One Big Ball of A Grade Cuteness

I haven’t talked about much lately, mainly due to a busy uni schedule (I finish in 4 weeks!!!!!!) but I also haven’t really had much to talk about. But I’m going to take you back a week, a week to last Friday, a day that will remain in memories for many a time to come.

Most mornings I wake and welcome in the new day with a smile wondering what the day will bring. Little did I know that today was going to go as it did. On this morning my smile was greater than usual and the next 45 minutes one could perhaps only describe as heavenly. Although slightly tired, I went off to uni feeling quite peachy and energised, ready for the 3 hours of coaching sessions that were to follow. Part of my Coaching Principles course involves each person conducting a 30 minute coaching session for the group. The thought that I still had another week until I was scrutinised over my coaching ways was relaxing and the softball, soccer, and netball sessions that I participated in were quite enjoyable. Then came some surprising news. I was in fact due to coach today. Confusion was soon overtaken by panic but with the exquisite skill of quick thinking that I possess I was able to create and conduct my football (aussie rules) session with the excitement and fervour that only I could. All in all, it went quite well. It will not be long before my coaching skills will take the Stradbroke School year 6 netball team to that one big last Saturday in September. Well, maybe that one big Friday evening of term 4.

But onto what Friday was really all about – the second round of the Eastern Suburbs Poker Tour.

The night started with a BBQ consisting of some of the finest sausages, chops, chicken and those things I can’t pronounce that has ever been BBQ’d and consumed. Possibly because the BBQ did not explode, catch fire, or singe any eye brows for the first time in 2 years, possibly because Andymanx and Edgy were not involved in the cooking process and I was in charge of onion, not Hoogster.

Once everyone had eaten (and farted) as much as they could, the real reason 7 people were gathered in the one room commenced. The 4 players represented in the first round (myself, Hoogster, Thearley and Phatty T) were all present along with 3 new faces (Edgy, Emil and Jason), promising one big night was in store. As the alcohol flowed and the hands were folded it became clear that the newcomers were riding the ‘beginners luck’ theory, throwing caution to the wind and on most occasions coming up trumps. It was most frustrating for Phatty and Hoogster who both found their chips dwindling, a stark contrast to round 1 when they were battling it out for the victory. With one well played hand (or pure luck as Hoogster and Phatty will protest) Jason delivered the final blow, his full house knocking the round 1 heroes out of the competition.

Thearley, too, was finding the going tough but a determined effort saw him fight back, however his struggles were in vain. Soon after the departure of the previous 2, Thearley’s demise was all too painful to watch. As with his round 1 exit, lady luck wasn’t by his side and the cry of “adios” soon left the mouth of the English lad. This left myself to fly the flag the original 4 pride. Surely the 3 newcomers couldn’t take out the top 3 spots.

By now the drinks were flowing freely and the concentration needed to make final 3 was immense. Maybe a tactic, Edgy had only consumed soft drink and Emil, known for his excessive drinking, was still only on his second bottle of Coldies. The 2 six packs he walked through the door with looked like a ploy to catch others off their guard but it was soon obvious he was getting stuck into the vodkas. With over the top bets and a face that said “I’m bluffing”, it looked like the end for Croatia’s favourite export yet for every hand he lost, he somehow managed to win it back. In the end it was the soft drinking Edgy who bowed out in a respectable 4th place. Blaming his recurring knee problem, the last few hands were thrown away, leaving Jason with piles.

Jason also had the largest pile of chips, the clear chip leader over Emil and myself, now struggling under the pressures of top 3. By now the night was wearing on, the competition entering its 4th hour. Having to do something dramatic to make an indentation into Jason’s chips, all-in was called but, alas, the generous host found himself finishing in 3rd, leaving Jason and Emil to duel it out in a battle to the death. And the death came quickly for the undermanned Emil, Jason outnumbering Emil by at least 10 to 1. The camera was out and the happy victor was all too keen to be photographed with his winnings.

After congratulatory handshakes and celebrations, quick calculations were made to the Tour league standings. With points awarded from 7 to 1 depending on round ranking, the standings were shaken up a bit, resulting in the following:


Samadoochi - 10
Phatty T - 9
Hoogster - 8
Jason - 7
Thearley - 7
Emil - 6
Edgy - 4

With the formal part of the night out of the way and done with it was time to party! The music cranked up, the drinks continued to flow (including a bottle of Elijah Craig –one of the finest alcoholic beverages I have tasted) and it wasn’t long before a huddle was made and the words to Wonderwall were sang loud and proud, in similar fashion to that of 500 Miles (could this perhaps be the start of a new tradition?).

As the night moved along a buzz filled the room as excitement grew in the news that Phatty T had indeed invited his lady friend over. But after it became clear he was not inviting her inside and was instead inviting himself into her car which was not leaving the parking space out the front of the house, something had to be done. That something was the dropping of the pants and the running down the street, in particular around the car. Now this brings up one of life’s great mysteries. One could say it was just bad timing, another just was of those things that happen in life that can’t be explained. Whatever it was, the chances of 4 young men running down the street with pants below the knees at the same time a cyclist cycles down the street in the opposite direction would have to be minimal. Especially considering that the street is a cul-de-sac. To say who was more surprised at seeing the other is anyone’s guess.
Back inside, Phatty T was given 15 minutes before another run would commence. Sure enough, 15 minutes later the young men left the safe sanctuary of the house for the second time but this time carrying a football, and pants and tops completely removed. With only underwear protecting their pride from the cold air, the football was passed around in a joyful manner. As happy as I was to see Thearley finally succumbing to the pull of the Australian game, something was strange about the way he kicked the footy. It wasn’t his action, I soon realised, but the fact that he appeared nude. Was Thearley starkers? I’m sure I saw him with undies. A closer inspection was needed and thankfully it revealed that no, he wasn’t running around bare, but was wearing yellow undies, yellow undies that in the night blended into his skin as though one.

The scene from inside the car must have been sore on the eyes as soon the car was driving down the street, the 4 young men in hot pursuit. With the car eventually leaving sight there was nothing to do but head back inside. Laughs, and apologies (Phatty we are very sorry), followed.

And so ended the night that will forever be instilled in the memories of those who were there. This night will become folklore, legend, and eventually myth to all those in search of the perfect night with mates.