Certified Legendary Thread Covid, Life, UFOs, Food, & Wordle :(

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sideswipe said:
I went to it and just clicked submit 6 times to get to the answer without letting myself be triggered by the STUPIDITY OF THE GENRE!
Click to expand...

It’s unkind to mock me. :D
 
sideswipe said:
Given the term is being bandied around at the Club this week, I thought I should make it clear that over-use and inappropriate use of "the flu" is a pet peeve of mine.

Yes, you might have a virus of some sort, but unless you test positive to influenza, it's not the f*n flu.
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Ditto for “migraine”. Get ****ed you have a headache, don’t try to oversell it.
 
The Royal Sampler said:
Ditto for “migraine”. Get f’ed you have a headache, don’t try to oversell it.
Click to expand...
As someone who used to be a legit migraine sufferer, this one really peeves me. Anything beyond a dark, quiet room would be quite genuinely unbearable. Not quite the same as a headache
 

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gouki88 said:
As someone who used to be a legit migraine sufferer, this one really peeves me. Anything beyond a dark, quiet room would be quite genuinely unbearable. Not quite the same as a headache
Click to expand...

I called an ambulance for my boss last year (if in Malaysia don't bother calling an ambulance) I thought she was having a stroke or something similar, as she couldn't remember anyone's name and had lost the ability to speak. Turns out it was a migraine.

The moral of the story is that some people are too whoosy to cope with a headache.;)
 
sr36 said:
I called an ambulance for my boss last year (if in Malaysia don't bother calling an ambulance) I thought she was having a stroke or something similar, as she couldn't remember anyone's name and had lost the ability to speak. Turns out it was a migraine.

The moral of the story is that some people are too whoosy to cope with a headache.;)
Click to expand...

If there is a “manflu”, there is certainly a “mayograine”. I’ve never had a migraine, but I’ve seen what legitimate ones can do to somebody.
 
sideswipe said:
A bit of fun on a Friday

Thought that I should amuse a select audience with a story of my first exposure to umpiring.

It was a blustery hot March Sunday morning in 1989 when a cosseted troupe of Under 19 players from Old Xaverians crossed the Yarra for a practice match in Alphington against Parkside. For many, this was their first experience of football outside of APS competition since under 12s. For your scribe, it was to be an opportunity to watch and hope for injuries to teammates to allow for my selection in the team on recovery from a hand injury.

In what turned out to be clever move, no umpires showed up to officiate, nor did any more than a dozen players from Parkside. In an effort to salvage something from the day it was decided that a few of us would play for them and I was co-opted into being the sole field umpire.

The home team was over-matched. About six quick goals were scored by the Good Guys amid much consternation from the Parkside contingent and much complaining about the standard of umpiring. Even some of my teammates, representing Parkside, were telling me how sh-t I was at umpiring.

As a brash 17 year old only a few months out of school, let's just say the impression of my umpiring wasn't assisted by a few retorts to players complaining about my decisions.

One of the early cries was from a, well, let's call him a fat bogan. He felt he should have received a holding the man free, "I didn't have it" he cried. I responded with something along the lines of, "Because you can't get near it". This was a bad decision on my part.

As is the way of these things, bad decisions are often compounded by worse decisions. Now my tubby friend was not happy with me and as the first quarter was nearing its end, he voiced his disapproval at another of my decisions. My response was to tell him something very imaginative along the lines of "Get f-ed you fat tnuc". It was then that things deteriorated.

Mr Fatty roared in anger and tore off his jumper. When I write "tore" I really mean wriggled and squirmed out of it. In hindsight, it was agreed that this was some sort of symbolic gesture to indicate he was no longer governed by the rules of football, but rather The Rules Of The Street.

This was an alarming development for the field umpire who made some sort of attempt to send him off which may have been closer to "Leave me alone. Please". Fatty was pushing his head against mine, trying to deliver a headbutt of some type (note, very hard to head butt someone who is walking/running backwards. Fast). At the same time this was happening, scuffles were breaking out between players. There was (sometime later) much mirth when a number of skirmishes involved red on red (Parkside's jumper) as the co-opted Parkside players reverted to their club of origin. I think what only saved us collectively was the arithmetic instincts of the Parkside players who knew 12 versus 24 was bad. They were outnumbered, but if they really thought about it, they probably could have taken out 2 each.

