Perplexees,
Eschewed the free ticket on offer and decided against attending the ground on a bitterly cold night with the teeth of a sou'westerly gale biting deep into the top-deck of the gods in the Brewongle stand, where the freebies were located.
Known as "the shivering seats".
Would have caught me death.
Sent my youngest child instead.
Others who did manage to attend noted, what with a rugby union match also being played simultaneously next door at the SFS, getting to and from the ground was a "complete and utter nightmare".
They also noted that the on-ground services were in a "schemozzle", with beer queues as long as 20 minutes.
Forget it if you wanted a pie.
And why did the game start, they ask, at the very silly time of 7.50pm, and so didn't finish much before 11?
Have the barking mad schedulers ever tried to get out of the Sydney CBD at that time of a regular Friday night, let alone when you add an extra 45 thousand or so footy fans into the mix?
Seems they do everything to deter even potential freeloaders from going to the game, in the hope that you stay home glued to the crystal bucket with Son of Robbie continually barking out at you from the TV screen telling you to put a bet on.
"Crazy" seemed to be the common word of choice to describe the whole experience.
After the first quarter, which featured no less than 15 goals, one of my spies at the ground sent through a telegraph message reading: "a goal from every centre ball up! they be crazy!".
Another pushed through "1st qtr: Crazier than Crazy Craves!"
Crazy is the word.
You'd see any number of games where that many goals wouldn't be scored in the entire match.
The Swans were asking for trouble playing that way; defence didn't come into it as Geelong in their trademark fashion had loose men everywhere.
The Cats knew they had them sucked in, and had all the answers if Sydney wanted to play the game their way.
No one, it appears, could hear the coach screaming "man up! man up!" from the home bench.
Crazy.
After all that, the half time consensus among the onlookers seemed to be that the team who had the most legs that lastest the longest would win.
And so it came to pass.
Sydney were simply outplayed and outclassed in the Champo getting seven goals kicked on them, and despite a good finish in the last, there was to be no brilliant comeback, with the fat lady singing early and loud from the top of the Paddington End construction site.
In the denoument, they didn't get beaten by much, but of course the scoreboard doesn't lie, nor care by how many; a point will do.
SC Horse singled out, unfairly for mine, Sam Reid for special attention in the Sunday fishwraps, saying his poor form is "a major worry".
There's no doubt Sam is suffering from a lack of confidence, but maybe the coach has forgotten that they were telling the bean-pole all last season, if he would only listen to them, that he could make a really good full-forward, but then eventually gave up, and signed Tippett instead.
Crazy.
The Crows turn-coat who's been characterised as a dirty rotten scoundrel in Adelaide is eligible to play in Round 14 v Carlton at home - having just missed, by a fortuitous scheduling quirk, both crazy road trips to Adelaide, a fortnight apart.
Little wonder Reid is somewhat downcast, just from feeling the hot breath of Tipsy Tippett down his neck, which is no fault of his own.
Fancy having that on yr back.
At Saturday morning smoko down at the magic waters at Bronte, they would all have been gazing out over the Tasman Sea, as Longmire tugged at his forelock, given that they'll have to cross The Ditch sometime this week to play on Thursday afternoon in Wellington.
In the full knowledge that they can't afford to come back from there empty-handed, without the inaugral Cake Tin Cup sitting next to the Club Chairman on the flight home, in a first class seat.
SYDNEY: 8.1, 10.3, 11.6, 16.7 (103). Goals: McVeigh 3, Malceski 2, Goodes 2, Bolton 2, Hannebery 2, Reid, Roberts-Thompson, Pyke, McGlynn, Kennedy.
GEELONG: 7.2, 9.4, 16.7, 19.10 (124). Goals: Motlop 3, Hawkins 3, Chapman 2, Taylor 2, Stokes 2, Horlin-Smith, Podsiadly, Smedts, Johnson, Selwood, Hunt, Christensen.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 31,060.
Shuffled into the Front Bar at The Local on Monday morning, just to check the word on the street.
The small-time drug dealers & hucksters were lamenting the well known phenomenon in their trade - no one seems to want to buy on a cold, wet weekend.
Ah well.
Too bad.
The Brown Bros, knowing they would be in for a fair ribbing when they got around to fixing a few footpaths for the council, were rather sheepish after NZ went down 32-12 to AUS in the rugby league "Anzac Test Match".
So, being at my magnanimous best, slapped them on their hugely broad shoulders with commiserations, and was promptly offered a draft from their jug, with a "ah yep, no worry bru, always next time, eh, bru?"
Never one to be afraid of or shy away from selling my soul for a free beer.
Found The Philosopher in his usual corner; well aware that the Swans had fallen at the first hurdle in their opening encounter against a half-way decent side, he poked his bony finger at that day's yarn on the back page of the fishwrap that suggested The Great Benji Marshall's bung toe does not look like getting any better any time soon and he may be out of the Balmain line up for longer than the expected six weeks, which could well be a season-killer.
He grunted, and mumbled "I worry about my pessimism, and the fact that maybe I'm administering the last rites too early..." before his voice trailed away and he nodded for another glass of this week's favoured tipple.
As the barmaid fixed him a Manhattan, she said "Aaww...don't worry about it Prof. Pessimism is good. You are vindicated if it all goes to shit and you are proved right, but unlike optimism, you can also be downright delighted if you are proved wrong".
WESTS TIGERS: Bye.[Representative Weekend].
