Things that seem funnier ...

... when you’ve had a beer.

For all those footy tragics, and by which in this week in Melbourne I mean Collingwood supporters, I offer the following. This occurred to me as I sat quietly enjoying a beer or two after the AFL Grand Final ended in a draw after the Magpies appeared to have the game in the bag – a ‘cake walk’, if you will.

Here’s your problem as I see it. It starts at the selection table. You had too many players with names that are also rudey bits.

Sidebottom, Johnson, Thomas, Ball, Reid, Jolly.

The solution; either get rid of them OR embrace the concept completely and include the following listed players in the squad for the Grand Final Replay this Saturday.

Wood, Rounds, Barham, Dick (obviously) and, of course, Goldsack.





And when the November draft comes around see if you can sign up Johncock, Tippett, Adcock, Bellchambers, Ruffles, Shammer, Cockie, Cox and Spangher.



... and Fevola. He’s the biggest dick of all.






Cheers,
Prof Pilsner

An Ode - or an Omen - for the Pies

For my good mate, Dr Lager and all those other Pie Tragics hoping for redemption tomorrow against The Saints, here is a specially dedicated post. As a normal person who barracks for neither team, I'm hoping for a nil-all draw, but, in Melbourne at this time of year you just have to have an opinion one way or the other.

Here's mine. I DON'T LIKE St Kilda a bit more than I DON'T LIKE Collingwood. So ... GO PIES!!

But to put a liitle perspective, nay, reality, on the matter here are the lyrics to one of my favourite songs by legendary Melbourne outfit, Weddings, Perties, Anything that sums it all up nicely I think.

By the way, if every Collingwood supporter is going to be watching the Grand Final tomorrow ... who will operate all the rides at The Royal Melbourne Show?

"TOUGH TIME"

“Well it’s Black or White – it’s lose or win
It’s Collingwood, uh-oh they’ve been done again”





It’s a sad, sad night, down at Vicky Park
I see the crowds roll out, into the cold and dark
And every pub in Johnson Street is full up to the brim
And the fists are clenched, the feet are stampin’
The faces oh so grim
My Dad gets home he just won’t talk ‘Hey Mum, what’s wrong with him?’

“Well you can call it Black, you can call it White
There’ll be a tough time in the old town tonight”

My Dad is dealing out some bitter chips
Us kids we’re eatin’, we’re eatin’ fish & chips
He’s watching telly, is he insane?
It’s the football replay and he goes through it all again

“But you can call it Black, you can call it White
There’ll be a tough time in the old town tonight
There’ll be a tough time in the old town tonight”

Now on Sunday morning, so quiet it seems
Nobody heard our poor Mother’s screams
Nor saw the Police car coming through the night
But Mum just cried and she just said that she would be alright

Now Dad just goes about his business like it’s all the same
The cat’s run off, the chooks won’t lay, the old black dog went lame
And if I open my big mouth he says; “look, it’s just a game!”

“Well you can call it Black, you can call it White
There’ll be a tough time in the old town tonight
There’ll be a tough time in the old town tonight
There’ll be some drinkin’ at the old hotel tonight
There’ll be a tough time down in Carringbush tonight”

... tough time in the old town tonight!
... tough time in the old town tonight!
... drinkin’ at the old hotel tonight!
... tough time down in Carringbush tonight!

“You better not laugh, you better not cry, I’m tellin’ you why!”
Tonight!

A Beer to celebrate with

The Hawks got up! The underdog team of young toilers and precocious talent managed to outplay the more highly fancied and near-undefeated Cats to take the 2008 Premiership Cup. While nowhere near the calibre of their last Grand Final meeting in 89 when Hawthorn established a sizeable lead by three quarter time before scraping home by six points at the death in a brutal encounter that saw half a dozen players leave the ground broken and battered and others play on with everything from split webbing to punctured lungs, the game was still a battle until the last stanza when the Hawks knew they had annexed their 10th AFL title.

And still I haven’t toasted my champion team. But as I watched the game and then after as I watched news reports of the teams’ celebrations, I couldn’t help but think how much things have not changed since I first began drinking beer and watching football, and how much they had changed at the same time.

Here were the Hawks of 2008 raising the cup in one hand and a Crownie in the other, just as the Hawks of 91, 88 and 89, 86, 83 and probably 71, 76 and 78 as well had before them. The 1961 team probably drank water or tea as coach John Kennedy snr was something of a fitness fanatic and a hard arsed task master to boot. The faces were different but the beer was the same.

