DozzyWas Clive Waterhouse a Prophet?
September 18th 2008 23:03
This week may offer St. Kilda the opportunity for some long overdue finals success. The Saints have made a habit of promising the world and delivering an atlas. Halfway through this season people that didn’t even support St. Kilda were sick to death of it. It was a peculiar type of frustration. The type that builds when someone has all the means to be doing better but isn’t. Like Julia Roberts and Lyle Lovett or Megan Gale and the unfunny one from Hamish and Andy.
The Saints could even be described as a slightly more successful version of Fremantle Football Club. Year after year we tip the Dockers and year after year they disappoint. They are the biggest myth ever perpetrated on the Australian public. Even worse than carpet sweepers or Yakult. I know a Dockers supporter and his cynicism is extraordinary. It’s not that he’s a glass half empty kind of guy, it’s more like the glass has been smashed into a thousand pieces and the water has gone everywhere. And instead of water it’s battery acid.
And if you take a moment to reflect, you can understand why, what with Jeff Farmer and John Hutton and Peter Mann and Scott Chisolm and an ageing Tony Modra. Jesus, Gerard Neesham’s diabolical trading history is enough to drive someone to self-harm. Trading away the no.1 pick that was used on a 16 year old Matthew Lloyd for a selection of Bomber bootstudders was the equivalent of swapping a Faberge Egg for a four-colour pen that only has green left.
Then there’s Clive Waterhouse.
The Man. The Myth. Sometimes I think may have been a prophet. It’s hard to say.
When Clive was drafted by Fremantle at no.1 from Port Adelaide he was gifted a $20,000 relocation bonus to spend on furniture and the like. Clive spent half of it on a lifesize cut-out of Michael Jordan.
Functioning humans don’t do that.
But this is the type of shit Dockers’ fans live with on a daily basis. Remember, when the time comes, please give generously.
Still, there may be a time in the future when Freo can follow in the footsteps of their Victorian cousins. At least both teams have inspirational captains that are forever underrated by people that don’t know what their talking about. The Saints also made a good call regarding their coach a few years back. Surely even Saints supporters must recognise Grant Thomas’ habit for smug self-love is approaching dangerous levels. Along with Andrew Demetriou and Alexander Downer he’s one of those guys that seems to be walking around forever enjoying the smell of their own farts. He saunters around the halls of SEN giving himself periodic dutch ovens and sharpening a long knife to spear at someone under the guise of ‘special comments’. But after the initial shock factor, his continuous vitriol has become tedious and uninteresting. Like a past-his-prime Capt’n Snooze jabbering in our faces about some cut-price futons.
Will Thomas’ old lot get over the Hawks then? Well stranger things have happened.
Lyle Lovett was the one that actually broke it off (I’m not even joking).
Lyle Lovett
A Young Matthew Lloyd
Then there’s Clive Waterhouse.
The Man. The Myth. Sometimes I think may have been a prophet. It’s hard to say.
When Clive was drafted by Fremantle at no.1 from Port Adelaide he was gifted a $20,000 relocation bonus to spend on furniture and the like. Clive spent half of it on a lifesize cut-out of Michael Jordan.
Functioning humans don’t do that.
But this is the type of shit Dockers’ fans live with on a daily basis. Remember, when the time comes, please give generously.
Still, there may be a time in the future when Freo can follow in the footsteps of their Victorian cousins. At least both teams have inspirational captains that are forever underrated by people that don’t know what their talking about. The Saints also made a good call regarding their coach a few years back. Surely even Saints supporters must recognise Grant Thomas’ habit for smug self-love is approaching dangerous levels. Along with Andrew Demetriou and Alexander Downer he’s one of those guys that seems to be walking around forever enjoying the smell of their own farts. He saunters around the halls of SEN giving himself periodic dutch ovens and sharpening a long knife to spear at someone under the guise of ‘special comments’. But after the initial shock factor, his continuous vitriol has become tedious and uninteresting. Like a past-his-prime Capt’n Snooze jabbering in our faces about some cut-price futons.
Will Thomas’ old lot get over the Hawks then? Well stranger things have happened.
Lyle Lovett was the one that actually broke it off (I’m not even joking).
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