“It’s a jungle out there, David,” Raiders CEO Don Furner said, as he placed a hessian bag over his brother’s head and secured it around the neck with rope. The man could not struggle against the bag, as his hand and wrists were also tied tightly. “Don’t try to stop those men in green,” he added, patted his brother on the shoulder, and pushed the supermarket trolley that the once-coach of the Canberra Raiders was sitting in down the hill, and towards Lake Burley Griffin. The trolley hit a large swan and flipped, spectacularly catapulting David Furner into the murky depths.
“Hey Sandor, do you have a piece of gum, bra?” Blake Ferguson asked his team mate.
“Sure bra,” the man they called ‘Dor’ replied. “I’ve got some right here.” Dor opened his sports bag and pulled out a syringe. He passed it to Blake.
“That’s the bidness right there,” Ferguson said, almost salivating. He says ‘bidness’ because he doesn’t actually understand that the word is ‘business’. He held the syringe to his neck and injected the contents into a thick vein, like they do in futuristic movies about drugs. “Minty fresh, bra.”
Just at that moment, Terry Campese said from behind them, “Hey did you guys have some chewing gum? I have a big date with a highly respectable girl who loves me for who I am and not because I am a big time sports star tonight, and I want my breath to be fresh.”
“Sorry bra, that was the last piece,” Sandor replied. He shared a knowing look with Ferguson.
“Yeah bra.” Ferguson added, with the concentration of a person who is about a sentence behind everyone else. “That was the last piece.” Both Sandor and Ferguson broke down with laughter at their private joke.
Terry Campese’s brow furrowed – something was definitely strange here, and it might have had something to do with the syringe hanging out of Ferguson’s neck.
Ferguson’s phone beeped next to him – it was a message from Dor.
Fuk m8 there onto us bra.
He started to sweat. He was on his fortieth chance with the Raiders, and the management had always said that the 41st infraction was definitely going to be the last. He quickly Googled ‘infraction’ again, just to ensure that the definition hadn’t changed since last week (it hadn’t), then hurriedly went around his apartment, closing the curtains and turning off the lights. If what Sandor had said was true, the Raiders would definitely be looking for him.
His phone rang again, and Ferguson’s mouth went dry. Ironically, he really wanted a piece of gum. The phone call was from the Raiders. Ferguson sat in the dark, ignoring the constant ringing. Luckily his ring tone was Robin Thicke’s hit song “Blurred Lines”, so he didn’t really mind, and by the third time around, he had forgotten why he was ignoring calls to start with.
I’m opting for Brissy to beat the Knights, just because I don’t think I’ve actually watched a Newcastle game this year, and don’t believe that they actually exist. I am picking a Doggies win over the Panthers, but am really not confident, and reckon an upset is on the cards. I don’t trust the Cowboys to continue their streak, and it took a LOT for me to pick the Sharkies there. They’d better not let me down. I honestly want to watch the Eels vs the Dragons on Monday night – I might even buy Foxtel just for the occasion. I can’t believe how shit that game is going to be.
Brisbane Broncos vs Newcastle Knights
Canterbury Bulldogs vs Penrith Panthers
Cronulla Sharks vs Nth Queensland Cowboys
Wests Tigers vs South Sydney Rabbitohs
Sydney Roosters vs Gold Coast Titans
Manly Sea Eagles vs Melbourne Storm
Parramatta Eels vs St George Illawarra Dragons
Game of the Round
New Zealand Warriors vs Canberra Raiders
It has been a fucking interesting year/week for the Raiders, as two more high-profile players have been given the arse. As per the brilliant outline for the next Underbelly series above (and seriously, it’s better than Squizzy; not that I [or anyone] has watched any of that shit), Sandor Earl has proven positive to taking some kind of gamma radiation pill in the hope that it would turn him into the Hulk, and has apparently been throwing it around to anyone who wants it. I would, but I’m saving myself for a radioactive spider bite. Blake Ferguson has decided not to attend training or answer his phone, and should probably start looking for another club as soon as he can find the light switch in his house. But in all seriousness, the NRL should deregister him so he doesn’t keep thinking that it’s acceptable to piss in the face of (anyone) the club that gives him chances to play football and not get arrested for being a massive dickhead. Because he’ll do it again next year to whichever stupid bastard reckons they’ve helped him to “turn a corner” or “earn his halo” or “bury his murdered hookers.” Fuck Ferguson. Fuck you, you fucking fuck.
With Carney, Dugan, Earl and now Ferguson off the cards in recent memory, it takes the number of tattoos within the club from 18,002,352 to about six. So that’s not bad.
Warriors to win.
Sandor Earl's guilty tweet. I would have used a Grumpy Cat meme myself: