Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Shaun Hampson
Shaun Hampson, a dopey dope-smoker with his hand on a hammer and his eye on your unguarded cranium, can run really awkwardly and for short distances with a hammer and with a gait that'll have you wondering how to escape with your life.
The Hair: just another day in paradise, for you and me. Brushes with a severed hand. The crowning glory of his inherent ugliness. Can't pretend. Any longer. All over the shopfront. Wears it in a bun. Some on his head when coming through the canal.
The Teeth: keeps them under his hat. Sharpens to make a point. Defiles his vaccum. Sucks them at will. Pushed them out with his word-articulator. Bites down when not to. Said to hurt. Not like that. That's the stuff. What are you stopping for? Gets lots of hits.
The Skin: folds it up and keeps it under the armpit. Wears pretty thin. Burns in the muddle of the day. Under the hot sin. Carries it around. Wears it well. Strikes a cord over your head. Wraps it around. Pulls it tight. Carries it around over the shoulder. Brags.
Mark Philippoussis says: "I first realised that there was something special about me when I could hit a small object really hard and in the vicinity of where I wanted. After that, I had no qualms about thinking that when a women said "no" she really meant "unless you can get me to leave my drink unguarded." It turned out she was right."
