Here at The Terrace, we’re less concerned about the result last Friday night than the state of Cameron Mooney’s hair. I mean, does he perm his hair or are those curls au naturale? Does Garnier Fructis’Active Fruit Concentrate really give his hair that body and shine? Is his hairband really a hand-me-down from Nathan Ablett? Hmmmm…
Photo credit: TWS @ Bigfooty
Each quarter in four words or less:
Q1: Tight start
Q2: Doggies good, stokes baaaad.
Q3: Comeback kings!
Q4: Comeback not Mark Blake.
Shane Mumford has all the traits of a ruckman: his first name is Shane, he has an awkward sounding surname, he’s a qualified boiler maker and he’s from a town called Bunyip. Fine credentials indeed. Shane is also a fine footballer who has a great story behind his hulking frame. Watching ‘Mumfy’ make the transformation from bush footy to the premier league has been a delight for all concerned; apart from Blakey, who is now nervously watching his back.
Many of you would have read an article in the Hun recently (written by fellow cats fan Scott Gullan) which described Mummy’s transformation. Some of the quotable quotes include:
“We would have a barbecue at the footy club and he would have 12 or 16 sausages,” the Bunyip Football Club president recalled this week. “He was a mammoth eater. A seriously big rig and, put it this way, you didn’t want him falling on you.”
“I was that big and unfortunately I’ve still got the excess skin to show for it.”
“Even though I was almost 130kg I was happy with my lifestyle. I was happy to go out on weekends, have some fun with my mates and have a few drinks.”
From the moment the 2007 season finished, Mumford didn’t touch alcohol or junk food and, for the first time, started eating vegetables – cooked ones that is, as he still can’t bring himself to have salad.
For The Terrace, last Saturday saw an unfortunate clash between a wedding and the overly-hyped game (will every game that features Richmond this year be a ‘big game’, despite their track record for mediocrity?) down at KP. Resisting the urge to wear a clip-on transistor radio earpiece thingy, I braved the ceremony and pre-reception drinks armed with nothing more than a mid second-quarter score. In that time I received multiple reports of Brad Otten’s season-career-life (depending on who you spoke to) ending knee injury. Is it wrong that, as a result of this information, most of The Terrace’s time during the ceremony and pre-wedding drinks were focused not on the beatiful settings and wonders of matrimony, but on Blakey’s ability to cope in Otto’s absence? No? Good.
Anyway, it’s a bit hard to do a match review when you a. didn’t go to the game; b. didn’t watch or listen to the game; and, c. were too hung to read the match reports in the Sunday papers. Suffice to say The Terrace’s two observations were:
1. Stevie J. was the difference, is in career-best form and will share the Brownlow with Gazza Jnr. Just imagine, for one second, how painful it would have been if we had traded Johnson to Collingwood or Essendon, only to watch him in this rich vein of form. It almost happened…
2. Terry Wallace spends too much time in his personal solarium at the expense of Richmond’s ability to play football.
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