Ok so this post has 3 parts, my story, my strategy, and my advice to you all, mostly guys. 6ft, 25 years old black guy, slim build (used to be incredibly in shape), used to have more money than I knew what to do with, traveled, and pretty dry humor. Lives in Northeast USA.
My story So during lockdown, I matched with a couple girls while watching 90 day fiance. Met up with one (had fun, no sex, period), chemistry was on point, but trust and insecurities on her end killed it. Although she's always left the door open for me even as she flies to and from DC and SF frequently. Matched with another girl (2) who just rejoined tinder, her first day back, and we just clicked. Not going to lie, I was still playing the field, I assumed she was too because a lot of women from my experience do despite saying otherwise. Anyway, matched with a couple more, chemistry's there for most. Damn, having quality options is stressful as fuck as a guy. You go through weeks, months of drought, and boom, a bunch of women show up out of nowhere suddenly interested. If you don't pick one fast enough, they all drop you all at the same time, it's like they are all synced up, its soooo weird and unfair. Personally I don't know how some guys manage to have multiple people on rotation. It's like a full time job. Anyway girl 3 and I are planning a trip to LA and Phoenix deep into lockdown and then my money dries up from the stock market, I was really hoping NY would go down in flames and NVDA (Nividia, semiconductor company) would print gold. I timed it wrong and lost 90%. Girl 2 is even more interested in me now for some reason. We get really close. Turns out last guy really hurt her, and I was there at the right place and time, and listened. She ends up really trusting me. --I'm talking bout setting up joint investment accounts (she gave me her social security number, she could find out mine). She has access to the account which has all my money in the account. TD Ameritrade kept asking, dude are you sure you trust her lol, she could cash out and disappear with you're money. In this account, my profits have shot up. I'm a lot more conservative now that I know she can see my losses. --I'm talking bout, her offering to pay for everything to see me. --I'm talking bout her telling me when she found out she had a trust fund, the exact dollar amount, and when the split payments become available (27 yrs, 32 yrs, 37 yrs). She said just be honest and treat her good. --I'm talking bout her offering a 3sum with her female best friends who are all down. --I'm talking bout her offering her bank info and i'm like nahh i don't need it now lol (I made $1200 last monday on the stock market with nvda, I was complaining and asking if i can send her my profits so i don't overspend, she was like want my bank and routing info to wire it into. I was sooo taken back with how comfortable she is with me). Honestly, at this point, I really trust her. She's learned to compromise with my quirks (depression/lack of communication especially when I have a bad market day). I'm learning to deal with her very "real" life with some off the wall depression and other issues. She's the type of person you would have never guessed because they always seem so happy. We're not even in an official relationship... she's tried unsuccessfully by giving me ultimatums lol. She's kind of ok with it now, but I'm sure that'll change when covid fears go away.
Strategy Tinder Plus works in the sense that it puts you in front of new women before the avalanche of guys can penetrate her screen. You're basically paying for speed, options, and visibility. If you can afford it, boosts and super likes seem to work for me, less now than before. It speeds up matches as well.
Coffee Meets Bagel used to be the best OLD app 5 years ago but now they basically try to extract as much money out of guys as possible. For example, you can pay like $5 to send a girl a single rose pedal (6 i think completes an entire flower), but most women on the app often have over 100+ guys in line already, there's no guarantee she will even see you're grand gesture, or that she will match with you. 99% chance you lose all you're money.
Bumble had so much promise. As a guy we should all want bumble to succeed. They never will but we can dream. The problem with bumble is, after you swipe right on every women, you'll get 4 matches. The two woman you're least attracted/interested in will be the ones who message and put in real effort........... Maybe 1/2 you find attractive will send you a half ass hey message. Every. Single. Time. But usually they expire without a conversation going anywhere. I guess this is what a lot of women mean when they say quantity isn't always the best thing.
Hinge is pretty chill. A lot of women on the app surprisingly use it for hookups (please don't flood the app), a lot actually are open to some kind of relationships, it's refreshing. Not to sound like an asshole here but the app doesn't seem to have the most attractive base. I think it's largely where I am, because my god Pittsburgh is popping. As a normal guy, hinge may be you're best bet. I would pay a pretty penny to know what percentage of their base filters based on race and other characteristics but wouldn't admit it in person.
My advice This is going to go against what many people think but please don't give a fuck when you're on tinder or most of these apps. I feel like some of you are overthinking things a lot and stressing yourselves out. Find a good boilerplate message that isn't used to much, with fillers to swap out names, and you're on you're way. Claim ignorance if people say they've heard it before lol. I can't tell you just how many times coming in aggressive, not caring, or messaging with a tinge of assholeness has worked.
Keep you're bio short and simple. 5 things about yourself. 3-4 pics of yourself, 1 of you doing something or with friends. Steal (borrow) a dog. Claim you're terrible ex stole you're dog and xbox when ya'll split. Now you both have a common enemy (you're ex and her ex's). Shamelessly use everything to you're advantage. If you have a prestigious job, find a way to say it in you're profile. If you're in grad school, put that shit in, you've got vision and are going places! Put you're salary/income if you make a lot, trust me it works, if it's high enough for you're age and location, its the equivalent of saying you're a Harvard Alum, people sit up and take you slightly more seriously. Ex: $100k salary for a 22 yr old guy in Ohio is a flex. $150k for a 27 year old in SF? You might as well be homeless, $300k TC or GTFO (I'm joking, not really, coastal cities are expensive af).
Stop putting women on a pedestal, they are just people. Look we've all been there, especially if shes beautiful. But you would be surprised how much goodwill you get from some really attractive women for having the balls to approach, not say something stupid, not try to buy her, stand you're ground and not be a push over. For ex: I'll go out looking like a bum (it helps to have a Mercedes), approach a woman saying something dumb like, "let me guess, you are an overworked grad student?" If she's interested, she'll give you 20 seconds to shoot you're shot. Next thing you know, you're taking about her program, and how she just got back from xyz country, and has been in the peace corp or teach for america.
Don't be clingy. This one took me too long to understand. Say you meet someone you're interested in, the initial contact/conversation went well, don't linger. Give out you're contact, tell her to have fun with her friends and go do you. She will reach out and circle back if she's interested. If she's not, you at least got done whatever you wanted to and didn't waste you're time putting all you're eggs in one basket.
Honesty and directness does sometimes work.
Avoid people who don't want meetup within a week or two. The longer you spend talking without meeting, the greater the chance you'll never meet or you two won't work out. Honestly, if a woman want's to meet you, she will see you same day, and definitely same week. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying to you or is an outlier. Women who are extremely busy but interested will turn you down but will say I am free these days around these times. That's the key difference. If they aren't interested, they won't give you a chance. Chances are they're talking to someone else and or meeting up with another guy. Same rule applies during Covid. Seems like women in super liberal areas are the last holdouts. I remember complaining to my friend in Miami about women not wanting to meetup, she was confused because everyone in Miami gave 0 fucks, and were meeting up at bars/restaurants that everyone knew were open illegally. If you ask some women in DC and SF to meetup somewhere you'll get a lecture about how we're in a pandemic..... You do realize it takes at best 18 months to rush a drug, most usually take 10+ years before hitting the market. Are you really telling me you'll be the only person not meeting anyone for 18+ months while most of the country is going on as usual? (I disagree with how some southern states are handling covid/reopening).
