Wombats Analled By System

Game Date: 03/07/2002

Well, like a Sunday morning superbog slowly meandering to Bolivar, the Wombats' season continues to assume a brown hue. Tragedy struck early for the Wombats with their key player and iconic leader Bayls was unduly delayed. A reliable, objective and confirmed source* indicated the reason for the lateness was because Bayls was waylaid when his keen eyes detected a nursing home blaze en route to the contest, and he naturally stopped to save the lives of several grandmother types, along with various stereotypically cute animals such as baby rabbits, puppies and kittens. Having served the common good, and shunned any reward for such altruistic heroism, he leaped back into his ivory 1994 Holden Apollo and, foot planted firmly on the loud pedal, resumed his journey at light speed.

Unbeknownst to all, the umpire that night was to be a cantankerous W.W.II bomber commander just back from a raid over the briny. A stickler for promptness, Bomber Command ordered the fixture to start on the stroke of 7, so as our hero streaked like a white meteor towards the team's salvation, the contest was deemed to have begun. One solitary point thereafter, Bayls arrived, and the grouchy ass-monkey adorning the umpiring podium ordered the first set to the Redbacks. Even the feral scrotes scratching their armpits on the opposite side of the net were dumbfounded. It was, these nanocerbaic peanuts reasoned, like waking up to walk down the TAB around lunchtime, and finding 5 pallets of VB, a spare diff and a litter of blue heelers miraculously dumped next to the Cortina on the nature strip. In short, it was a blessing from the Gods.

Outraged at such blatant umpiring fuckwittery, several of the Wombats(1) were heard to swear loudly, expressing utter disbelief at the ridiculous ruling that this fleecy necked buffoon had torn from the ruptured ringpiece of obscurity. Still, it's not the Wombats' nature to complain or dwell on an unfortunate outcome, so with little more than a "What a fucking weak decision CUMPIRE, you should be SHOT!", the placid Wombats returned to the task at hand.

The task at hand consisted of playing headmaster and leading a lesson in self-awareness for the Redbacks. Fat, old, lazy and soft were all words to which they would become intimately acquainted by the end of the night. After being handed the first set on a platter, with a percentage busting 25-0, the Redbacks were stunned into submission during the next two blistering games. The Wombats were fired up, aggressive, vocal and were slapping, booting and pummeling their way into some kind of form. Serves were still lamely dribbling into the net, and spikes were still cannoning 8 feet high up the back wall, but at least there was a fiery purpose to the night's activity. There was even some trash talkin', although this was mostly directed at Bayls despite his completely legitimate and highly forgivable reason for being no more than 20 seconds "late".

Some of this self-awareness was rubbing off, with the umpire suddenly realising what a ballbag he was. Fighting back the waves of corrupt bile welling in his guts, he cowardly excused himself, being replaced by umpire number 2 - Skinhead.

All the Wombats players were finding form:

Damo - Back from volleyball wilderness, Damo was cranking out a few beautiful returns, one sensational kick (making his career kicking success to 3/677 attempts) and general court mobility, hungrily spoiling other players in his relentless quest for the ball. The team responded well to the return of their captain, mashing as the tight, synchronised unit that has spelt fear and doom for so many opposition teams in the past.
PJ - Firing up with a bloodlust rarely seen in this mild mannered fiscal highflier, PJ was in top form. Digging harder than an epileptic backhoe, and handing out meteoric fireballs with wanton abandon, he dealt out his own justice to the hapless Redbacks, who we must remember greedily accepted their unfair umpiring windfall scant sets earlier. PJ was simple magical, floating above the court with his hand-cannons loaded up and ready to fire them right up the date of any goateed cretin daring enough to test him.
Kel - Sporting a tidy new set of volleyball pants, Kel used them well, as a sturdy anchor to her muscular upper body which was dealing out misery to the Redbacks. Setting up camp in front of the net where she likes it, the Wombats' Hightower set up an impenetrable screen of glistening, rippling muscle. Oblivious to the macho waft of testosterone drifting across the net, Kel pegged back her giant fist on numerous occasions to send volleyballing grenades deep into the Redbacks' camp time and time again.
Totti - Macho, tough, aggressive, and yet infinitely relaxed, Totti promenaded the court with disdainful aplomb. Casually scooping up digs and nonchalantly tapping back spikes, Totti was the consummate professional. If he was fired up, he didn't show it. It he was frustrated, you couldn't tell. This volleyball iceman barely raised a sweat, the ubiquitous telltale bulge in his pants the only indication that he was even awake.
Bayls - Bayls, eager to make amends for his earlier perceived tardiness was propaganda minister yet again. Rousing the team with lusty words of encouragement, and leveling the opposition with highclass insults and taunting, he played a valuable role. Add to this his blistering court speed, uncanny volleyball intuition, millimetre perfect sets and constant immature commentary, and you have perhaps the greatest volleyballer that ever lived.
Rick - The mastermind. Unusually reserved in the strategy department tonight, Rick was sensibly allowing the team to keep it simple. Recognising the necessity to return to grass roots volleyball, Rick was treating the encounter with strategic restraint. His brilliant mind freed up from the endless strategic cogitation of previous weeks, Rick was free to concentrate on the physical side of the encounter, hammering home a few telling bombs at pertinent junctures throughout the fixture.

Unfortunately, Betty Grable had now calmed his upset tummy, sat in the corner and had a good hard look at himself and was ready to return to the group. This meant that Skinhead was now relieved of umpiring duties, to the disdain of the Wombats side. True to form, the umpiring from that point on was miserable. Like Dirty Sanchez the week before, the rank odour of incompetence once again stained the Wombats record. The last two sets were awarded to the Redbacks. Ironic really, since the only red backs were those of the gallant Wombats, the blood flowing freely from the knives stuck there by the so called umpiring system, and that cruel beaurecratic buffoonery that robbed them of certain and glorious victory.

In a stoic display of retaliation, one anonymous Wombats hero(2) was seen to remove the 15 cents he'd generously placed in the "Save Blackwood Recreation Centre" charity tub in the foyer on the way out.


* Bayls
(1) Bayls
(2) Bayls