Even so, things were deteriorating. Fast.

Luckily for me, there were two angels watching over me that day. The first was a well-known long-time Parkside legend. A tattooed (keep in mind '89. Tattoos were scary - especially bad ones) former boxer by the name of Jackie King who had scared many a lily-white amateur footballer. Jackie, somewhere between 30 and 60 years of age at the time, God love him, ran onto the ground, stood next to me and said, "Righto. I am umpiring. Anyone who wants to fight an umpire can now fight me." This truly saved my bacon.

Next angel was John Dillon, former VAFA president whose son was playing that day. He quickly took control of matters announced that the game was called off and ordered all Old Xavs players to go straight to their cars and leave. No one had to be told twice. We grabbed our gear and piled into cars. Turns out one of the benefits of a top-flight education was knowing when it was time to get the fk out of a bad situation. No car stopped until we got over the Chandler Highway Bridge.

I was in the back of one of the fleeing cars and noticed my large friend marching around the car park, still with no top on, making a big show of looking for me. I saw my opportunity. And took it.

"Hey mate, next time you wear footy shorts it'll be on the beach you fat bogan c-t".

I was pretty proud of the quality of that line. It was and still is appreciated as a fine witticism from those occupants of the car. It's impact on its intended target may not have been as great as the car was probably doing 30 by the time the sentence was finished.

A great day was had by all afterwards on beers at the Skinny Dog. Fear makes you thirsty. Relief even thirstier.

Sadly, that was not the end of the affair. Because I was not an official umpire, there could be no official reports laid. However, Jack Dillon was not going to forget about this. He called for a Special Investigation by the VAFA. I was asked to submit a written record of events and I had to attend Elsternwick Park on Tuesday night to give evidence. I was accompanied by my 22yo coach, Andrew "Thirsty" Rogers (whose wife apologised to the umps this week - I like to think me as well). Fatso was accompanied by what we guessed was his equally fat dad. The VAFA didn't really think it was necessary to hold the parties separately. This led to a very uncomfortable 30 minutes or so of the four of us sharing a changeroom with Fat Dad constantly glaring at me whilst idly tossing a Stanley knife. The hearing concluded, the officials were smart enough to hold me and Thirsty back until Fatso Sr and Jr had left the area.

The result? Fatso could not be suspended under VAFA tribunal rules, so other powers were used to "De-register" the player for 6 weeks (a little light on I thought - think provocation might have been a mitigant). So the story goes, Parkside received the message that it would be better if Fatso left the VAFA, so the club decided to expel him.

In hindsight, this was about as good as it would get for Parkside in the VAFA. They had only just made it to A Grade for the first time the season before. Not long after, they started an inexorable slide down the grade and eventually exited the comp. They have since returned a mere shadow of their former selves.

The moral of the story: I'm not sure there is one. Maybe 'Umpires shouldn't answer back". But the story still gets a run pretty regularly even today.
Click to expand...
As you were crossing (fleeing across) Lwr Heidelberg Rd did you pay homage to the outlaw motorcycle gang headquarters nestled just across from the old APM site? You were lucky that fatso didn't have friends there he could summon into action.
 
sideswipe said:
A bit of fun on a Friday

Thought that I should amuse a select audience with a story of my first exposure to umpiring.

It was a blustery hot March Sunday morning in 1989 when a cosseted troupe of Under 19 players from Old Xaverians crossed the Yarra for a practice match in Alphington against Parkside. For many, this was their first experience of football outside of APS competition since under 12s. For your scribe, it was to be an opportunity to watch and hope for injuries to teammates to allow for my selection in the team on recovery from a hand injury.

In what turned out to be clever move, no umpires showed up to officiate, nor did any more than a dozen players from Parkside. In an effort to salvage something from the day it was decided that a few of us would play for them and I was co-opted into being the sole field umpire.

The home team was over-matched. About six quick goals were scored by the Good Guys amid much consternation from the Parkside contingent and much complaining about the standard of umpiring. Even some of my teammates, representing Parkside, were telling me how sh-t I was at umpiring.