Lastly dating for some guys in my opinion is wayyyy harder. But some of you complaining are a bit unbelievable. Like I sit back and think, man you white guys have it soo much easier than everyone else on these apps. Many women on these apps absolutely treat you guys better and prioritize over other groups. I've seen a run of the mill average white guy, getting bodies thrown at him, whereas say a black guy gets crickets. Unless said black guy embraces/fits the stereotype which is incredibly annoying. Or said black/latino/asian guy lives/visits an area where they are seen as a unicorn. For me, Newfoundland Canada, god's best kept secret gift to the world. Next is Tennessee, Iowa/South Dakota, small town America, and Bali.
submitted by That reminds me of a story.
I’m going cooped-up crazy. Shacky-wacky. Hotel doldrums have set in.
Yes, I know. Es and I just got back from a resounding tour of a shipbreaking yard in India.
Flew way above First Class.
Never had to even touch our luggage.
♫Oh, what fun it is to charter flights. Limos all the way. Hey! ♫.
But, the hotel bars here are paling quickly. Quiet. Too quiet. Same old, dull, dazed, and dormant crowd. The Expat population in Dubai is dwindling mightily. The COVID craziness is a madness that is taking a heavy toll. Everything’s shut down. Everyone’s staying at home.
I’m almost nostalgic for a good old Dubai 35 car pile-up and traffic jam.
Es sees that I’m in a quandary. She had quite a few friends here in Dubai. The ones I had have all left due to cratering oil prices or they’re what’s considered an ‘essential employee’, and thus unavailable.
“ROCK! QUIT YOUR PACING!” Es says in her most inimitable manner. “YOU’RE MAKING ME CRAZY!”
“A thousand pardons, my darling. But, Boditek. I suffer! Klytus, I’m bored. Bored out of my fucking mind. I can only write so much on the Precambrian Hydrocarbon reservoirs of Eastern Siberia. Television’s a bust, there’s no Netflix, even Pirate Bay is blocked here, and I’m going spare!” I whimper.
“Go then. Begone with thee. Go find a dark bar and grab a seat on Mahogany Ridge. You need a night off. Just take your fingers with so you won’t scare the locals. And be home before they open the borders. We want to be first in line when that happens” she says.
“By your command!”, I say, grab her around the waist, give her a spin, a quick smooch on the cheek, and pat on the backside before I hit the stairs in our suite in a flat-out gallop to retrieve my now charged digits from their charging port on my nightstand.
A few minutes later…
Stately, plump Dr. Rocknocker came from the stairhead bearing three incredibly expensive technologically-derived Kevlar-ed digits. He was clad in his finest Desert Fox chino shorts, freshly cleaned and oiled field boots, a new pair of jade Merino Rannoch Luxury Country Socks, best new
Hawaiian drinking shirt, a
Blasting technician T-shirt and black, recently blocked, Stetson.
He was so full of himself, that he actually stopped talking about his own self in the narrative in the third person.
“Esme? Darling? I’m off!” I say with a lilt in my voice and a cheeseburger in my pocket.
But that’s another story.
“You’re off, all right”, Es chuckles. “Now Rock, remember. This is the first time in a long time I’m letting you off the chain, out unsupervised among the general population. Don’t break anyone if you can avoid it and even if someone needs a quick killing, remember, you’re on vacation. OK?”
“Oh, my dear!” I chuckle and snicker, “You know me. I wouldn’t kill anyone here in Dubai. There’s no money in it.”
“Still. Best behavior?” She admonishes.
“I can’t guarantee anything, but I will try,” I reply.
“Pinkie promise?” she requests.
Damn. One of the few fingers of which left I have a natural set.
Now I can’t say that it was just a Kevlar-coated contract.
“But of course”, I say as we entwine pinkies. Hers nice, clean, and pink; mine keloidal, gnarled, and scarred.
Yeah, it about makes me retch. But Es sort of enjoys these silly things now and again.
I’m waiting in the hotel bar for my cab to arrive. I have a quick Long Island Iced Tea or three before I hit the streets. I’ve got this weird hankering for a sports bar. Don’t know why. I hate football, i.e., soccer, cricket, and those other weird forms of ball chasing they call sports over here.
But I yearn to be in a bar full of leather, hewn wood, and smoke. Attended by the smell of manly men drinking as they see fit.
In Dubai? Fat chance.
I ask my driver, who has just arrived, and who will be with me all night; if he minds me smoking, having a drink in a plain brown wrapper, and if he knows of a decent sports bar in Dubai.
No.
Nope.
Quantum Sports Bar.
“It’s sort of pricey”, he tells me.
My driver for the duration is one Roy Toisuta, an Indonesian chap who looks like he fell off a charm bracelet. In reality, I could make up three of him. But he’s affable, quick on the gas and bound to be a boon companion.
He is wiry in that whipsaw sort of kill-you-with-a-paperclip-1000-different-ways sort of manner. Like the human personification of a gaunt wolverine.
We’ll get along famously.
He tells me he doesn’t drink for whatever reason. He announces that he would wait for me out in the car while I go in and do whatever one does in a Sports Bar in Dubai for a few hours.
“Look, Roy”, I say, “I’m on retainer. C’mon in and I’ll buy you dinner and all the coffee, tea, or fizz water you could want. I just need someone non-judgmental. See, I have this affliction. I’m an alcohol-fueled carbon-based organism. I tend to drink a lot, but only to excess. You have any sort of problem with that?”
“Well, Rock”, he says, “As long as we’re being honest, I have no problem. The way I see it, the more you drink, the looser your wallet becomes.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to lay a small wager on that conclusion?” I ask, leerily in that strange way I have that makes Komodo Dragons gulp in disbelief.
“I’ll bet, after what you told me about your recent confinement, that I’ll be dragging and/or carrying you out of the bar tonight. “ he snickers, dreaming of my very loose wallet and its contents. “You’re going to be tying one on, I can see that.”
“You can see me. But you can’t
see my past” I think.
“Well, you’re not drinking, so what’s in it for me if I win?” I ask.
“A free driver for the next week?” he asks.
“Want to make it a month? I’m really, really thirsty.” I sneer.
“Make it a fortnight.”, he laughs. “Easiest money I’ve ever made. I can barely hold you back.”
“Deal”, as we shake hands. He notices my gloves for the first time.
“What’s that all about?” he asks.
“Industrial accident years ago. Not terribly pretty.” I say.
“Oh. OK. Ready to go?” He asks.
“Gentlemen”, I announce, “Forward. Drink!”
Roy accepts a cigar from one of my travel pocket humidors and we walk up to the entrance.
“You be who?” asks the doorman.
“Well, my good man, I am the
Motherfucking Pro from Dover, and this is my able-bodied companion, Kato”, I say in my most affected Elliott Gould imitation.
“What?” he asks trying to corral at least two functioning synapses.
“Pardons. I’m Dr. Rocknocker and this is my trusty driver, Roy.” I continue.
“Ah. What? Hmm? Who?” was the response.
“Oh, I am sorry. Which word confused you?” I asked, most deferentially.
“You trying to be smart?” he asks.
“Well, I reckoned that at least one of us should,” I replied.
