"Buddy your an old man , poor man pleading with your gonna get you some peace somebody better put you back into your place"

Frasier Story: "A Miracle at Madison Square Garden"

It was a crisp, electric night in New York, and Frasier Crane found himself, somewhat reluctantly, in the midst of what was quickly becoming one of the most thrilling basketball games of the season. Niles had convinced him to join, of course, though it wasn’t out of sheer love for the game. “It’s cultural!” Niles had insisted, which—when it came from him—could mean anything from the latest abstract art exhibit to the sudden rise of sports as an unsung human drama.

Tonight, they were at Madison Square Garden, the crowd buzzing with anticipation as the Hawks, an underdog team that had struggled all season, faced off against the Bloods, the reigning champions. Frasier, however, was far more concerned with his seating—front row, center court—and the fact that he'd spilled his artisanal popcorn on his favorite scarf. “Oh, it’s absolutely ruined,” he muttered, frantically trying to brush away the kernels while Niles, eyes glued to the court, barely acknowledged the plight of Frasier’s scarf.

"Look at that—Niles, did you see that?!" Frasier exclaimed, eyes wide as the game unfolded before them. The Hawks had been struggling to keep up, but then something happened. The game seemed to change with a single shot: Niles Crane, of all people, threw a basketball from nearly half-court, almost as if it were an afterthought, and—swish!—the ball landed cleanly through the hoop. A moment of pure shock and exhilaration. The crowd exploded.

“That’s what we needed!” Niles shouted, shaking Frasier’s shoulder as if he himself had just hit the game-winning shot.

Frasier blinked, still trying to process what he’d just witnessed. “Niles, you did that? You’re telling me you just… tossed a shot from—”

“No, no, not me. I’m talking about the Hawks, Frasier. The Hawks!” Niles clarified, pointing towards the court.

Indeed, the Hawks had just scored their first basket of the game at the eight-minute mark of the first quarter. It was a humble beginning, but in a game like this—where everything felt like a battle—the crowd couldn’t help but cheer. This was the moment, the sign that maybe, just maybe, the Hawks could turn things around.

But as the game continued, the Bloods' dominant performance made it seem like the Hawks' hope was quickly slipping away. The Bloods were relentless, pushing their lead with a series of flawless fast breaks, smooth shots, and well-timed steals. It was as if they were playing on another level entirely.

Five minutes remaining.

The crowd was on its feet, but the Hawks were still down by double digits, and it seemed as if the game was slipping away. But suddenly, like a shot of adrenaline, Bulldog came alive. The notorious radio personality, once considered a liability on the court, was hitting every shot he took. A three-pointer here, a layup there—Bulldog was everywhere. The crowd erupted each time he made a basket, urging the Hawks on as they clawed their way back.

And then—Daphne. The unassuming, soft-spoken physical therapist was a wild card, known more for her compassionate nature than her basketball skills. But tonight, she was playing like a woman possessed. Steals, assists, rebounds—it was as if the game had flipped its script, and Daphne was writing her own.

Frasier could barely believe what he was seeing. “Who are these people?” he muttered under his breath, his eyes wide as Daphne made a pinpoint pass to Bulldog for yet another three-pointer.

The Hawks had gone from being written off to being on the brink of a miracle comeback. The blood-pumping energy in the arena surged with every point, and with only a minute left, the Hawks were back within six points.

Frasier, now standing and cheering louder than he ever thought possible, could feel the electricity building. "This is it!" he yelled. "They’re going to do it, Niles!"

Niles, who had been nervously chewing his sleeve (he was nothing if not eccentric under pressure), stood up too, his face a mixture of disbelief and giddy excitement. "Frasier! Look at this! It’s a miracle! I don’t believe it!"

The crowd was in full frenzy now, with chants echoing through the stadium. The Hawks were charging, fueled by every ounce of spirit they had. And then—the moment. A fast break, a perfectly timed assist from Daphne to Bulldog, who passed it on to Frasier’s childhood friend, the unflappable forward, Jackie McLeod.

McLeod, with a look of laser-focus, launched a shot from the top of the key. The ball sailed through the air, slowly, agonizingly, before it dropped. The crowd gasped in unison. Three points. They were within three.