As a brash 17 year old only a few months out of school, let's just say the impression of my umpiring wasn't assisted by a few retorts to players complaining about my decisions.

One of the early cries was from a, well, let's call him a fat bogan. He felt he should have received a holding the man free, "I didn't have it" he cried. I responded with something along the lines of, "Because you can't get near it". This was a bad decision on my part.

As is the way of these things, bad decisions are often compounded by worse decisions. Now my tubby friend was not happy with me and as the first quarter was nearing its end, he voiced his disapproval at another of my decisions. My response was to tell him something very imaginative along the lines of "Get f-ed you fat tnuc". It was then that things deteriorated.

Mr Fatty roared in anger and tore off his jumper. When I write "tore" I really mean wriggled and squirmed out of it. In hindsight, it was agreed that this was some sort of symbolic gesture to indicate he was no longer governed by the rules of football, but rather The Rules Of The Street.

This was an alarming development for the field umpire who made some sort of attempt to send him off which may have been closer to "Leave me alone. Please". Fatty was pushing his head against mine, trying to deliver a headbutt of some type (note, very hard to head butt someone who is walking/running backwards. Fast). At the same time this was happening, scuffles were breaking out between players. There was (sometime later) much mirth when a number of skirmishes involved red on red (Parkside's jumper) as the co-opted Parkside players reverted to their club of origin. I think what only saved us collectively was the arithmetic instincts of the Parkside players who knew 12 versus 24 was bad. They were outnumbered, but if they really thought about it, they probably could have taken out 2 each.

Even so, things were deteriorating. Fast.

Luckily for me, there were two angels watching over me that day. The first was a well-known long-time Parkside legend. A tattooed (keep in mind '89. Tattoos were scary - especially bad ones) former boxer by the name of Jackie King who had scared many a lily-white amateur footballer. Jackie, somewhere between 30 and 60 years of age at the time, God love him, ran onto the ground, stood next to me and said, "Righto. I am umpiring. Anyone who wants to fight an umpire can now fight me." This truly saved my bacon.

Next angel was John Dillon, former VAFA president whose son was playing that day. He quickly took control of matters announced that the game was called off and ordered all Old Xavs players to go straight to their cars and leave. No one had to be told twice. We grabbed our gear and piled into cars. Turns out one of the benefits of a top-flight education was knowing when it was time to get the fk out of a bad situation. No car stopped until we got over the Chandler Highway Bridge.

I was in the back of one of the fleeing cars and noticed my large friend marching around the car park, still with no top on, making a big show of looking for me. I saw my opportunity. And took it.

"Hey mate, next time you wear footy shorts it'll be on the beach you fat bogan c-t".

I was pretty proud of the quality of that line. It was and still is appreciated as a fine witticism from those occupants of the car. It's impact on its intended target may not have been as great as the car was probably doing 30 by the time the sentence was finished.

A great day was had by all afterwards on beers at the Skinny Dog. Fear makes you thirsty. Relief even thirstier.

Sadly, that was not the end of the affair. Because I was not an official umpire, there could be no official reports laid. However, Jack Dillon was not going to forget about this. He called for a Special Investigation by the VAFA. I was asked to submit a written record of events and I had to attend Elsternwick Park on Tuesday night to give evidence. I was accompanied by my 22yo coach, Andrew "Thirsty" Rogers (whose wife apologised to the umps this week - I like to think me as well). Fatso was accompanied by what we guessed was his equally fat dad. The VAFA didn't really think it was necessary to hold the parties separately. This led to a very uncomfortable 30 minutes or so of the four of us sharing a changeroom with Fat Dad constantly glaring at me whilst idly tossing a Stanley knife. The hearing concluded, the officials were smart enough to hold me and Thirsty back until Fatso Sr and Jr had left the area.

The result? Fatso could not be suspended under VAFA tribunal rules, so other powers were used to "De-register" the player for 6 weeks (a little light on I thought - think provocation might have been a mitigant). So the story goes, Parkside received the message that it would be better if Fatso left the VAFA, so the club decided to expel him.

