If Toby Green was born in England 250 years ago he would be a filthy street urchin pick-pocketing unaware strangers of their personal possessions. Fast forward to present times and Green is on the same social standing as his thieving cockney cousin. Spitting at or towards an opponent on the footy field is on par with kicking a rival, eye gouging or drunkenly texting offensive selfies to the captain/coach’s wife.
I was once spat at by an opposition supporter while I was standing near the interchange area about to enter the playing arena, what possesses a mild mannered grandmother to hurl not only foul mouthed personal abuse but saliva at another human being? It turns out drilling a torpedo punt at her unsuspecting grandson in the warm-up.
Collingwood midfielder Taylor Adams finds himself in hot water this week when footage of him allegedly dropping his knee on to a Port players head, the Pies are tossing up on whether to ask Dermott “5 time day 5 time night” Brereton to help argue the case of unfortunate camera angles that falsely give the impression that he was intentionally trying to bury Westoff’s head into Adelaide Oval with his knee.
Gold Coast Suns power forward Charlie Dixon has been able to hide his rampant alcoholism for the last few weeks and kicked a bag of goals against the Roos, the Suns had more surprises than Karmichael Hunt’s golf bag. The word according to Suns insiders is that Dixon has a healthy ego, all great players have enormous self-belief that allows them to achieve wonderful feats on the ground. But when this confidence becomes a hindrance to the team’s culture, leaders need to stand up and put that player in their place. At the Chooks we had a player who played full forward and more often than not would kick the majority of our goals each week. The problem would occur after the game when our “spearhead” would walk around the change rooms totally nude. It’s great that he felt comfortable among mates to not have any inhibitions but we as a group felt we didn’t need to have his Wang in our personal space. I took it upon myself to represent the team and let our free spirited snake handler know that he needed to pull his head in so to speak. Unfortunately he didn’t take my suggestion well and showed about as much tolerance as Dawn Fraser towards one of Australia’s brat male tennis players. In the end it took a “Sam Mitchell Shepherd” to the groin the next time he was parading within Toby Green spitting distance of me for him to cover himself.
Well done to Collingwood Brownlow medallist Dane Swann on reaching 250 games, built like a heavily tattooed wombat, Swann has not only been a great player but a shining light to those of us who may lack elite athletic ability. In many ways I was the early prototype of the Dane Swann the “pure footballer”, I had the shuffling duck style waddle, although that was caused by severe weekly chaffing that still affects me to this day. I also perfected the high floater kick into the forward line that dislocated many a finger. Although not as inked as Swanny, I got a tattoo on an end of season footy trip. An intricate portrait of a hero of mine not only in footy but in life in general adorns my chest. Alex Ishchenko’s rugged wise head looks back at me each morning as I prepare myself for the day ahead.
DREAM, BELIEVE, ACHIEVE
- The Lone Ruckman.