PDC history

 I sat on the couch on a rainy Sunday afternoon in March, a half-finished Cooper’s Stout by my side. The first half of the 2026 AFL season is almost concluded (when did giving half the sides a first round bye become a thing? And why FFS?). 

The reigning premier's Lions lost their first encounter against a feisty Western Bulldogs at the Gabba last night. Annabelle worked in a suite serving the patrons from an Asphalt company, and seemed to enjoy the evening, despite a 5-point loss. Though ensuring the numerous attendees with a cornucopia of allergies didn’t die on the spot presented challenges she could actually control. 

With the season kick off the Saturday Paper’s sports correspondent. Martin McKenzie-Murray wrote (again) about his beloved Fremantle football club. It reminded me of a very ancient and poorly written 'pseudonym ponderings' blog that I started curated 20 years ago. I could dust that off, I thought. Then thought again, honestly, for what actual purpose? 

I have a staycation coming up, I pondered. Lisa is off to New York again. I’ve got two weeks off work. Hang on, I could do a history of the PDC - the missing years. For what purpose, I questioned? Perhaps the kids will like it. Yeah right, as if they care so much... Without photos and moving parts it of kind of misses something and it’s a pain downloading from google and elsewhere. Maybe there are some stories worth telling? I read and am now watching The Narrow Road to the Deep North, by Richard Flanagan about the Aussie cobbers suffering through Japanese imprisonment on the Thai Burma railway. I am really stretching the narrative to suggest the mateship from the PDC has ANYTHING to do with the second world war. 

But blogging might be a bit easier now. I’m dictating this on a phone rather than typing it. There’s a time saving of hours! I could even deploy a bit of AI to craft a more reader-friendly grammatically correct narrative. Throw in a bit of AI generated hyperbole, or 'excitemen, or 'passion', or anything. But I’ll probably revert to form and craft a mediocre, long-winded, cliche-filled story about a fun 3 or 4 days every 12 months, which often ends in personal disappointment about my golf swing. So here we go. What could go wrong. Stay tuned.