Whispering_Jack

Weekend. I'm resting my case.

{6} for differentiation. I am innocent and I will never reveal my sources.

{7} for differentiation. I am innocent of all proposed charges because they don't exist as offences.

I'm with you there 100% Biff. Those wimps want to fix me up because I mentioned somebody's old man and were horrified at the thought of me starting a fight with Bluey McKenna and a few of his rookies. Soft and old the lot of them!!!

I told RL it was the perfect opportunity for us to start a fight which would help get the Dees out of the headlines for a couple of days but he chickened out because off the odds. I was ready to take them on.

I'll take it to the Southport Magistrates Court if they even think of trying.

It's good to see that there's a four day domestic game happening at last. The disappearance of these games in favour of T20 etc. is not helpful when you're preparing for an Ashes series. Let's hope its a good game and the Vics do well.

8

I've checked the Demonland rules for this thread and, in particular, our Rule 19 (A5) and I see no breach of the rule whatsoever. I maintain that on the contrary, by providing a legitimate quiz to exercise people's brains (something not normally required on this thread), I have actually performed a vital public service. I even attracted a well-respected Demonland poster in Fan back here after an absence of more than 14 months and therefore, there is no way anyone can claim that I've brought the thread into disrepute. As for draft tampering - pffffft!

Let's see if I can help out on the identification front without offending against the rules of this thread.Who am I ......... (1st Clue) My son was just appointed vice-captain of the GWS Giants. I am .....? Who am I ......... (2nd Clue) My pay is included in the GWS salary cap I am .....? Who am I ......... (3rd Clue) My weight is greater than more than any five other players at the club combined I am .....? Who am I ......... (4th Clue) Based on my age and football experience, I have just been appointed captain of the GWS Giants I am .....?

Yes ... I've been waiting a long time for this - what a comeback!

Nominations now being taken for roles in the Hollywood production. I nominate myself as myself and Halle Berry as my wife. I'll be doing my own stunts for every scene.

Well folks, we've reached land and are here on the Gold Coast where conditions are perfect for some r & r after the nerve wracking events of the past week and a half. I suppose you're all wondering about the shenanigans on the banana boat and how it all ended. Well, here's a brief summary: The ship's captain offered us some coffee once they removed our gags and freed us from the ropes that bound us to our chairs. He explained we had been caught up in an Interpol operation against a vicious gang of international terrorists who were using sporting facilities to store weapons for use in their nefarious plan to one day dominate the world. The leader, Al Kyder (aka Vlad the Impaler but a man with several aliases) had been captured alive and taken to the Pentagon for further questioning. His accomplice, the Michelin Man, broke down under interrogation after he was deprived of donuts and Tim Tam biscuits for 17 hours and confessed to everything. The son was released and was last seen wandering around Circular Quay in Sydney just having a look around. "But what about the tape? What happened to that?" "Oh, the tape. Yes, well Vlad did manage to crush it into a thousand pieces but that's not a problem. It contained a compilation of Barry Manilow songs - we managed to switch it back on the ship before Phil grabbed what he thought was the authentic tape. We made copies anyway and returned the original to the MONA Museum." Well, that was a relief. Feeling the throbbing from the lump on the back of my head, I asked, "But why was it necessary to attack us, then tie us up and bring us back to the ship?" "Our men have been training for this operation for a long time. You were wearing the distinctive orange and charcoal livery of Al Kyder's international terrorist franchise. They had to disarm you when capturing the ringleaders. It was only when they brought you back on the ship that we realised your true identity." It turned out that Interpol had been on to Vlad for years. They had vision of him sitting at the MCG during the Jordan McMahon game. The rest of the row was occupied by you know who and his punk son. They had the kid bugged at Hong Kong airport on his way home from the MFC trip to China and knew all about the plot to recruit him to GWS. His fourth placing in the inaugural best and fairest at Blacktown was a signal to the rest of the terrorist group that the attacks would start in four month's time. It was no surprise to learn that a rogue former UN identity had joined the AFL as one of its investigators. We also got the news that the AFL commission would meet on 29 January to exonerate the Demons of all possible charges in the tanking affair and, by way of compensation, the MFC would be awarded the first five picks in the 2013 AFL National Draft. The Giants were to be expelled from the competition at the same meeting (to be immediately replaced by the Tassie Mappers). All would be good in the world again. Things got even better on the last day of the cruise as the ship entered the Brisbane River. Redleg and I (and our respective wives) were sunning ourselves on the deck and drinking banana daiquiris when the ship's purser handed us our envelopes. They were from the Governor-General advising us that on Australia Day, we were to receive our Orders of Australia for services to the country and to sport. For the second time since we embarked on the cruise, Redleg fainted.

