Dan

And no, there was no whistle on this, so not even freaky.

Yeah, because there shouldn't be.

I, a proud 5'7 footballer, entered that contest with courage, heart, and absolutely zero understanding of what 6'3 looks like at full velocity.

Next thing I know, I'm airborne like a plastic bag in a cyclone.

Joey's treated me like a loose shopping trolley, and I've been ragdolled so hard, I'm pretty sure I saw my own house from above.

I hit the deck, slid about four meters, and now both legs look like I've wrestled a lawnmower and I've lost.

Grass burns everywhere.

I've got divots in places I didn't know I had skin.

For the record, I didn't lose the contest.

I was simply overpowered by a large roaming skyscraper with elbows.

I'd like conversation, a tetanus shot, and Joey to be investigated for crimes against short kings.

So you've insulted every person under five foot three.

He's not getting shit.

No, that's your- Tell him we're coming back for real.

And then also, I'm getting reports, because when something happens in our orbit here, anything in the football world, somehow I find out about it.

It feels like any local ground or AFL venue, I will find out if something's happened.

People report that to me.

I find out before the ball up even starts to start the game.

In the warm-up, no one knows you.

You don't even know them.