8:00 am – wake up and enjoy the brief flutter of time before I remember the never-ending nightmare. Groan as I battle another rage-hangover after getting intoxicated on a late-night strength & conditioning rant bender. Also 12 pints.
9:00 am – silently seethe as I take in the day’s media articles trashing the team. That’s my job. These journo scumbags should focus on North. Tell my wife that, she smiles wishing I’d stop talking about North.
9:15 am – create another burner account on Twitter and challenge Kane Cornes to a fight. Have another crack at Jack Darling’s email addy. One day I’ll get the right combination and he’ll hear my thoughts.
10:30 am – game day so prepare by getting on the beers a bit early. Caught in a 2 ½ beer buzz I give myself permission to believe. Today is the day West Coast gets up. Upsets happen all the time.
11:30 am – do my ‘nana after checking the injury list again. No one in the family is allowed to speak to me until after the game.
Midday – bounce down – polish my own silverware. It’s a symbolic ritual. Go on to remind any Docker fan I encounter of this fact. Rub one out to Dom Sheed’s clutch goal. Drunk, purged, and full of premiership memories I am ready.
First quarter – welcome to the arena of screams. Get overly excited at the energetic efforts of Eagles players in the opening few minutes. Believe it’s going to last forever. My wife thinks I’m penetrating the La-Z-Boy again. Assure her that was a one-off after 2018 (it wasn’t).
Second quarter – my mood sours somewhat but if absolutely everything goes right we can keep this to under 16 goals. That’s what I’ve become. That’s what I live for. A desperate creature slithering in the cave of sub-100 floggings.
Third quarter – throat sore, face red, I scuttle around my TV area like an irate crab. Not believing what I’m seeing despite seeing it every week. I decide to voice some opinions on social media.
Fourth quarter – I’d physically leave but I don’t have the energy. I sit slumped like I was in an elaborate Saw trap where I had to watch a VHS tape I found under my parent’s bed. Every goal like a lash for a crime I didn’t commit. Although I am numb now. The silence of the lambs.
5:30 pm – two bottles of wine and a lengthy argument on Big Footy has me back. I’m fired up and I have one thing on my mind. PLAY. THE. FKN. KIDS. I will repeat this mighty warcry over 200 times as I unleash on socials.
6:30 pm – feel myself transitioning into a beast that I swore I’d never become. A bitter and twisted life form that now must feed on the failures of Dockers to work up the energy to post detailed gameplans that I’d implement as coach on West Coast FB posts. I have become a Docker myself, in many ways.
Dockers game – unleash the fury of a thousand suns every time Serong gets a touch. Start to feel alive as the game slips from them. Emerge from my den of depravity and tell the wife & kids that daddy is fine now.
8:00 pm – explain to my family the importance of list management as I glance at my phone to see if I’ve got any bites to my Docker-baiting. Success. I wear him down with a lengthy and thorough history lesson.
8:15 – 10:30 pm – speaking of, I return to the man cave to treat myself to the 2006 Premiership Grand Final highlights on YouTube. I smash out a Benny C arm windmill and do some ligament damage. I am one of the boys now.
11:00 pm – contrary to what I said earlier today. I send Simmo a goodnight email telling him I’m behind him fully. Reminding him to play the kids.
11:15 pm – cry.
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