Simmo is an amateur footy player and is known for spending more time on the bench than a Midland Magistrate and bagging more points than meth dealer before a UFC screening.
He is the sort of guy to rock up to training with a pair of $280 Puma future boots, Under Armour compression tights, a heavy lathering of Deep Heat and still manage to get a stitch on the warm-up lap.
Basically, he flogs it up harder than a losing Melbourne Cup jockey. Oh, and there’s just something about a social sporting competition that fires him up like Barry Hall sucking on a yew-pipe. 3 suspensions this year alone.
One of those suspensions wasn’t even related to playing footy. He copped 2 weeks for his behaviour on an end of season Footy trip to Thailand. Now, the “incident” is rarely spoken about these days, but let’s just say his trademark lack of accuracy ruined one of the boys traditional group sex sessions. Gosh, those footy boys are close.
Now, despite playing 20 thousand leagues under the sea of talent, Simmo loves talking a big game to the uninterested receptionist on Monday mornings. This particular morning he walks in with a limp.
She takes the bait, “hurt yourself Simon?” Simmo hobbles over, squares up and proceeds to talk like he was Jonathan fucking Brown at a press conference,
“yeah nah, pulled up a bit sore, I gave 110% on the weekend and at the end of the day you’re always going to risk a hammy playing that brand of footy, full credit to the boys for getting behind me though, owe it all to the boys and the footy club”
Of course, his minor injury has very little to do with his on-field exploits and everything to do with drinking 19 Crown Lagers after the game and slipping over in the toilets while trying to piss into his own mouth. Instagram stories don’t lie Simmo. Bants.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?