In hindsight, this was about as good as it would get for Parkside in the VAFA. They had only just made it to A Grade for the first time the season before. Not long after, they started an inexorable slide down the grade and eventually exited the comp. They have since returned a mere shadow of their former selves.

The moral of the story: I'm not sure there is one. Maybe 'Umpires shouldn't answer back". But the story still gets a run pretty regularly even today.
Click to expand...

That is a truly great story.

Stories like this will be lost to the future generation if we stop abusing each other. I might make a placard. Abuse for the future.
 
sr36 said:
That is a truly great story.

Stories like this will be lost to the future generation if we stop abusing each other. I might make a placard. Abuse for the future.
Click to expand...
Thank you. Many of the players that day would go on to form the nucleus of a team that became the most successful in VAFA history. Did that day mark the beginning of what would become a 6 flag dynasty? Was that involuntary umpire responsible for much of the success that came to pass? Well, that is for others to speculate upon. I merely re-tell the events of that fateful morning.
 
Last edited:
sideswipe said:
A bit of fun on a Friday

Thought that I should amuse a select audience with a story of my first exposure to umpiring.

It was a blustery hot March Sunday morning in 1989 when a cosseted troupe of Under 19 players from Old Xaverians crossed the Yarra for a practice match in Alphington against Parkside. For many, this was their first experience of football outside of APS competition since under 12s. For your scribe, it was to be an opportunity to watch and hope for injuries to teammates to allow for my selection in the team on recovery from a hand injury.

In what turned out to be clever move, no umpires showed up to officiate, nor did any more than a dozen players from Parkside. In an effort to salvage something from the day it was decided that a few of us would play for them and I was co-opted into being the sole field umpire.

The home team was over-matched. About six quick goals were scored by the Good Guys amid much consternation from the Parkside contingent and much complaining about the standard of umpiring. Even some of my teammates, representing Parkside, were telling me how sh-t I was at umpiring.

As a brash 17 year old only a few months out of school, let's just say the impression of my umpiring wasn't assisted by a few retorts to players complaining about my decisions.

One of the early cries was from a, well, let's call him a fat bogan. He felt he should have received a holding the man free, "I didn't have it" he cried. I responded with something along the lines of, "Because you can't get near it". This was a bad decision on my part.

As is the way of these things, bad decisions are often compounded by worse decisions. Now my tubby friend was not happy with me and as the first quarter was nearing its end, he voiced his disapproval at another of my decisions. My response was to tell him something very imaginative along the lines of "Get f-ed you fat tnuc". It was then that things deteriorated.

Mr Fatty roared in anger and tore off his jumper. When I write "tore" I really mean wriggled and squirmed out of it. In hindsight, it was agreed that this was some sort of symbolic gesture to indicate he was no longer governed by the rules of football, but rather The Rules Of The Street.

This was an alarming development for the field umpire who made some sort of attempt to send him off which may have been closer to "Leave me alone. Please". Fatty was pushing his head against mine, trying to deliver a headbutt of some type (note, very hard to head butt someone who is walking/running backwards. Fast). At the same time this was happening, scuffles were breaking out between players. There was (sometime later) much mirth when a number of skirmishes involved red on red (Parkside's jumper) as the co-opted Parkside players reverted to their club of origin. I think what only saved us collectively was the arithmetic instincts of the Parkside players who knew 12 versus 24 was bad. They were outnumbered, but if they really thought about it, they probably could have taken out 2 each.

Even so, things were deteriorating. Fast.

Luckily for me, there were two angels watching over me that day. The first was a well-known long-time Parkside legend. A tattooed (keep in mind '89. Tattoos were scary - especially bad ones) former boxer by the name of Jackie King who had scared many a lily-white amateur footballer. Jackie, somewhere between 30 and 60 years of age at the time, God love him, ran onto the ground, stood next to me and said, "Righto. I am umpiring. Anyone who wants to fight an umpire can now fight me." This truly saved my bacon.

Next angel was John Dillon, former VAFA president whose son was playing that day. He quickly took control of matters announced that the game was called off and ordered all Old Xavs players to go straight to their cars and leave. No one had to be told twice. We grabbed our gear and piled into cars. Turns out one of the benefits of a top-flight education was knowing when it was time to get the fk out of a bad situation. No car stopped until we got over the Chandler Highway Bridge.