He sat there and fumbled with that reply like a nun in a warm bathtub fumbles with a bar of soap. You know the type, she has hope in her soul…
As he struggles to come up with an answer, I offer him a cigar the likes of which I’m certain he’s never seen outside of a Hollywoo movie.
“Here, my good man. My card.” I say as I hand over a large example of the perfection of the tobacconist’s art.
He gratefully accepts the cigar and removes the rope barrier.
“Have yourself a good time, gents.” He says.
“Oh. We intend to”, I reply.
“Ever need anything, just ask for Sandeep” the towering Nepali remarks with a smile.
“Thanks. Have a night yourself…”, I reply and stuff another cigar in his shirt pocket for later.
He grins wide as Dubai Creek and just as brown. He shoots me a wide smile and a universal thumbs-up sign.
“Best to make friends rather than antagonize the locals”, I muse.
“You’re an odd bird, Doctor Rocknocker.” Roy chortles.
“Roy, it’s just ‘Rock’, OK? It’ll save both time and cuts down on CO2 exhalations. And I’m all for protecting the environment.” I smiled back.
Roy chewed on that one for most the rest of the night.
The Sports Bar was quiet. Fairly empty, with probably more wait-persons than patrons.
One particularly buxom specimen of the female side of the equation welcomed us in an overtly and obviously affected mien. She wanted to show us to a table that was within the sphere of her waitressy influence.
“No, thank you”, I said as I spied acres and acres of glistening unoccupied Mahogany with tens of unoccupied seats that both faced the long bar and the several large-screen televisions there.
Seemingly bereft of people to wait and prey upon, she ignored us roundly. To her financial detriment as we would all find out during the course of the evening.
I chose a likely looking seat at the bar and Roy joined me, cautiously, a seat or two away.
“I don’t bite, Roy”, I said.
“Social distancing”, he replied.
“Ah. Well, I have a fully functional immune system as well as the hardest working liver in the galaxy. I assure you I’m in no way communicable.” I replied, slightly miffed. “Besides, after that cab ride here, whatever ætiology I have, you have as well, and vice versa.”
He scooted over one seat but shuttled that seat back to the right about 15 more centimeters.
“Some folks just don’t like their personal space invaded”, I surmised.
I pulled out one of my cigar cases, a cutter, lighter, and a stack of currencies that I was going to try and get rid of that night.
I had freshly minted UK Pounds, Euros of many nations, Indian Rupees, Russian Rubles, Japanese Yen, Chinese Renmimbi, some Uzbek Som, Afghani Afghans, Argentinian Pesos, down under Ozzian Dollarydoos, Mongolian Tugriks, Omani Rials, a few Samoan Tālā, and a bunch of US dollars.
How I ended up with that last group remains a mystery.
Roy goggled at the stack of weirdly colored and weirdly wonderful currencies of many nations.
“Sorry, Roy”, I said, “No Indonesian rupiah. Haven’t been to Jakarta in a long time.”
“What the hell are those weird ones there?” he asked.
“Which ones?” I chuckled back.
It was at that time our reverie was broken.
The bartender, one Zac O'Madden, an Irish national currently working for the hotel to which this bar is attached, interrupts our nascent debauch and asks for our drink orders.
“Not so fast there!” I say. “Introductions first. We’re not savages here.”
Zac chuckles. “You’re obviously American.”
“Вы уверены в этом? [Are you certain of that?]”, I say in return.
Zac just stands there and laughs.
“Та үнэхээр итгэлтэй байна уу? [Are you really certain?]” I ask in Mongolian. “Ĉu vi vere certas? Bạn có thực sự chắc chắn?”
“You’re as Russian or whatever that was as I am Kenyan. Now I know it. You’re American.” He says assuredly.
“And you have this nasty habit of being correct. I’m Dr. Rocknocker, call me Rock. This slight but solid fellow to my right is Roy, late of Jakarta and Krakatoa, actually
west of Java.” I snicker.
“And I am Zac O’Madden, of Dublin and points east. Nice to meet you all. What can I get for you?” he asks.
After we shake hands in a very manly, indeed, manner, I ask Roy what is his pleasure.
“A tall club soda with a twist of lime, on the rocks.” He replies offhandedly.
“You’ve done this before”, I observe rather unnecessarily. “Zac, Roy gets what he wants tonight, my tab. I’ll have a Sazerac, hold the sugar. Actually several. You see, on the flight over, I sat through another showing of ’Live and Let Die’, and now I miss Mardi Gras, New Orleans, and Pat O’Brien’s. But I don’t like sweet drinks.”
“Coming right up”, Zac says with a well-practiced swish of his bar rag.
“Oh, but I’m not finished. I’d also like a beer chaser. A pint of…ah, do you have a beer menu?” I ask, looking down the long row of tappers.
“Coming up”, he says, and races off to find me one.
A few minutes later he returns with my cocktail, Roy’s fizz water, and a bar beer menu.
I raise my glass to Zac and then to Roy. We clink and I say, “I like this guy. And I like this bar. We’re going to have us a large night.”
I drain my unsweet Sazerac in one go.
Hey. I was thirsty. Needs a
scootch more absinthe I observe.
Roy and Zac just sort of stare, wide-eyed, as I peruse the beer menu.
Nice menu, nice diversity. Oh, very nice.
“I’ll have the Asahi Kuronama Black if you don’t mind. Plus another Sazerac, a bit more absinthe if you please. You see, I have this genetic condition I need to keep in balance.” I grinned.
Zac looked at me like I had some sort of adverse medical condition.
“You OK, Rock?” he asked most earnestly.
“Look, Zac, I just met you and you’re a hell of a tarbender, far be it from me to tell you your job, but you see, there is this…” I said, trailing off.
“Yes?” His was a look of genuine concern. The genuine concern he won’t own that pile of currency on the bar in front of me by the end of the night.
“Yeah. Genetics dealt me a weird hand. See. I’m an ethanol-fueled carbon-based organism…”
Roy just rolled his eyes.
Zac looked puzzled.
“Yeah, I require alcohol in good-tasting and heroic amounts on a regular basis. I also have to smoke huge, black cigars in order to moderate the bioreactor.” I smiled, as I leaned back and fired up a heater.
Zac looked at me. Chewed over what I said for a moment or two. He shrugged his shoulders, grabbed my empty glass, and said, “OK, whatever. Round two in moments.”
Roy went to ask me something, thought better of it, and just leaned over and grabbed my Zippo from Irkutsk.
He looked at the cameo-relief silver and amber city crest attached to the lighter, flipped it open, and tried firing up his cigar.
“They draw better if you cut the end first,” I said, absently; and not looking, just hand him my V-cutter.
Zac returns with a new Sazerac, a chilled bottle of Asahi Kuronama Black, a tall pilsner glass, and a new club soda for Roy.
I puffed my cigar, drained another Sazerac in one go, tried the Japanese black beer, and found it to my liking. I leaned back to observe what sort of sports carnage they were observing on the big screens.
Roy just looked at me with wide eyes but said nothing.
The evening wore on. After a couple or twelve more Sazeracs, I decided it was time to teach Zac the finer points of mixology via premium vodka, bubbly citrus, ice, and lime wheels.
I also found that they had a stock of Pabst Blue Ribbon 1844, from China.
“PBR!”, I almost yelled, “Holy wow! I grew up on the stuff.”
