Go Nick Go! The Newest Member of the Flamboyant Club

863944-cats-wacky-wednesday-1Hi, it’s Warwick here. You remember me. I love watching tennis sometimes. Fun stuff, even if it’s not a team sport.  Sometimes teams aren’t everything anyway. Nah, only pullin’ ya chains, boys. I love being in the locker rooms and pulling all those jokes. Or at least hearing their laughs every time I went into the room. Boys, miss you. Great to see that boys from other clubs are keeping the Wiz dream alive!

But tennis is a sport for stars, on their own, being the centre of stuff. I liked the big stage and so do the tennis blokes.  And I love the big flamboyant blokes.  Sports like footy and tennis are always better when the stars are flamboyant. I remember Jimmy Connors, McEnroe, Cashie. All legends, all flamboyant. Couldn’t watch Borg and Lendl – they were robots.

This new kid, Nick Kyrgios, he’s a member of the Wiz’s Flamboyant Club. He’s got flamboyant to his balls. He’s got balls, that kid, plenty of them. Shorts are a bit big to show them off though. Haha.  It’s also great that he keeps talking to himself, to the fans, to ball kids, to umpires. Always talking. I like a bloke who always talking. The faster the better, I always say. Well not always. Haha.  But with fast talking and playing kids like this Kyrgios, tennis is not boring again. Same with that Tomic kid, who I see running past me on the Goldie every so often. His dad, who usually looks real mad, is usually behind him in his car.  But when the dad sees me, he smiles and say “Hey, Wiz, how’s it going” before chasing his son with a scowl.  I get that a lot.

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What’s also great about the Kyrgios kid is that he has a marketing angle. Always good to have a marketing angle, like me and my CAPPERCINO and my new thing – Capper’s Well Hung Meats. Catch it on Facebook! Yeah!  The kid, though, has it made with that thing he does walking everywhere with his cool headphones, listening to music and disobeying rules.  It’s what’s hot with the kids these days, like my Legend Sports Water. Yeah!  So if he breaks tennis rules, which seem pretty easy to break, he’ll be even bigger with his fans and with the sponsor. Win Win!

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I was watching the game last night cause there wasn’t any footy and I’m still thinking of ways of meeting Brynne. Talking of Brynne, I like Geoff Edelsten, you know, champion bloke, and I usually like his taste in chicks. But I’m not a big fan of the new one. This goes one step too far down weird lane, even for the Wiz.  Sometimes a bloke has to know his limitations. Or maybe Geoff is showing us all new ways to be flamboyant. (But, are they his hands in that photo…?)  But also, Brynne is even hotter now with the extra plastic surgery.  I was watching tennis because I know she likes it.  I was thinking of how I could set up my Cappercino van outside the tennis next January and serve up some Capper, nice and hot to her, cream and all.  Hot lady.

But Tennis.  This Nick Kyrgios kid can play, but so could that Dick Gasket guy.  He was all cool and calm and stuff – he’s one of those tennis robots and the kid was blowing his head gasket big time. I got it. It was like I was being marked up by Silvagni or someone. Annoying and getting me angry.  So the kid got angry, even gobbing off at the ump. But that’s what umps are for in footy – you have a gob off and you move on.  He did seem extra pissed off, though, in one of the sets and didn’t give a shit. That happened to me a lot in games. Nothing unusual.  He got better but lost.  Hard to beat tennis robots.

I also saw today that that nice old Balmain lady Dawnie Fraser was telling the Kyrgios kid and Bernie to go back to where they came from.  I met Dawnie Fraser once, who told me that my shorts were restricting the blood flow to my brain.  I keep meeting Dawnie too when I get down to the chemist shop, getting the various creams I need so I can still fit into my leather pants.  There’s giant Dawnies standing in the aisles trying to sell me old people pills.  Good marketing angles, that Dawnie.  But what she was saying today, I can’t work out whether she’s being like my racist old grannie talking about migrants or telling them to go back to Canberra and the Goldie. Canberra’s not that bad a joint with Jacqui Lambie being smokin hot and I’m on the Goldie.   They should have asked the Wiz what he thought of these new kids.  I’ll tell them – they are flamboyant and get the Wiz stamp of approval. Yeah!

