Disco’s Old (dec) Nana Weekly
Round 12
In this week’s edition,
Poor old Disco is flat out with work and he has a bit of cough (the kid has always had no ticker), so he has literally resurrected me, his Dear Old 118-year-old Nana (he still believes I am alive), to cover the weekly, so strap yourself in as this will get really loose.
Also, I will be casting the votes for Round 12 fight for the Over 30’s Mirrorball Keyring, the only award dedicated to the ageing veterans of our great game.
A Flapper at the Collingwood Town Hall Saturday Night Dance
Way back in 1920’s when I was a sweet little slapper, I mean flapper, wearing my little black number with my French knickers clearly on display, ankle socks, high heels, wearing make-up to make me look like Clara Bow, and a bit of scented industrial waste perfume (which was very popular at the time), I accidently (on purpose), ended up my arms around ‘Nuts’ Coventry.
He was a big strong and handsome man, but for reasons I will never understand, I was hauled away by the police, and I was given an order to not go anywhere near him again, including attending games at Victoria Park.
That was the moment I realised I hated the ‘Filth’ and the ‘Two Cent Pieces’.
Move forward a few years to 1945 Grand Final, the supposed Blood Bath Grand Final, well there I was sitting there with a sister Myrtle, and as usual we had our home-made sandwiches, a coffee flask full of whisky, and our trusty old umbrellas.
South Melbourne’s hitman, Basher Williams (a finer gentleman you will never find), chucked one of the Blues players over the boundary, right in front me and Myrtle.
We could not believe our luck.
We offered him a sandwich and a sip of whiskey, and lo and behold, he told us to, ‘get stuffed’, I’ll repeat that, this hootie tootie sad excuse for a human being told us to ‘get stuffed’.
Umbrellas to the rescue.
While a lady never tells, it is lucky that Myrtle and I were no ladies, so in full detail, we belted the living daylights out him, including making sure he would never have kids. I don’t what it is with Myrtle, but she so loved leaving her mark on some poor sod’s family jewels.
Bless her.
When the dust settled, Basher Williams came and gave us both a big hug, telling us, ‘Great work girls’, and asked, ‘did you go the sack again Myrtle?’
Myrtle didn’t have to answer, Basher already knew she had.
Once again, we were taken home in the back of the police’s horse and cart, and spent the night in the lookup , merrily singing, ‘what’s the colour of a two cent prices, copper, copper, all coppers are….’
Over the next few decades, Myrtle and my good self, spent nearly every Saturday night in the local lockup, while rarely ever seeing the end of any match we attended.
Anyway, back to the modern day where the players wear fluro shoes, the crowd eats gourmet food, the beer is served in useless plastic cups, and as I just found out, the game has got that weak you can now be reported for patting someone on the bonce.
What the hell?
Players running around with peroxided hair, sporting man-buns and bloody head bands, and they spit the dummy if anyone dares tries to spoil their oh so eloquent presentation.
Weak bastards, take a good look at Francis Bourke smiling with blood running all over his face, or Bobby Skilton turning up to Brownlow night sporting two of the best black eyes of all time, and word has it, that was done by his wife.
Tough, bloody tough, these old footballers, as well as their wives.
I digress, and that is not easy to do at 118.
Looking at a few games recently, my juices were aroused more than once by these young stallions all displaying their wares, ohhhh, settle down girl. Anyway, I was watching the Cotton-On boy, Bailey Smith, and all I could think was he could park his car out the front of my place anytime, and I mean anytime.
Tell me girls, am I right, I mean who wouldn’t want that.
The guy is a friggin spunk, and I know he likes me as he taken out an Intervention Order against not to be draped across the front his car in my old flapper get up on, and it is a honour to add his name to the long lists of IVO’s I have dating back to my first one in the 1920’s and Nuts Coventry.
Sadly, Myrtle is no longer with us and now, and I march on to the tune of my own beat. Poor Myrtle, after munching down on some schrooms at the Sunbury Music Festival in 1972 and running around showing her wares to all and sundry, she said she had a hot date lined up with this guy, a true scallywag called Lucifer, and she hasn’t been seen since.
Now I think back on it, there was something about Lucifer that wasn’t quite right, but hey, good luck to ya Myrtle.
It Myrtle was still around she would have loved some of the oohlala absolute spunks taking to the field each week in 2026.
Also, Myrtle would appreciate just how far the Paddy Wagons have changed since her hotter than hot date with Lucifer.
Myrtle would have loved the back of the new divi-vans, which are more like the spread at the Bairnsdale Motel now than the old floorboards with nails in the old cart, however Myrtle, would you believe it, they have now separated the men and women cells, I mean – WHY?
Damn it, no more shenanigans and Greco wrestling with the drunks in the cells anymore on a Saturday night.