“Not this stuff, Rock”, Zac said, “Look at the price. We only got a small amount due to a shipping error. It’s not sold outside of China normally.”
It was UAE 165 per bottle, about US$45, and worth every dirham. Zak was amazed when I told him to go ahead and have one on Roy and me.
“Really, Rock?”, Zac exclaimed. “The usual buggers here are so tight, they hum when the wind blows. Hardly anyone buys me a drink. Except for you Americans. Finest kind.”
“That’s me. An international ambassador of amity and alcohol,”, I say and toast in his general direction. “Crack tubes!”
Roy was getting tired as a newt. Evidently
not drinking, listening to old war stories, and watching recorded US Football games due to the COVID lack of anything live, can take its toll as well.
I’m going strong as I’m asking Zac to explain what the fuck cricket is all about.
“So, let me get this straight,” I say, ordering another double cocktail and a couple of PBR chasers for Zac and myself. “The guy on the mound runs up and pitches to the guy dressed in the body armor. He uses a bent 2x4 to defend the wicket, which, if I recall correctly, can be sticky. Then he keeps the aliens from stealing the stumps and burning them to ashes in Australia...”
“God”, Zac exclaims, “You’re fucking hopeless.”
“Everything I know about cricket I learned from the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the galaxy.” I smiled proudly.
“That was rather obvious…” Zac sheeshed. He left to attend to another patron, a loud and woozy Kiwi.
I looked at the source of all the bad noise and in my inattention, just clicked my full beer glass. I inadvertently violated Rule #1 and spilled a small soupçon of expensive, imported beer onto my left hand.
“Whoops!”, I said and stripped off my sodden left-hand glove. I used Zac’s bar towel to sop up the bar and dry my techno-digits.
Roy looked not only at my ‘whoops’, but goggled my Japanese one-off, so far, electro-fingers.
“Rock. What the hell, man. I mean, what the fuck. Are those for real?” he asked.
“Yeah, they are a new prototype and I’m the lab rat.”, I said, waggling them and seeing that something as mundane a beer spill could never possibly injure them.
By this time, Zac wanders back, sees I’ve used his bar rag, and looks at my hand for real for the first time.
“What the fuck, Rocko? You some sort of cyborg?” he asks.
“By definition; yes, I am. And my grandfather used to call me that. Thanks.”, I replied. “But, yeah, I’m an alcohol-fueled one at that,” I say, tapping and pointing rather pointedly at my currently unpopulated cocktail glass.
Zac returns with a reload. He and Roy demand to know the whole story.
“If you must pry…” I say.
“Oh, we must, we must”, they reply in unison.
So, I regale them with the tale of the Siberian rig. The blowout, fire, and the moderately overzealous Russian FNG.
“Rock, I don’t know if that’s true, but by your appearance, it has to be. Let me buy you a drink.” Zac says.
Roy asks for a Molson Light.
“Roy! You old fraud.” I said.
“I usually don’t drink. But after that story, I think I need something cold, wet, and with a little punch.” He said, staring at my hand.
“Then you’ve chosen well”, as I down another Rocknocker, sip at my PBR and snip a new cigar.
“Rock, can I ask you a question?” Roy asks. Zac is polishing our spot at the bar insistently. I think he has a question or two as well.
“Sure. Go nuts.” I reply, puffing on my new cigar and sipping this lovely amber 1844 brew.
He crouches conspiratorially and asks in a low
sotto voce: “Is that why you drink as you do? To dull the pain? From the accident. That’s it, right? Isn’t it?” Roy asks, almost genuinely concerned.
I laughed loud and long. I chuckled, snorted, and had to calm myself with gulps of my beer and cocktail.
“Roy, Roy, Roy…I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m from Baja Canada originally. I’m a multiply-degreed petroleum geologist. I’ve lived and worked in Russia for many, many years. And, as I’ve said, I’m an ethanol-fueled organism. Quadruple perfect storm. My fingers don’t hurt. Or they might, I have no idea. I don’t even know where hell they are.” I laughed at my own witty repartee.
Roy actually paled some. He took a long draught of his anemic beer and just stared at me.
Zac had disappeared. He presently returned with a bottle of Beluga Gold Line Vodka.
“Rock, after that, this one’s for you. On the house.” He said.
“Only if you will join me. And let me pay for yours.” I said.
Zac agrees.
The shnozzled Kiwi from previous in the narrative staggers by and hears the tag-end of our conversation.
He leans over to grab the expensive bottle of vodka and says “Don’t mind if I do.”
“None for you, asshole. You’re lucky I let you stay here waiting on a cab” Zac growls, and grabs the bottle away.
The Kiwi looks at Zac. He looks at Roy. Then he looks at me, my drinks, cigar, and the smaller pile of currency on the bar.
He may have been loaded, but something swam upstream against his internal current of booze and made him decide that right now, discretion was the better part of valor. He toddled unsteadily away.
“Asswipe”, Zac spits, “He’s here every other month. He pays for his drinks, but he can’t hold them. Never once tips or buys a round. General asshole. Still, management won’t let me toss nor ban him.”
“Some people”, I distastefully agreed and poured Zac and myself a healthy double-tot of the fine, smooth, and icy vodka. “I weep for our species sometimes.”
I insisted Zac join me. I asked Roy if he’d like a taste.
“Thanks, Rock. But you’ve already been too much of a bad influence on me.” he smiled, and tipped his almost empty pilsner glass.
“OK, no pressure. I may drink like a school of belugas, but if someone else doesn’t want to, I respect that all day long. Still, the offer stands.” I continue.
“I’ll think about it, Rock. I’m still not over how you can just sit there and joke about your cybernetic fingers and how you got them. I’d…I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. “ he shudders.
“Want to see the scar on my leg where I got shot with a .45? Or the scar on my coconut from a hunk of falling ice on a drilling rig?” I asked.
“Fuck no!”, Roy almost screams. “What the hell. You held together by scar tissue?”
”That. Baling wire and Duct Tape.” I laughed, “And people wonder why I drink.”
“I thought so!” Roy exclaimed.
“I drink because I chose to. I can stop anytime. In fact, I stopped smoking and drinking once; by nothing more than sheer force of will.” I said proudly.
“Really?” Roy asked.
“Yep”, I replied, “It was the worst 45 minutes of my life.”
To be continued… History Est: 1892
Premierships (VFL/AFL): 15
Last premiership: 2010
Grounds: Melbourne Cricket Ground, Marvel Stadium, Olympic Park Oval (training)
Key Administration: - Eddie McGuire (President)
- Mark Anderson (CEO)
- Geoff Walsh (Head of Football Department
- Nathan Buckley (Senior Coach)
2019 season overview H&A Ladder position: 4 (15 wins, 7 losses)
EW Copeland Trophy (BnF): Brodie Grundy
Leading goalkicker: Brody Mihocek (36 goals)
All-Australian representation: Brodie Grundy, Scott Pendlebury (Adam Treloar named in initial squad)
AFL debutants: - Isaac Quaynor (R16)
- John Noble (R17)
VFL affiliate: Collingwood VFL (finished 11th in 2019; 7 wins, 11 losses)
2019 season review Collingwood supporters such as myself had good reason to believe that the club could go one better from 2018. After losing the 2018 Grand Final in heartbreaking fashion, the club theoretically improved its list by re-acquiring a genuine A-grader in Dayne Beams at a premium, shoring up its key position stocks at bargain basement price with Jordan Roughead and exploiting drafting rules to acquire two top-30 talents in Isaac Quaynor and Will Kelly despite not having a live pick until pick 41.
