Wiggo wrote:
The price of a pot of beer exceeding $2.50, the last time Bruce Samazan graced prime time television, the death of the Works Bar in Pizza Hut stores nation wide.
To say that this fair country has had it's setbacks in recent years, would be a gross underestimate. No-one, and I mean no-one loved to watch E-Street at the local Pizza Hut, whilst having a quiet Diamond Draught, forever being entertained by the resemblance of the soft serve to a big runny poo, than yours truly, Wiggo. As such, I vowed that I'd never let the historians get their kicks by inscribing another national tragedy into the archives, that being the Wiggo not notching up 100 games.
Far be it from me to say that the critics are wrong, the historians are now lining up outside Centrelink, having been told their services are not required as the official historian at the soon to be built Wiggins Museum, or that the consistently undervalued contracts handed to me have been proved erroneous......because, let's face it, these facts speak for themselves. How many drink cards has Patrick "just a shandy thanks, I've got a red nose and a beer gut to think of" Smith ever got in his time? What has history ever taught us, other than that Split Enz were a shit band? And everyone knows that the contract figures on the table were just what we wanted you to see anyway. Just wait for John Newcombe to pop up on late night TV flogging blocks of land at Wiggins Springs any day now.
Just the same, as of 3.30PM Sunday, Australia enters a new era of prosperity, Australians walk a few inches taller, and leopard skin g-strings never will be as popular. Simon Wiggins, 100 games. Just whisper it in your ear, it sounds uncomfortably arousing like an old family member in a sauna. If you, like me, find the prospect of that to be physically impossible, instead whisper it in the ear of a sexy lady at a watering hole near you, and old Simon will be damned if straight away, she isn't up on the bar, legs in the air, offering you... Never mind, I digress.
Ever since my days back in Tasmania, as a young student with the world at my feet, I often dreamed about how this day would come about. Yes, I will admit these dreams took second priority to my dreams of joining the police force at Mt. Thomas, and TV Week going spastic over the new, hot, sassy, young cops that have just arrived in Mt. Thomas, setting tongues a'wagging, as me and Ross Oakley formed a highly combustible, yet effective partnership, breaking hearts, cracking skulls, and solving mysteries at the Melbourne Show, where the Wacky Wizard is revealed to be more than what he really was. However, after an unfortunate incident with Lisa McCune in the late 90s, I came to the realisation that this wasn't going to occur, and set about fulfulling kid's dreams, as I set off on yet another one of my high flying marks, my place kicks, my flowing locks, my tight shorts, my game entrance theme song composed by 3/4 of the original line up of A Flock Of Seagulls that peaked at 80 on the Belgium heavy metal charts.
As a much better writer than you or I once wrote, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." (I think it was David Schwarz?), and I really think that there is no better way to sum up my career so far, mostly because that Julian Lennon bloke is dead and therefore no longer writing deep and meaningful lyrics. I could only be at one ground a week, whilst 7 other games compelled spectators to feel ripped off, and therefore less likely to buy me a Cosmopolitan after the game. And of course, the kids, can't forget the kids. Without my on field guidance to their fragile minds, they may have gone off and become Big Brother housemates or something. Just to reflect for a second on where these kids ended up, really does make me wish I didn't continually defraud the Starlight Foundation, but hey, anything to end the career of that fraud, "Mr." Starlight, right? Where do you think Trent Sporn ended up post-football?
I think I've proven throughout my time a number of things. Heath Ledger and that Olsen twin couldn't party all night with me, Brownlows are for flowers with blonde highlights, I'll never turn down a drink card, and that if I wanted to declare war on New Zealand, me, and my army of Wiggomaniacs, could do it at any time. As such, after the game, I'll head down to an RSL, have a $2.50 pot of beer, laugh at how stories from the Vietnam War pale in comparison to my TAC Cup stories, pop on an old DVD of E-Street, and maybe make my own Works, and reflect on 100 games that have never been played better in the history of the game.
I'm so hard right now.
Yours Truly,
Wiggo
Fantastic stuff WIGGO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That took me back....... ahhhh....... Bruce Samazan....... Mt. Thomas....... $2.50 pots........ Absolute gold.
Well done on the 100 games Wiggler, your effort when you have been given the chance has been second to none and you bleed for the club. Your attitude and they way you have gone about your football is a credit to the navy blue jumper and has set a great example for the kids despite all the tough times you've had to endure. Regardless of what anyone thinks of your ability, you are about to do what thousands of people can only ever dream of: Play 100 games in the sacred navy blue jumper.
Well done mate, you deserve it!!
Now let's get out there and smash the dogs for WIGGO!!!!!!!!
(oooo....oh yeah.....and Juddy 
) 
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