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Weekend at Cappercino – Lazo, Ricky, Jackie Lambie and The Wiz’s Package

Hi, Warwick here.  You remember me from all those marks I took, mark of the century and all those pictures of me in tight shorts.  Yeah, you remember. All men want to be me, all women want to sit in my spa with me.  It’s been a pretty busy year for me this year, with all the public appearances and stuff. I have really great mates, like Ricky and Geoff. B2ExJntCIAAmSc5 Not so sure about Ricky Nixon’s taste in chicks – a bit young even for me. But Geoff has great taste in chicks.  The latest one is a stunner but my heart still waits for Brynne. It’s great she still rocks the 80s, like me. While talking about me, cop the shirt and the tie. No-one does style like me. I was watching TV the other day, not Fox Footy because they didn’t have me on, but it was Canberra. Not sure why I was looking at Canberra, maybe it was because I was thinking of restarting my porn career.  Then I saw a pollie who talks exactly like me. Jackie Lambie. She looked my kind of hot.  And she was seeming to have Wizmania too – mentioned she wanted a man who was rich and with a package.  It was like she was asking for the Wiz to take a mark and score a behind. I’ve restarted the awesome business, Cappercino and it’s already got a bit of buzz. Taking it around Melbourne next year, around the local footy clubs, grinding your beans for you.  Even got a bit of publicity from the Herald Sun about it – have a look at this great pic of The Wiz. 395691-838cae26-79e8-11e4-af6e-cd6ad31dcd05 What the Herald Sun didn’t tell you is that I took my van to Canberra for the last couple of weeks – to check the place out, and it’s always cold there, so they love a coffee. Plus, the Wizman wanted to see if Jackie Lambie was as hot in the flesh as she was on TV.  So, went there, set up in a carpark near some burger joint. It took a while, but the Wizaura was strong and started attracting customers when people heard The Wiz was in town.  The first pollie customer was Lazo. He was a leaguie, but we both loved Queensland and after we met back in the day, he also wanted to learn how to take a speccie. But he wasn’t all that good at jumping, Lazo.  Landed on me foot he did – almost broke it.  Lazo came because he was a bit sick of the pretentious coffee joints around Canberra, full of wankers wanting single origin stuff. “The only origin I want is State of Origin, Wiz”, he said to me.

It was good to chat to Lazo, who made me think after a while that perhaps I should of said yes to Clive when he offered the Wiz a chance at being a pollie. But then he started showing me his phone.  He was getting heaps of texts from “Pyno” as he was calling himself. “Hey, Lazo, it’s Pyno. Wanna go for a frothy at Dickson Tradies?’ Lazo rolled his eyes and told me “this wanker wants to make it like he’s actually some kind of working class big league fan. He even said he went to Adelaide Rams games. Like no-one went to those”.  Then later, Lazo showed me more texts, with attachments of Pyno singing Chisels numbers and offering to see a Bon Jovi cover band with him at Raiders Belco.  What snapped Lazo’s G-string, though, was the Snapchat of Pyno trying to recreate one of Lazo’s tries for NSW.   Maybe being a pollie was too much like getting that weird stuff on ya phone.

When Lazo starting telling others about The Wiz and his grouse coffee truck, the other pollies started coming to say g’day and get me to grind for them.  Ricky Muir turned into one of my best customers, because he’s a big fan of the AFL – even though the bloke goes for the Pies, he’s ok. He turned up one day in his ute – told me later that he was sick of getting driven around.  He was happy to see my face and told me that he thinks most of the people in parliament are wankers. “You can’t trust them, Wizdog” he would say to me, “they are the kind of people who would never know the joy of chugging a longneck of VB after a long day of roo shooting.” I knew what Ricky was saying.  He also hated wearing a suit.  “Mate”, I told him, “The Wiz hates suits too. Except when they are leopard skin print.”  Ricky nodded and smiled but didn’t say much to that idea.

One day, though, Ricky did ask me what I thought of the children in detention thing. He then looked at his phone, which was buzzing. He showed me what was on it. Someone called ScoMo was sending him texts with pictures of kids behind wire.  Now, you know the Wiz, I don’t really have all that many political views and I don’t say them unless I’m trying to have some fun and get into a council or whatever.  But it was clear Ricky was wanting an answer so I said to him – “Ricky, mate, the only kids who should be in detention are the ones who don’t do their homework or swear at a teacher.”  He seemed to like this answer and zoomed off in his hot set of wheels.

It’s a pretty funny old place, Canberra. Now some people think the Wiz is a strange bird, but mates, there’s some types down here. I remember one bloke, regular customer, Carlton man, Phil something, getting his coffee, shouting down his phone “don’t verbal me, dickhead” before getting his coffee, then looking at his phone and muttering “these fuckers don’t do their homework”.  This same bloke likes to hang around my truck and listen to confabs I have with my customers.  But he’s also good for goss around Canberra. He lives for goss, this bloke, like all the journos do. Told me that “Julie still thinks she can get the top job, but she’s nuts”. I was confused – I thought Julie was that red headed chick who went to Footscray games.