It's actually Ashmore Steak and Seafood but if you're suffering from Bali belly, I'm not sure that Moreton Bay Bugs is necessarily what you need to add to the system. Poor old old dee is already depressed today. Don't add to his woes or anyone else's. I suggest you take my advice and watch that programme I recommended to you on SBS tonight just after 10. It should give most of us a lift. BTW, only four negative posts is light on for depressing news around here, isn't it?

Still in Brisbane trying to work out how to get out of the scrape we're in but I'm hopeful of being able to get out and visit the cheap rent hotel that CS, DM et al stayed at when they snared Mitch Clark. I hear its a bit of a tourist attraction in Brizvegas.

Quite frankly, so do I.Perhaps I should have finished the last effort by waking up and realising it's all been a bad dream.

How are you going to do that? You're supposed to be tied up to a chair ATM, dummy!

Well ... it seems nothing much has changed here in the last couple of days although I must say that it's strange spending days at sea when you have no contact whatsoever with the rest of the world. Here's an update from when I previously left you:- The banana yellow Lamborghini Gallardo LP550-2 Spyder was resting silently and alone in the car park in front of a building that bore the name 'The Choko Williams Gymnasium'. We were inside the Breakfast Point complex. It didn't take long for us to overpower a couple of security people and switch uniforms and though I felt uncomfortable wearing the charcoal and orange shirt, the disguise was perfect. We burst our way into the gymnasium building and were immediately confronted by an unexpected sight. Lined up in front of us were hundreds of sky blue fruit crates with images of bright, sun ripened bananas on their lids. When we prized them open, we discovered something far more dangerous than everyone's favourite fruit. Inside the cases was a cavalcade of heavy weaponry ranging from handguns to 12 gauge shotguns, repeat action firearms, bazookas, Uzis, RPG's and mortars. It was dawning on us that this was no ordinary gymnasium. Moreover, we were now sensing that this place held the secrets to something far more diabolical than merely the setting up one AFL club as a patsy on some clapped up tanking charges. Just then, we heard voices and so we quickly hid behind a row of banana crates as they walked past us. I could just make out the formidable outline of Phil the Michelin Man and his son who limped behind him but it was the third man who caught us completely off guard. It was the man who had been instructing Dean Bailey on the stolen audio cassette which Phil was now handing over to him. They called him 'Mr. Demetriou'. "That was a fine piece of work Phil and it more than makes up for you missing out on Kurt Tippett and the embarrassment caused when you confused O'Rourke with Toumpas at the November draft. Still, once I destroy this, we can proceed with my dream of taking over in this country and tomorrow, we'll rule the world". He threw the cassette to the ground and was readying himself to stomp down hard. In a moment, it would be smashed into a thousand pieces. I had to do something but I failed. They came up behind us and got me twice, once hard across the back of my neck and a second time with a blow to the kidney. I noticed from the corner of my eye that Redleg was already on the ground and then nothing but blackness. When I woke up, we were both gagged, bound and tied to chairs. We were back on the ship as it headed towards Brisbane. If nothing else, it shows that I'm quickly running out of ideas and my story doesn't make sense or have much of a plot but I'm told this is a prerequisite to getting a gig at Fairfax Media so I'm cool with all that ATM.

Hot off the press. We were at wit's end. The ship was about to dock in Sydney and the tape was missing. The cruise line's entertainment director was heavily concussed with no memory of the vicious assault that preceded the theft of the tape we hoped would prove the Melbourne Football Club innocent of all charges against it in the forthcoming tanking trial at the International Court of Justice in The Hague. The ship's security cameras proved useless; the criminals who committed the outrageous theft were far too clever; all footage of the passage outside was blocked by a large figure rendering identification impossible. We had reached yet another dead end in a series of dead ends and decided the situation was so hopeless that the only thing left for us to do was to disembark and mingle on shore with the ship's American tourists. We were carrying the thoughts of that depressing prospect with us down the gangway when we noticed him. He bore a distinct resemblance to the Michelin Man, obese beyond imagination but the furtive looks over his shoulder and the fact that he was ripping into one of the largest ham sandwiches you would ever see, gave him away. It was the ship's guest lecturer - Phil of the fifty banana a day diet and it dawned on us both at the same time that he had to be our man. His huge shape was what had blocked all vision of the attack on the security videos. The give-away was the back pocket of his trousers bulging with ugly excess fat and from which you could just make out the outline of an audio cassette. He was a fair way in front of us and before we could apprehend him, he noticed us and took flight landing on the dock with a thud that registered 6.5 on the Richter Scale. The banana yellow Lamborghini Gallardo LP550-2 Spyder was waiting for him and we immediately recognised the young driver who was revving up the motor with a sense of urgency. He managed to prize his passenger inside (I'll never know how this feat was achieved so efficiently and expertly with a man that size but my guess was it had been rehearsed many times) and, with wheels screeching and the exhaust belching acrid gusts of smoke into the dockside air, they were on their way heading in the direction of The Rocks and the city centre. Hot on their heels, we jumped into a waiting taxi and I pleaded to the driver, "Follow that car, driver!" He gave us an expressionless look indicating he failed to understand my request but fortunately, Redleg is a linguist of great cunning and possesses an expert knowledge of the Urdu language. Seconds later, our pursuit began and, though our quarry was at least a hundred metres ahead, I was confident I knew the place where the chase would take us. Breakfast Point.

