Jager Bombs with Aker

Saturday, 18th June 2011

Aker opened the evening with the line "Listening to me speak is like sex on a camping trip. It's fucking in tents". Perhaps this was an omen for what was in store for this evening as we found ourselves knee deep in carnage.

Our friends, Mort and Rochelle, happened to stumble across a charity event organised by the local footy club here in Singapore, The Wombats. Aker was the guest speaker. Apparently he was on his way over here for holidays and figured there must be someone stupid enough to play Aussie Rules in the tropics, so he chased up the club to see if they wanted him to make an appearance or help out it any way. As it turned out the club had a charity evening already set up to raise money for an orphanage they've been sponsoring in Manila. And so it was that we would meet Jason Akermanis in Singapore of all places.

I don't think we quite knew what we thought about Aker as we made our way to the night. He is renowned for being a controversial figure and in that department he certainly didn't disappoint, dishing out morshals of shock to keep the punters nourished. What did surprise us though was the way he explained himself. You sat there and you weren't listening to some smart arsed knob just trying to make noise. You were listening to a very grounded guy who was, above all else, upset about the way he'd been treated. He had a tough upbringing and made it clear his love for AFL got him through some dark times.

We managed to poach him for a while for whilst he was loaded up by everyone with vodka oranges, we thought the time had come for a round of jager bombs. This may have actually ended him for the night as he didn't last much longer. Photos prove we were having great chats, if only we could remember what we were talking about. He did do a hilarious impersonation of Jonathon Brown however.

It was around this time that things really kicked off. From seemingly out of nowhere, these weird wicker barrels came out. I'm told they are sake barrels. As only a true Australian would when seeing an inanimate object, we all had a plank.

Now I love a good plank. Typically I'm not one for planking in public, I usually like to have one in the comfort of my own home. But I did get in on the group plank action and loved it.

Sadly, having had the shit kicked out of them previously, almost getting the group kicked out, the barrels didn't contain much strength and it wasn't long before our four proponents of plank hit the floor. The impact was the kind of adrenaline surging crunch that only an extreme plank can ensure. I would say having experienced this thrill first hand and the ensuing devastation caused that I am now at one with those who have been affected by other planking tragedies. Statistics show that by the time I've finished this post one in four Australians will be embarrassed by the fact that someone actually died acting like a plank and that this was broadcast across the globe with one young "gentleman" making the statement that he wanted to be the best planker in the world.

We here in Singapore support Australians right to plank and plank proudly. What we do ask, however, is that if you think you might be capable of killing yourself whilst planking, that you reconsider.

Perhaps my fondest memory of the evening is one of those simple moments that just happen. We see them in everyday life, those times when something beautiful happens and we feel inspired. That guy that you hate at work trips and hits his head, falling effortlessly into a coma. You remember that you aren't the elephant man, you're just hung like one. You realise that you are in fact the greatest person to have ever lived. These moments are what makes life worth living. And for me, having been in Asia for the better part of half a year, having given up requesting this song because of the countless rejections I'd endured, the sound of Daryl Braithwaite's "The Horses" caused a moment of euphoria. And its seems we weren't alone in this state. A scrum formed as if from nowhere in the middle of the room. Everyone standing arm in arm screaming "Thats the way its gonna be little darlin'". I weeped. I'm not afraid to say that. I feel it takes a real man to say that and I did. I weeped as I sang that really high pitched, ad lib bit "Little Darlin'" in the last chorus. The room was alive. I felt as if we will fly, way up high where the cold wind blows, or in the sun, laughin' havin' fun, with all the people that she knows. I shot someone in the face just to quell the fury. Then it stopped. A crushing blow.

Immediately the chant went up. "The Voice. Play The Voice". Then we were asked to leave. But we were not to be deterred. As B-Rabbit before us we thumbed our nose at convention and said "Fuck the beat, I'll go a cappella" and launched into Whispering Jack's finest work since Sadie the Cleaning Lady. Off into the night we stumbled. I seem to remember throwing big chunks of ice up into the air and watching it smash on the footpath. This did cause a minor disturbance when it nearly killed a couple of innocent passerbys.

Given our state at this stage, we hardly needed more booze, but it was decided to buy a traveller at the 7-11 and then unleash ourselves on Clark Quay. I probably don't need to go into too much detail of what followed but a brief summary would include Mort finding his long lost twin, a lost fiance and a receipt for 12 jager bombs.


But if the situation, should keep them separated, you know the world won't fall apart.