The best moment of the Wiz’s time in Canberra was the day Jackie Lambie visited the truck. Ricky had brought her, knowing of me loving the way she rocks her leopard print, a bit like another chick who likes to pop by who always seems to be rolling her eyes and screaming every time she sees “Tony” pop up on her phone screen.  Jacks and I bonded instantly.  In the flesh, Jacks is hotter than my underwear draw.  It wasn’t long before she was in my van, copping a feel of the package of the century.  We had many long chats after that intro and she told me what she thought of Clive Palmer. I told her of my previous adventures with Clive, Al Gore and his leather pants.  She wasn’t impressed and said that I was lucky to not get my cute arse roped into the Clivosaurus universe.  Then one day, when I told her that I needed to go back to Melbourne, she gave me a yellow scarf. “Wiz, you stud”, she said, “I know you like yellow. Take this and think of me”.  And as I left Canberra, I wrapped that scarf around my aerial.

One day I’ll be back to grind Jackie’s beans once more.

Me, Clive and Al – Climate Change and Pants

Hi, Warwick here.  I know you’ll all been wondering what I’ve been up to in the last little while.  It’s been a bit of a sad year, with Tommy Hafey passing on, who was a legend of the game who also knew I was the best full forward he’d ever coached. He never actually said it to me, but I knew. You could always tell with Tommy when he’d get right in your face in his tshirt and go “Wiz, what are you doing, mate, get up and do whatever the hell you do.” Yeah! Go Wiz!

Normally, I’m just happy to be the legend I am, rocking the Gold Coast with me shining in the middle. But in the last couple of days, I’ve been pissed off.  There’s been a whole lot of talk about Clive Palmer and Al Gore and some bloke called “Don Harry” or some name like that organise a meeting between them. It’s a lie.  Wazza, the Wiz, the mark of the century bloke, brought them together before any other bloke with two first names did.  It’s about time I cleared things up and told people the truth.

Here on the Goldie it’s a pretty good life.  We get the best people here on holidays, having a look around, drinking in the great sun, copping a squizz at me, looking at the highlights of me in the 80s, at my pad, taking great speccies. Yeah.  There was a time not that long ago when I was in my favourite shop on the Goldy,  An Inconvenient Girth. It’s the best pants shop anywhere in the country.  It’s got all sort of pants for all sorts of people who are well endowed in a range of things – whether it’s because you’ve eaten too many of the four n twenties, or, like me, gifted in the downstairs department.  Also got the full range of the best pants worn by chicks anywhere – jeggings. I love a chick in jeggings, especially acid wash jeggings. Sexy.  I keep offering the owners of the shop the chance to make it into a franchise, take it to Melbourne and call it An Inconvenient Girth by The Wiz. Because I’d be big in pants in Melbourne, I tell them – different from when I was a big man in small pants in the 80s.  Yeah!

I was in there the other day, looking for some tigerskin pants so I can go to Melbourne one day and charm the gorgeous and available Brynne Edelsten. She’s a megababe.  But then I saw Clive Palmer come into the shop, looking for some leather pants. He loves the leather pants around the traps does Clive. Clive and me go way back, because we both love the pants and we both love the political talk.  Clive talked to me once about running for him during an election. He’d got that leaguie Lazzo into it, and Dougie Hawkins in Melbourne, but Clive wanted me for the Goldie.  Perfect match, he said. And his party was yellow, which was pretty good. Gold hotpants, I was thinking – me and the chicks I’d be getting on the poll booths. But then Clive told me I’d have to pay for all that. I was a bit like “mate, I don’t pay for stuff like that. You pay Warwick for his greatness.” Clive was a bit cool to me after that.  That was a pity, because I turned down that great bloke Bob Katter, who wanted Capper for Katter. I thought it was hard for pissed Goldie blokes to say “Vote Capper for Katter”, so I said no. As Clive walked away from me, I thought “Warwick, your an idiot”. And then a corker of a chick walked by and I forgot.  Yeah, chicks love a bit of Wiz attention. Actually, I need to come up with a word for that. WizTention.  Yeah!

Whenever I see Clive on the TV or out and about in the Goldie,  I am usually confused after about half a minute because I have no idea what he’s on about.  Other people tell me they think the same whenever they see him on the TV talking to that grey haired bloke on Channel 2.  But he’s a Professor and all, so he’s pretty smart.

