“Yeah mate, go on” I respond.

Sam whips out the golf club that’s propped up against the bed, holding the dodgy fridge shut. The door’s opened, two Exports are removed; one handed to myself, one remaining in the grasp of the welcome visitor.

It’s Friday night – the new flatty is having a housewarming party. Of course I’d taken the opportunity to extend the guest list – which has lead to the early stages of the party being dominated by my friends. I find that with the early friend-rush party tactics, it’s much easier to control the tempo of the gathering. This generally results in high possession percentage, which, more often than not, sways the final result the way of the rushing party. 3 points *definitely* up for grabs.

During the early stages of the party at hand, Sam and I sneak into my room to incinerate a somewhat questionable substance, and crack a few coldies from the beer fridge.

The subject of silence arises – I turn to my trusty Dick Smith radio, a capable supplier of background session music. The machine boots to 98.2, Radio Sport. Immediate reminiscence of Brendon McCullum’s 302 and the Black Caps famous draw – the last picture-painter to crackle out of the tinny, trying speakers.

Preparing for immediate radio browsing (Hosts can’t expect their guests to listen to Radio Sport as filler noise, you gotta be layin’ down some beats) I’m caught off guard; no lazy Friday night talkback – we’re greeted by the muted roar of a cheering crowd. I wait for the first words of the commentators to distinguish the code… Aussies. Damn, it must be bloody Super 12.. or Super 15.. Super Rugby, whatever they call it.

“Awww yeah it was a great save from Moss, but Sterjovskeee was a bit soft there ya gotta say,” in that annoying, twangy accent.

But I’ll grin and bare it. The Nix are playing. My plans for Saturday Night beers at the pub watching the Nix is kicked in the nuts – I had no idea they were on tonight! Mean! Sam’s a definite fair weather friend and was still keen to tune in. All of a sudden the radio wasn’t the background noise – it rose up on a pedestal and scattered its mystical contents directly into my inebriated mind.

It’s just after half time – Big Bl…. Bernie (Ibini) has scored for the Central Coast Mariners in the first 45. KKK Cunningham’s pulled one back 120 seconds into the second half, and Glen Moss’s just saved a spotty. Legend. “And that saves reeaally given the FOEEnix a loifeloine here at Bluetongue, but here come the Mariners!”

Oh jesus, hopefully we aren’t in for a dodgy away finish – these Aussie pricks sound pretty confident though…

“Muscat… into Hernandez.. OH HERNANDEZ! THAT’S BRILLIANT!! Stunning goal for the Phoenix!” he screams! Carlos you beauty!

Quickly taking a swig of brew, I get all excited – Me and Sam exchange thoughts on the goal we haven’t actually seen, but both imagined separately with equal awesomeness.

The Nix clearly gain the momentum as our mates in the com box sound more and more anxious. “Nice turn Cunningham on the halfway mark… Still Cunningham.. Into the penalty box and WIDE FOR HUYSEGEMS! More great work and it’s 3-1!!

Yesssssssss. Thank you! 20 minutes to go, come on lads! Get in!

“Lia in space… Finds Huyegems… Squared for BROCKIE! His first touch!!”

Come on now it’s just getting silly. 4-1? Away? That’s freakin great.

The final 10 minutes absolutely fly by and the final whistle shrieks through the broadcast.

Brilliant – now I’m ready to party. Let’s warm the fuck out this flat! Sam grab’s 4 beers (two each, of course) and we get the hell out of there. We’ve just spent 45 minutes in a room away from the party. Cool guys.