... The Cursed Jumper

So this is the story. When I play soccer on Thursday nights it's always white shirts versus coloured shirts. My Svetlanaland national soccer team shirt does nicely as my white shirt as despite its checkered pattern it is predominately white.
I decided to get myself a Collingwood jumper to wear on those occasions wen I am on the coloured shirt team since it's predominately black - plus I love the irony of a black and white shirt being coloured.

The debut of my wonderful new jumper was at soccer two Thursdays ago. Coincidence.

I donned it a second time for last Sunday's footy match. Still there are extenuating circumstances - in the history of my footy match attendance with The Great Sandro the results have been 50/50, despite ladder position, so I can accept that last week was just one of those things.

However...

Last night was ridiculous. Sure we played better generally but half of Norths goals came from turnover after stupid mistakes from Collingwood, and then there was the unbelievable bounce in the centre that goes completely in Norths favour and gifts them a goal, AND to top it all off Didak misses a simple shot from right in front that could have stolen the lead back again. I was quietly weeping at the death of my jumper-wearing dream while beside me Legion2 was noisily exploding in rage.

I am now thinking that the sweet smell of burning polyester elastane will be shortly drifting about my flat. I'm sure that even Ms Magpie, who doesn't believe in superstitious mumbo jumbo and told me to wear the jumper anyway this week, will now be clamouring for it's demise.

I can tell you for sure that I will not be wearing it while I watch the Anzac Day game this Friday.


In other news
I made a Friday night visit to LURG, the League of Unreasonable Gentlemen. For a little game of Man o' War. No wait that link was wrong try this one, damn not that one either, here's the right one. Afterwards I had a nice chat with Camo Spice and caught up with Redneck Ben for the first time in years.

I'm also in a battle to reclaim my stolen parking space at home as someone else has had the temerity to park in the space I have claimed (it's an odd echo of the situation at Sandringham with Mr Prada stealing my spot all the time) and I've had to revert to parking in the spot that I own. Except someone else has taken a fancy to that spot and my car is now a vagrant of the carpark.