Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Shaun Grigg
Shaun Grigg, always a bit of toe in hand, is an unnaturally footed bile-carrier. In your face. Up your bum. On your hammer. Weighs his position. Curries the bile. A bag of calcium architecture. Late on his feet. Armpits like the furry pits of you-know-where.
The Hair: non-descript. Too neat to be true. Anal as a head on a shoulder can be. Sideburns over the eyes' holes. Plays on the fringe. Good with numbers. Strong on the comb. Light on the product. Big on the scales with a bag of dead dogs' legs.
The Teeth: jaw at right-angles. Tingles when he sees you. Tinkles the ovaries. Vies for possessions. Mirthful of the things. Laughed so hard. Passed myself. Masticates in public. The jerks on you. Bruises towards the gum. Inhales food but doesn't smirk.
The Skin: folds are off the chart. Tinned in a can. No booby's bottom. Cracked with too much sin. Pales in a dark place. Braises easily. The scar's the limit. Robbed it. Smiles like a bucket of dead fish. Wears the thing out! Winks in the cold. Covers the rust.
John Laws says: "When I was a small boy, I would spend hours on the trampoline. When my turn was over, I would hang around the springs; unhook my bra and rub Alan Jones' face in my heaving and undeveloped femininity. So, yes, I know what you mean. I feel like I need to heave."
