ROUND 3. A bit like Round 2 only a week later.

A very late and shabby effort this week, but given that last week I decided I hated footy and never want anything to do with it again any effort's OK by me. And anyway, it was all getting a bit orderly and professional there for a while, so we've just reverted really.

We're looking a tad less dour also as our new header introduces our first PunchDrunk Playmate of the Month, celebrating a bit of what helped make footy from the seventies and early eighties so much fun. Counter-culture.

Mr April is that large lump of a man, the galloping gasometer, Mick Nolan. The man who made every man feel better about his physical self. Commiserations if any of you are young enough to have missed any of this hand-selected bunch of anti-heroes, hopefully we can scrounge up enough to not be stranded on Mr July.

 

The best news this week is that the league has a new whipping boy, or should I say the media has. Those geniuses who constantly gift us such a wonderful stream of articles with all the depth of twitter gossip sitting beneath pun-driven headlines.
Seems they've thankfully exhausted all those of the 'Dee-sastrous', 'Self Dee-struct' and 'Road to Hell' ilk. The fickle finger of fate moves on, and even better, they're now looking to cook the Pies. I wonder if Eddie will be fanning these flames as much as usual. Internal division, name-calling, hair-pulling and slander, topped off with player injuries.
Who or what next week? Some decent footy analysis? Some quality content? Yeah right.

 

Oh and the ladder: New leader this week, one of the sheilas, sorry, one of the sisteren, Leah, looking every bit the Champion she claims to be. Neck and neck with her is young Matt, who no doubt pulled up a bit stiff after his Blues did their business friday last.