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Picko99's blog was quite revealing. Picko's peccadillo's aside, I've suffered the same problems with topics to blog about, until things like yesterday happened

You see, shane had us delivered blindfolded to Dockerland central, sat us around the fully imported (from South Fremantle) handcrafted granite boardroom table* and presented a 17,000 word document on stuff we couldn't write about. The one that told us what we could write about only had two words on it; Football and the Dockers. And Picko's definition of blogs is staggeringly good. It gravitates towards personal space, and therefore right into the orbit of that 17,000-word document. This makes life difficult, and the penalties for transgression are severe. I won't go into detail, but it all ends in being so humbled and beaten, that small children would snigger at you in public, inducing feelings of great shame and an overwhelming urge to be alone for the rest of your life.

Unlike those folk who accumulate housefuls of purplely things - like posters, keyfobs, bottle openers, Ben Allan Bobble dolls, car seats, mats, number plates, toilet seats, spangly cushions, wigs, sink unblockers and lanyard marital aids - I have little craving for such things, aside from my footy gear and my purple work shirts. But I can understand because my 3.5yo, who does collect purple things because, "Purple is my favourite colour, daddy" (God love him, I am parenting perfection personified.) No, my footy obsession is a little more internalised.

When I'm in a good mood, it's because Freo won and played like Gods. When I'm in a bad mood, it's because they lost and played like Richmond. When I go to the deli to choose a sandwich I really do wonder, "What would Purple Jesus do?" When I rant about things, it's because I hate the AFL and the way they bugger about with the game like it's some sort of Zeusian plaything; that it's their fault the banks get in our faces so often just to remind us of the many different ways they're stiffing us, sucking the last precious few cents of disposable income from my meagre labours...see what I mean? Whatever I happen to bang on about, it's because of Freo.

It's just one reason I hate the nab Cup. I've been unsure for a while now whether I can just take or leave it, or whether the things about the whole shemozzle simply irk me. Today's awful news just about settles it.

First, it's sponsored by a bank. While they're jacking up interest rates a little bit higher than the market rate and blaming overseas investments, there's still plenty of money in the slush to line the Brow's hand-tailored strides. They need to maintain their profit KPI's to pay the CEO's - blokes whose salary packages get mistaken for their account numbers. CEO of a bank, what kind of Mickey Mouse job is that? How difficult is it to make obscene profits when you're fleecing a whole nation of punters with fees and charges?

But I digress. The other reason is the Mickey Mouse nature of this comp. Do you know what the rule changes were this year? Buggered if I know, I can't remember whether marks are paid at 10, 15 or 20m, can you still pass backwards for a mark, or only in your forward 50? Looks like half the players didn't know either. I'm still trying to work out the different ways you can crank out points in this game. The score is starting to look like a frickin Keno board.

I mentioned the box in my last instalment. It was as I expected. It's still not like going to the footy, more Like watching it in my lounge room with elderly relatives that keep asking "why did that bloke do that, who's winning, those Dockers are such filthy players, are you still sailing regularly Nigel?" The only highlight was when PJ wandered slowly over to our box and gave them all something to complain about.

Then there's our luck in this comp. If it weren't for bad luck, we'd have none at all. Is this comp really worth losing Hase for a whole season? Hell no, it isn't. I advocated doing the same thing as WCE. Send out some second stringers, a few link men and all the kids, save the cream for the games that mean something. Do what most of the other teams do with this comp and maybe it will help send the bloody thing crashing into the same black hole SOO fell into. People berated me for cotton wooling, that injuries can happen anytime. Well, cotton wool, bubble wrap, shredded recycled tyres, the really downy stuff from baby fluffy bunnies—whatever it takes, so long as the team Harvey wanted to run out in R1, does. Then let the Gods have their way. If injuries are going to happen, let them happen when there's a game worth winning to be won.

This has already been the crappiest of Crap Cups.

*This is completely untrue. Well, the bit about the boardroom. It actually took place in the Dockerland superstretch Limo and was conducted over the intercom, Charlies' Angels-style.