Unfortunately, the home and away season could probably be described as lacklustre. Too often Collingwood relied on playing one really strong quarter of football before taking the foot off the accelerator for the rest of the game. This was evident in the game against Port Adelaide, ANZAC Day, the game against Sydney and the game against St Kilda. Eventually, the club went through a major form slump in the middle of the season, playing unattractive, stop-start football that was more characteristic of the non-finals years under Buckley then the exciting 2018. In the middle of this slump, however, the club delivered a memorable win on the road against West Coast, keeping them goalless for a full half to win by one point and down two players.
The club snuck into the top four by the end of the season, however this was more to do with a Hawthorn masterclass against the Eagles in Round 23 than genuinely being deserving of fourth spot. The two finals Collingwood played were representative of much of the season for the club – the Qualifying Final against Geelong proved the club could still put it together and match it against the best (Geelong having been minor premiers over the course of the entire season), however the Preliminary Final against GWS showed again that the players thought they could pull off a miracle win by playing one good quarter – this was not to be.
Nathan Buckley lamented following the Prelim loss that 2019 was “a wasted year.” Initially I thought this was being a tad harsh, but on reflection I think I agree with him. Collingwood had the elements to put everything together and win the premiership but squandered it for various reasons. The club again faced a huge injury list, with usual suspects De Goey, Elliott and Moore missing chunks of the season. First-choice fullback Dunn re-tore his ACL on his return in a VFL practice match. Langdon injured his knee (the details of which the club has refused to reveal) during halftime against St Kilda and missed the rest of the season. Beams missed much of the season with hip/shouldemental health issues and there continues to be speculation that he may never return to football. Wells sustained a PCL game in his one game of the season which ultimately caused his retirement before the season had officially ended.
As per usual, off-field issues distracted the club, including Stephenson copping a ten-match suspension for betting on Collingwood matches and Sier playing social basketball under a pseudonym despite being in rehab for a calf injury at the time.
Personally, I think much of the problem lies with very few players taking a step-up in their development like what had occurred in 2018. Phillips, Sidebottom, Thomas and Hoskin-Elliott were among the players that had exceptionally strong seasons in 2018 but struggled at times through 2019 (the latter, however, perhaps forgiven for having virtually nil pre-season). The midfield group also failed to connect and take advantage of Grundy’s dominance.
Having said that, there were some positives to take from the season. Grundy continued his trajectory upwards and ultimately had a career-best season. Roughead proved to be the bargain recruit of the year at fullback. Noble being uncovered in the mid-season rookie draft and being plucked from the SANFL proved an inspired choice. Wills saved his career by taking advantage of the spot that opened up for him in Beams’ and Sier’s absence.
Just don’t mention Crisp missing out on AA selection to me though.
2020 Playing List
| Guernsey | Player | Typical position | Games played | Age at start of R1, 2020 | Contracted until |
| 1 | Jaidyn Stephenson | Forward | 40 | 21 | 2021 |
| 2 | Jordan De Goey | Forward | 88 | 24 | 2020 |
| 3 | Isaac Quaynor | Defender | 4 | 20 | 2022 |
| 4 | Brodie Grundy | Ruck | 132 | 25 | 2027 (UFA) |
| 5 | Jamie Elliott | Forward | 105 | 27 | 2021 (UFA) |
| 6 | Tyler Brown | Midfielder | 0 | 20 | 2020 |
| 7 | Adam Treloar | Midfielder | 163 | 27 | 2025 (RFA) |
| 8 | Tom Langdon | Defender | 89 | 25 | 2021 (RFA) |
| 9 | John Noble (a) | Defender | 5 | 22 | 2021 |
| 10 | Scott Pendlebury* (c) | Midfielder | 301 | 32 | 2021 (UFA) |
| 11 | Dayne Beams* | Midfielder | 177 | 30 | 2022 |
| 12 | Matthew Scharenberg | Defender | 38 | 24 | 2020 |
| 13 | Taylor Adams (l) | Midfielder | 132 | 26 | 2024 (RFA) |
| 14 | Darcy Cameron | Ruck | 1 | 24 | 2021 |
| 15 | Lynden Dunn (a, l) | Defender | 196 | 32 | 2020 (UFA) |
| 16 | Chris Mayne | Midfielder | 217 | 31 | 2020 |
| 17 | Callum Brown | Midfielder | 35 | 21 | 2020 |
| 18 | Travis Varcoe | Forward | 221 | 31 | 2020 |
| 19 | Levi Greenwood | Defender | 152 | 31 | 2020 |
| 20 | Ben Reid* | Forward | 150 | 30 | 2020 (UFA) |
| 21 | Tom Phillips | Midfielder | 74 | 23 | 2021 |
| 22 | Steele Sidebottom* (vc) | Midfielder | 234 | 29 | 2021 (UFA) |
| 23 | Jordan Roughead | Defender | 162 | 29 | 2020 |
| 24 | Josh Thomas | Forward | 89 | 28 | 2021 (UFA) |
| 25 | Jack Crisp | Defender | 134 | 26 | 2023 (UFA) |
| 26 | Josh Daicos | Forward | 17 | 21 | 2020 |
| 27 | Will Kelly | Defender | 0 | 19 | 2022 |
| 28 | Nathan Murphy | Defender | 2 | 20 | 2020 |
| 29 | Tim Broomhead (a) | Forward | 36 | 25 | 2020 (UFA) |
| 30 | Darcy Moore | Defender | 71 | 24 | 2020 |
| 31 | Flynn Appleby (a) | Defender | 10 | 21 | 2020 |
| 32 | Will Hoskin-Elliott | Forward | 119 | 26 | 2022 |
| 33 | Rupert Wills | Midfielder | 15 | 26 | 2020 |
| 34 | Trent Bianco | Defender | 0 | 19 | 2021 |
| 35 | Jay Rantall | Midfielder | 0 | 18 | 2021 |
| 36 | Brayden Sier | Midfielder | 18 | 22 | 2021 |
| 37 | Brayden Maynard | Defender | 97 | 23 | 2022 (RFA) |
| 38 | Jeremy Howe (l) | Defender | 183 | 29 | 2021 |
| 39 | Trey Ruscoe | Defender | 0 | 18 | 2021 |
| 40 | Atu Bosenavulagi | Forward | 0 | 19 | 2020 |
| 41 | Brody Mihocek (a) | Forward | 40 | 27 | 2020 |
| 43 | Anton Tohill (a) | Forward | 0 | 20 | 2020 |
| 44 | Jack Madgen (b) | Defender | 8 | 26 | 2020 |
| 45 | Max Lynch | Ruck | 0 | 21 | 2020 |
| 46 | Mason Cox | Forward | 58 | 29 | 2020 |
| 47 | Mark Keane (b) | Defender | 0 | 20 | 2020 |
| 48 | Tom Wilson (b) | Forward | 0 | 22 | 2021 |
\ - 2010 Premiership player*
a - Category A Rookie b – Category B rookie c – Captain vc – Vice Captain l – Leadership group Outs for 2020 | James Aish | Traded to Fremantle |
| Ben Crocker | Delisted (rookie drafted by the Adelaide Crows) |
| Lynden Dunn | Delisted (rookie listed under SSP rules) |
| Tyson Goldsack | Retired (now playing as captain-coach for Port Magpies in the SANFL) |
| Sam Murray | Delisted (now playing for Williamstown in the VFL) |
| Daniel Wells | Retired (now involved in indigenous recruitment and development at Collingwood) |
Ins for 2020 | Trent Bianco | National Draft |
| Darcy Cameron | Traded from the Sydney Swans |
| Lynden Dunn | Rookie listed under SSP rules |
| Jay Rantall | National Draft |
| Trey Ruscoe | National Draft |
| Tom Wilson | Category B rookie selection |
Pragmatic_Shill**’s personal best 22 (+ 4 emergencies) for Collingwood in 2020**
| B: | Langdon* | Roughead | Howe | |
| HB: | Crisp | Moore | Maynard | |
| C: | Phillips | Pendelbury | Sidebottom | |
| HF: | Hoskin-Elliott | Mihocek | De Goey | |
| F: | Stephenson | Cox | Elliott | |
| FOLL: | Grundy | Adams | Beams* | |
| INT: | C Brown | Treloar | Noble | Mayne |
| EMER: | Thomas | Varcoe* | Sier | Greenwood* |
\ Confirmed unavailable for Round 1 2020*
Notes on this selection - This was hard to do. I think there are a bunch of players that are on the cusp such as Wills, Quaynor and even Reid. However if I was to look at pure talent as well as experience that’s what I think a full game-day squad would look like. I even debated listing Varcoe in the emergencies at all because I think his 2019 was so disappointing and given his age (and now injury) he’ll be up against some promising kids coming through. Sier’s 2018 was better than Wills’ 2019 in my view, hence why I gave Sier the nod. Quaynor (while likely being more talented than Noble) hasn’t shown quite enough yet to warrant automatic selection in my view.