But here was Clive, in the shop, in An Inconvenient Girth, buying these leather pants.  He looked fantastic in them.  I was telling him that the pants looked great, then telling the great man that perhaps he could have some Wiz magic for an election sometime. Clive said that it would be good – I was the greatest footballer ever, he said, and then turned back to the yellow leather pants that were on another rack. Then I saw a dude walk in and look a bit pissed off. He looked like he needed a bit of the yeah yeah work on his head – a bit of a weave, I thought.  Maybe a Wiz or a Warney.  But this guy was pissed off with the name of the shop.  He was telling the owners “You should not be using this name. My film was a serious look at a serious problem and you are making it into some kind of strange humour.”  He was looking to get really serious when Clive saw him. The convo then went something like this.

“Al, mate, remember me?” Al – whoever he was, looked confused. “Al, it’s Clive Palmer”. Al still looked confused and starting to get annoyed. “I’m big in mining.” Clive said.

“Ah.” replied Al, looking at Clive’s yellow leather pants.  “Your that guy who was telling me how good leather pants are.”

“Ah, yeah!” replied Clive.

“You know, Bill kept telling me leather pants are the best thing. Loved wearing them around the oval.” Al added. He then turned to me in my awesome leopard skin pants, pointed and said “and Bill loved those. Man, he loved those. Hillary hated them”.

I was confused. I had no idea who this Al guy was – but I’m glad he liked my pants. Go the Wiz, yeah, pants.  It was then Clive turned to me and said “Warwick, you should meet Al Gore. Al, this is Warwick Capper, one of the greatest footballers who ever lived. Wants to be one of my candidates.” He then said “this is Al Gore, who needs no introduction”. He then added “Warwick, where’s the best place to have a coffee around here?” I had to answer my favourite was Tight Short Blacks, the coffee place dedicated to me.  They love me in the Goldie.  So we went.

I still didn’t know who this Al was, but he shook my hand and next thing we know, we’re having coffee at Tight Short Blacks and then Clive and Al are talking stuff about “climate change”. “Solar power”. “Carbon pricing”. Stuff that made me confused, but I know how to nod along to people who talk intelligent stuff.   I’m usually just thinking about me and maybe sometimes Brynne.

Then at one stage and Clive turned to me and said “Warwick, what do you think of climate change? Do you believe in it?”

“Mate, the climate never changes much in the Goldie, mate, but I go to Sydney and Melbourne a lot to catch up with my fans and mates – they love me there. It seems a bit hotter than it used to be – but that could be just me being the hottest thing around.” They laughed and then went back to talking more about whatever it was they were talking about.  Some kind of solar something, trees saving. Sounded like they were serious.

And then the meeting ended with Clive promising to meet Al sometime in the future. I think Clive may have promised to get me set up in some kind of solar panel company. I can’t remember, I blanked out after half a minute.  I never found out, but, if he or Al ever bought some pants at An Inconvenient Girth. I did.  Kangaroo skin, I decided. Girls love jumping on me, so I figure that now I can jump on them. Go the Wiz! Go Wiztention! Yeah!

 

Essendon – Why Do They Need Anti-Fat Cream?

Hi there,  Warwick here. It’s great being on the Gold Coast and chilling by the pool, even if it’s winter.  My spa doesn’t need heat, especially when I’m in it.  I like watching the AFL on the TV next to my spa, in my bathroom, wherever you go in my great pad. You know you can stay here, $5,000 a weekend, and I will look after you? You didn’t? You needed to see my great talk with that top Mike Sheahan bloke on Fox Footy. I think I mentioned it, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Anyway, I was watching Fox Footy and I caught something maybe a lot of people have missed. The Essendon footy club is in trouble! Yeah, I was as shocked as anyone. Fox Footy have been trying to hide it, you know with all those Hawthorn blokes appearing in every show, like that funny stuff Jase Dunstall and the boys get up to on a Sunday and all that. Funny bastard, Jase, though not as good as me as a full forward. Though, they haven’t asked me to be on that show. Crazy.

I saw it mentioned on that AFL 360 show, the one with the serious bloke who says the big words and that bloke who keeps licking his lips in a weird way. Robbo, that’s it.  Anyway, they were saying that Essendon players might be have been trying funny anti-fat creams. Ones not aren’t supposed to be used by humans.  I’ve been asked to try a lot of creams over the years – people keep emailing me with stuff I can try. Not only anti-fat creams, but ones that can help me get a fat, if you know what I mean.   I email them back by saying that if they want me trying to get anti-fat or getting a fat, they can pay me if they want.  But they never respond.

The big thing I don’t get is the “not fit for humans” thing. Who are these creams being made for? Do donkeys need to be thin? Cows? Are farmers going onto their paddocks, rubbing their cows so they can get trimmer? Nah, I can’t think so – so why are they making creams not fit for humans? I don’t get it.

