Look, if they'd have hauled anchor after six verses I think the crowd would have leapt onto the ground in a triumphant human wave, sought out Margetts in the umpire's room, dragged him out and keel-hauled the bastard under the Matagarup Bridge.
Sadly, by the thirty-fifth verse, all we were up for was the sort of applause you give a bloke in the WA Open golf tournament when he sinks one from five feet for a par.
Unfortunately, our players were on the ground for the last seventeen verses, which explains a lot about our second half...
