Losing Anthony for the rest of the year was almost as tragic as losing Bucks.
Last week I thought Anthony was our best on ground although not many journos and loudmouthed "experts" agreed. Well, anybody can look at a stat sheet to pick a BOG. Before his achilles snapped minutes from half time, there was no doubt who was BOG. Anthony was taking marks everywhere and had kicked three easy goals. As I’ve said before, Rocca plays best with the responsibility of being captain. Now he’s gone.
Our next skipper will most likely be James Clement, who I reckon they’re grooming for a full time role. Maybe they should give the temp job to Shane O’Bree. Eh? Lump a big bunch of responsibility on the squatter. Scare the poobits out of him. Make him respect his role at the club. More importantly, inflict the captain’s curse of the fucker.
I have a proud confession to make. At the end of the game I did something at the players’ race that should have got me beaten up by security and thrown out of the ground. If cameras caught me, I would be a blight on the game, a fugitive and a threat to all the mums and dads out there trying so hard to bring their children up in this big and mean old world. I didn’t spit. I didn’t even swear. I yelled at Rhys Shaw. Nothing unusual there, but this is what I yelled. “Top game, Shaw. You really put in and never gave up. Good work.”
Rhys didn’t look up, probably thinking I was being sarcastic. I wasn’t.
He really did have a good game.
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