The weather was brilliant … which you don't always get in Melbourne … trust me. I lived there for three years so I'm allowed to say that.
The boys were excited and filled with hopeful smiles.
But alas it was not to be. We got neither a great game of footy nor a win.
Those smiles did not last long.
The Swans played poorly … less than poorly … and Hawthorn played spectacularly well … more than spectacularly well. The result was obvious before the first quarter was over. So well played Hawthorn … you deserved it.
The ground looked spectacular … and was close to capacity … 99,454 to be exact.
And out of all those people … those 99,454 people … we had the misfortune to be seated behind this one.
So I thought I would take this opportunity … to write him an open letter … just in case he happens to read this blog. Who am I kidding I doubt he knows how to read … (oops did I say that out loud?)
Dear Mr 15,
Despite your frequent and vocal suggestions throughout the game, neither me nor my children have any intention of engaging in sexual relations with Buddy Franklin. And in spite of your loud and constant recommendations that me and/or my children engage in sexual relations with the entire Sydney Swans team … I will also have to decline. (Though if Brett Kirk still played I may be a little more tempted.)
Instead I will make a suggestion to you. Your team played a fantastic game of football … they won the Grand Final. This should make you happy, ecstatic even … it's a logical conclusion. It should not inspire hate, vitriol and venom. I suggest you take a good hard look at yourself, take a chill pill and smile.
Have a nice day.
Oh well … you win some … you lose some … good days … bad days … they all end the same.