Masters Round 9 – vs Kedron
One story alone would dominate all the reputable new services in the lead up to this game. The final game of club stalwart, committee man, mentor and scrapbooking enthusiast Maroochydore Pete.
The hope would be that with recent poor performances, such a grandiose occasion would inspire the troops to new heights. Fat lot of good that did. We were always going to struggle to keep pace with the wrinkle free ranks of the Kedron Infants or Toddlers or whatever the club calls itself. One half of their team turned up on a school bus. The other half were dropped off by their parents, such was their youthful presentation.
It’s fair to say though that the signs were there early that we would struggle. Lofty sharked a fantastic ball in the centre of the ground then proceeded to run and kick the wrong way.
I wonder if he still questions why that career as a tour guide never took off. No sense of direction or something more. I think tackling a waterboy then picking a fight with the goal post might suggest it’s time to have that prescription re-evaluated.
Kanga had a ripper. Taking on their marquee forward who gave us untold headaches in the first quarter, he not only subdued him but managed to run off him at every opportunity.
Mary, just starting to show signs of recovery, would re-aggravate the knee in this game. This would also mark the last game from Burger’s BC period. BC of course standing for “Before Cardigan”. It would be shortly after this game, that the now well documented fashion atrocity would occur. Innocence lost, many of us would never be the same.
Despite largely inadequate supply, Jenko continued to do what he’s done well all year and that’s take contested grabs. The man has possibly the strongest hands at the club which no doubt have everybody wondering, as I do, just how safe it would feel to be held by those powerful hands during the long, cold winter nights. Or is it just me?
Rusty tried desperately for the team but on the back of the recent disappearance of his football boots, it’s hard not to be distracted by a man making his way around a football ground in long socks and sneakers. It’s like something out of a Richard Simmons workout video.
Though we looked a little flat footed in the middle at times, Craig desperately in need of a good nickname, continued to showcase his supreme physical skills. Muscular and athletic, in a “This is Sparta!” kind of way, he’s become something of an eyesore around the club. Imperfect and wobbly in a “This is Oprah!” kind of way, the rest of the fellas have been polite and welcoming to Craig despite his obvious differences, which says something about the kind of blokes we are. That said, the coaching staff have devised an intense pre-season schedule that combines lengthy couch sessions with the nutritional benefits of beer and twisties, in the hope that Craig can beat his horrible affliction and one day look like the rest of us.
Some rare signs of aggression from coach Rocket after a couple of high shots. Though they were apparent cheap shots and one of the snipers was heard to yell “King of Spades this you bastard!”, claims the attack came from one of our own are largely unfounded. Bic continued on his good form despite an early knock and Nicko, 15 kilos lighter from the start of the season, had a good one.
Cashy, still absent with parenting duties meant another last second call up for Slim, who begrudgingly agreed despite having to be cut out of the fluoro top last time using the jaws of life, and did a fine job.
Maroochydore Pete’s last act on the footy field for his club was not one involving a football but an act of wanton aggression. I didn’t see what set him off but the bloke he was trying to kill was a skinny, bearded old dude in glasses. The sort of bloke that might fill in your tax return or laminate you a library card but not run around a football field. Pete clearly unsatisfied with this years Tax Return.
Sadly, a 49 point loss was a most unfitting way to send off a club legend but he was afforded a guard of honour and carried shoulder high from the ground. Thus giving many of the newer players the chance to cradle the buttocks of a man who had done so much for this club. He also received a signed football jumper, souvenired another with his number plus pocketed some of the expensive ashtrays from around the bistro. Not a bad days work. You will be missed.
Last Modified on 28/02/2011 19:57