I was in the back of one of the fleeing cars and noticed my large friend marching around the car park, still with no top on, making a big show of looking for me. I saw my opportunity. And took it.

"Hey mate, next time you wear footy shorts it'll be on the beach you fat bogan c-t".

I was pretty proud of the quality of that line. It was and still is appreciated as a fine witticism from those occupants of the car. It's impact on its intended target may not have been as great as the car was probably doing 30 by the time the sentence was finished.

A great day was had by all afterwards on beers at the Skinny Dog. Fear makes you thirsty. Relief even thirstier.

Sadly, that was not the end of the affair. Because I was not an official umpire, there could be no official reports laid. However, Jack Dillon was not going to forget about this. He called for a Special Investigation by the VAFA. I was asked to submit a written record of events and I had to attend Elsternwick Park on Tuesday night to give evidence. I was accompanied by my 22yo coach, Andrew "Thirsty" Rogers (whose wife apologised to the umps this week - I like to think me as well). Fatso was accompanied by what we guessed was his equally fat dad. The VAFA didn't really think it was necessary to hold the parties separately. This led to a very uncomfortable 30 minutes or so of the four of us sharing a changeroom with Fat Dad constantly glaring at me whilst idly tossing a Stanley knife. The hearing concluded, the officials were smart enough to hold me and Thirsty back until Fatso Sr and Jr had left the area.

The result? Fatso could not be suspended under VAFA tribunal rules, so other powers were used to "De-register" the player for 6 weeks (a little light on I thought - think provocation might have been a mitigant). So the story goes, Parkside received the message that it would be better if Fatso left the VAFA, so the club decided to expel him.

In hindsight, this was about as good as it would get for Parkside in the VAFA. They had only just made it to A Grade for the first time the season before. Not long after, they started an inexorable slide down the grades and eventually exited the comp. They have since returned a mere shadow of their former selves.

The moral of the story: I'm not sure there is one. Maybe 'Umpires shouldn't answer back". But the story still gets a run pretty regularly even today.
Click to expand...

This post should be stickied. The 2 things that I really got out of this heartwarming tale of the human spirit:

  • Swipey had zero instinct for survival; I'm surprised he lived to tell.
  • Not all fat people are jolly.
 
sideswipe said:
A bit of fun on a Friday

Thought that I should amuse a select audience with a story of my first exposure to umpiring.

It was a blustery hot March Sunday morning in 1989 when a cosseted troupe of Under 19 players from Old Xaverians crossed the Yarra for a practice match in Alphington against Parkside. For many, this was their first experience of football outside of APS competition since under 12s. For your scribe, it was to be an opportunity to watch and hope for injuries to teammates to allow for my selection in the team on recovery from a hand injury.

In what turned out to be clever move, no umpires showed up to officiate, nor did any more than a dozen players from Parkside. In an effort to salvage something from the day it was decided that a few of us would play for them and I was co-opted into being the sole field umpire.

The home team was over-matched. About six quick goals were scored by the Good Guys amid much consternation from the Parkside contingent and much complaining about the standard of umpiring. Even some of my teammates, representing Parkside, were telling me how sh-t I was at umpiring.

As a brash 17 year old only a few months out of school, let's just say the impression of my umpiring wasn't assisted by a few retorts to players complaining about my decisions.

One of the early cries was from a, well, let's call him a fat bogan. He felt he should have received a holding the man free, "I didn't have it" he cried. I responded with something along the lines of, "Because you can't get near it". This was a bad decision on my part.

As is the way of these things, bad decisions are often compounded by worse decisions. Now my tubby friend was not happy with me and as the first quarter was nearing its end, he voiced his disapproval at another of my decisions. My response was to tell him something very imaginative along the lines of "Get f-ed you fat tnuc". It was then that things deteriorated.

Mr Fatty roared in anger and tore off his jumper. When I write "tore" I really mean wriggled and squirmed out of it. In hindsight, it was agreed that this was some sort of symbolic gesture to indicate he was no longer governed by the rules of football, but rather The Rules Of The Street.