- The team selection for Round 1 will look quite different to this – Langdon still appears to be a long way off in his rehab from whatever mystery knee injury he acquired in 2019, Beams is probably a fair chance to not play again, Varcoe has had a shoulder reconstruction and Greenwood is still some time away as he recovers from his ACL injury.
- Using what little powers of precognition I have, I think come Round 1 you can remove Langdon and Beams from my 22 and replace with Quaynor and either Sier or Wills.
Players to watch for 2020 Taken at pick 13 in the 2018 draft after matching a bid from GWS, Quaynor looms as one of Collingwood’s most exciting young prospects. He had to wait for a debut in 2019 and only played a handful of games before a foot stress injury sidelined him for the rest of the season, however the senior appearances he made showed that he fits in nicely to the backline. Quaynor unfortunately has already had an interrupted pre-season due to hip surgery, but is expected to be fit to play come Round 1. While he is an impressive young talent I personally have a concern about whether he and John Noble can play in the same side. Both are undersized defenders used to provide run off halfback, and I haven’t seen either of them deployed in the lockdown small defensive role that has opened up with Levi Greenwood being out injured and James Aish moving to Fremantle. Noble at this stage has more senior experience (plus finals experience) so it will be interesting to see how selection goes when both are fit and available.
Wills holds the record for most tackles laid on debut and in 2018 broke the record for fewest senior games played to reach 100 career tackles. At the start of the year, Wills’ card appeared marked for delisting given his inability to break into the senior side. He came in for a short stint in early 2019 to play a similar role to De Goey when De Goey was injured, however Wills isn’t as explosive and he struggled playing in the forward line. After being dropped, I thought that would be it for him, however an injury crisis with the midfield later in the year (including Beams, Adams and a lacklustre season from Sier) opened up a spot for him, and he played right through to the end of the season. Wills provided much needed grunt for a midfield that failed to live up to expectations for much of the season, and truly earned another extension. His 2020 campaign will be one to watch, as he only managed a one-year extension despite his impressive showing, and given he will be directly competing for a spot with the younger Sier, he is under pressure to continue his senior career. Nevertheless, when he does play he doesn’t look out of place and was an impressive player in weeks when so many others were substandard.
This selection is a bit out of left field, however I didn’t want to repeat last year’s selections of Tyler Brown or Nathan Murphy (even though I am excited to see what their 2020 seasons look like). A lot of regular VFL watchers over on the Collingwood BigFooty have been impressed with Keane, our Irish Category B key defender. Keane apparently is not afraid to be quite physical on the field and showed marked improvement as a lockdown defender through 2019 despite our VFL side being disappointing. Some have said he may even earn a debut in 2020, which would require a temporary senior promotion over the more experienced Category B in Jack Madgen. Watch this space.
Players on notice for 2020 Sier came into the 2019 season with a lot of expectation and excitement from Collingwood fans after his long-awaited senior debut in 2018 showed why Derek Hine rated him highly enough to be our first pick in 2015 despite being relatively unknown. Mystery soon set in during the 2019 pre-season however, as Sier found himself excluded from selection in both JLT matches, despite being fit enough to play in a VFL practice match the day before one of them. The club said he had little niggles such as rib and toe issues, however comments from Pendlebury about Sier needing to demonstrate his commitment to the team on-field raised some eyebrows about whether he was out of favour. When he finally earned his senior return on the Queen’s Birthday, he took the opportunity with both hands, however had disappointing showings for the few games he had after. Then came the infamous “Phil Inn” incident, where he played social basketball while meant to be rehabbing a calf injury. The club claimed he wasn’t banned from senior selection but didn’t even appear in the emergency list for the rest of the season. Despite this, he signed for a further two years. Given the amount of time he’s had on the list and the various challenges he’s faced in that time, you would hope the penny has dropped and he begins to show on a more consistent basis the type of player he can be. That’s up to him now, however he also faces the added challenge of beating an in-favour Rupert Wills for selection as the big-bodied inside midfielder.
I think Cox was unfairly maligned in 2019 – he missed many games, first through an ankle injury and then through a scratched retina, however ended up with the same goal output at the end of the season as he had for 2018 (a season in which he only missed two games). However, it’s clear that there are expectations being placed on him by the media and by Collingwood fans to more consistently show the type of game he had in the 2018 preliminary final. During the 2019 trade period, Collingwood brought in Darcy Cameron from the Sydney Swans, and while Cameron has only played one senior game of football, he is a more natural footballer than Cox and will be competing directly for his spot. Off the field, I feel that Cox has to prove his worth after the details of his contract came out during the same trade period after Essendon came knocking for him to fill their ruck spot. At the end of 2017, Cox signed a new three-year contract which elevated him to the senior list, worth $500,000 a year. At this time, Cox was a Category B rookie who had played a grand total of twenty games. His contract also stipulates that he only needs to play one more senior game for a fourth year trigger, and he’ll need to show a bit more if he’s to convince Collingwood supporters that he’s worth such a hefty price tag given the continuing narrative of our salary cap issues.
- Anyone out of contract that isn’t De Goey or Moore
This is perhaps a cop-out answer but given the impending salary cap squeeze the onus is on the rest of the players out of contract in 2020 (particularly the ones that aren’t best 22) to step up and cement their spot in the side or prove their value to the squad. Some, such as Brody Mihocek and Callum Brown can probably consider themselves safe. Mihocek himself may prove to be challenging as he will require promotion to the senior list to stay and given he was a latecomer to AFL he may choose to take a significantly priced contract elsewhere if it was offered to him.
