Melbourne has really turned on the weather for the 2012 AFL Grand Final tomorrow… NOT. Apparently it’s going to be raining cats & dogs for the duration of the game, which frustrates the hell out of me because it’s likely to interfere with my one-handed half-time game of ‘Starlight’ (remember that from school?) on a busy city street with a bunch of other pissed blokes (the other hands will be kept busy holding an abundance of frosty beers wrapped in a variety of kitsch stubbie holders) as cars drive past, their annoyed drivers dodging drunken pedestrians, their fists furiously punching their horns as they traverse the chaos trying desperately to extricate themselves in one piece without clipping a pissed bloke on their way through. In my opinion, nothing signifies Grand Final day like bleeding, shredded knees full of sharp little pieces of jagged bitumen as drunken fools attempt to take ‘hangers’ on each other with no regard for their own personal safety and even less regard for the safety of the other pissed blokes around them.

 

There’s nothing better than getting together with a bunch of like-minded individuals and collectively gathering around a ridiculously large flat-screen television and all drinking as much as you possibly can in one sitting while 44 blokes go toe to toe in the presence of 100,000 spectators & millions more at the other end of a TV set at the best modern representation of the ancient Roman Colosseum that I can think of (off the top of my head), the Melbourne Cricket Ground. The addition of novel elements to an AFL Grand Final Day party such as sweepstakes, the assignment of players and drinks for the good/bad shit that these players do during the course of the game (I pity the bloke who gets Ryan Schoenmakers!) to each person at the party and the fact that beer is about 100 times cheaper from a bottleshop than it is at the ground make the GF day party a close substitute to the real thing (I assume, I’ve never actually been to a Grand Final, and being a Richmond supporter, may have some years to wait yet).

In continuing my allegiance to the underdog (as a Tigers supporter and former Fitzroy Lions supporter), I hope the Sydney Swans beat Hawthorn in a close one; I’ve got far too many self-satisfied, smug mates who barrack for the Hawks & have been clogging up my Facebook newsfeed with endless amounts of shit and I’d greatly enjoy watching them cry (and a few of them legitimately would cry, the pussies) in the event that Sydney get up.

I also hope that Josh Kennedy wins the Norm Smith and celebrates by punching Jeff Kennett in the face.

 /end communication

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