This was an alarming development for the field umpire who made some sort of attempt to send him off which may have been closer to "Leave me alone. Please". Fatty was pushing his head against mine, trying to deliver a headbutt of some type (note, very hard to head butt someone who is walking/running backwards. Fast). At the same time this was happening, scuffles were breaking out between players. There was (sometime later) much mirth when a number of skirmishes involved red on red (Parkside's jumper) as the co-opted Parkside players reverted to their club of origin. I think what only saved us collectively was the arithmetic instincts of the Parkside players who knew 12 versus 24 was bad. They were outnumbered, but if they really thought about it, they probably could have taken out 2 each.

Even so, things were deteriorating. Fast.

Luckily for me, there were two angels watching over me that day. The first was a well-known long-time Parkside legend. A tattooed (keep in mind '89. Tattoos were scary - especially bad ones) former boxer by the name of Jackie King who had scared many a lily-white amateur footballer. Jackie, somewhere between 30 and 60 years of age at the time, God love him, ran onto the ground, stood next to me and said, "Righto. I am umpiring. Anyone who wants to fight an umpire can now fight me." This truly saved my bacon.

Next angel was John Dillon, former VAFA president whose son was playing that day. He quickly took control of matters announced that the game was called off and ordered all Old Xavs players to go straight to their cars and leave. No one had to be told twice. We grabbed our gear and piled into cars. Turns out one of the benefits of a top-flight education was knowing when it was time to get the fk out of a bad situation. No car stopped until we got over the Chandler Highway Bridge.

I was in the back of one of the fleeing cars and noticed my large friend marching around the car park, still with no top on, making a big show of looking for me. I saw my opportunity. And took it.

"Hey mate, next time you wear footy shorts it'll be on the beach you fat bogan c-t".

I was pretty proud of the quality of that line. It was and still is appreciated as a fine witticism from those occupants of the car. It's impact on its intended target may not have been as great as the car was probably doing 30 by the time the sentence was finished.

A great day was had by all afterwards on beers at the Skinny Dog. Fear makes you thirsty. Relief even thirstier.

Sadly, that was not the end of the affair. Because I was not an official umpire, there could be no official reports laid. However, Jack Dillon was not going to forget about this. He called for a Special Investigation by the VAFA. I was asked to submit a written record of events and I had to attend Elsternwick Park on Tuesday night to give evidence. I was accompanied by my 22yo coach, Andrew "Thirsty" Rogers (whose wife apologised to the umps this week - I like to think me as well). Fatso was accompanied by what we guessed was his equally fat dad. The VAFA didn't really think it was necessary to hold the parties separately. This led to a very uncomfortable 30 minutes or so of the four of us sharing a changeroom with Fat Dad constantly glaring at me whilst idly tossing a Stanley knife. The hearing concluded, the officials were smart enough to hold me and Thirsty back until Fatso Sr and Jr had left the area.

The result? Fatso could not be suspended under VAFA tribunal rules, so other powers were used to "De-register" the player for 6 weeks (a little light on I thought - think provocation might have been a mitigant). So the story goes, Parkside received the message that it would be better if Fatso left the VAFA, so the club decided to expel him.

In hindsight, this was about as good as it would get for Parkside in the VAFA. They had only just made it to A Grade for the first time the season before. Not long after, they started an inexorable slide down the grades and eventually exited the comp. They have since returned a mere shadow of their former selves.

The moral of the story: I'm not sure there is one. Maybe 'Umpires shouldn't answer back". But the story still gets a run pretty regularly even today.
Click to expand...
A ripping yarn, thanks for that, needed a laugh.
 
sideswipe said:
A bit of fun on a Friday

Thought that I should amuse a select audience with a story of my first exposure to umpiring.

It was a blustery hot March Sunday morning in 1989 when a cosseted troupe of Under 19 players from Old Xaverians crossed the Yarra for a practice match in Alphington against Parkside. For many, this was their first experience of football outside of APS competition since under 12s. For your scribe, it was to be an opportunity to watch and hope for injuries to teammates to allow for my selection in the team on recovery from a hand injury.

