The Macedonian Marvel, 1990 Grand Final, Collingwood v Essendon
That the best Macedonian since Alexander the Greek played most of his careering down a hill with perfect balance, exsquisite poise, elegant utilitarianism, and sharp eyes is a testament to smoking marijuana or eating carrots.
That Alex ate carrots is as a given as it is that Mac the Marvel smoked them in the big one between the Woods with the Bongers. That he did so with only a few touches of the leathery thing he carried about his crotch with aplomb is yet more proof of his habits.
On that fine day when the drought broke, The Macadamian Marble, in the pressure cooker of a terse situation, made silk fom a pug's ear with a couple of lovely sausage rolls. It was all that his army needed to get the juggernaut rolling to their flag.
It couldn't have happened to a finer fellow than Mac the Marve. He played much of his days in the heavy traffic after his mother threw the ball on the autobahn and told him to felch. There he was a minefielder with the best of them; collecting others' possessions to appease his hobbit.
Only later did he assume the role of a smack forward and he did so with rare precision. Nailing gold through the eyes of a camel on a regular bias. Potshots that stilt cause Manichaen rainbows to peal out across the blue skies. If memory scares me correctly, twice was all his mop needed to clean up the filthy smallgoods.
That Alex ate carrots is as a given as it is that Mac the Marvel smoked them in the big one between the Woods with the Bongers. That he did so with only a few touches of the leathery thing he carried about his crotch with aplomb is yet more proof of his habits.
On that fine day when the drought broke, The Macadamian Marble, in the pressure cooker of a terse situation, made silk fom a pug's ear with a couple of lovely sausage rolls. It was all that his army needed to get the juggernaut rolling to their flag.
It couldn't have happened to a finer fellow than Mac the Marve. He played much of his days in the heavy traffic after his mother threw the ball on the autobahn and told him to felch. There he was a minefielder with the best of them; collecting others' possessions to appease his hobbit.
Only later did he assume the role of a smack forward and he did so with rare precision. Nailing gold through the eyes of a camel on a regular bias. Potshots that stilt cause Manichaen rainbows to peal out across the blue skies. If memory scares me correctly, twice was all his mop needed to clean up the filthy smallgoods.
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