Disco’s Old Nana’s Top 10 Spunks in the AFL
- Bailey SMITH
I’ve always been a sucker for a pretty boy. He reminds of those big French Poodles, absolutely gorgeous. When you are that drop dead gorgeous, with a totally untamed persona, nobody is chasing you for your conversational skills darling.
Fun to be with, but no keeper.
- Tony Liberatore
This old flapper girl just loves a diamond in the rough scrapper, and Libber can park his beat up 1979 ute out the front on my place anytime.
- Brodie Grundy
Okay, he has a man-bun and a hipster’s personality, but the dude is so laid back you’d swear he had smoked a tok or two before each game, and he is big, and well cut, and did I say big, oh my, I have a case of the vapours.
Get me a Bovril, quick.
- Little Cody Weightman
He is such a wee little spunk of a man, and so god damn cute, and he just looks like he needs a good cuddle, and to be taken home and looked after and kept in cupboard for me to bring him out to play whenever I want.
I want my very own wee Cody.
The Police are at the door, and here we go again, another Intervention Order.
- The Prancing Pony (Patrick Voss)
My Dad, or at least one of the men I called Dad when I was growing in the back alleys of Port Melbourne, never let me have a pony, and after a century I want my very own Prancing Pony.
I know I will get bucked off, but no pain no gain, but I’d do anything for a quick buck.
And no, I don’t want a Unicorn, you all know where you can shove that.
- Kai Lohmann
He reminds me of the good times I was had with Tony Modra, well at least they were good times for me, and when I think back, I should have paid more attention to the Intervention Order, which clearly stated I was not allowed within one kilometre radius of Football Park.
Ah Tony, such good memories, and hello Kai.
- Josh Rachele
Ah Josh, what good times I could have with you, placing you under petticoat rule from day one, giving you little love taps even now and then, and generally just treating you like a cat with a mouse, and like the cat, I will eventually lose interest, but like the mouse, you will never be the same.
- Toby Greene
Toby reminds me so much of old mate Willy who I met on the picket lines outside Appleton Dock during the depression. Every time he headbutted one of the scabs, or brutally kung-fu kicked one of them, I would just go weak at the knees, and when he asked Myrtle and I to join in, you know what we did don’t you, we went straight for the crown jewels – it was pure ecstasy.
Ah Toby, if only you had been around in the 1930’s, we would have been great together.
- Dermie
Look, I know Dermie is not playing anymore as well as not playing in the singles scene anymore, but the fun times we had at the old Chevron back in the day were priceless, memories aplenty.
I’ll never forget that day Dermie cheered me on as the police were again putting me in the back of the divi-van, he was clapping and laughing, and that special look he gave me as I was being driven away still melts my heart every time, I think about it.
For some strange reason I was barred from the Chevron for life after that night, but lucky for me I still had Joey’s, well, until?
- The Harley Kid
I’m blushing just thinking about this wild, untamed, majestic warrior, who just oozes testosterone overload, and he just seems up for anything at any giving time, but as I have been barred from entering the entire state of Western Australia, the Harley Kid remains as just another unrequited romantic fantasy.
After all that, I need a shower.
The Golden Hatchet Memorial Game – Essendon v Carlton
An old duck like me just loves to stir up a bit of trouble, and I sent a letter to all the bigwigs at the AFL, and both the Essendon and Carlton football clubs, suggesting this week’s blockbuster Sunday night clash be called, ‘The Golden Hatchet Memorial Game’, not only in memory of the time Brad Scott and Michael Voss spent at each club, but also in memory of all the coaches who have been have felt the sharp blow of the hatchet between their shoulder blades this century.
They certainly eat their own at the Hangar and Princess Park.
Surprisingly I wasn’t told to bugger off straight away, and while the two clubs hate the idea, the AFL thought it would make media fodder before game.
Disco’s Unhealthy Attitude to Gary Rohan
Speaking as a Nana now, and getting this out there while he is away, anybody who knows Disco knows he still receiving therapy to get over Gary Rohan.
At the mere mention of Gary’s name, his nostrils flare, the veins on his stick out, droll forms at his cake hole, and the language that blurts out his mouth would make a truckie blush.
It is now ten years since the 2016, and he should be over him now, but no.
In 2022 when Rohan took a couple of good marks for the Cats, Disco was livid, and when he saw he was receiving a Premiership medallion, let’s just put it this way, the Disco household needed a new telly.
It got that bad that Disco applied for a Safety Notice on himself.
He should have been hospitalised, but he couldn’t afford it, so a few of us got together, held him down and gave him a few zaps of the good old 240 volts.
Did it work? Probably not, but it was fun watching him squirm and yelling “stop, you are killing me.” You should have seen the look on his face.
Disco was always a whiny kid, moping around all the time like he had just lost his best mate, and thinking back on it, he has always had trouble letting go of the little things, and I truly mean the little thing.
Now I come to think of it, that whiner always moaned when he came to footy with Myrtle and me when he was just a little disc, making comments like, the honey had made the bread go hard, I don’t like whiskey, please stop hitting him with your umbrellas, why is there blood coming out of his ears….