In what turned out to be clever move, no umpires showed up to officiate, nor did any more than a dozen players from Parkside. In an effort to salvage something from the day it was decided that a few of us would play for them and I was co-opted into being the sole field umpire.

The home team was over-matched. About six quick goals were scored by the Good Guys amid much consternation from the Parkside contingent and much complaining about the standard of umpiring. Even some of my teammates, representing Parkside, were telling me how sh-t I was at umpiring.

As a brash 17 year old only a few months out of school, let's just say the impression of my umpiring wasn't assisted by a few retorts to players complaining about my decisions.

One of the early cries was from a, well, let's call him a fat bogan. He felt he should have received a holding the man free, "I didn't have it" he cried. I responded with something along the lines of, "Because you can't get near it". This was a bad decision on my part.

As is the way of these things, bad decisions are often compounded by worse decisions. Now my tubby friend was not happy with me and as the first quarter was nearing its end, he voiced his disapproval at another of my decisions. My response was to tell him something very imaginative along the lines of "Get f-ed you fat tnuc". It was then that things deteriorated.

Mr Fatty roared in anger and tore off his jumper. When I write "tore" I really mean wriggled and squirmed out of it. In hindsight, it was agreed that this was some sort of symbolic gesture to indicate he was no longer governed by the rules of football, but rather The Rules Of The Street.

This was an alarming development for the field umpire who made some sort of attempt to send him off which may have been closer to "Leave me alone. Please". Fatty was pushing his head against mine, trying to deliver a headbutt of some type (note, very hard to head butt someone who is walking/running backwards. Fast). At the same time this was happening, scuffles were breaking out between players. There was (sometime later) much mirth when a number of skirmishes involved red on red (Parkside's jumper) as the co-opted Parkside players reverted to their club of origin. I think what only saved us collectively was the arithmetic instincts of the Parkside players who knew 12 versus 24 was bad. They were outnumbered, but if they really thought about it, they probably could have taken out 2 each.

Even so, things were deteriorating. Fast.

Luckily for me, there were two angels watching over me that day. The first was a well-known long-time Parkside legend. A tattooed (keep in mind '89. Tattoos were scary - especially bad ones) former boxer by the name of Jackie King who had scared many a lily-white amateur footballer. Jackie, somewhere between 30 and 60 years of age at the time, God love him, ran onto the ground, stood next to me and said, "Righto. I am umpiring. Anyone who wants to fight an umpire can now fight me." This truly saved my bacon.

Next angel was John Dillon, former VAFA president whose son was playing that day. He quickly took control of matters announced that the game was called off and ordered all Old Xavs players to go straight to their cars and leave. No one had to be told twice. We grabbed our gear and piled into cars. Turns out one of the benefits of a top-flight education was knowing when it was time to get the fk out of a bad situation. No car stopped until we got over the Chandler Highway Bridge.

I was in the back of one of the fleeing cars and noticed my large friend marching around the car park, still with no top on, making a big show of looking for me. I saw my opportunity. And took it.

"Hey mate, next time you wear footy shorts it'll be on the beach you fat bogan c-t".

I was pretty proud of the quality of that line. It was and still is appreciated as a fine witticism from those occupants of the car. It's impact on its intended target may not have been as great as the car was probably doing 30 by the time the sentence was finished.

A great day was had by all afterwards on beers at the Skinny Dog. Fear makes you thirsty. Relief even thirstier.

Sadly, that was not the end of the affair. Because I was not an official umpire, there could be no official reports laid. However, Jack Dillon was not going to forget about this. He called for a Special Investigation by the VAFA. I was asked to submit a written record of events and I had to attend Elsternwick Park on Tuesday night to give evidence. I was accompanied by my 22yo coach, Andrew "Thirsty" Rogers (whose wife apologised to the umps this week - I like to think me as well). Fatso was accompanied by what we guessed was his equally fat dad. The VAFA didn't really think it was necessary to hold the parties separately. This led to a very uncomfortable 30 minutes or so of the four of us sharing a changeroom with Fat Dad constantly glaring at me whilst idly tossing a Stanley knife. The hearing concluded, the officials were smart enough to hold me and Thirsty back until Fatso Sr and Jr had left the area.