No it won't. The media is so lazy and so obsessed with Melbourne that they've become completely incapable of stringing together more than a few words on any subject without dropping in the obligatory reference to the Demons and the T word no matter what story they happen to be covering at the time:- http://www.couriermail.com.au/sport/afl/star-hawthorn-recruit-brian-lake-issed-infringement-notice-after-drinking-heavily-in-sorrento/story-e6frepf6-1226552981484'>Footy star Brian Lake and wife locked up for four hours after drunken verbal stoush "The weekend incident caps off a turbulent off-season for the AFL. A group of Melbourne players was involved in an ugly spat with fans during the Boxing Day Test. A decision into the Melbourne tanking allegations is due this month ... " Take a bow for your flatulent reporting Alex Whatsyourname but you've been completely outdone by the Karachi Daily Dawn (thanks to Redleg's expert translation from the Urdu language):- http://dawn.com/2013/01/13/six-arrested-in-new-rape-of-a-bus-passenger-in-india'>Six arrested in new rape of a bus passenger in India

Just woke up, opened the blinds and had the Opera House staring back at me. Some disappointing news to report. We've lost the tape. Here's what happened after we left Hobart on the trip north: Back at the ship we played the tape over and over on the entertainment director's machine. It contained several clues as to Melbourne's innocence in the tanking affair. It opened with an instruction from football manager Chris Connolly to skipper James McDonald concerning what to do about the coin toss before the Round 18 game v Richmond. "Remember James. Heads you win. Tails Zulus!" It went on and on like that until well after the final siren without a skerrick of evidence to suggest anything other than that the coach and his assistants were doing their best to win the game with an undermanned and wounded side: one that lacked talent and which, like Carlton and Richmond two years earlier and Collingwood and others before that, fully deserved the benefits of a priority pick in the AFL draft. There was even a brief interlude when Bailey and one of his assistants discussed whether or not they should give Jack Watts another game before he reached puberty. Even the entertainment director who knows nothing about AFL was suitably impressed as well as wanting to hire Connolly for the comedy gig on the next leg of the voyage to Auckland. Just then, the ship's alarm rang. It was time for an emergency drill and the voice on the loudspeakers called all passengers onto deck 7 where they kept the life rafts (or "ve vill shoot you!"). We returned to the entertainment director's cabin after the drill and encountered a horrific scene. He was bound, gagged (they had put a banana in his mouth) and tied to a chair, the furniture rearranged and the room in a mess. Either, he was into something kinky or some foul play was afoot. We settled for the latter when we saw the cassette player. Our precious tape of the Jordan McMahon game was missing! The evidence was gone. I'm sure you're asking yourselves whether Redleg and I made a copy? More bad news. We didn't have time. However, there's no need to panic. I'm sure we'll think of something to ensure that we get the tape back.

Stop posting at such a momentous time in the history of our club and the game?We have work to do in Sydney and neither of us will rest until the club is vindicated and we can drink our banana smoothies once again without looking over our shoulders.

