Candles have been lit. Prayers whispered. Curses laid. Omens clutched.
The end is nigh, or the rapture? We’ll see.
Around town vast vats of lunatic soup are chilling for the vile hordes.
Cheap defibrillators are leaking black smoke in their chargers.
Even the birds are behaving strangely. Once-proud magpies have become flapping, diabetic sacks of Coles three star mince from all the love they’re getting.
(Mine are eating loin, though I’m sure I ordered lion.)
Collingwood is the state’s last hope, and it’s biggest worry.
A Pies grand final cranks the crazy up beautifully.
This year is already nuts.
A kidney won’t get you a ticket, although several quality organs are still available on the Magpie socials. I cancelled my op and got Saturday morning back.
People say they are willing to pay anything, and they must be.
The AFL has scalped all its magic tickets. The Inner Sanctum ones, with a nice feed and a topless massage from Gil, you’d expect, cost $5810. Gone, like Carton.
The easiest way to get in now is to become a member of Kiss. Fans will be getting tongue extensions instead.
While Blues and Dees chumps agonise whether to cheer for the Pies and maybe burst into flames, or just whisper Carna Lions in a dark corner, the Magpie faithful are fairly frothing with expectation.
We have faith. The world is still against us, but it is losing!
The league came for Bruz and belted itself in the head.
They broke young Daics leg – but it regrew better!
Carlton got back in the bin.
And with 28 degrees tipped, all that time DeGoey spends in Bali is inspired training now.
The stars are aligned. The voodoo is strong!
Last week’s win was Fly McRae’s 50th Pies game and 50th birthday.
Saturday will be 1600 wins and a 16th flag under our darling 16th coach.
Nostradamus tipped us, I bet.
Monday night’s mugging was on every Collingwood supporter’s Brownlow Bingo card. A grief support service ad ran on Seven with Daics still ahead. They knew!
But the last time a Pies player was cheated into third in the Brownlow, we won the flag. And the time before that too! Ha!
And Lachie Neale will be tired and sore from all the butt kissing and phone calls.
He will be regretting he has so many back-slapping friends.
That ends, of course, when he gets off the plane.
Melbourne is turning monochrome – more black around if that’s even possible?
In Sydney Rd, a dentist has the black and white balloons out. Lions fans expecting anaesthetic might be disappointed.
In these end times, there are more rumours and omens than Ticketek excuses.
Magpies just got voted Australia’s favourite bird, despite all the swoopy stuff.
There’s talk Kiss will turn up in black and white makeup!
The skipper’s dad is presenting the cup. Aww.
And with Matt Stevic umpiring his 57th final, there is an unconfirmed rumour he might finally give us a free. Oooh.
Anything is possible. This is a Collingwood grand final!
Coxy could get sent off for jumper abuse again? Pixifoto might take the goal cameras back? Kiss could burn down? BT might say something positive?
Through 18 mad months, 20 heart-stoppers and a point loss in a prelim, we have clung to a dream with fingers gnawed bloody. We can’t take it much more.
Thankfully, we Woods are confident of a win, albeit in double-extra time after a blurred point, missed free, interchange glitch, fashion offence and whatever other, new craziness the ump injects in all the excitement. (Yes, Matty Stevic. I’m taking to you!)
Unless Brissie takes Qantas and ends up in Perth, it will finally be over Saturday afternoon anyway – bar the shouting.
Shouting is mandated in the Magpies’ song, and if you don’t know the words now, you will next week.
May the best team win.
I think we all know who that is.
TERRY BROWN worked for many years as a general reporter, columnist and colour writer at The Sun and Herald Sun. He is now an academic lecturing in journalism and is an unpublished novelist.