idle wrote:
Its fun to come here and read the comments and reply to them, but I'm dead set sold on the fact we are finished as a club.
When the salary cap saga hit and the resulting penalties, I thought fair enough, we'll cop that on the chin and move on in due coarse.
20 years later, bottom of the ladder, needing to rebuild, a list that doesn't function, a coach who's got until the end of this season, and a board that's without a doubt the worst in the business.
In this cut throat industry competing against 17 other clubs, we are finished.
Its only a matter of time, slowly slowly we'll take one step forward and two steps back. One year we'll finish 12th, the next we'll finish 10th, the year after we'll finish 11th, and up and down we'll go, never amounting to anything but a middle tier club.
As the years pass and the fans dwindle away, we'll slowly rot until our only option is to merge or fold.
A once great proud club no longer. The team everyone hates and loves to beat, the yard stick of the competition.
No one can tell me its not going to end this way. 20 years have passed, and we are nowhere. The board will stay, the merry-go-round of cashed up clueless imbeciles will pass on their privilege to the next generation of cashed up clueless imbeciles until they themselves don't want to be associated with the losers we've become. There's no bragging rights when the organisation you run is nothing but a failure.
Then the merge or fold letter will be sent to whatever members we have left. The AFL will give us a bone for being a good dog and prop us up and the Tasmanian Blues will win their first flag in 45 years ...
O Captain! My Captain!
By Walt Whitman
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
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