I’ve been bagging Grammar Boys a bit lately, particularly those who graduated dux in the year that Beldale Ball won the Cup, but it seems that the toffee apples aren’t quite as dense as they seem, and have learnt from what they read about Dunkirk.

Poor old Davey Fowler.

If he wasn’t such a pompous prick he’d almost be entertaining, but he isn’t and he ain’t and that’s no ones fault but his own.

It doesn’t stop him spotting a wind sock and an earn though.

The Bantam’s f*cked and he knows it.

His radio program’s cactus (it’s sh*t anyway, but its the best we’ve got), his No 2 gig as backup BrisVegas race caller is about to be casualised, his column’s nothing more than a joke, he’s got nothing going with the newspapers, the Albion Park magic carpet’s about to crash land, and due to his duplicity he only has two friends left in his life and one of them’s his childhood mate Blinky the stuffed Koala.

Davey needs an out and a parachute down to long dreamed of apartment by the Torrens River in the city of churches, sick sexo serial killers, and kindly old Italian grape vine trimmers who run the Aussie branch of the Calabrian Labor Exchange in their spare time, and there’s only one way that he’s gunna get it.

The good old-fashioned shiny-arsed public servant redundancy scheme, or in Davey’s case a payout of the balance of his employment contract that just by chance Clip Clop happened to extend just a couple of months ago at about the time that the Albion Park Harness Racing Club annual report was released.

…. some jobs will go. The savings factor was a key plank in selling the merger deal to all concerned.

And some will see it as a suitable way to end their careers whatever role they play in either company.

Some like our boy the Bantam, the grand master of the telegraphed arse licking punch.

If the body cruncher at Tabcorp has any sense of humor at all he’ll do to the bantam what his hero Can Do did to Anna Bligh’s hubby Greg Withers when the LNP smashed its way to one-term anti-asset sale tidal wave power.

Withers, who had set up and headed the Office of Climate Change, was just like Fowler and could see the odds of a future in the job were a thousand to one and blowing like a gale, and so like the Bantam he made it publicly known that he wanted a redundancy.

It was a bad mistake coming from a bloke whose missus had attacked Campbell Newman’s wife and kids, for he totally underestimated the vindictive vein that runs through Can Do’s otherwise pleasant character, and the son of a far right-wing Liberal Senator put Withers to the sword and laughed at him while he did it.

Wither’s task for the last couple of years of his contract? Dismantle the Office of Climate Change brick by brick, and have fun while you are doing it.

Mr Bligh stared the new Premier in the eye for a couple of weeks, but blokes whose missus’ become political leaders aren’t generally made of the sternest stuff – Tim the Scissors Man, Denis Thatcher, Leigh Atkinson, need I go on? – and Withers submitted his resignation on 4 weeks notice terms not long after.

Tabcorp should direct Davey boy to serve out the remaining term of his contract by dismantling his great legacy too.

Chuck him a pair of gloves, a pick axe, a tool kit, a wheelbarrow, seven large skips, a shovel and a fluro vest and set him to work pulling down the ten year old temporary broadcast tower at Albion Park.

They won’t need it any more after the land gets sold and the last great inner city parcel of land becomes a public space and park fringed by new and efficient low land-waste housing, built on a pair of flippers.

And wouldn’t it just be fitting?

Cinderella’s slipper’s gone nothing on this.