From the vault

Was perusing another site I frequented many years ago before ESB and found this post I did on Mundine-Kessler, thought it may be of interest.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Anthony Mundine last night spetacularly lost in his latest attempt to win a world title to Dane Mikkel Kessler.
The fight went the distance but Kessler was rarely troubled, winning by 3 points, 4 and 12 on the judges cards.
Its been awhile since I've attended a fight at my local watering hole and now I remember why. To the jerk who from the fourth round on kept screaming 'Chocos wearing him down'...mate, landing two jabs a round while getting pummeled along the ropes isn't wearing anybody down in my book. Was just about to wager him a $50 until the guy next to me beat me to it.
Saw some of the best 80s haircuts in history amongst my fellow patrons. Felt out of place in the jeans I had purchased this decade.
Only dissapointment was not seeing Kessler burying his fist in Mundines enormously big mouth.
Belated congratulations also to Ricky Hatton, conquerer of the mighty Kostya Tszyu, who not only won but also showed to how to win with class. A deserved champion.

On a completely unrelated topic, heres my version of a Xmas work do in 2005.

Its 1am. I just got home. Time to reflect on my night out.

Started with me getting into the city with my twin girls in tow. Missed the last free bus service by 5 minutes but luckily another was along soon and the bus driver didnt charge us a fare. While Perths transport system is limited, its on time pretty much all the time and fairly clean. I don't miss the trains stopping between Richmond and Flinders St for 5 minutes while they get their sh** together.

Walked the last 500 metres there, ran into the secretary who apparantly has some special piercings in special places. Made a mental note (again) about her. Free entry, good. To the creche to drop off the kids but our names aren't on the list. Not good. So proceed to the Golden Nugget bar for the work do, after the secretary walks us up 6 flights of stairs trying to find the room she was at for last weeks party. Not such a thinker.

Into the room, massive crowd, seems theres around six or seven companys sharing the xmas spirit. Having just started with this company I don't know too many people so I find a table near to some of my crew and grab the staple diet of race clubs everywhere, roast. Then the receptionist comes over, well on the way at 7pm. Instantly falls in love with my girls and gets outraged when she hears they can get into the creche. Grabs me by the hand and with a bottle of wine in the other, we go back to the creche to see what she can arrange.

Half an hour of vigorous argument and the poor child care worker backs down and lets my two in. Maybe it was the drunken swaying of the receptionist that won her over or the colorful language in font of a bunch of 6-10 year olds. Anyhow, I'm free for two hours and the lingering stares from the receptionist plus the blurted admission of "I'm fu@king clucky' makes me think I may have a chance. Head back to the bar for a couple of drinks.
By this stage everyone is well on their way, and its then I notice that Woodstock bourbon cans seem to be the drink of choice.

Now I'm on beer as the company is paying for it but did I miss a meeting? When did drinking Woodstock in public become trendy? Dont get me wrong, I drink the stuff, am having one right now but always at home and always hide the cans in the bin as soon as I'm done. Its cheap and nasty but does the job. But for a night out? Please...

Have a bet, halfway through the race I realise betting on the horse towing a buggy with pink wheels probably wasn't the smartest thing. Comes last.
The other receptionist comes over, all tits and arse with said wobblers providing impossible not to notice. Have to concentrate hard not to talk to her tits. Meanwhile other receptionist has spotted me and is back, with 3 or 4 drunk guys in her wake sniffing around, awaiting their chance.
More drinks, free beer is always good. DJ is playing the hits of 1989 to a vacant dance floor.

Getting towards the pick up time for the kids so I excuse myself but drunk receptionist wants to come with me. Walking towards the creche, with her in tow and her bottle of wine and language that would make a sailor blush. The crowd actually parts as we move through it. Some bikie types take interest in her but I keep us moving and try to get a word in, which is impossible. Girls are happy to see me but puzzled by receptionist, Louise saying "Shes had too much to drink". Mental note. When a six year old knows you're drunk, time to stop. But not our receptionist.

Back to the do, the girls amuse themselves by collecting *******s and xmas hats. Have one final bet that leads all the way and wins, pays $8.90 so I'm happy. Outside for a smoke where once again receptionist joins me along with her cute friend. Making small talk when one of the other sniffers approaches. Asks about her kids, and if we're related. Friend laughs at crap enquiry.

I'm bored, realising the effort of shovelling receptionist into taxi with kids is not worth it. We leave at 11pm with receptionist slurring I love yous at kids and demanding hugs which force my kids to seek shelter in the bleachers. To the taxi rank.

There is a big difference between Perth and Melbourne. Not once in Melbourne have I ever had to wait or a taxi after such a big event. I mean, your an idiot if you expect a can after a odi or the footy. But its the trots, so how long would it take? One hour later, after seeing four taxis arrive we're still waiting. Its midnight. Getting ugly. Kids are cold, and even people in their state are ptiying us. Except of course for the brazen blonde who thinks she can talk her way to the front of the queue, cos shes blonde dammit.

Second in line when receptionist, whos been in queue for half an hour and hasn't noticed us, spots us. Advances, demands hug from kids, is rebuffed and promptly lays down on footpath for a nap. Doesn't stop about six guys trying to pick her up. And I don't mean assist her up.
"Shes really drunk" says Emma. My kids aren't dumb.

Then some drunk pom comes up, full of love. Keeps slurring "Its yours, 2006...its all yours". Think he's referring to the World Cup. Spots my kids. Oh oh.
"You...you...your doing it...you got kids...(unintelligible)...your a father...I'm having a kid" Shows me a pic of a ultrasound from his wallet. Congratulate him and send him on his way, and then watch as he unsuccesfully trys to pick up 5 girls in the next 15 minutes.

A taxi comes and an old couple is in front of us and going the wrong direction but gratefully allow us in and dont mind going 10kms out of their way. The crowd cheers, the girls have won them over and I depart in a hail of xmas cheer and thumbs up. Mental note. Wonder if I can use them to get quicker entry into nightclubs.

Home and girls fall asleep. TV on and I'm greeted by HotDogs with a picture on the screen with the game of how many circles are there? Call after call get it wrong, and despite this generations Daryl Somers saying its over 20, the next ten callers guess, you guessed it, numbers under 20.
Crack open a Woodstock, its safe, no-one can see me here, and reflect.

Man I love Xmas staff parties...

 

Sometimes I even make myself laugh. Here I am talking about an ex girlfriend, I'd actually forgotten about this...

This is a girl who I nicknamed the log, as thats how responsive she was.
Once, after yet again spending a couple of hours with her and not getting much back in return, she looked into my eyes and said 'Talk dirty to me'.
Covered in sweat, exhausted, wishing I'd stayed home for a wank, I'd had enough.
I held her gently, looked into her eyes and said


"Dirty kitchen floor"


That was the last time we were together.