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As Football gets serious... Alpha corners the men who hold season 2010 in their hands. We have an exclusive interview with STEVE JOHNSON, the Geelong star that sees things others don’t. Mark Thompson (and others) tell why. ROBBIE FARAH, the tough yet creative Tigers skipper tells why his team should…
Dob Your Neighbour In!
“Hello? Is that the Dob Your Neighbour In Hotline?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“I’d like to dob someone in, please.”
(sound of someone fetching pen and paper) “OK, dob away.”
“Right, well I play for a football team, and I’m really cross about a couple of people in the team.”
“Sounds serious. What have they been doing?”
“Acting like big-time Charlies.”
“ARE they big-time Charlies?”
“Well, yes they are. But that’s not the point. It’s unAustralian. They should act like small-time Charlies.”
“Has the team been affected by this behaviour?”
“Er, we’ve won every game lately and qualified for the World Cup.”
“So…”
“That’s not the point! It’s a bloody disgrace. We’ve got to pull our heads out of the sand and be honest with ourselves.”
“OK. Are you prepared to go on record with this?”
“I can send an anonymous email via my agent.”
“That’s a bit shit, isn’t it, mate? Hello?”
(Dial tone….)
“They will be that much more desperate.”
Dallas Johnson’s comment about the state of the Blues could be taken both ways, really, couldn’t it?
So, the World Twenty20 comes to an end: short and entertaining, like a firework. The Bucket had a quiet confidence in Sri Lanka all the way through, before Pakistan remembered they could play a bit and Shahid Afridi remembered he could play a LOT. Other things we learned: Chris Gayle is a bit scary, like a Yardie with a bat; Australia (average age: 48) in a Twenty20 match is like an old man being mugged in a park; and no one REALLY cares about the World Twenty20 until they win it. They’re still dancing in the streets of Rawalpindi now.
The Bucket’s one main thought after watching three days of the US Open, is that, for once, the game is being played how it should be: ie, hacking around miserably in the rain like the rest of us, plugging balls into bunkers, clueless on soaking greens, and being wet and cold all the way through and wondering if the club will just fly out of your freezing hands when you swing it.
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