The End

Only 3 days to go 'til we can all sleep til late Feb.

In an otherwise troubling year it's been a relatively good and refreshing season:

- The Hawks are out. Thankfully they'll be in rebuild mode after next year.

- The Dogs are up and about, as a team, as a club and as a serious thing. The fact this has come pretty much out of the blue is a wondrous thing. It gives hope to those of us who support clubs on the south side of the success barrier.
- The Sainters have a rigorous heartbeat.

- The Dee's have a pulse. 

- The Crows have bounced back well from tragedy. We can hate them properly again next year.

- GWS are exciting, although as natural as botoxed plastic, and thankfully ultimately unsuccessful as yet.

- The Dons haven't yet rubbed there arses in our faces (wait til next year).

- The Cats showed it takes more than deep pockets and cherry-picking for ultimate glory.

- Likewise the Pies' recent habit of desperately purchasing celebrity big-name, high-flying, fan-appeasing footballers has led them arguably drifting further from the prize rather than closer.

- Tigers, Roos, Freo, Brisvegas, Gold Coast and, perpetually, Blues all in rebuild.

- Port scratching their heads.
- West Coast may as well go back to the crystal meth. It worked last time.

- And then there are the Swans. There's never a story with the Swans. They're like Kraftwerk only nowhere near as good.

In the land of the Drunk, Bernie, the peoples' favourite, took the silver-plated tinware.
Never has an award been more richly deserved, more popular. More surprising.
He's more than one of the family, he's part of the furniture. And he's really fucken comfy.
Congratubloodylations Bern!

The elephant in the room this year has been the League of Drunks fantasy league comp. Ok, small elephant, but unimaginably important to a very small number of us. It barely rated a mention all year, but all you need to know is Lloydy won again. It must be his 8th, 10th, who knows how many titles. Most importantly he beat The Traders. These are a bunch of, I think 3 guys who do this as their 'thing'. Professionals. Losers. We have the winner right here. Go Andy.

But there is, of course, still unfinished business. 

Tonight we eat, drink and potentially make arses of ourselves as we fork over bucket loads of cash to Bern, Tas, Dickwad and Jackpot Rob.

And on Saturday Ando and I go head to chest (have you seen how tall that fucker is?) in the Grand Final tip-off. May the best me win.

Here's the paper trail: