Yes sportsfans I know up rather late this morning, but I’ve just been on the blower to Shaunie the best man at me and Maggie’s wedding, and he was carrying on like a pork chop raving about the night on the champers him and his hubby Christopher had last night while my little tin lid was babysitting the girls – they’re a pair of some sort of fluffy little white poofy dogs that wear rainbow collars and have pink bows on their noggins – and thanking me profusely for forcing her to cross the Vegas river for the purpose but not offering a sling, and telling me all about some nut job musical called Kinky Boots that they went to while real men were studying the Saturday form, and I was pretending to listen and throwing in the odd grunt of approval while watching Porn Hun with the sound turned off with one eye and doing the ratings on the Albion Park Trots with the other, when suddenly my queerer than a row of tents good mate said something that made me jump to attention.
Well one part of me anyway. The other was already there.
Have I ever told you my Melbourne Mate the Tiger’s favourite saying?
“Any man who says he doesn’t pull himself is a wanker”.
George Pell would do well to learn it.
Anyway, back to Shaunie, and this is what he had to say that sparked my attention.
“Bishie (It’s Mr Butterfly to you Shaunie, but anyway) you know that guy I danced with at the Wickham that night when I was sixteen and you slipped me your ID so I could get in the door? The one who went to Grammar and lost his hair early after losing the month’s house keeping money on the punt the same Tuesday that his Mum and Dad handed it to him before taking off on the month long cruise?”
“Do you mean the Rooster?” I asked Shaunie.
“Yes that’s him, the fellow who has the radio program on that AM station and plays the pokies at the Albion Hotel 6 days a week in the early hours of the morning”
“Six days a week Shaunie” I replied. “Does he pull a God and the Sabbath sort of scheme and rest on the seventh or something”
“Don’t be silly dear. He’s at the Sportsman on Sunday nights for the show!”
I felt like a fool, and had to eat a bit of humble pie, which gave Shaunie a kick ‘cos it’s not often he gets one over me.
“Yeah good gay boy, one to you” I conceded. ‘Take it off the bill. Anyway, what is it about the Rooster you want to tell me?”
“Only that Chris and I saw him at XYZ bar and ABC bar and QED bar and YIC bar and that he drank a bottle of French bubbly at each because it was international champagne day, and that in between we saw him down the front at Kinky Boots dancing his arse off and singing along to every word”.
“That’s all. Oh, and how do you reckon he’ll go on the Mic today with Weinstein-sized headache he’s going to have after doing a most of the nighter down in the Valley on the bubbles?”
I hung up on him at that point, because Clip Clop was calling on one of the other lines, and I had Jacinda Arden and Laura on hold on the two others.
If I’d bothered to answer the gay millionaire artist I call my fourth best mate though it would have been in exactly these terms.
“I bet the Rooster’s bloody praying for rain”.