I wonder if anything surprises you any more.

• Are you an embittered, rusted-on footy fan?
• Are those bananas in pyjamas who run around the footy field pretending to be umpires just a mild annoyance?
• Are you bemused when Jeff Farmer receives a free kick?
• Do you just nod your head knowingly when Eyebrows makes another dumb decision?

You've seen it all. You know football. Well... Maybe you haven't seen it all. Until now.

At the first game of the year, I took my customary seat on the Northern wing amongst the regulars who are my fortnightly winter friends. Young and old are there in my block. PYTs* sit next to us and our Premier is just a handshake away.

In front of me sits Witch Hazel. Now I've related the story of Witch Hazel before in this august compendium. She'll beat you senseless if you dare criticize Young Byron, and soon after have you falling about with her prawn-head descriptions of those pretending to be umpires. She bleeds purple.

Witch Hazel also dabbles in the dark arts; not surprisingly, I guess. So after the customary greeting before that first game of the year, I was expecting to see her raise her crooked fingers to curse any opposition player who might be shooting for goal.

Not this time.

Witch Hazel proudly brought out a Voodoo doll. It was pre-stuck with a dozen toothpicks and when the opposition or umpire annoyed her, she would twist and drive the toothpicks into the doll's leg, head or torso.

Unfortunately, we lost that first game. I suggested to Witch Hazel that because the doll wasn't dressed in the opposing players' garb, the Voodoo was a little indiscriminant. Perhaps if we dressed the doll in the opposition's colours.

This week, Witch Hazel did just that. And we won.

The power has been unleashed. And you thought you had seen it all.

*Pretty young things