SEASON 2019 - Another year put in a box and buried deep

Perspective is all important in footy as it is in most things.
From where I've been sitting, this past 28 weeks of footy has been excruciating, nigh on unwatchable and fittingly finished off by probably the worst Grand Final in living memory. Thank god it is done and gone, chucked out with the trash. Let's bury it deep, let's not talk about it again.

My list of personal gripes goes beyond the fact I support the most lily-livered and irreparably broken club on this sporting globe. Although that certainly doesn't help. I find myself falling painfully out of love with the game. I look at my former flame and see now only blemishes, imperfections, really annoying habits, inconsistencies and innumerable unpleasant character traits. Lets start with revised and even less consistent rule interpretations and finish with a fork-tongued AFL propaganda machine and throw Razor Ray, James Brayshaw's inanities and the MRP among other annoyances somewhere in the middle for good measure.

Lets try to look beyond the unpleasantnesses now, however, and look at the joy that some lucky Drunks experienced this year:

It's hard to go past Jim "Richo" Richardson's PunchDrunk World Championship win.

Franco Schena lead for the first 11 rounds, but once Jim caught him in Round 12 he was never headed. Leading by one to Phil, Lee and Juzzy G, until it was pointed out we were heading to one of the closest finishes in Drunk History with only 2 rounds to go. Richo's response was remove his digit and leap to a 4 game lead, completely deflating the blip of excitement that was just starting to captivate each and every Drunk's every waking moment.
Congrats Richo! $1,000 in the hand for you my boy.

Then to Phil, of the Smith variety. 

Phil came in at second for the second year running, following a third the previous year. You'd think this incremental improvement would have him in pole position for season 2020. Until you remember he's a Demons supporter. I'm predicting a bottom 3 finish next year. Just above Penske and Panther. Congrats Phil. $500 is yours.

And lastly Kapt'n Kurtz.

Kurtz rose while others fell around him. Not quite Stephen Bradbury, but a well-timed surge when Phil, Lee and Juzzy couldn't find the gas pedal with those 2 rounds to go. That's 2,500 cents to you my friend.

PunchDrunk Granny

Curts and Phil faced-off for the secondary PD Award, the invisible Grand Final trophy, with Curts guessing correctly the Richmond would pull it off, while Phil may have inflated the hopes of his home-town neighbours to the west just a tad. $100 to Curts, $60 to Phil.

Tiges

And lastly to those (many) Tigers in our midst, Dirk, Brenna, Coxy, Dickwad and Juzzy G. I hope you're happy. You've had your go, now move along please and and let someone else have a go.

And finally, it's good night from me but it's not good night from him.

15 years ago Stavros Hurley went to Rome. He'd been running the Drunk since 1989 and he needed a large carafe of Valpolicella. I sensed his joie de vivre in being Drunk administrator was becoming threadbare, and when he wasn't back 2 days prior to the 2004 season I feared he may be living in a shepherd's hut on the slopes of remote Sicilian volcano and may never return. I did what I felt needed to be done, lest this finest of sporting traditions die with him in a flood of hot lava. I rallied the Drunk troops and kept this bastard alive by whatever means I could.

And now it's my own sporting pulse that grows weak. My thrill that's gone. My Elvis that's left the building. It's me who needs that Valpolicella now, maybe even a Negroamaro. Maybe one of each

Stavros is revitalised, sober and here. More importantly he's ready, willing and so able it's almost embarrassing. It's time for me to hand back the mantle to a (slightly) older man/woman who knows what he/she's doing and wants to do it. That man/woman is Stavros.

So thanks to all of you who rode through my early cringingly self-indulgent enthusiastic early days, and my latter bloody lazy days full of sour rants and regular negativity. Thanks for coming for drinks when summoned, and thanks for talking footy-shit with me and your other Drunks on a semi-regular basis.

Arise Sir Stephen.