‘It’s always the b****y way,’ Franklin grumbled.
‘How’s that?’
‘Look forward to a quiet one at the pub and a pair of jokers have to spoil it.’ He set his half-full pot on the table and scanned until he spotted the culprits. So far, they were merely heckling.
‘Drink up.’ His mate nudged Franklin’s beer closer. ‘They’ll be right.’
‘Maybe.’ Franklin took another draught but kept a watch on the two blueing men.
‘We’d play better next year if you make a comeback. Can we talk you into it?’
Quietly flattered to be begged out of retirement, Franklin knew it reflected more upon the piss-poor talent on the senior footy team than his skills. ‘Nuh, I’ll stick with coaching. The old knee has a hard enough time keeping up with the little tackers.’
‘Any future AFL stars coming through?’
Franklin
