Mazer Rackham

How about: we have an exciting list finally coming together and believing in each other and ready to charge up the ladder, and he's an integral part of that. Versus going to Freo just in time for their plummet down the ladder, the vampire Lyon having sucked all the football life out of their decrepit list.

(Scene: A luxury suite at AAMI park. Jesse Hogan reclines on a golden couch. Jack Grimes and Viv Michie are standing by, stripped to the waist, waving huge feathered fans. Daisy Pearce and Jess Trengove are feeding grapes into Hogan's mouth. Paul Roos, Simon Goodwin, Josh Mahoney and Todd Viney are kneeling in front of the couch.) Viney: Jesse, we PROMISE to become an elite club. We PROMISE! JH: Oh yes? Now where have I heard that before? Goodwin: Jesse, we're doing EVERYTHING we can to get there! JH: Everything, you say? I recall last week my ostrich steaks were distinctly overdone! When I ask for rare, I mean cold on the inside. No one here knows how to cook ostrich to perfection. Roos: Jesse, don't do this to us. We've got Petracca, we've got Brayshaw, we've got Oliver ... what more can we do? JH: Oh, I don't know ... perhaps KICK THE BALL TO ME from time to time? Goodwin: Jesse, we're TRYING. We really are! But if they double team you --- JH: Trying. You Eastern States guys don't know the meaning--- Where's Jackson? Roos: You ... you mean PJ? JH: I was told that Jackson would be here. Viney: But Jesse, he's out of town at the-- JH: So that's another broken promise. When I speak to Fremantle, their CEO is always there, and he always gives me lavish presents! Did you see the last one? My new Mercedes? I don't even drive! (sighs) No one here knows how to cook ostrich properly. The Western Australian climate is perfect for ostriches, you know. Roos: We can buy you an ostrich farm, Jesse. Buy you a farm and ship the ostriches in! At our expense! JH: It's not the farm, you fool. It's the luxury. Thing is, I don't even like ostrich. Ostriches are so last week. My new favourite thing is ... hmmm ... Roos: Jesse, tell us! Just tell us your new favourite thing! We'll get it for you! Mahoney: We'll get you ten of them! JH: Silence! (There is instant silence.) JH: Now here's the team for Saturday. I want Kent Oliver Harmes and Bugg in and playing forward. Kennedy and Garlett can have mysterious injuries. I don't want them stealing any of my goals. Keep that horrible McDonald away from me. And that other tall fellow. I don't want to see them outside the defensive fifty. Keep Gawn away from me too. I'll do the forward ruck work AND kick all the goals. No interchange. And do something about those godawful umpires! Mahoney: But Jesse, that will-- JH: I can always have my manager be seen in a discreet meeting in a Fremantle coffee shop ... All: Yes, Jesse. JH: Now go. I will summon you at my convenience. All: Yes, Jesse.

I'd been planning to wait until a disappointing loss, where JH trudges off the ground without smiling. But now's a good time too!

OD, you know the answer to that already.

Don't drink the whiskey! And don't put your thumb over the lens when you're photographing the list of spies.

He's a Vic who played for SA in the state of origin!

Yep. If he's saying this kind of stuff in 12 months time, then it's time to panic. But not before.

So he's on to us!? Our security has failed. Or maybe we have a mole... I can see I'm going to have to call Obama again to get this sorted. Thanks for the intelligence. To the red phone!

Well, have you heard the way they talk about us? "... hopeless sense of composition ..." "... phrasing is clunky and his posts have little flow ..." "... don't even realise he was making a simile ..." "... couldn't spell if he ate a dictionary ..." Harsh, and quite hurtful if you're one of the targets.

Important to remember that we (the members) were not voting to put the MFC out of existence. We were voting to put HFC out of existence. It was a takeover. Get their players, sponsors, supporters, facilities, and five years later have a jumper change and name change back to "the Demons". Somehow, we were the "senior partner" in this escapade. Looked great on paper.

That must be what happened to Demonology.

From this article by Brent Crosswell: http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2003/09/26/1064083189022.html?from=storyrhs The coach calls us into the centre of the ground and we form a half circle around him. You're standing next to your teammates, who are closer to you than brothers; bonded by time, pain, humiliation, by triumphs. And you love every one of them in their common humanity. They were the kids you would have loved to have had living next door, but you weren't so lucky. You would have kicked end-to-end to your heart's content, then.