That Statement In Full

The stench of booze, sweat and stale Chiko Rolls assaulted Chris' olfactory organs as he stood in front of the assembled football media to read the statement he had prepared.

"Hi, thanks for coming," he began.

He'd wanted to put in a joke early on, but Rebecca had forbidden it. Expressely forbidden it.

"You've embrassed youerself and us enough lately, I'm not going to let you get up there and tell that awful bloody story about the horse and Michael Jackson on national television," she'd fumed.

So Chris began.

"As many of you are aware, this club has been troubled by a series of recents events where players have acted, and let's be frank here, like a bunch of fucken five year olds with ADD who've been jacked up with the Cuzzy juice and let loose in the Big W toys aisle. In their underpants.

Now, as captain and chief bagman ... er ... head of the leadership group, I have to say that the buck stops with me. About a million a year of them, plus the entirely in no way shifty compensation for my tireless work as an Environmental Ambassador for Shady Holdings.

Given that situation, after a series of long and tense meetings with the club hierachy, one of which I escaped from by saying I was going to the toilet then climbing out the bathroom window, I've decided that I will take responsibility for the players under me.

If you look to the left of stage, you will see Sticks holding a pitchfork in case I try and run away again before finishing this statement. That is how seriously I take my role.

Many people have observed that when I captained my old club, the culture of the joint descended to the point where Amy Winehouse came into the clubrooms to score once and left in disgust. Blokes were on it day in day out, flatlining in Vegas, robbing chemists, hanging out with bikies, but I swear on my Grandmother's grave, I didn't see a single thing.

And even if I did, I wouldn't have known what it was, because I'm a good clean cut media friendly bloke who got a high ENTER score. Have I mentioned that before? That I got a high ENTER score? It completely makes up for any accidental letting of my hand go near blokes' faces or pressure points.

Anyway, now I've rocked up here and every cunt is on the booze and I seem to be copping the blame. Just coz I sat with Fev all day at the casino getting slaughtered. And just coz I was on that boat when Levi Stubbsjeans or whatever the little lagging lightweight is called was gently encouraged to join the boys in a few palate cleansing ales.

Having taken all that on board, and having engaged in discussions with the rest of the leadership group, fucktards to a man as they are, I've come to the conclusion that from now on, we have to be honest with the club, with the supporters, and most importantly, with ourselves.

So I'm going to start now.

Youse can all go and get fucked. I've had a gutful of you all. Fuck footy. I've got a giant pile of cashed stashed. Ever since I come back to Melbourne, its been one thing after another. Missus bloody turned carpet muncher with Caro, I get the blame coz Fev goes off his rocker and gets a big set of fake tits then youse all turn on me coz we do what footballers since time immemorial have been doing and get maggot drunk and act like fuckwits.

Well, fuck the lot of youse. I'm retiring. You'll have to find some other dumb cunt to pour a bucket of shit on now.

Fuckity bye fuckheads!"

And with that, as the assembled footballer media sat jaws agape and even Sticks let the pitchfork fall limply by his side, Chris stormed off and out the door.

A chapter of football history had closed.