Redleg might well be acting dumb but we've been working hard in Hobart today to try to solve the conundrum of the tanking story. We are about to sail off into the wide blue yonder in the direction of Sydney but, below I set out my diary of today's events as they unfolded in Tasmania's capital city:-It was our last day here and we went on an excursion to the MONA (Museum of Old and New Art) which is about 20 minutes out of old Hobart town. Unlike Redleg who fortified himself for the ordeal the night before with a concoction made from bananas called a "banana foster", I had to be taken there at gunpoint by she who must be obeyed. I mean, the MFC is currently under siege and our wives are taking us on a tour of an art gallery? Let's get real, please! We took the ferry up the Derwent River and passed the Cadbury Chocolate Factory. There have been rumours that the company intends to come on board as a sponsor of the MFC and I have no problems with that proposition. In fact, I tried to arrange a meeting with executives of the plant to convince them that we Demons are a solid upstanding bunch of decent human beings and had nothing to do with the alleged match fixing they might have been reading about in those funny Victorian newspapers but the execs wanted nothing to do with us so the next stop was MONA. Now, both Redleg and I are anarcho-primitive philistines who have no place in a modern art gallery and we were soon bored witless by the wild mix of antiquities, modern and contemporary art and audio-visual displays which (as far as I was concerned anyway) were all a load of carp - literally. Anyone who has been within smelling distance of Cloaca Professional, a machine which turns food into excrement would attest to this. And after queuing up for half an hour to get into the death room, which wasn't nearly as confronting as we expected, Redleg and I were already working out an exit strategy. Then a strange thing happened. We passed by Sydney Nolan's Snake and found ourselves in an alcove where a green button on the wall invited me to press hard once, upon which I started hearing voices through the speakers. One of the voices was familiar - it was Dean Bailey. "OK. Nathan Brown's a bit of a worry. Who have we got left to put on him?" Then, I heard another voice coming out of the ether. "Try PJ on him. He's got the pace and the agility and if you move Ricky up forward, he might just get a goal to put you in front". At first, I froze when I realised to whose voice those words belonged but I quickly gathered my wits, pushed my way beyond a screen and grabbed the cassette from a console and placed it in my back pack. Then, I ran up two or three flights of stairs with my chest heaving pushing past crowds and shocked attendants. I hailed a cab and within a quarter of an hour was back on the ship where I played the tape through in its entirety. It was in fact the missing audio from the the Jordan McMahon game and I had my proof that there was no tanking. This was all the evidence that was needed to put an end to the sham of a farce that would surely now become the great AFL tanking fiasco of 2009. I had no doubt about the identity of the other voice - the one who was advising Bailey during that frenetic final quarter against Richmond and provided him with all of those brilliant moves that all but won the game against the Tigers. His voice was distinctive, his initials were A.D!

If you saw the ladies who are giving RL the many "admiring glances" then you might see it in its proper context. They define the meaning of 85 year old cougars. Even more ridiculous is the stuff I'm reading from our local rags about the tanking inquisition. It's gone from the sublime to the absolute ridiculous. The stuff I'm writing from the ship is far closer to reality than some of the carp this Pierik guy is writing about although I'm almost certain that he reads Demonland posts before he puts pen to paper.

I can assure you that the going hasn't been all that easy since we left Adelaide. We were on the high seas and out of communication with the rest of the world for almost 48 hours as the ship headed first south and then in an easterly direction across the treacherous Bass Strait. Our own independent investigation into the tanking affair was seemingly over, so Redleg and I reconciled ourselves about the events of the past two days by visiting the upper deck where we sat by the swimming pool sipping on banana daiquiris admiring the young Brazilian guests in their skimpy swimsuits. It was a hard life ... until the seas became angry and we had to go below decks. Redleg noticed the envelope first. It had been slipped under his stateroom door and contained a not too subtle message, "Here is an invitation you've been waiting for - an opportunity to meet and listen to the one and the only Dean Bailey this evening at 7.00 pm. Starlight Room, 5th deck." I received a similar note under my door and we spent most of the afternoon discussing this new and intriguing development. It was clear that while we were back in the city of churches, Bailey had been avoiding us but here, on the high seas out of the world's gaze and with not a reporter or AFL official in sight, he was willing to talk. Would he spill the beans on the long running scandal or were the events of 2009 as stale as the snapper we had consumed in the Demetriou family fish and chip shop we visited before the start of our investigation? We wore the obligatory dinner suits (we thought they would act as an effective disguise) and made it to the Starlight Room at exactly 7.00pm but noticed that quite a crowd had gathered inside. They were listing to an American crooner playing songs on a grand piano. "I get my kicks from champagne ..." Bailey was nowhere to be seen and we became really worried when we realised that we were back on eastern standard daylight savings time and hadn't reset our watches. It was really 7.35pm and it suddenly dawned upon us that we had missed our assignation. "I get a kick ... yes I get a kick outa ... you ... " The entertainment director came out onto the stage and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for a wonderful performance for the velvet voice of grammy award winner, Dean Bailey, tonight's act direct from Chicago in the US of A." So he wasn't "the one and the only Dean Bailey" after all and we had reached yet another dead end. As we trudged out of the Starlight Room in disappointment we noticed a sign advertising tomorrow's main activity. Accompanying a photograph of an extremely obese man was the topic of his lecture: "Phil's fabulous fifty bananas a day diet".