Still wide awake. It's always the case after a night of heavy drinking and no significant chance of companionship. I convince others to kick on at the coach's house who foolishly left his spare set of house keys in plain view if you break into his back shed and open an empty paint tin.

12.30pm MAIN ST

I awake to the sun warming my tired bones and a mother and her three children staring with a mixture of pity and revulsion at me. As luck would have it, I fell asleep on a leather lounge in the front window of the local furniture store "Loony Larry's" who's prices are surprisingly expensive.


I'm in my happy place, sipping a few quiet ales while watching the boys first training run for the week. I love to surf, without it I think I would die...literally. Couch surfing is something I have perfected. It's a bit of a cliché but I just take it one over dramatized tale of roaming gangs of wild dogs at a time. When you can convince someone to open there doors and let you into their home and medicine cabinet it's a special moment.


I try and have a big meal the night after a game, tonight I hear the clubs Ladies Auxiliary is making casseroles to sell to raise money for the resurfacing of the netball court. Once they leave the club canteen I dig in. I'm careful not to eat a whole casserole and take vital funds from our talented sports women. I ingeniously sample a hand full from each crock pot. Proper food hygiene is vital and although I double dip, I am up to date with all my vaccinations and the mouth herpes that have plagued me for most of the winter has cleared up.

I try and get plenty of sleep at least a couple of nights a week, I try for 10 hours.

MONDAY 9.30pm

I wake up in the umpires change rooms and realise I Have slept 24 hours straight. It's a strange sensation to wake in a place where our games officiators disrobe and reveal their alien like bodies.

Monday's are Game of thrones night for me, I venture over to Owen's, an albino chap I befriended because of his 90 inch flat screen TV.


Catch up with old coach/now parole officer Les, he's a ripping bloke who isn't one of those "I need to know your whereabouts at all times" kind of people. As long as my ankle bracelet is no closer than 500 metres from the town mayor or other elected officials, Les is cool.

Around midday I venture down to the footy club gym where someone is usually cooking sausages on the BBQ, I do my bit and butter the bread for the boys, along with consuming about a kilo of pork snags. As the boys finish up I suddenly punch "Poncho" swiftly in the guts and hilariously tell him it will help strengthen his core. No one else gets my subtle humour and rush to help the frail but spritely aged pensioner. One of my great strengths is to read the mood of a crowd and I move on while they turn Poncho on his side.


I come across a group who are doing a nude photo shoot for calendar to raise money to rebuild the CWA hall. It was allegedly burnt down by an unknown homeless person leaving a gas hot plate on while reheating casseroles in the early hours of the morning. I'm very comfortable in my own skin but I have a unique tattoo in a private area that may link me to cold cases in the region so I move on.


Convenient that my AA meeting and problem gambling help group are both held here.

I'm quick to point out to newcomers, team pictures that adorn the walls that feature yours truly. None are overly impressed, I put that down to people of weak character. My anger management session has been cancelled much to my rising annoyance, so I go for a walk to clear my head.


I make an appearance at the local saw mill which has been slowly decreasing production recently. I think me coming in and saying "G'day" really lifted the workers spirits, although the forestry industry has always had it in for me and escorted me out with the lame excuse of thongs not being safe work wear.


It's great to catch up with June Morrow who is club stalwart and washes all junior jumpers, coincidently I have a bag of my washing with me. I leave June, repeatedly telling her not to wash the towel on top of the pile with rest of washing.


Volunteer to be designated driver to go to league meeting tonight, end up drinking heavily and am left behind, some 20kms from Corro.

Thursday 9am

The next day I a lift back to town with a local courier, on our trip back I regale him with stories from my past, I tell him why his club is inferior to the Chooks in every way.

Walk the last 7km.


Training; talk to the boys as they warm up. Try and get early word where they might end up after the game. Yell out various footy clichés; "It starts in the middle", "8 point game", "conditions will suit us", "they don't like the rough stuff" and "play for the jumper."

9 pm TOP PUB

Go to the top pub where the teams announced, I get in a large shout but have a big day planned for tomorrow so I leave via the window in the disabled toilets before it’s my turn up.


There is a monster truck rally and a burn out competition at the Showgrounds, I'm in my element.


Pre-game meal in my playing days always used to be spam draped with melted Kraft singles I called "meat dessert", now I'm a lot more relaxed. Now it’s whatever is in the fridge of whoever lets me stay. It's much better without superstitions. You don't want missing out on your meat dessert playing mind games with you.


Having just woken and even though I'm Not playing I like to get a 3 hour rest before game so I stay in bed I'm reading Ozzy Osborne's book, which relaxes me.


I usually get a lift to away games with Father Murphey on the premise I go to church the next day, I won't but I know he will forgive me the bible tells me so. Our pre game routine consists of me singing AC/DC songs and then pointing out the sexual double entendre's littered throughout. Father says it makes him feel uncomfortable and for me to stop singing. I honestly believe it works in helping me calm my pre-game nerves.


The first thing I do when I get to the ground is head for the change rooms and get a rub down followed by a 90 minute shower, the hot water usually runs out about that stage.


Game time.