The other thing about all this is why would Essendon players need to get anti-fat cream in the first place. You don’t need anti-fat cream to be a great footy player. I didn’t need any creams or ointments to get me to be a great player and none of the Swans needed it. Imagine Gerard Healy or Barry Round needing anti-fat cream? They would thump you as soon as you’d suggest they needed anti-fat cream.  Not sure why the Essendon boys would need any of that stuff. What they do need is a Flamboyant Cream, though, because that’s what the Essendon team lacks. A bit of that. I know Paddy Ryder – great name – he tries a bit, and Jobe Watson is a great player. But the team is a bit like their coach on the field – James Hird was a great player, but a bit boring. Lacks flamboyance. The fans want it, so that cream needs to be invented and made fit for humans, not cows.

Here on the Gold Coast there are a lot of Essendon fans. Lots. Like Collingwood fans. They seem to breed and move everywhere. And some of them go to Suns games.  I would go to Suns games, but I’m waiting for a call from Blighty to get me in the coaching box. They need someone to teach those forwards some flamboyance.  But what I have learnt from the Essendon fans is that they are worried. They are about losing points this year and not getting into the finals. I can see why they would be worried. The CEO of the AFL, Andrew Demetriou seems so confused about what to do next he takes off overseas to ask them what they would do.  Apparently Caroline Wilson of the Age wants James Hird to be sacked, so I’m told. She’s another fan of big words. I can’t see why you would sack a coach because some clown in the science lab team wants to test some Cow Anti-Fat cream on his players.

It’s all pretty confusing. But I will say one last thing to my Essendon supporting mates. I sometimes run into Melbourne Storm fans – I don’t mind the Storm, that Billy Slater is flamboyant to the max. They had two premierships taken away from them as well as points taken from them instantly when they were caught with dodgy books.  It seems to be that what Essendon did with hiring that Cow Anti Fat cream bloke Dank wasn’t all that much different, maybe.  Whatever it takes to win – which is something I don’t really get.  Footy is supposed to be fun, really, not something where you need to do weird stuff to win.  If they do get points taken away, at least it’s not a premiership. In any case, I still reckon my old club will win again this year.  They don’t need anti-fat or pro-fat cream. And they also have a flamboyant full forward there now – just as it should be.

Cheers,

Warwick.

Davey Warner’s OK – He’s Should be Allowed to be Flamboyant

Hi. Warwick Capper here. You remember me, I’m the face of Northern States Aussie Rules footy. And I love sport. Good at sport, I was. Still am, even if these days I like politics. I like politics a bit more than sport, with sport I have to run a bit, which is a bit tiring. Politics is just walking about, talking to people on radio and TV. Pretty good. I’ll get in somewhere sometime.

I was getting up one day out of my spa when I heard about Davey Warner getting a root in a nightclub. I first thought “All right, Go Davey!” I was good at getting roots in nightclubs. And I like Davey, it seems like he likes to be flamboyant when he plays. Except he doesn’t wear the right shorts.  I also seen what he writes on the Twitters, good English he has.

But then I listened again – he didn’t get a root, he hit someone called Root. Pretty funny name. Maybe this Root didn’t like having his named laughed at.  I then thought of where he hit Root (still makes me giggle). A nightclub. Nightclubs are good places to hit people, my good mate Chopper Read told me. Not sure when he told me that, but we’re good mates.

Me, Jacko and Chop Chop
Me, Jacko and Chop Chop

But hitting a bloke in a nightclub before a game isn’t as good an idea, I suppose. You might cop a ban from playing as Davey has copped. Though, only banned from this pissy one day stuff that I find boring.  I find most cricket boring, even this new 20/20 stuff doesn’t keep me watching it after 30 minutes.  Not enough flamboyance for me.   Even though I don’t watch test cricket, he needs to be playing for the Ashes, so it’s a good move to dodgy it up so he starts bringing that bat swinging about in the Ashes.  His bat name is awesome – kaboom. I should have had Kaboom written on my bum when I played, get a bit of sponsorship cashola.

Davey Warner needs to be allowed to be himself – he’s one of the only good things cricket has got. Along with Warney. Warney is my favourite ever cricketer. I also like what he’s doing with his look – I see it as a tribute to me.

Warney
Warney
Me
Me

Davey Warner needs to be the same top bloke he is right now. He just needs to keep on swinging that kaboom bat and swing at tools with stupid names. It’s an Aussie Legend thing to do.

P.S.  Thanks to that top chick @danietreg for finding that photo of me and the boys. It’s grouse.