Eureka Competition Winner: A Tale of Two Campos

 

All the entries to the ‘Eureka! Making the Nut Christmas Giveaway’ are in. We’ve judged, discussed and determined the winners. Making the Nut readers are a rebellious lot, we discovered, and we enjoyed their tales of mischief and mayhem. Today we present the winners. 

 

We especially enjoyed MTN reader ‘Penshy’, who told us a tale of his young, wild days, when he nicked a police car while two officers were distracted making an arrest. He quietly returned the car to the same spot after a few hours (and a few beers) and the police just as quietly picked it up, no doubt not wanting to reveal to anyone that they’d lost their patrol car for a day. Penshy will receive a signed copy of Peter FitzSimons’ Eureka: the Unfinished Rebellion.

We also want to give special mention to MTN reader ‘Bouncin’ who told us a tale of speaking out against a scumbag priest. You are a legend, Bouncin. He will receive a brand new copy of the NRL Almanac.  

For the overall winner, we present Nick Campos and a Tale of Two Campos:

 

“My act of rebellion came when I was just a lad of 15, whilst attending school out at Campbelltown. Each year the school has a fundraiser called the Sportsman’s Dinner, where several sportspeople give speeches and auction off memorabilia. This particular year Glenn McGrath, Trent Barrett and David Campese were the guests of honour, and as a keen league and cricket man, I was eager to scam an invitation.

As with any boys school, all functions are staffed by a motley crew of teenagers, most of whom have been hand-selected in order to avoid any "embarrassing incidents". With a history of smart-arsed backchat, on and off the sporting field, I was almost certain my card had been marked.

That was until I decided to ditch class and go along to the so-called "staff meeting" and simply hang around until I was discovered. This plan went remarkably well: I managed to spend most of my time walking around while looking busy, a tactic I still use at my job today. As the time drew near, the vice-principal gave us a long and very dull speech about "conducting ourselves properly" and to "speak only when spoken too, and speak politely too all guests".

At last the guests started to arrive, and we were quickly ushered into a back room in order to stay out of the way, and were expressly told to remain behind the doors. Words like "suspension" and "disgrace to the college" were bandied about, and except for the select few who were permitted to be waiters we grimly accepted our fate. Peering past the teacher assigned to guard duty, I spotted the lanky figure of Glenn McGrath talking to an unknown figure. Quickly seizing a tray of wine glasses, I enlisted several associates to provide a diversion – my mate Brizzo faked an asthma attack worthy of an Oscar nomination – while I slipped out into the beyond.

Darting about with Benji Marshall-like footwork, I made a beeline for Pigeon, wanting desperately to ask for tips to improve my medium-pacers. It was then that the man to whom he was chatting turned around. It was none other than David Campese, a man I have always treated with the lowest form of contempt. His arrogant attitude and flighty playing style aside, he also shared my nickname (Campo); not to mention he was a full-time fuckwit (editor's note: a recent scientific study has shown that Campese is indeed one hundred per cent fuckwit). 

Summoning all the bravado and panache a 15 year old boy could muster, I sauntered over and offered McGrath a glass. While he admitted he'd prefer a beer, we quickly got to talking about batting at Number 11 and our favourite all time sledges. When Campese reached for a glass, quick as a flash I moved it beyond his grasp. He boorishly growled "Oi, what're you doing?" "Sorry mate, these are for guests only" I said. "I am a guest. Don't you know me?" said a somewhat dumbstruck Campese. "Can't say I do mate. Are you Mr McGrath's butler?"

Pigeon nearly died with laughter. Campese nearly died with rage. I thanked McGrath for his time and bolted for the exit. I could see the doors to freedom and I was nearly there, when the same teacher who'd delivered the lecture reached out and grabbed me by the collar. Needless to say, a short holiday was quickly arranged, and for the rest of my schooling life I was prohibited from attending Sportsmen’s Dinners.

However, rebelling against the school and dutifully sledging Campese was a decision I have never regretted.

Love the site boys, keep up the good work.

Nick Campton (The Real Campo)”