Martin Crane, seated in the VIP section with an unusually youthful energy, shot out of his seat and fist-pumped in the air. "That’s my team!" he yelled, nearly knocking over his overpriced stadium beer. His excitement was contagious, and Frasier couldn’t help but be swept up in the madness.

But it was the next moment that cemented the game’s status as something straight out of a Hollywood script. As the Swans tried to mount a defense, Frasier sidestepped, grabbed a loose ball, and with a stunning turn of fortune, got it to Niles, who passed it cleanly to Bulldog for another chance.

Click. The ball was in the air, arcing toward the hoop. For a moment, it seemed like time itself had stopped.

But—rimmed out. The ball bounced off the edge and fell to the floor.

The Swans, quick to capitalize on the miss, surged forward, securing their victory with a few final, cold-blooded shots. The buzzer rang, and the bloodshot-eyed reality hit them all: The Hawks had fought valiantly, but it was the Bloods who had come out on top.

Frasier’s jaw dropped. The miracle comeback had fallen just short.

The crowd stood, giving the Hawks a standing ovation for their incredible fight. The Swans celebrated their hard-earned victory, their spot in the finals secured.

Niles, breathing heavily, muttered, "Well, at least it was dramatic."

Frasier wiped the sweat from his brow. "Yes, dramatic… but I can’t believe it, Niles. We were so close. So close."

Martin, still standing in the crowd, waved at Frasier and Niles, a grin plastered across his face. "You gotta admit, that was one heck of a game, boys!"

Niles turned to Frasier, his expression thoughtful. "I suppose there’s something to be said for the joy of the chase. Even if you don't always win, sometimes the journey is enough."

Frasier nodded, glancing at the scoreboards as the arena began to empty. "Indeed, Niles. But next time, maybe we can skip the sports drama and just watch a real opera. Less sweat, more finesse."

As they left the arena, the haunting notes of "Skinny Love" by Bon Iver filled the air, a bittersweet reminder of a game that came so close to becoming a legend. For the Hawks, it was a night of lost opportunity. But for the fans, and especially for Frasier, it was a reminder that sometimes the greatest moments don’t come in the final score—but in the fight itself.

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So in the late 1980s, when I was in uni (or SAIT to be precise), I read a humorous review of an Aussie Rules game. I have no idea where I read it in.  I did, however, steal the idea and wrote a similar version for our SAIT magazine following the 1986 (? could’ve been 85 or 87…) Technol where the School of Mining Engineering team triumphed at Aussie Rules (and the sculling/skulling comp) up in the Adelaide Hills.

I cannot remember all of it, nor can I find even the article I wrote (pre “everyone has a computer” days), but it included lines like:

“And so it came to pass, that the knights from the Hill of Wind (Essendon) sallied forth…”

“And the coach sayeth unto them – “shark ye the packs and gather ye the crumbs, for he who does not do these things shall suffer the wrath of the track of tan””

“And so it was that the brothers Madden, and Terry of Daniher, didst rise up…”

“And the Knights of the Hill of Wind ascended another rung higher on the ladder to celestial bliss.”

I don’t know who wrote it nor where it was published, and I may even have dreamed it.  But if anybody out there knows what the hell I’m talking about, please fill me in

with a bigger penis

Anyone have some superpower afl pattern recognising in the crowd?

https://www.afl.com.au/video How many people will travel down

Certainly

View Poll

Used to be the biggest advocate for the app over the afl official, but the time has come for me to admit defeat. Pop up ads, haven’t updated player profiles in about 4-5 years, constantly down and I just got a pop up that was clearly a virus that said I needed to clear my malware. Is there any other alternative app or do I need to bite the bullet and switch to the official?

footy journalists bad. give updoot

I sure hope I get this Sports Journalist job at the Herald Sun. Amazed there's an opening.

You guys probably didn't know but Rankine actually did the fencing response!!

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fencing_response

Fencing response

Means I would get to see him again

Sure, they are the best players, involved in almost every play of the game and getting nearly twice as many touches as they used to? But why not the forwards who kick nearly half as many goals as they used to? Is it really fair to judge the Brownlow based on how impactful a player is?
The invention of media in 2009 has been a disaster for the Brownlow