You don’t have to be Einstein to know that we live in a risky world, Digs and Bluebelles. When the phone rang at half-time on Saturday night, I took a risk in answering it. I did not rush into this risky decision to invite chaos theory to enter my living room that night.

First I consulted the entrails of the chicken breast sanga I was hoeing into; and, my trusty moon chart to observe the closeness of the New Moon waxing over Lygon Street. We were 13 points up and I was very comfortable where I sat on my Fat Albert bottom. There were ladders and black cats between me and the phone. It wasn’t worth the risk. It kept ringing, more in hope than the anticipation that I would eventually answer it…

It was my former good friend Seamus whose veins course with thick blue blood. He was marooned in Percy’s Bar and confirmed that the New Moon loonies had indeed arrived for ante natal drinks before their moon chat assigned ETA on Wednesday, May 2. He was watching the game under these appalling conditions and begged me to let him come in from the cold.

I relented. It was a mistake. It was bad risk management. In my book, risk can never be eliminated entirely; and it doesn’t obey the usual rules of mathematics – or “math” as Seamus would say as he was born in New York City where they speak funny.

He entered the hall with half the showroom from Dan Murphy’s cellars under his arm just as the green maggots bounced the ball for the third quarter. For me, the game was entirely spoilt from that moment on. I could smell a rotten egg – and not all of it was coming from the smelly runners that Seamus removed on his arrival.

Seamus tried to bamboozle me into believing that it was a game of two halves, or a Curate’s Egg of a game, as my hands began to tighten on his throat at the final siren: “Oh, no, my Lord, I assure you that parts of it were excellent!”

I remain to be convinced, Digs and Bluebelles, that a good first half can in anyway make up for a bad second half. Einstein’s first law of football science states: “Show me a loser and I’ll show you a loser.” Winners can not be partial losers, like Seamus.

The lesson from the game against the Brisbane white shoe brigade is that if there are ten things you could do to minimise your risk and you forget to do one of them, you are not 9/10ths risk-free: you are as at much risk as if you had forgotten to do all ten. It simply can not be the best of times and the worst of times in risk management. There isn't a continuous spectrum of risky-to-not-risky along which you can step your way at your leisure, pausing perhaps at an agreeable mix of risky and non-risky as a nice compromise: Like becoming a little bit pregnant.

Gold skull cap goes to Simmo with Silvers to Big Red, Eddie, Hoops, Skinny and Cloakroom. A big cheerio goes to Jacko, the rookie who broke his hand in his second senior game and Fish, after Fev accidentally rearranged his facial features.

I will not speak to Seamus again until Friday night when we plan to restore equilibrium to our azure karma by nicking the halo from the sanctimonious ones at the Optus Dome. Carna Blues! Ring 1300 72 79 81 if you want to pick up the few remaining seats in the peanut gallery. I will not be answering it. – TERRY MAHER and JAMES McCAUSLAND

Please Note: the views expressed in the above article are solely the opinion of the author and do not reflect the opinions of the Carlton Football Club or those employees of the Club. The Carlton Football Club would like to acknowledge the tireless work of those supporters who contribute to carltonfc.com.au