Or conversely if you happen to be running the Australian national football (soccer for locals) team, "People want Dutch!" (Thanks to Get This for that gag). It's certainly an odd sight when a team/flush/raft of ducks (as opposed to a load or stumble of drunks) have a sit in not far off your front door. Maybe they were out looking for food on garbage day.
People Want Cricket!
On a completely non duck related topic, my Sunday was spent playing cricket with the guys from BH/Uni. The days leading up to Sunday were kind of worrying when buckets of water were being dumped on us from the skies for two days in a row, but when the day came everything seemed to be just fine. Sure it was a bit on the cooler side but there wasn't as much sun to burn us to crisps of our former selves.
Marcus and I rocked up fashionably late due to church commitments on his behalf, but that wasn't all too bad. Showing up slightly more refreshed than everyone else who had been there for about an hour before us, we took this chance to rip apart the tired and weakened opposition for about 40 minutes before we too began to realise that we needed more exercise more often. Oh well, it was good while it lasted.
Highlights for the show reel included several run outs due to the harsh uncompromising nature of Tippity rules cricket and the near regulation artificial pitch we managed to commandeer for the day's proceedings. The ground wasn't too damp save for the odd bog and quicksand death trap so play was fairly smooth. As per usual Ken and Darren got their eyes in after some uneasy moments and sent deliveries from us pie throwers all over the ground. On a personal note, I managed to snare four or five wickets bowling the usual medium paced pies which I was happy to celebrate Brett Lee Chainsaw Massacre style.
People Want Cards!
The road to Chadstone is long and pointless despite the fact it is the size of a small town with the capacity to frustrate thousands of shoppers in an endless maze of retail wench operated franchises. In picture: Darren tailgates us before we managed to lose him by driving off a ravine. True story!*The day's play ended at about half past five once all of us had built up enough lactic acid to create the most disgusting and exhausting health drink ever made. It seemed a bit too early to call it quits for the day, the sun was still in full view and we were a truckin' convoy up to no good. For the next twenty minutes we sat in the back of our cars pondering our options while slamming down soft drink in some sort of dodgy looking Coke dealing operation. I'm not one for highlighting subtle gags or puns but I'm really hoping you at least pretended to get that one... it is the charitable season after all, why not spare a laugh for an earnest journeyman of a blogger this Christmas?
We finally decided on trying to hold a draft between the remaining six of us before anyone realised boosters are fairly difficult to acquire when it's six in the afternoon on a Sunday. Chadstone held very little joy for us as most places were out of stock or had the wrong product. We might try and hold something like that later on in the week providing people can be bothered showing up. It should be good fun though.
People Want Shane Watson! (Well, not everyone...)
In slightly tangential news, the week before I was running about the park in circles while trying to attain match fitness in my ongoing battle against childhood obesity which ended a long time ago, but my side obviously hasn't heard the news yet like that Japanese soldier hiding on a Pacific island not knowing the war had been over for 60 years. However I am doing my part for the youth of today in the hope of setting up some sort of carbon credit trading system but substituting simple carbon for more complex hydrocarbons so just remember you could be walking down the street with my arse.
Anywho, the run itself was all well and fine with little incident. It was only after I got home where I was lying on the couch several hours later stretching and relaxing when I went and pulled a hamstring. Imagine the supreme irony of it all, me writhing in pain while laughing in full acknowledgement of what the Ironator had done to me, in a case of what I like to call the Shane Watson Effect or Syndrome, whichever you find funnier.
For all of you who are not familiar with the man with the eponymous Effect in question, Shane Watson is a cricketer who plays for the state of Queensland and occasionally for our national team, providing he doesn't succumb to an injury or minor misfortune of which are many and well documented. When he's not playing, he attempts to get back into the team by casting curses on his fellow team mates so that they may know his pain. Don't believe me? Then how about the time Brad Hogg almost clipped himself out of contention when he got an infection from a rogue nail clipper gone totally mad? And how could Brad Hodge dislocate a disc in his back while putting his pants on? Stuart MacGill being an out of shape spinner with a wine dependency problem? Such weird misfortunes cannot happen to the entire team ala Mr Burns' Nuclear Plant Baseball team style without a catalyst, and I submit to the judge and jury that the man sitting in this court today with the voodoo doll is responsible.
On the other hand, the Shane Watson Effect sounds a lot like that recent annoying advert campaign for none other than the Lynx Effect. I think you all know where this is heading... imagine Watson passing people in the street spraying them with an aerosol can while exclaiming the catchphrase "Boom Chicka Wah-Wah" and dancing toolishly. He waltzes off into the distance, and you think nothing of it until you suddenly develop cramps out of nowhere or materialise on the top floor of the Eureka building only to fall down the numerous flights of stairs within.
So in conclusion - People Want Things! (Unless it's Shane Watson or a muscle cramp)