Good dogs

Footy is, as they say, back. It's already feeling good to be a Bulldogs fan, what with a surprising win last week (against Brisbane) and an emphatic one this (against GWS).

It was fun to not only go to that second game but introduce a friend to this particular brand of enjoyably inconsequential unscripted drama. I'm not sure whether my buddy Priyanka really got into it that much, but at least she can't say I did not make good on my promise to introduce her to footy.

A woman sitting on the other side of Pri was also new to AFL so listened in on my explanations of the rules and objectives of the game. She explained that her companion wasn't of help because "he's German."

I get that. Many years ago, some Germans refused to play skat (their national card game) with me at until I had not only learned the rules but mastered playing such that I was a tolerable opponent.

I'm sure I stuffed up some of the finer details of the rules of AFL, but I care not. Everything in life is a matter of deciding whether the juice is worth the squeeze. Understand the rules sufficiently to enjoy the game, and leave it at that, I reckon.

(Germans would hate this attitude.)

Anyway, dogs for the flag, Bont for the Brownlow. You didn't hear it from me first, you heard it from the dudes that were sitting behind me.