I SUPPOSE you’ve been wondering where I am.
It started at training before the Geelong game. Ross called me over. As you know he talks at bit funny.
“Oval full of Cats.
“Don’t want you out there.
“Want to give you a rest.”
Micky Barlow calls him dot-point Lyon… but not out loud.
I was a little bit upset that Ross didn’t trust me to be disciplined around a whole lot of stupid Cats but missing out on going to Geelong isn’t that bad. I watched the game at Pav’s place with Micky Barlow, Barra Mundy and Big Sandi. ‘Half the team is in this bloody lounge room,’ I thought but I didn’t say anything. The boys tried hard but it was a horrible game. ‘Why do they play AFL games in country towns?’ I thought but I didn’t say anything.
Back at training I started to feel sore. Jeff Boyle, the physio, said there was something wrong with my hammy.
“Hammy,” I thought, “Yumm.”
“Max Rooke from the Cats went over to Europe somewhere and got some calf’s blood or something injected into his hammy,” Jeff said.
“Calf’s blood,” I thought, “Yumm.”
Next thing I knew I was on a plane with mum and dad heading for Europe somewhere.
“I know something better that calf’s blood,” mum said.
We went to France to start my recovery.
The photo shows me outside the hospital.
All elite athlete need supportive parents.