R2: The young (and the rest)

Round One saw the unveiling of some shiny new talent, some others who look to have taken the step to the next level and the recycling of some older, maybe damaged goods.
I watched new cat-dudes Ratagolea, Kelly and Fogarty all impress while Fristch provided the sole Demons highlight on a bleak day. Impressive starts too from Crow Darcy Fogarty, Saint Hunter Clark and #1 pick Cam Rayner. All kicked at least one goal and get a gold star.
Charlie Curnow, Christian Petracca and Riley Bonner all look to have made the next step.
And some recycled players did alright too. Watts had his best game since 2016, Motlop, Stringer and Smith did enough. Charlie Cameron had a ripper for BrizVegas and Jarrod Garlett looks a handy pick-up for the Blues. Conversely Jake the Snake Lever was pretty much a liability for the the first half, but started to get a little bit in the second half.
In other news we saw a show-down between Buddy and T Mitchell for player of the round.

BANG! And we're off.

34 Drunks have fronted-up in '18. Two Alex's have returned from self-imposed exile but sadly it looks like we've carelessly left an Ando somewhere.

Three Drunks bounced out of the blocks with perfect 9s. Champs is on top with a near perfect score, missing by just one behind. Garth and Lloydy are hot on her heels each just a further 4 points behind. Then a cluster of 8s, a swathe of 7s, a smattering of 6s.
And a 4.

Catfish Coxy's off on one of his Continental jaunts again this year so will have  to do some bulk tipping before heading off (last time he did this he won). This round was pre-departure, so maybe he's just giving us a head-start.

34 Drunks means a Grand Prize of $1k, second prize of $500 and third prize of $250 per the past few years. That leaves a weekly Jackpot of $10 again, and maybe even $50 on the bar.

Welcome back, good luck one and all. May the Drunkest win.

A chance to share some off-season war-stories.
Venue details to follow, but pop this date in your
electrical calendar thingie now.

R1: Kick it!

It's been too long, but the time is right. The future is now. Let's party. 

Send home the clowns

Off-season. It's called that cos it's... well, a bit off isn't it? Controversy, carnivals and camps (or not, depending on the cut of your gib).
My mum always said "Never trust a carnie, they're all a bit weird" (mind you she said the same about the Beatles) and AFLX - What a Zooper Joke (see image to left to see how low the bar was set). Pop-Footy for those with the concentration of a goldfish.
Oh... hang on the Dees won their first bit of (plastic) silver-ware since 1989? I love it!

More of The Good, the Bad, The Off-season

Back in town

The past few seasons my personal excitement, my keenitude, for footy, for tipping, had waned to such a degree I almost changed my name to Wayne.  I'm glad I didn't, it's a shit name. It tells a tale though that my Demonland nom-de-guerre is General Malaise. 

I'd gone cold. But today I'm red-hot, ready to reconnect my rabid footy-ball fervour. My typing digit assaults the keyboard with renewed vigour. PunchDrunk has been resuscitated for its 30th straight year. And when I say straight, I mean continuous. I'm talking non-stop discotheque dancin' party.

Welcome back all who give a good god-damn, who care enough to belly-up to bar again. Rest assured though, the bar is still set way low to accomodate.

The Hangover

It's been a long lonely off-season and we each approach the new season with varying degrees of expectation, trepidation, hope and dread. While each of us prepares in our own fashion I ask that you spare a thought for current Champ's unfortunate situation as we cast our minds back to last year.

It all began with Brenton as Dusty's date at the Brownlow.

It only got only got worse from there...

Little Richard v Ron Barassi
These Ron Barassi Specials were my first ever footy boots. I must have been 7 or 8 years old and they were about 15th-hand and on loan from school.
Everyone got a pair for the year, or as long as it took for your carbunkles to outgrow the previous kids' bunyons.
Leather stops nailed straight into your sole, perma-wet and wearing generations of deeply encrusted mud from school grounds all over Melbourne. They smelt of long-dead pig and the pain was intense.

More pain here

Send home the clowns.

Off-season is called that because it's... well, a bit off isn't it? Controversy, carnivals, camps (or not).
My Mum always said; "Never trust a carnie, they're all a bit weird". And AFLX - What a Zooper Joke (see image to left to gauge how low the bar was set). Pop-Footy for those with the concentration of a goldfish. Oh hang on... The Dees won their first bit of (plastic) silver-ware since 1989. I love it!
Then there's an AFLW comp that was one of the AFL's shining lights from last year basically torn down by them this year. What I saw was good tough honest footy.
Or the new Match Review Panel that's now a panel of one person...
The Jack Watts fire-sale (maybe good) then he goes and kicks 6, for the first time ever, at his new club (probably bad).
The best off-season news though: New clash strips - no white. Footy jumpers that look like footy jumpers. Mind you, I haven't seen the Hawks one yet, but the Dees are channeling Robbie Flower, Gerard Healy, Gary Baker and Jacko.
Now the circus is over, we can all stop dreaming about it and start losing again for real, and no-one's more excited about that than me.

Back in town

...and back in a BIG Way this year.

The past few seasons my personal excitement, my keenitude, for footy, for tipping, had waned to such a degree I almost changed my name to Wayne.  I'm glad I didn't, it's a shit name. It tells a tale though that on Demonland my nom-de-guerre is General Malaise. 

I'd gone cold, but today I'm red-hot baby, and ready to reconnect with the healthily rabid footy-ball fervour of old. My typing digit assails my keyboard with renewed vigour, PunchDrunk is resuscitated for its 30th straight year. And when I say straight, I mean continuous. I'm talking non-stop discotheque dancin' party.

Welcome back all who give a good god-damn, who care enough to belly-up to bar again. Rest assured though, the bar is still set way low to accomodate.