The result? Fatso could not be suspended under VAFA tribunal rules, so other powers were used to "De-register" the player for 6 weeks (a little light on I thought - think provocation might have been a mitigant). So the story goes, Parkside received the message that it would be better if Fatso left the VAFA, so the club decided to expel him.

In hindsight, this was about as good as it would get for Parkside in the VAFA. They had only just made it to A Grade for the first time the season before. Not long after, they started an inexorable slide down the grades and eventually exited the comp. They have since returned a mere shadow of their former selves.

The moral of the story: I'm not sure there is one. Maybe 'Umpires shouldn't answer back". But the story still gets a run pretty regularly even today.
Click to expand...

Thank you, absolutely loved this. I've had a sh*t day and this made me smile for the first time today.
 

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jathanas said:
This post should be stickied. The 2 things that I really got out of this heartwarming tale of the human spirit:

  • Swipey had zero instinct for survival; I'm surprised he lived to tell.
  • Not all fat people are jolly.
Click to expand...

Based on the evidence, I'd qualify that with:

Not all fat people are jolly, when called a "fat cnut"
 
Great laugh sideswipe.
There was a bit of mayo in there though.
“No car stopped until we got over the Chandler Highway Bridge” - impossible back then. 😉
 
1651879386972.png

To say nothing of the standard of numeracy questions on the test for teachers who have graduated - just truly FMD - what has happened here?

1651879554250.png
 
#Worldle #106 X/6 (94%)
🟩🟩🟩🟩
🟩🟩🟩🟩🟨
🟩🟩🟩🟩
🟩🟩🟩🟨
🟩🟩🟩🟨
🟩🟩🟩

I’m sure we’ve had this country before and I didn’t get it then either, which goes to show I’ve learnt absolutely nothing.

Framed #57
🟥 🟩

framed.wtf

Framed - The daily movie guessing game

Guess the movie from 6 frames. Come back each day to see if you can guess the daily movie, or visit the archive to answer the days that you missed!
framed.wtf framed.wtf
 
The Royal Sampler said:
#Worldle #106 X/6 (94%)
🟩🟩🟩🟩
🟩🟩🟩🟩🟨
🟩🟩🟩🟩
🟩🟩🟩🟨
🟩🟩🟩🟨
🟩🟩🟩

I’m sure we’ve had this country before and I didn’t get it then either, which goes to show I’ve learnt absolutely nothing.

Framed #57
🟥 🟩

framed.wtf

Framed - The daily movie guessing game

Guess the movie from 6 frames. Come back each day to see if you can guess the daily movie, or visit the archive to answer the days that you missed!
framed.wtf framed.wtf
Click to expand...

The good thing about Wordle is it prompts me to read up on countries I knew nothing about.

The sort of country you would choose if you wanted to disappear. And you could still stay on Big Footy.


On iPhone using BigFooty.com mobile app
 
Surf this morning was even more disconcerting than usual, we were actually catching them between the DPI smart drum lines. I’m okay fishing in those spots but they’re meant to be set no where near rec people.
Bagged my biggest salmon off the beach this morning as well, 5 kilo monster on a lure and took me 20 minutes to beach.
Granddaughter visiting her mummas fam in Germany so we’re awaiting her arrival back in Brisbane for our next trip north.
****ing wordle still beyond my comprehension and Covid maintaining the rage. Can also recommend Janis by Holly George-Warren, seriously troubled lady.
 
jimmy35 said:
Surf this morning was even more disconcerting than usual, we were actually catching them between the DPI smart drum lines. I’m okay fishing in those spots but they’re meant to be set no where near rec people.
Bagged my biggest salmon off the beach this morning as well, 5 kilo monster on a lure and took me 20 minutes to beach.
Granddaughter visiting her mummas fam in Germany so we’re awaiting her arrival back in Brisbane for our next trip north.
******* wordle still beyond my comprehension and Covid maintaining the rage. Can also recommend Janis by Holly George-Warren, seriously troubled lady.
Click to expand...

Try Worldle


On iPhone using BigFooty.com mobile app
 
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