The Coodabeen Champions | Billy Boils

Gee, you wouldn’t want to barrack for Geelong would you?

Not because they come up against the reigning premier in tonight’s Preliminary Final, but rather, because it must be hard to tiptoe un-retarded , thru the logistical minefield laid down by the League.

Last weekend, the provincial hale and hearty froze through a late-start Saturday night, and although warmed by victory on the trip home, probably wouldn’t have turned the key in the door till about 1 am.

Ordinarily they would have found solace in the fact that Preliminary Finals are played in the daytime and the disruption to their lifestyles they endure to support the team they love would have been a one-off and the governing body would have seen them right to resume their regular regime.

But no, the League, who let’s face it can  do anything they jolly well like, including burning books I would imagine, have decreed the Victorian Preliminary Final will be played at night.

Why?

Well, so the spin goes, so as not to affect the grass-roots competitions who may be staging their metro and rural grand finals.

Struth a brick!

Since when did the brainiacs at Harrison House, or wherever the sorcerers tend their cauldrons these days, give a rats nest about grass roots football?

Sure,  they dress their worker bees up in retro cozzies one weekend a year in a lame attempt to salute the past, but in reality chaps, one League’s salute is another’s middle finger.

If you really cared about ground level football you’d schedule league games in eastern-bloc countries in different time zones to avoid clashes with Johnny-church-league seconds. Or create a pre-dawn fixture that would accommodate local draws being  decided with no competition from big brother.

Either way, you’d at least be safe in the knowledge you would still be inconveniencing Geelong  supporters .

I wonder, do Benders run a service to eastern bloc countries?

Come out from behind your mothers skirts League, admit you are dragging the finals, kicking and screaming , to where the big bucks are – night-time broadcasting.

The bloke who takes me for a mug’s no fool and even blind freddy the tenor can see where things are headed.

Which reminds me.

Every worker is entitled to take a sickie, no questions asked.

Our comrades fought for them , they are ours, they cannot take them away from us.

But for goodness sakes.

Come on Andrew!

If you’re going to bail from work to go to a gig, at least go and see an aussie show.

Sure, Andrea Bocelli’s got a pretty decent set of pipes, but on the same night you could have gone and seen the Whitehorse musical theatre doing Bye Bye Birdie in Burwood, Jimmy Reyne in Belgrave,

The Australian boys choir at Scot’s Church in the city, or a really decent drag show at the Greyhound in St Kilda.

Priorities Andrew!

Your Bocelli ticket cost about $ 350.

Redeem yourself and shout the cats and lions to a post-game gig on Saturday night and make sure there’s a complimentary plate of beef strog. or spag.bol. thrown in on the ticket.

 He who smelt it dealt it.

If things are rotten in the state of Denmark, it’s up to you to step forward and take it on the nose.

I’m Billy, and I’m boiling.