110811: No byes, does anybody know what that means anymore?

110804: 4-3 loss to the Annual in a loser’s semi final
DC, CG, JH, TK, TW, TH(MOM)

110729: Beach Box Poker

110828: 4-4 Loss to ??
DC(MOM), CG, TW, CB, RH, JH, TH

-The Disgrace
FIDDLER ON THE FUCKING ROOF, I’m taking the above incidents in the order they appear so the major angriness can come out and then we’ll get on to the good times, so like I said FIDDLER ON THE FUCKING ROOF, that’s what it felt like to be the only one with my balls on the table when every other Nanna walked away to get their nuts buffed in private, there I was all my mess downstairs hanging out with a grin on my face like the kid a primary school whose just told the classroom his crack is caked with unwashed dags and gets not the: “oh that happens to me all the time”, or “this underlines the importance of correct rectal hygeine” with a friendly smile and a pat on the shoulder type responses that one expects from one’s brothers in arms, but rather the room looks at him like he’s just professed his deep and undying desire to skull fuck little baby kittens and that’s the best possible thing in the world – THAT’S HOW I FELT GODDAMNIT NO BYES USED TO MEAN SOMETHING!!!!

-The Other Disgrace
Loser’s semi finals. Who. Gives. A. Shit? Well we all jolly well should because if we keep going down to those dickless phase-wannabes we’re gonna need a mjor skin graft to repair our knees and a high pressure water cleaner to get all the dick sauce off our faces. And we don’t want to be remembered as kneeless blowhards with you-know-what caked inches deep all over our features. I know it was a close game, I know it could have gone either way, I know we played well, but fuck all that shit I want to win, we got to get back that winning edge, the fucking hunger and desire. Step up. Take responsiblity. Make everything you do out there count. And fuckingwell own any bitch who dares step to us.

-The NOT Disgrace
I tell you what, if the comp was about having a good time with your brothers we would smash any bastard out there. We’d be the Manchester U and Barca of that shit combined. I’m telling you if Charlie Sheen called Rob Lowe, fucking that President of Italy with the ‘bunga bunga’ parties, Don Simpson, goddamned the whole of Mötley Crüe from their prime in the early 90s and had a beach box poker night – and I don’t care that they have Heidi Fleiss on speed dial, or that guy Johnny Depp play’s in the movie “Blow” backing dump trucks of yayo up to the beach box, and all the midgets and the cheese sauce and the vapourisers from “Bored to Death – they wouldn’t have done it as good as we did it. It. Was. Outstanding. And I commend every Nanna for making it so. Military like precision in maximising the amount of time having the finest of times.

-Something else
There was another game – Cock the Hammer said it all – perhaps a limerick:

There once was a team ‘o’ so brown
On the Annual they always went down
The Coach he did roar
“NOT ANY MORE!
It’s their turn on our jizz to drown”