Crown Lager – 'Crownies’ to you, me and everyone else – was Australia’s first premium beer. First brewed in the 1920s it was available only to diplomats and statesmen until 1953 when it was launched to the public to celebrate the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. It has graced the tables of official functions, awards nights, weddings, parties and anythings ever since.

But, without being too unkind to the beer or its fans, the beer is just OK. Rumours abound that it is everything from a super premium special brew, to the top skimmings off the VB tank to longer-matured Fosters. At the end of the day, it’s a premium beer because it has a unique bottle shape, a gold label, the name ‘Crown” and because the marketing men tell us that it is. It is very drinkable but there are plenty of better and more premium beers going around.

When our gang (who still get together five or six times a year some 30 years down the track) first began gathering for Melbourne Cup day, Grand Final, birthdays, Bathurst car racing weekend or the christening of a bar fridge, we drank VBs. Or Melbourne Bitter. Or Carlton Draught. That was about it. Even at a wedding, the same. But for a real treat, when you were feeling really flash – Crownies. They were more a statement than a beer. But they were still just a beer.

Today I don’t even think of Crownies as ‘special’ – certainly not in terms of taste or value for money. But the beer world, or the sporting/entertainment/arts world anyway, seem to still see it as a status beer, a mark of success. A statement of achievement and honour. Did I mention that I don’t think it’s anything special? And yet we still see it in the hands of every award winner and trophy holder and game winner every year. Sponsorship aside, I reckon it is still seen a special.

And to put this into a modern perspective, today Crown Lager retails at around $60 for a slab of 24 375ml bottles. An import lager like Miller, Bud or Stella Artois are usually in the mid fifties. A true standard craft beer, Coopers Sparkling Ale comes in at just over $40. A standard, mainstream, common old garden variety lager like VB, Toohey’s New or XXXX sits at between $36 and $43 and they all take it turns to be on special each week at something like $33. It is debatable that it tastes any better than any of them. Corona retails at about the same as Crown and Crown is infinitely better than that unwashed Mexican swill. But that’s another story.

Tonight after I hand over the pager to the new on-call team and get myself home, I will toast the Mighty Hawks, the 2008 AFL champions. But I will raise a glass of something that is really special and something that tastes really special and which feels really special to me. But it won’t be a Crownie.

Cheers,
Prof. Pilsner

It’s going to be a big week

As I sit at here right now I am in that place where every sports fan dreams of being. It is Grand Final day – the Premiership, The Big Show, the place where legends are born, heroes are made and where ‘Winners are Grinners and a Shit Sandwich for second’ – the last day of the season in my hometown’s sport of choice, the AFL. And my Hawks are there, challenging for football’s ultimate prize. And that’s all for clichés and catch-phases, I promise. (Well, might sneak one more in later).

The Hawthorn football club is a proud and humble club, admitted to the Victorian Football League in 1925 and starved of success for nearly 40 years before unleashing an era of dominance which realised 9 Premierships between 1961 and 1991. They have failed to reach the big stage since that last flag. Until today.

A young squad boasting equal parts grit and flair, the young Hawks of 08 are poised to write their names in the history books along side those of the players who they watched as kids. Blokes who will play today were not out of nappies when the last champion Hawthorn teams were breaking records for consecutive Grand Final appearances, for record breaking winning margins and for breaking opposition hearts, spirits and bones in the Hawks golden heyday of the late 80’s.

I will watch the boys today and feel proud to be a supporter of the Brown and Gold and know that, win or lose, I can be pleased with the year that they have delivered to their loyal fans. I will watch the game and hope that they win, but not be disappointed if they give their best and fall short. I will still support them in defeat and will graciously give congratulations to the Geelong Cats if they are to walk away as winners.

But what I won’t do is have a beer. Or ten! Can you believe that shit!?! I am ‘on call’ this week for the State Emergency Service and, while on nearly any other week I could get someone to cover for me, Grand Final day is a different beast altogether. It is also a day where, sadly someone somewhere usually decides it’s OK to drive the car home after a skin full of Carlton Draught and wraps themselves around a tree or a pole and we have to cut them out. They are usually considerate enough not to do this during the game, so I hope to be able to watch from start to finish.

Must go, the pre game ‘entertainment’ is winding up and the boys will be running out shortly. With luck and skill the Hawks will prevail and on Monday night after ‘handover’ I can raid the fridge and crack a nice cold ‘something special’. Win, lose or draw.

Then, next week, I will do it all again as my NRL team, the Melbourne Storm last night booked themselves a spot in their third consecutive Grand Final decider in Sydney next Sunday. I will have more tales to tell and more beers to share with mates. Look out!

Cheers,
Prof. Pilsner

P.S I am just taking it one week at a time at the moment.