No... not the angel. I mean Peter.

I'm scratching around in this great cosmic inbreath before the season gets underway wondering about things like Paul Hasleby's knee ligament and the player I saw at the radiography clinic the other day and that bloody Peter Gabriel song, Sledgehammer, pops into my head. 

Why? I dunno... I was born with a bit more random access memory than most, perhaps. Gee, that'd be a surprise... a Kiwi with more RAM than usual. Anyway... the pre-season is done and dusted, finally. No-one takes it seriously, apart from those head banging maestros of the banal at HQ and all it does is throw up a whole set of variables, risks and frustrations for footy professionals and the rest of us.

I was seriously gutted when Hase went down with a bung knee. There was a bit of discussion about it on the board at the time and most of what needed to be said was said then, but I always like to chip in with my 20c worth, too, so for what it's worth, Hase... we're all wishing you a total recovery and some kind of fulfillment to come from a season that you can't be an active part in. Working with the coaching staff is a positive move for the club to initiate which will benefit everyone involved, no less Hase himself... but I'd far prefer to see our favourite chop fanatic out there on the field deceiving the eye with the speed of his hands. Chin up, Hase, and make mine a pint. Cheers.

So, here I am with Peter Gabriel serenading the architecture of  my cranium, anxiously surveying the start of the season and casting a speculative eye, like most of you, over the team and our chances. If you were around the place in the mid to late 80s at all and had the misfortune to over expose yourself to commercial radio, you'd be more than familiar with Peter Gabriel and the album that launched Sledgehammer into the sales stratosphere (interestingly, it was his first US #1 single, displacing Genesis to get there... ohhh the irony) but there are a few songs on there that could have some sort of relevance for a footy fan in a pensive moment... 'Big Time', 'Mercy Street', 'In Your Eyes' and the duet with the delectably weird Kate Bush, 'Don't Give Up'. Delectably. Weird. 

Who's your dadd...sorry.

It's a mournful record ultimately... Gabriel turned out, later, to be a typically self absorbed and somewhat indulgent artist in that grand tradition of rich Englishmen and embarked on a crusade to sponsor world music before anyone else got on board so good on him, but I don't know that he's ever actually launched into the Sherrin with any serious intent let alone set himself for a screamer on some hapless fool's shoulders, so why the quentinlynch he's set up shop in my head this week, I don't know. Still, when you have a bit of a look at the lyrics, you wonder if it might have more to do with that other mob...

and the video couldn't be labled the work of someone you'd call straight... so maybe that's it. I'm over-exposed to spin and my subconscious has responded in kind. Years ago, I had a bit of a crack at racing motorcycles and there was a saying in the paddock... "The bullsh*t stops when the flag drops".  

Know what I mean? 

Not long now. Until then, icanhascheeseburger. Google it.