I was sitting in my mate Eagle’s place in Hornswood (the dynamic little suburbs from Hornsby to Chatswood) on Friday night and we had continued to drown our sorrows during and after the Sea Eagle’s… capitulation.

Me – “I’ve got to drop some weight, I’ve hit a hundred and sixteen kilos.”

Eagle (his poker call-sign as he’s even more of a Sea Eagles tragic than I am) – “Really? I’m hundred and sixteen too.”

Me – “You’re kiddin’?? We’re roughly the same build, I’m six foot tall and you’re four inches taller than me. You gotta be a hundred and twenty at least.”

Eagle – “Nope, a hundred and sixteen.”

Me (looking him up and down) – “No.”

Eagle – “Huh?”

Me – “BULLSHIT. No way!”

We argued back and forth and then his wife went to get the scales. She also believed her husband may be closer to the one twenty mark, than one sixteen.

Eagle – “Cool Hand (my self-ascribed poker call-sign) I’d bet money on it, but I don’t want to take your cash when I know exactly what I weigh.”

I was starting to lose a bit of my confidence. He looked out of shape and seemed to have a gut like mine, but was so much taller.

Eagle – “I haven’t weighed myself for at least six months, but I’m in tune with my body, which is maybe something you need to become Cool Hand. If I do start to put on weight, my body let’s me know and I do something about it!”

Damn, was I about to be laughed at? There was only the three of us there, but still it’d hurt.

Me – “We’ll see… fat boy.” I had no choice but to stay on the front foot.

Eagle – “I can’t wait for the big heart-felt apology from you both.”

Me – “It won’t be as big as your gut.”

Eagle – “Will the apology be written or just verbal? You should start planning it now before I step on the scales and that magical hundred and sixteen pops up.”

Shit, had I made a mistake? Was I going to have to eat humble pie for my piss-taking? Mmmmmm, pie. Apologising is not in my nature and it would really hurt.

Eagle hopped on the scales.

ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY EIGHT KILOS. 128!!

He looked at me like a deer in the headlights, like a hundred and twenty eight kilogram deer who’d just been dropped into the Twilight Zone. He’d gained twelve kilos without even noticing.

His wife and I laughed and laughed and laughed. I got on the scales, one hundred and fifteen.

Eagle – “Gee our Sea Eagles were disappointing tonight Cool Hand.”

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Thanks for reading. I write blogs oftentimes just to claim at parties much to my wife’s chagrin, that I am in fact… a writer. I write stuff for a few small businesses but I need to one day be a famous contributor to the noble art of blogging. And check out my the brilliant new craft-beer home delivery business I set up with a few North Shore mates (gettincrafty.com.au) Cheers