A number of players have been on the list for a number of years now, including Tim Broomhead and Josh Daicos, that would find themselves very much under the pump in 2020. Other fringe players like Appleby, Madgen, (both requiring senior promotion if they stay), Murphy, Bosenavulagi, Tohill and Keane face uncertain futures. There are also many players out of contract (Reid, Greenwood, Varcoe, Mayne, Dunn) that are in the twilight of their careers, and these players could be the first shown the door if the cap gets too tight. The problem with showing all five of these senior players the door at once, however, is that being gifted picks at the arse end of one solitary draft to fill the list spots might not provide the same quality of depth (even over a long period of time) that keeping some of the experienced veterans on would.
2020 fixture preview Marsh Community Series matches | Date | Opponent | Home or Away | Where | Time |
| Sunday 1 March | Richmond | Away | Norm Minns Oval | 4:10pm (AEDT) |
| Sunday 8 March | St Kilda | Home | Morwell Recreation Reserve | 3:50pm (AEDT) |
Notable matches during the 2020 Premiership Season | Date | Occasion | Opponent | Home or Away | Where | Time |
| Friday 20 March | Round 1 | Western Bulldogs | Away | Marvel | 7:50pm (AEDT) |
| Thursday 9 April | Easter Thursday | Brisbane Lions | Away | Gabba | 7:35pm (AEDT) |
| Saturday 25 April | ANZAC Day | Essendon | Home | MCG | 4:20PM (AEDT) |
| Monday 8 June | Queen's Birthday | Melbourne | Away | MCG | 3:20pm (AEDT) |
Bye: Round 13
Double-ups: - Richmond (R2/R17)
- Brisbane Lions (R4/R16)
- Essendon (R6/R20)
- West Coast Eagles (R11/R22)
- Melbourne (R12/R21)
2020 season preview (expectations and concerns) 2020 shapes as a fascinating year for the club both on- and off-field. On-field there would be genuine expectations both internally and externally that the club makes finals and pushes for a flag for a third season in a row. Personally, I don’t feel that we have improved our list through trading or drafting and instead will need to rely on improvement from the existing players to take the next step. With the oldest list in the competition, it is time for the youth at the club to stake their claims more seriously through strong performances at training and in the twos, rather than wait for positions to become available by default through injuries at senior level. This requires genuine steps up from the likes of Brayden Sier, Tyler Brown and Josh Daicos, as well as a willingness of the coaches to begin managing the constant selection of older players.
Our opening month to the season is as tough as it gets, and may define how the rest of the season plays out. If we start 0-4, I wonder how much of a hit to the self-confidence it will be and our ability to recover.
Off-field, as mentioned, list manager Ned Guy will have his work cut out for him in trying to balance a large out of contract list with players wanting and genuinely deserving substantial pay days, and there is a reasonable chance we could see significant changes to our list at the end of the year which will ultimately have a flow-on effect on our ability to contend in the following years.
The club continues to be distracted with undesirable media stories and the ongoing issue of Beams returning to the club continues to drag on. I get the feeling personally that there is a power of work being done behind the scenes to end the contract that still has three seasons left to run, both for the good of the club and for Beams’ wellbeing. While that is ongoing, however, it remains an unnecessary distraction and a sore reminder that the President continues to be too involved in the administration of the football department.
All in all, I think Collingwood will stay in the 8 but would not be surprised if they fall short of top 4. I don’t see the potential for improvement that I do from other clubs around the same mark. The year will be a positive one, however, if we begin seeing signs that the club can develop a strong side to transition into the ever-close “post-Pendlebury era.”
Thank you to the guys doing the St Kilda season preview for adjusting their schedule to allow me to recover from surgery and complete this.
Thanks for reading the 2020 season preview for the Collingwood Magpies. submitted by I was twitching somethin' real fierce. My hands clammy against the wooden bat. Sweat soaked into the grooves. My tongue licked salt off my lips as I bounced nervously on the balls of my feet. It was the heat of summer. A cloudless, humid evening and we were in the last inning of a pick-up baseball game. Just me, the neighborhood boys, and Emma: all together on an overgrown field behind my house. Bases were worn towels and the end of the field was marked by the start of the woods.
I was up to bat with two outs and a runner on third. Our teams were tied, but that had little to do with my case of nerves. See, Davies was the pitcher and Davies hated to lose. Sometimes, he'd hit the batter on purpose. Make 'em flinch. He would say.
Well, I was poised like a wounded bird facing a hungry tom cat. Twitchy, nervous, ready to jump out of the way. Davies knew it too That smug smile said it all. He wound up the pitch and I went all cotton mouth, steeling myself to stay where I stood. He threw the ball. I closed my eyes. Swung the bat.
Thwack.
The bat shuddered in my hands as it struck the ball. I opened my eyes, ready to run, but then saw everyone staring back in shock. Oh, no. Had I hit it into the woods? The woods were bad news. Coyotes lived there. You could heart them howling at night. The woods were off limits. We'd lost four balls to it this summer and numerous pets. Heck, I'd helped Emma put up missing flyers earlier today for her lost cat. But they weren't looking at the woods. They were looking at my neighbor's backyard. I'd hit a wicked foul ball into Ms. Palmer's garden. Oh, boy…
Every neighborhood has the creepy old person who lives alone. We had Ms. Palmer instead. Willowy and kind, she tended to her garden and the flowers grew high above her fence. Award winning, she called them and it sure was true. She'd won at the state fair numerous times and mama said she sold her flowers to brides. She was nice enough when we passed by on the sidewalk, but she had a strict "no trespassing" rule. She didn't need "no kids tramplin' on her flowers". She kept her garden closed and gave us a harsh glare the one time our baseball had slapped the brick of her fence. Shaken her hedge clippers at us as well.
"Marcus!"
Davies voice shot across the field. He pointed to Palmer's garden. "Retrieve the ball. It's our last one."
I wanted to say no, but what if the ball had damaged some of her flowers? She'd know it was us and you could bet she'd be at mama's front door tomorrow morning demanding our heads for ruining her garden. No, it was best to sneak in and grab it now. Remove the evidence. Better than spending the rest of summer indoors grounded doing chores. Besides, how far could the ball have gone?
"Bet!" I shouted back to Davies. He blinked in surprise at my willingness, but I knew every one else would be too chicken to do it. Before I could think of any reasons not to retrieve our ball, I dropped the bat and headed over to Ms. Palmer's fence.
I reached the iron gate and paused, one hand resting on the cold metal. Sunflowers stood tall above me, their eyeless faces gazing blindly at the setting Sun. Suddenly, I felt unsure of heading in there. Now that I was close, I still couldn't see the ball and the walls of the garden were already draped it in shadows. But it was too late to turn back now. I took one final look at my friends, then lifted myself over and into the garden.
The harsh drone of buzzing insects and chirping crickets drowned out all other noise. A wheelbarrow of nasty smelling mulch sat to my left and the sunflowers stood to my right. Thin vines of vegetation crawled along the brickwork, forming a barrier between the garden and the outside world. I stepped forward, eyes scanning the dirt for a white ball. I passed a tin of water and food bowl and frowned. I didn't know Ms. Palmer owned a pet, but I supposed the old lady needed some company. My granny had three cats and a tank of fish in her home.
