Wombats Defeated By Salvies

Game Date: 24/07/2002

Well, like Prattie's socks, it was a long, pointless and dismal evening for volleyball fans tonight. A night that promised so much, and yet delivered so little, tonight was the night of the inaugural Wombats vs Salvies SHOWDOWN! The opposition were the ESLF, aka The Salvies, the miraculous premiers from the Summer 2001 campaign. Fat, bloated and overweight, the ESLF had obviously been schlurping a few too many RC-Cola and icecream spiders from their premiership mugs since last season, as newly deflowered premiership virgins are known to do.

With most of the Wombats team not receiving the depressing bulletin that former Salvies el-capitan and all-round pantiless wonder Xena, was not making the game, there was a relatively huge turnout of volleyballing elite present to witness the spectacle. The Wombats consisted of Damo, Bayls, PJ, Rick, Totti, Craigie and Kempy all lubed and ready. The mighty Kel, bruised and battered from her solid defence the previous week in which she lost most of her hair, left the red pants at home and warmed the bench this week. Her co-commentator was retired former great Shaka-Zulu, while Murgs was absent, no-doubt under some flimsy pretense.

The pre-match warmup consisted of 15 solid minutes of laughing at Prattie's socks, and very little else.

Sticks makes a great diving save at Prattie's feet

Then, with the sock-related tittering making way for the serious business of trashtalking volleyball, then main event was underway. Game one was a dismal affair for the Wombats. Like the third take of a B-grade porno orgasm scene, the Wombats came out of the blocks slowly, allowing the Salvies to work themselves into some early form. In a cruel taunt to the ESLF insurance bunnies, the Wombats agreed to write off the first game 25-8.

The second game was sheer brilliance from the Wombats unit. From the outset, it was clear that this was to be a magical experience for anyone lucky enough to be present, from the very instant that Bayls cocked back his mighty serving spatula and flawlessly knocked out his 7453982nd consecutive brilliant serve. The setting was magnificent, the digging was inspirational, and the spikes were blistering. The loving crowd was whipped into a riotous frenzy by the sheer class of the Wombats unit as it thoroughly demoralised the hapless Salvies. As usual, Rick manipulated his pawns like a seasoned grand-master, and the stoic Bats responded. Damo, fresh from his extended hiatus was eager to dust off the arm, and quickly blazed a few spikes into the rollerballing sinbin. It was wild and it was crazy, and it was just what the Wombats were waiting for. Kempy v3.01 stood solid in defence, and even more solid in offense, the rampaging Craigie the frenetic Yin to Kempy v3.01's sobering Yang, as he booted the pants off everything in sight. Totti, the master, sauntered around in his trademark style, arrogantly swatting back anything that came his way like he does every weekend to the innumerable volleys of phone numbers and underwear that gets thrown his direction. This was an embarrassingly easy victory for the steamrolling Wombats.

By the third set, the dream was over. The Wombats were simply outclassed by the sheer arsey theatrics of the flukey Salvies and were defeated. It was cruel and unfair. While the Wombats were playing the percentages game, carefully crafting solid plays like Bayls' diving one handed dig, followed by a spread-eagled kick, the ESLF mob were fluking unconventional dig, set, spike plays. This was the kind of tactics not found in the coaching manual and as such, the Wombats were powerless to stop it.

The 4th set was a similar affair, except the umpire had taken incompetence to the next level. It's in the Wombats code of ethics never to question the umpiring, as all it does is make you appear to be a bitter loser, clutching at excuses for poor performance. Having said that, the umpiring was disgraceful and was without doubt responsible for costing the Wombats the game, if not the season. Without harping on it, the umpire was terrible. Like a blind Dirty Sanchez, swaying like Ray Charles and "imagining" what was happening in his blissful universe of darkness, the umpire called them as he saw them, which was quite clearly, not very clearly. Add to this the fact that the Bats were SHAFTED out of their freebie 3 points per game for scoring on their off week, and it adds up to a depressingly feeble display of umpiring buffoonery.

After the game, Wombats team captain Damo offered this to the waiting Press:

"Yeah, nah, we know we're a bit out of form at the moment, but we'll come back. We've had a tough draw so far, and it's a credit to the boys that we've played as hard as we have. We'll take a lot away from tonight, and rebuild for next week. We're just taking it one game at a time. We're happy to get the one point. It's a team building experience. It's just a credit to the boys that we done so well."

So, having dispensed with the tedium of the game, it was off to the Ed for a few cleansing after-game Pales. Sadly the bartender at the Ed was a 13 year old Rastafarian, minus the tea cosy. Clearly an ex-volleyball umpire, he seemed oblivious to all at the bar except for a bevvy of tidy units peering doe-eyes and perky-breasted into the bar from the outside area. Captivated by the spectacle, it was several long minutes before any players could line up a soothing pint.

However, unlike the terminally ill, good things come to those who wait and thus with time all participants had settled back with a foaming tankard of Coopers' goodness. Slaking their hard earned thirsts, both units then kicked back with a few games of pool before spending the remainder of the night gathered around the Oracle of Prattitude, listening in dazed wonder at his tales from the dark side.