October 10, 2013 by The Sweetest Plum
Forget Lance Franklin, this is the biggest footy story of the year.
Remember when Majak Daw (or “Mad’ Jack Daw as he would have been called in the ’50’s) played, oh I don’t know, two or three games in the middle of this year? Everyone was first confused, but then thought the confusion might reflect a deep inner racism so they started gushing awkwardly about his physique. And then Majak couldn’t kick any goals and didn’t play for the rest of the year. Just great stuff. What the game’s all about. It’s the future. And the drafting pipeline this opens up to Sudan; the mind boggles.
I’m tipping a Sudanese expansion team in 2019 who will snatch the then triple Coleman medalist Majak, on a 12-year $24 million contract. At which time Andrew Demetriou will be named King of Sudan and rule his league from an palatial estate overlooking vast desserts and oceans of blood, where he will walk around his marbled corridors oiled and naked, except for the skin of a hyena as a scarf, and force his servants to say how they revere fatties like him, not ripped show ponies like Majak Daw. Meanwhile, Lance Franklin will be killed when, after several months out of the game receiving MRI’s to reveal the cause of a recurring nostril strain, he tries to balance a giant ecstasy pill on the end of his now fully tattooed and constantly erect penis, and falls from his rooftop pool landing on a small Sudanese boy floors below. The boy survives and is offered Adrian Anderson’s job as compensation. The boy rejects the offer and after retaining Liam Pickering’s services, whom he met in the line to do coke at Buddy’s funeral, nominates Greater Western Sydney as his preferred destination. With no football experience and only 9-years-old, the Giants of course snap him up, offering $1.1 million a season over a cautious eight years.
And from there we will see yet another chosen one lead us to a brave new frontier. But we must work together to achieve this utopia, it won’t all be smooth sailing. There will be an awkward moment in 2015 when just as this grand plan is in its infancy, Prime Minister Tony Abbott, during a surf life saving demonstration will force Majak Daw into an inflatable rescue boat and waving a handgun the whole way, take him two thirds of the way to Thailand. It is only his little lifesaving cap blowing off in a squall that finally breaks Tony’s concentration. But this is just a hitch, and Tony is able to explain his way out of the blunder by claiming he was distracted and confused, his mind overloaded with images of his daughters naked, jiggling breasts. Which, of course, appeases the nation. Until they remember one of his daughters, the quiet one, is on trial for a double homicide committed in a Westfield. When Tony is asked about this he quips, “Well…ahhh…well…ahhh…well…ahhh…it’s…ahhh…always …ahhh…the…ahhh…quiet ones…ahhh…you…ahhh…have to watch.” After which he laughs, punches Julie Bishop in the stomach (to which she vomits, then laughs) and is re-elected as leader of this great, great country.
And Majak gets down to the important business of kicking goals.