who is player number 6 for west coast?

because today i thought i'd like to peel off his thigh tape with my teeth. not in a 'fuck you, you're beating my team and i want to shred you with my bare nails' way but in a 'you have very nice thighs and i'd like to get my tongue on them' way
this, however, was just a mild distraction during the game at kardinia park.
firstly, it was warm. i took off my coat [which is slightly puffy but thankfully doesn't 'swoosh' a la george costanza]. i had been expecting rain, in fact it was forecast. didn't rain. not a drop.
then, during warm up practice, the balls were raining left right and centre. i think i have mentioned before my dad's seats are right behind geelong goals. several years ago, he got a ball to the face, care of gary ablett. and i got a ball in my lap which spilled my beer. NOT THAT TYPE OF BALL! and not from gary.
well today i got a ball to the left breast, care of some wc fuck. dad also got a ball to the lip, which came off the seat behind, and after dad's lip, hit princess on the head. the ball, not dad's lip. so our family's list of warm-up ball contact grows.
it was all a bit much for princess and her protective mother.
there was an old lady cowering behind the fence right at the front. she was squatted right down holding a cushion over her head. the man next to us told us that last week she got hit by a warm-up ball and had to be stretchered out. no shit. but there she was, back on the old horse, even if she was terrified.
then a frisson ran through the crowd. three mighty large telegraphic lenses were pointed right at us.
'they're getting a close up of my breast,' i thought.
but no. the word was gary senior was in the crowd. and there he was, in his old place in the hickey stand. looking shifty in shades.
the game started, it was great. occasionally i was distracted yet again by tape. it's funny, the leg bandages don't really affect me. it's definitely the tape that does it. leg and shoulder.
i also noticed stephen king [no.1 for geelong] is mighty fine. plus he's a really good writer. he had shoulder tape.
each time geelong kicked a goal i looked at my dad's face. now, roger has 'high colour' at the best of times. but with each goal, his complexion darkened and ruddied to a puce of ecstasy. he would grin at me and give me the thumbs up. so old school. so gorgeous.
but there's something odd about my dad. he is the list man to end all list men. on the kitchen bench, right here, is a three-item list of his. this is it, verbatim:
shot gun
bread maker?
find my Trinity tankard + glass whisky decanter

do you find anything strange about this list?
to end the evening, princess and i had a "bratz off"
this is where we each chose three bratz dolls and then dressed them according to our individual taste. then we got dad to select his top three. princess won first place for some sassy little tokyo a go-go, multicoloured-braids, miniskirt outfit, then her cloe came second with a funky get up with knee boots and legwarmers. my jade came third with her snow outfit which had a mini kilt and black ankle boots.
i could have sworn dad would go for my sophisticated jade with mint green evening dress, or my angelina in her frilled man's tux shirt belted over plaid low rider flares.
there's no accounting for some tastes.