Finals W1

 Things look a bit like this now:

The tips. All one-sided games apparently. Seems no-one took reality into account.

R23

Today, that young man is no longer young, and the dream is now reality.

There are few PunchDrunk Founding Fathers still going around. From memory Franco Schena, Franco Trobbiani, maybe Harv and, I don't believe so, but maybe Stavros.

As those sage gents were cutting the ribbon on the first (pre) Drunk season in 1988, there by their side, was a young child, agog and still pyjama'd. Possibly still smelling vaguely of breast-milk and up way past his bed-time. That boy, that Founding Foundling, that tousled toddler was none other than Bernie. Bernard O'Seamus Padraig Phelan.

The boy has finally joined joined the ranks of adult Drunks. This year he can sit at the big table with the rest of us, this year he can have the avocado with his his prawn cocktail. This year he can pass on the shandy and have a real VB.

Today this boy is finally a man living his dream.

It won't come as a surprise to any of us that, after leading for the past 15 rounds, Bern has not only held his lead, but continually extended it whenever anyone even looked like making a move.

Congrats Bern old chum. In your modest manner you claim we were foxing and intended to cruelly snatch your impossible-to-lose victory at the last minute. Or worse, took pity on you and let you win. If it were possible both would be true, but alas, they cancel each other out, so you must have won fair and square. You may not believe it, and neither do I, but there you have it.

Tas and Dickwad each gave it a red-hot go, finishing second and third respectively for the second successive year, each with identical point scores to last year. Freaky huh.

Bob Brookmeyer finished 4th, thereby replacing her husband Heylow in this year's finals. Matt and Ando were always hanging about and hung on for finals berths. Garth, after a fourth last year finished 7th and is in for his second successive finals series, and yours truly, Drunkenstein, fell into eighth on the last game of the season after 5 years in the cellar. BobCatter stuck his neck out a little too often and a little too far in the final round, dropping out of the eight. Death or glory.

Here's the final ladder:

A voice from Tigerland

For anyone left on Earth who is yet to hear this or anyone else, including Tigers, who needs more of a laff (do the clicking thing):

R22

The dream bites the dust for yet another year. It all comes down to one final weekend for that dust to settle and officially see where we're at.

From where I'm at I can't see this round holding the necessary 2 or 3 swing games for Bernie to be dethroned or defrocked, even by Tas. But maybe that's why I'm not sitting up where it's at.

However the small places may come in for a bit of a shake-up and the 8 is still a little interesting. Especially for those of me who are sitting in what's become The Land of the Tiger – ninth.

The only other real point of interest was also wrenched from our grasp last weekend, when Rob took a small break from producing and feeding heirs to put his hand out for nine wins, a zero margin and virtually a year's complete jackpot. $380. Easily the biggest jackpot payout in the history of the Drunk, largely courtesy of the Demons' shameful capitulation to Rob's own Blues. Uninterestingly the only other Drunk to tip it was Taffa. This was Taffa's ONLY correct tip this week.

It's time call in the Drunk debts now, so you count up your bucks and I'll shoot through details of where to send them.

Remember to draw a line around Thursday 29th of September, that's when we'll have our knees-up.

R21

The Bern-out we've all been expecting and hoping for just hasn't eventuated. I reckon we can pretty much call it Bernie's Cup this year dammit.

But things are humming and spring-timey in other quarters.  A cosy bunch of Drunk loyalists had a small drink a week or so back at the Union, I'm just back from a week in FNQ, the new laptop's working, the new phone's good and, oh yes the Dees are up and about all dreamy-like. At least until Saturday, when new-found hope will most likely be dashed. But hey, 6 days of hope in a season is better than we've had for 10 years, better than none.

And so to this:
Bernie's bolted for sure but it's a multi-way battle for 2nd and 3rd, and for the 8. There are enough interesting games to shake things up a fair bit I reckon.

And more importantly the jackpot tab is up to a scary $380. The highest in Drunk history.

R17

An apology and explanation for lack of contact, lack of content. General lack.

Firstly, these Thursday games have been killing my momentum. I'd just about get the ladder done, my mind around writing some snippet of garbage and then BANG! It's Thursday and before you know it, before I'm ready, there's a game on and I'm knocked out of stride, thrown off my stroke.

That's the first excuse and now, well last Thursday actually, my laptop died. Really quite dead. Among the items not backed up it appears was a significant slice of PunchDrunk history and all this year's base files. The upshot I'm afraid is no more ladder for the year. I could remake it from scratch but I'm not going to. It's redundant anyway, the icing on an ever-diminishing cake. Now there's little cake, no icing and even the plate is looking chipped and dirty.

Since last we had a little chat we've endured 3 weeks of momentum-sapping byes, and a few full rounds, but you know what? Bernie's still perched on top of the tree like a cat who's not sure how he got there and is either too scared to come down or is just being, well... a cat. Annoying and playing with our psyche's. 

Here's your new ladder: