Date unknown, a football ground, Melbourne, Australia
Was it seventy points we were up by at half time? Granty, seventy points? Yeah. We’ve lost by three. Go and f*** yourselves fellas. I could rant and rave. I could rant and rave but I realised today that I am coaching a s*** football team. Today - today’s the day, not the day the teddy bear’s had their picnic, it was the day I realised I was coaching a bunch of blokes that aren’t - aren’t there? Physically, I don’t think we’re there. Mentally I don’t think we’re there. And it’s doing my f***en head in! I put the f***en time in each week, I’ll get Fammo to do the videos, I get bananas, I get lollies, I get Solo ... shove the f***en Solo up yer a***!
Seriously! Don’t open the can. Shove it up your f***en a***! I’m f***en sick of it! Each week, I put in till there’s no more to f***en put. I put in and I’m sick of it. Ben Kildo, you’ve had fifty five touches, win the f***en hard ball you red head c***! Cammo! ... dunno if I like ya. I love ya! But do you love playing footy? Morro, I’ll back you to the hills every week, cos I’ve got ya here. I’ve got ya here and I f***en love ya. But get as a f***en goal ya c***! Ya f***en cost us the game! Go and root ya f***en mother! Cos yer shit! And we’ve lost! And you can all go f*** yourselves and next year I’m coaching St Albans.