The World's Biggest Winners

This week a few of us went to the AWB Kickbackwards Dome's nightclub, The Locker Room for a bit of post game gloating. After a 12 goal win it seemed the most sensible thing to do.

To get in we had to struggle through the throngs of Joffa hanger-ons singing his songs outside. Nerds and reprobates the lot of them. Love Collingwood and all but fark, I'm so over Joffa and his disturbed lookin' mates. Watching them celebrate a win is like being let into a band camp (as in there was this one time at band camp) five year reunion. Tedious as all fark.

But when it comes to disturbance, Joffa's brood has nothing on the clientel at The Locker Room. More on that in a second.

First we gotta realise The Locker Room is a nightclub in a football stadium. I'll repeat it. A nightclub in a football stadium.

Bad disco, Coogar Girls (yes, they do exist) and a hundred televisions playing the footy replay is a mixed up little paradise. The occasion is punctuated by the DJ sparking up the winning team's club song every twenty minutes. If he slackens off, the patrons start off their own rendition, over the top of Madonna's Ray Of Light.

Now for the clientel. I have an extremely good looking, intelligent and funny mate who met a longtime girlfriend half time during a Collingwood game at The Locker Room. The next time I see him I'm going to throttle him.

How could you meet the potential love of your life at the fricken Locker Room? One of our group discretely whispered to me, "The girls here are.... ahem.... a bit plain aren't they?" And the guys were at best portly but on the most part gobsmackingly enormous.

At least they loved singing Good Old Collingwood Forever and what the heck, each one of the humungous, official clubwear wearing pissheads is part of my brood.

I'm off to the bar. Anyone want another Coogar? Two pies, hotdog and chips perhaps?

Destined To A Life Of Pungent Pizza

In an act of one part star spotting and the other pure voodoo, me and a mate thought we'd go to Anthony and Sav Rocca's Carlton pizza restaurant and order takeaway last weekend.

Mark's Place is one of those "family" pizza restaurants. Chunky pine tables, kids menus, balloons, toys hanging from the roof, crayon coloured in pictures and plenty of second rate football parephenalia hanging on the walls.

Don Camillos it aint.

We didn't order the impressive looking Rocca's Rump or Pebbles' Porterhouse from the menu. Instead, went for a half hairy fish/half triple chili pizza.

The chili pizza was very hot, the hottest I've experienced in my long pizza history and the hairy fish was hairy as you want it to be. But there was a problem.

The pizza was incredibly pungent.

My poor old car, The Funbird Mk II still reeks of old pizza and it took three days to get rid of the unpleasant pizza aftertaste. The pizza odour coming from my pores during the next morning shower wasn't the only uncomfortable excretion experienced.

On the following Sunday, Anthony kicked eight straight goals in a stunning win against the Poos & Wees.

Shit. It was because of our visit to Anthony's pizza house, he kicked those eight goals. Had nothing to do with the dud kid who was on him or even the Pies' excellent kicking to the big man. Rocca's success was completely due to those stinking pizzas.

For the good of the club I have to eat from there every week.

I'm not sure my stomach will take it.

Is There A Doctor In The House?

Our first loss to Adelaide was irritating but I'm not ready to cake on the losing lotion just yet. Adelaide were surgical. They were technical. They were scientific. They were precisionistic. They were doctory. They were.... I've run out of the stoopid hospital words to describe them.

So have the newspapers.

Round one of every season, teams play fast and fit. Especially at the ...what are we going to call it this year? Viatel Stadium? The AWB Kickbackwards Grain Silo? Don't know.

Fresh teams like Adelaide are fast indoors. Get them out in the wind and the rain outside at the MCG (do they have the pleasure of playing there this year?) and they're kanoodling nobodies. The Pies looked best when they ran hard and loose. Sure, watching our kooky brand of footy was like watching the General Lee scamper from Boss Hog and his minions but who cares. I want Daisy Duke to pop out midway through the third quarter and kick a few. Was that you, Taz?

Down a gear. I liked our football on Monday.

I liked Dale Thomas' hair and pluck. I liked his interview with Dermott Bereton on the radio afterwards better. "Yeah, no, yeah, no. I guess if I can't run through those older fellas, I may as well jump over them."

Yeah, no, yeah, no, yeah.

Yeeee ha!