The Coodabeen Champions | Billy Boils

There’s been so much belly-aching going on this week, you’d swear there  was a crook batch of tuna casserole going around.

And that Leigh Mathews  had come close to scoffing the lot.

You’d reckon if you were driving the Brisbane bus you’d have to be pretty happy with your fuel consumption, estimated time of arrival, performance and handling, not to mention dragging everyone else off at the lights.

It’s all very well to have free air but please, there’s a fine line between free, and hot.

Brother of barney must be going barmy up there in the balmy tropics.

He’s gone from fun bloke to sun stroke.

A red headed rover from the provinces would have thought his protestations regarding Jonathon Brown's situation  were a little on the ironic side of amusing given preceding circumstance.

Not to mention his  preposterous postulating and proselytizing on placement of the Preliminary.

Leigh, League and others.

The preliminary final is the penultimate challenge to those who seek to hoist aloft the Premiership chalice.

To get to that stage, clubs have had to play 22 games hither and thither.

At their home grounds, the home grounds of others, and the far flung grounds the League may have whimsically conjured to secure half a dozen more converts to their would-be world code.

Everyone has had to travel.

Four hours across the Nullabor,an hour up the Geelong Road, or 40 minutes in the 112 from West Preston, they have all traveled.

And I debate whether the 4 hours in first class would be potentially more taxing than ferrying a Ford from Fyans Street to footy via freeway

Fraught with fangers, lane closures, tail-gaters, gridlocks and worst of all when you finally get there, some square-headed blue-coat, gin-blossomed and bellicose, waving you away to a spot two suburbs away.

It’s a cross everyone has had to bear. Don’t belly-ache. Wear it like a badge. Be a man.

Besides, what better preparation for a Grand Final than to play the week preceding on the same ground, in the same state?

I’m a card carrying dill and even I can see that!

Come on Andrew!

Put a clamp on the carping.

You are in a position to issue a directive from the put-up/shut-up folder.

“No empty-headed belly-aching allowed”.

“Valid concerns considered, vacuous vexations  void”.

Make a stand. Be a tough guy. Make the footy fan proud to have you as the man we love to hate.

I’m Billy, and I’m boiling.