What if she owns a guard dog? The image of a big Rottweiler patrolling the garden sent a shiver down my spine. You gotta find that ball fast. I trudged forward, wiping my hands against my T-shirt. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a white form amongst a row of purple flowers. Success! I darted for it and pushed the flowers aside with one hand while the other grabbed the fuzzy white ball. A white cotton tail. The white fuzz fell apart in my hand as I saw the corpse it had been attached too. Flies coated its fur, forming a writhing black second skin. I stepped back in shock, tripping over my feet. I reached behind me, fingers flailing for some form of support. They hit rough wood and I managed to steady myself. I looked back and gasped out loud. My hand rested on a giant box shaped trellis covered in a thick bush of uneven leaves and translucent white fruit.
Poison Ivy.
My hand shot away as if burned. Leaves of three, let them be. My aunt Beatrice's rhyme sang in my head as I stood back and gaped at the monstrous bush growing along the trellis, overtaking the flowers below and choking the life out of them. Ms. Palmer was cultivating this? I looked around to see if she had any other surprises, but outside of the dead rabbit, the other flowers looked just as show worthy as my mama claimed.
Still…I needed to get the heck out of here. Not before you find that ball. I circled around the garden path and that's when I noticed the broken glass. Her house had a row of basement windows under the stairs and one of them had a ball shaped crack in the center. I edged closer and sure enough, in the fading light, there was the baseball. It lay against the grey cement floor like a star in the night. Oh, heck. Trespassing in someone's garden was one thing but actually entering her house? That was a whole 'nother level. Nerves pulsed across my skin, but man, I was ready to tackle it. The consequences of Palmer finding it in the morning outweighed my fears. I crouched next to the window, undid the lock, and pulled it up. The opening was just big enough for me to squeeze through. I turned on my stomach and slid backwards into the basement.
The first thing that hit me was the smell. Awful enough that I gagged right on the spot. I pulled up my shirt to cover my nose. Then, I noticed the collars. The wall was lined with them: all colors and sizes. Red ones. Blue ones. Spiked ones. A vomit of color against a cement wall. I walked over and saw a batch of silver tags attached. Some on a wooden counter. I read off the names.
Snowball.
Archie.
Rudy.
Buttons.
All animals that had gone missing in our neighborhood. Oh Jesus, she's killing pets. The mulch. I took several steps back and tripped over my own feet. I crashed into a stack of boxes. Splintered bones fell out of one. I nearly screamed.
The light to the stairs above clicked on. Oh no. Oh no. She's coming! I stood up and glanced around. Too late to climb out. I dashed beneath the stairs and cupped a hand over my mouth.
The door to the basement opened. Light shined down the steps like a floodlight. I wanted to cry. Thump. Thump. Thump. Palmer's feet came into view as she hurried down the stairs. I could make out her grey hair wrapped up in a tight bun as she inspected the fallen boxes, the bones…the baseball. When she saw it, she hissed.
"Filthy kids. I'll - oh." She broke off as she saw the open window. Her figure went stiff. I ducked as she spun around, surveying the room. "If you're still here. You'd better come out now." She said. She grabbed a pair of long hedge clippers from her tool table. What is she--Palmer stabbed through the row of boxes in front of her.
"Come out. I'll make you part of my garden." She said. "Perfect for my begonias." She stabbed another hiding spot. My mouth dried up. I wiped my palms against my pants. Get out. Get out now. But I couldn't move. Palmer swept the hedge clippers down in an arc. Metal scratched cement. She turned her back to me.
Now!
I ran. Dashed around the railing. Up the stairs.
"Don't you dare!" She called behind me. I banged through the door upstairs. Back door! Back door! I blindly stumbled forward. Shoes thumped against tile. I was in the kitchen. Door. There's the door! I fumbled with the lock. The door swung open and I leapt down the steps, turned to the gate.
And there she was. Blocking the way out. She had climbed out the basement window to cut me off. She was holding the hedge clippers in both hands. I ran. Further into the garden. Place to hide. I needed a new place to hide. But the flowers were too short. Too thin. Too obvious.
The poison ivy bush came into view. Tall, thick, dark. No time too think, I ran towards its outstretched leaves. They reached out to grab me and drag me into its protection. I crouched against the back wall of the trellis, a single leaf caressing my cheek as the other leaves lay against my arms, legs, and hands. Seconds passed. Palmer came into view. She hacked away at the flower beds across from me.
"Where are you?" She said, snipping several sunflowers in half. "Where are you?" I stayed in place, my legs ached from crouching. My face itched, but I didn't dare move to scratch it. Didn't dare reveal where I was. Ms. Palmer hacked at several more plants before hurriedly walking to another part of the garden.
I waited. I waited until the Sun sank low and the fireflies came out. 'Til it was too dark to see the sunflowers across from me.
And then I ran. Unforgivably fast. I leapt over the gate and fell hard against the grass. I pushed myself up and ran all the way home. Past my friends sitting on the porch. Past my mama in the kitchen. Up the stairs. To my room. I didn't come out for the rest of the night.
Didn't leave the house for another week after the rash came in full force. Didn't see anyone either.
Not until Ms. Palmer stopped by. She came with a bouquet of flowers. Said she had a surplus. Mama took them and hurried off to the kitchen for a vase. Ms. Palmer stood in the doorway eyeing me. I stared back. She pulled the baseball out of her pocket and smiled. Coldest smile I'd ever seen.
"We can both keep our secrets, trespasser." She whispered and I knew. Knew she'd cleaned up her secret. Knew if I ever said anything she would get me for breaking and entering. So I kept my mouth shut.
I kept it shut for ten years. Ms. Palmer ended up dying four months ago. People still rant and rave about her garden. It grows tall and beautiful in the summer. Such a fine, lively garden.
But I know.
That garden is where the dead things grow.
submitted by If you want to give cricket betting a try, then you must know and understand how cricket betting odds work and what the different cricket betting markets are.. Many sports betting sites claim to offer the best odds for cricket tournaments like the Indian Premier League (IPL) or the County Championship.. However, if you don’t know how to read these odds, you’ll be betting on a cricket match ... MyBookie.net does not offer any gambling services and does not permit site members to bet on events or stake real money or any other items of value. All activities and contests offered by MyBookie.net are free of charge and no purchase is necessary to open an account. Thus, website users are not permitted to risk their own money or property on the outcome of the games. Head to Head betting pays on official result. In the event of a tie, dead heat rules as explained in Clause 1 of the General Cricket Rules might apply unless a subsequent tiebreaker method is used to determine the winner (e.g. super over, bowl-off), in which case the outcome will be settled on the result of this method. The cricket rules displayed on this page here are for the traditional form of cricket which is called “Test Cricket”. However there are other formats of the game eg. 50 over matches, Twenty20 Cricket etc where the rules differ slightly. Player: Official Cricket Rules. Cricket is a game played between two teams made up of eleven players each. Host team England takes on New Zealand in the 2019 Cricket World Cup Finals on Sunday, July 14. The match takes place at Lord’s Cricket Ground in London, England. First bowl is set for 5:30am ET with the English a big favorite over New Zealand.
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