CLARKO: Tippo, thanks for inviting me over.

TIPPETT: I didn't, you just arrived unannounced.

CLARKO: Tippo, I love the way you play the game, but I'm an opposition coach and the fact I'm comfortable when you're on the field isn't a good thing. You have about as much presence in the forward line as Christopher Pyne at a B&S ball.

Buddy has ran into you more times than he has into parked cars. Have you ever considered a career as a mannequin?

TIPPETT: You mean model?

CLARKO: No, models need coordination and the ability not to fall down all the time. As a mannequin you can take advantage of you're greatest strength, standing still with a vacant facial expression.


CLARKO: BT you big bugger, how things?

BT: Hello Alastair, what are you doing here?

CLARKO: Big fella, I'm here to help you help the footy world. Now that Dennis has retired there's a position on Channel Seven's Friday Night Footy. I think it's better for you if you don't put your hand up for the gig. I can tell you enjoy calling Saturday night footy with Darce, Lingy and Richo because of all the in-house unfunny jokes you all crack while the footy is on. Problem is you're about as popular as man/boy band Human Nature, actually I would rather hear their sixteenth lame Christmas album than hear you constantly use the phrases "hand candy", "oh boy" and "wowee".

You once kicked a hundred goals in a season, in an era where Warwick Capper did the same. Sometimes I think "The Wiz" would make more sense than you.

Let's play to your strengths, your main demographic are blokes drinking cans in their shed on a Saturday afternoon. Radio my friend, move away from the glitz and glamour of TV and stay in a medium where you can yell loudly for no apparent reason.


CLARKO: Morning Robbo, do you mind if I come in? And you put some pants on?

ROBBO: Suit your yourself pal.

CLARKO: Robbo, I'm going to be as diplomatic and subtle as I can be. Robbo, if someone who had never read The Herald Sun, they would think that you cut your journalistic teeth at Girlfriend Magazine. Your either writing puff pieces on Moggs Creek or breaking stories on "possible" drug use by "up to" an unsubstantiated number of unnamed players. When you're on TV you are woefully unprepared and make Molly Meldrum's interviewing style look like David Frost.

How about you let your passion become your occupation? Devote yourself full time to it rather than just dipping your toe in the water. Making banners, dressing like a court jester and working out chants that have lines that rhyme with; "give back Jobe's Browlow." Come on Mark, become the Bombers cheer squad leader.