Is Carlscum Captain Marc Murphy really Bill E Elliot? Our Italian Correspondents BYRD, CONTESSA MANSKI & UNCLE EV have a theory on the subject…
Marc (Junior) Murphy – Billy Elliot has a huge personal dilemma. The Carlton football club has been led to believe for quite some time that he is a professional football player within his club, as their Captain. Truth has it all along, Billy – Marc always has had a love of dancing and hopes of becoming a professional ballet dancer with The Australian Ballet Company.
What stupefies Mick (The Unwise One) Malthouse and the entire club is Marc – Billy’s disastrous performance since the beginning of his Captaincy. Displaying no leadership skills whatsoever, nonetheless causing a cataclysmic fall not only with the other players, the coaching staff as well, resulting in a ruinous effect with the dispirited league.
Instead of training in between scheduled matches, Marc – Billy seizes every given opportunity to lock himself inside the gymnasium hall at VISY headquarters after hours to practice his ballet.
Late one evening Marc – Billy sneaks inside the gymnasium at VISY headquarters, puts on his navy ballet shoes, stands in front of a long mirror, holds his position upright, proceeds to perform his lunges to the tune of “Swan Lake” playing out loud on his iPhone.
Exposed by the senior board member Jeanne (Gene Genie) Pratt an ex ballet instructor, she believes that Marc – Billy is a truly gifted and talented dancer.
She eventually convinces Marc – Billy to train and study hard for a probable future submission to The Australian Ballet Company.
Regretting the recruitment of her new pupil with his so-called prodigy, Jeanne Pratt clearly frustrated by Marc’s lack of enthusiasm fumed: “Find a place on that bloody wall and focus on the spot! Then whip your head ’round and come back to that spot! Prepare! Concentrate!”
Adding, “It is any wonder why your boys keep losing every week? Highly likely this week as well.” Jeanne scoffed.
“Bugga Off!” Snapped Marc.
“Please yourself, darlin’.” Laughed Jeanne Pratt.
West Coast Eagles
Confessing to Jeanne Pratt as she is reapplying lipstick, Marc was quite impassioned: “Whenever I dance, I feel as though I’m totally free. Free of all the pressure, the negativity. I’ve got this fire in my body, once I get going, I forget everything, and everything sorta disappears. I’m just there, flyin’ like an Eagle.”
“Damn shame Dear, you don’t have that same appetite, the drive, the will, yearning to succeed to play and win with your Blue boys. Your secret is safe with me.”
Jeanne Pratt is renown for her crafty if not shrewd business affairs with the board, discreetly switches of her voice mail application on her mobile phone.
“So. Do we get the pleasure of your company next week?” Jeanne Pratt sipping on her fourth glass of vintage Dom Perignon.
Marc stuffing his navy ballet shoes inside his sports bag shrugged: “It’s just, I feel like a right sissy.”
“Well, don’t act like one! Stop sulking over that photograph you’re holding of Eddie (Snugs) Betts. He has that natural ability to glide effortlessly; you could still learn a thing or two about his footwork and his proficiency”.
“$300.00 please. And if you’re not coming again, hand over your shoes.” Grumbled Jeanne Pratt.
Back at home, Marc bluffs to his girlfriend, Jessie (Jessie’s Girl) Habermann that he has just finished his stint with training at VISY headquarters, dumping his footy boots onto the veranda. Marc’s girlfriend panic stricken, failing to cover the mouth piece of the home phone with her hand calls out: “That old bat Mrs. Pratt is on the phone, wishing to speak with you.”
“Young man, what have I told you about your arm. You need to flex it. On any occasion you see that ghastly face of your girlfriend….
“I do beg your pardon, I mean Nathan (Braggadocio) Buckley on the television, sweetie pick up your boxing gloves and punch the nearest thing that is next to you.” Advised Jeanne Pratt.
Storming inside the Coach’s office at VISY headquarters, Mark (Mambo Italiano) Loguidice, gasping for air, frantically asked Mick (The Unwise One) Malthouse while he was viewing reruns of Shitney’s game plan inside his office, challenged: “Listen! Have you noticed anything weird about Marc lately?”
“What are you after? Like a list?” Seethed Mick. Unimpressed with Mark rudely barging in unannounced, in combination with Marc’s inconsequential contribution to the club and the game so far. Mick was at the end of his tether.
“Shut up! Barked Mick.
“I didn’t say anyth___,” Logidice professed.
“You were thinking. It’s annoying.” Mick verified.
“Typical the way Marc has been playing footy. He prances around on the field like a ballerina.” Matthew (Pavlova) Pavlich snickered to Ross (Rampaging) Lyon while reading the Fremantle Herald lengthy article on Carlton’s deplorable season.
“Nobody should be called a genius. A genius is a guy like Norman Einstein.” Established Ross.
“Isn’t it Albert Einstein Coach?” Quizzed Pavlich.
“Look, I know my facts! It’s like chemistry, it’s a subject you take at high school or university, where you figure out two plus two is 10 or something.” Ross authorized.
Pavlich confused, began counting his fingers on his hands just to be sure.
“At least the heat is off us for the time being as luck would have it, Malthouse is hitting the headlines on a daily basis. Jimbo (The Fugitive) Hirdy admitted to his Bombers. Hirdy was on a roll, continues philosophically: “Don’t say I don’t get along with my team mates. I just don’t get along with some of the guys on the team”.
“By the way what’s with Murphy? He’s been playing footy as if he’s in River Dance or something.” Jimbo belittled, leaving the change rooms at Etihad stadium.
Thrusting an accusing finger to his Doggies, Luke (Duped) Beveridge threatened: “We need to win this game to stay in the top eight. I don’t want you boys doing the jitterbug in front of our supporters at the MCG on Sunday afternoon. You got that!”
Ken (Kinky) Hinkley annoyed with his boys dancing around Adelaide Oval instead of walking during their early morning training session. Hinkley yells: “Is that absolutely necessary? Walk normal!…Geeez.”
Jeanne Pratt discreetly contacted Mark to meet with her urgently at VISY headquarters.
“This will sound strange Mark, but for some time now I’ve been thinking about the Australian Ballet School.
“Aren’t you a bit old Mrs. Pratt?” Marc was baffled.
“No, not me!…You! I’m the bloody teacher!” Huffed Jeanne Pratt. Clearly offended.
Jeanne Pratt pours herself a huge glass of Dom Perignon Rose’ – 2002, switches on her computer, carefully selects an oldie but a Goldie of a tune, as they both awkwardly dance around VISY gymnasium hall, trusting that their undisclosed tuition has finally paid off.