Moan, moan, moan.
He really is a wimp, even now, each weekend he hides like the wimp behind his keyboard writing reviews, spewing out dribble, and then spending the rest of the week checking out how many ‘likes’ he gets. That boy has satin soft hands, the muscle definition of the Michelin Man, a heart the size of a pea, and a head only a mother could love. No, I’ll take that back, his own mother couldn’t stand him.
Just remember, this is our little secret.
Did you hear the one about Joel Amartey?
Only one of two clubs in the AFL would be desperate enough to entice Amartey to their club for $1.2 million a year, and dare I say what we all already know?
Yes, in all likelihood, it is Essendon and/or Carlton.
$1.2 million for Joel Amartey, what a laugh, but eh Joel, is they’re offering, make hay while the sun shines.
Just one little piece of advice from Nana, get the cash up front.
Titbits
I giggle whenever I see the word ‘titbit’ as it brings up memories of Myrtle just before her scorching hot date with Lucifer, running around flashing her titbits for all and sundry to see at Sunbury 72.
That Lucifer is a lucky man, and I am sure she is bringing out the devil in him.
Anyway, back to the titbits.
Floppers. No girl likes a flopper, and whenever I see a weak hearted player flop to the ground like a Urangan soccer player it makes my heart sink to think the game has sunk to such a state that it is okay to be floppy.
There is no excuse for any man to be floppy, and when they are, it is bloody embarrassing, and you know the worst thing, they try to blame you.
Ain’t I right girls?
Harden up all you floppers and grow a pair.
I didn’t mention the Bont or the Heeney earlier on, but they are both special players, more manly than mere fly-by- night pretty boys, and they are both hard nuts (hot flushes and memories of Nuts Coventry again) and they are always up the fight.
There are some good games next weekends, and some who cares games, but games nonetheless and I hope your team wins
I am going to be keeping a close celestial eye over Disco for the rest of the year, and if he doesn’t have the guts to say something, don’t worry, I’ll call out the floppers, the short steppers, the cowards and any other kind of action that is derogatory to the game.
Disco’s Over 30’s Casey’s Nightclub Award (Nana’s choice)
This award is for the players proving there is life after 30 in the AFL and it is theoretically sponsored by the once legendary nightclub located in the Glenferrie Station arcade, Casey’s Over 30’s Nightclub. On any given Wednesday or Saturday night the more mature singles of Melbourne would pack the joint to the rafters. The smell of cheap aftershave and perfume was truly overbearing.
There are many players in the AFL thirty years of age or older performing gallantly and as such The Mongrel Punt have introduced this award specifically for the elderly citizens of the competition who will be competing for The Mirror Ball Keyring.
Similar in style to the Coaches Votes, the voting system for this cherished award is the top ten elderly citizens of each round will be ranked with ten being the maximum and one being the minimum.
Votes for Round 12
10 Patrick Cripps (Carl)
9 James Sicily (Haw)
8 Toby Greene (GWS)
7 Nic Newman (Carl)
6 Jarman Impey (Haw)
5 Rory Lobb (WB)
4 Tim Kelly (WC)
3 Luke Ryan (Freo)
2 Lachie Whitfield (GWS)
1 Jack Sinclair (StK)
Leaders Board
35 Brodie Grundy (Syd)
24 Jack Gunston (Haw) Marcus Bontempelli (WB) Toby Greene (GWS)
22 Jarman Impey (Haw)
21 Luke Parker (NM)
20 Lachie Neale (Bris) Jeremy Cameron (Gee)
18 Patrick Cripps (Car)
16 Zach Merrett (Ess) Jarman Impey (Haw)
15 Jack Steele (Melb) Max Gawn (Melb) Jack Sinclair (St K)
14 Scott Pendlebury (Coll) James Sicily (Haw)
13 Jack Cripps (Coll) Christian Petracca (GC) Tim Kelly (WC)
12 Luke Ryan (Freo) Lachie Whitfield (GWS)
10 Jack Macrae (St K)
9 Taylor Walker (Ade) Dayne Zorko (Bris)
8 Bradley Hill (St K) Jake Stringer (GWS) Nic Newman (Carl)
7 Ollie Wines (PA) Ryan Lester (Bris) Tom Stewart (Gee)
6 Alex Pearce (Freo) Brayden Maynard (Coll)
5 Callum Wilkie (St K) Tom Aitkins (Gee) Rory Lobb (WB)
4 Jake Melksham (Melb) Alex Neal-Bullen (Ade) Elliott Yoe (WC)
3 Jake Lloyd (Syd)
2 Jayden Short (Rich) Jack Darling (NM)
In previous weeks votes had been given to Harris Andrews, however he does not turn 30 till December, and the same applies to Peter Wright who doesn’t turn 30 until September.
Fin
Have a great week and may your team win.
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