Footballers behaving badly
[Rank Dispatches, with Brother 3000]
Part 1: Australian Football League (AFL)
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"Aahh.... at the end of the day, we won because we scored more than them... on the day". Footballers: a breed unto themselves. If Charles Darwin were around today, there's no doubt he'd be an avid supporter and promoter of all football codes as a vindication of his writings. I happened to be parked outside one of those nightclubs when suddenly, six drunken AFL players stumbled out and spotted me, all maniacal grins and half-finished pre-mix cans. Footballers from the country's most famous club and in the middle of the season to boot! They insisted that they all get in despite my protestations, so two climbed in the boot. I was stupid, I know. |
At the next traffic lights another car pulls up alongside with three females who had obviously been fraternising with my esteemed passengers in the club. They were driving a large BMW - the Rolls Royce of cars. One of them leans out and says: "we thought you guys were really nice but you're just a bunch of animals". They were quite right of course.
My front seat passenger leans over and he's right there against me cheek-to-cheek, all skunky booze breath and stubble and yells out: "show us your flaps ya f***in' sluts". He's so close it could have been me saying it, and as the girls drive off I notice one of them crying as I scratch the rash on my face.
We drive round for a bit as the two in the boot become restless for some reason and start pounding away, but the other four are laughing and reliving drunken exploits off the field. And on it.
We end up at a brothel, and as the four get out one of them gives me a tenner and tells me to leave the boot closed. I'm thinking ‘ten bucks, you've got to be kidding’, so once they've gone I let the others out. One has passed out but the other is so grateful he slips me a 20.
As I drive off I look in the rear-vision mirror and see one guy in a daze, another throwing up and four being forcibly escorted from the brothel.
The sun arcs above and there must be some worried wives and girlfriends out there somewhere.
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Part 2: National Rugby League (NRL)
I don't wish to denigrate the sport of rugby league but, let's face it, it's a pile of shite and the players collectively share a brain they nickname Kevin and keep in a matchbox.
There's a big match on in this non-rugby town and after an hour and a half, 100,000 people are wandering out of the stadium with a bewildered expression that says, 'wait a minute, wasn't that 13-a-side boxing match meant to be something else?'.
Fast forward eight hours - it's 6am and I'm waiting outside the Hilton. I notice in the forecourt a completely naked player chasing after a giggling group of teammates who aren't naked but have his clothes. The captain, curious gait and jutted jaw, slams down a glass of rum and coke near the concerned concierge. He flags me down.
When he gets in, his glass is mysteriously full again. He's off to see the host of a current affairs program who rabbits on every night about heartless bureaucrats, heroic battlers, high morals and what really is the best value dishwashing liquid. She would be hosting him privately - very privately.
Halfway there he passes out but wakes up when I hit a pothole, spilling most of the drink on himself but some on me as well. He tries to bargain down the fare and I want to tell him to get stuffed but instead I just say, ‘f*** off'. Later that morning I find myself back at the Hilton and four players are going to the airport. I can't believe it, two of them are still in their gear, their playing gear from the night before, and they're drunk enough to not notice the reek of rum and coke on me. There's plenty of time to make their flight but as we're about to hit the main road, a woman u-turns in front of me. I brake but it's too late as we plough into her stupid van and there's glass and debris everywhere. So, did those footballers offer to act as witnesses? No. Did they help push the car to the side of the road? No. Did they piss off and not even pay the fare? Of course, they're morons. |
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I'm bent over cleaning up the mess on the road and I can't help thinking that Charles Darwin has a lot to answer for.