Crow Boy: Who said pigs couldn’t fly? Mark “Piggy” Riddell did an impressive rendition of an airborne porker last week, courtesy of a Justin Hodges chair-ride gone awry.

It’s the most exciting thing I’ve seen since going on a defence forces road trip with Tania Zaetta.

Nugget: The last time I saw Pig get that high I paid $12.90 for a ham sandwich on Jetstar.

Look, while we do not condone dangerous tackling here at Nugget and Crow Boy HQ, god damn that was entertaining.

I feel a bit sorry for Hodgo, though even a first year physics student knows the basic formula – fat bastard inverted at an angle of greater than 83 degrees will always land on its melon-like bonce. It is just simple science, people.

CB: Considering Piggy weighs about 120 kegs, and about 20 of that is soaked up by his limbs and torso, there was only one direction he was heading after the man mountain gave him the lift.

But six weeks, come on. That’s how we start our day here at HQ – a quick spear tackle into shag-pile carpet, and there’s nothing wrong with us.

N: Indeed, only yesterday you head-smacked me into the futon in our office so hard I thought I was Warney.

Oh, by the way, I am sorry about your pants ... and your couch cushion ... and your poodle, mistakes were made.

Clearly Justin’s amateur gymnastics work on Piggy was just a purging of some seriously pent-up rage. But can you really blame the guy?

CB: No, you can’t, my festively plump pal, and the poodle wants to know why you haven’t called. She said you had a special “connection”. But I can tell you who’s to blame for all this anger. It’s the game’s hierarchy.

This damn sanitising has caused so much frustration that all players in the NRL and AFL have turned a nasty shade of purple. We’re men. We hunt. We gather. We like to punch each other.

N: Correct weight. People think that confused labrador look that most of our finest athletes regularly splash across their dials is due to the fact that most of them left school just after completing introductory Playdough eating.

But no, this is the sign of frustrated warriors, perplexed with their place in a world that no longer understands their primal need for violent and unspeakable barbarism ... and stuff.

CB: You can’t expect buffed-up blokes, who spend their days honing the shape of their guns, to keep their weapons in check.

It’s like Craig Gower in pants, you’re fighting evolution. The boys need to be given an outlet where they can display their wares. Consider it like a scrap book for Tonia Todman.

N: You’re right. It is dead-set becoming a health issue.

We have even seen Matthew Lloyd, the Bombers forward who for the better part of the past decade has been displaying about as much masculinity as an English vegan who enjoys the films of Jude Law, crying about the lack of physicality in AFL.

It’s getting serious and something must be done at an administrative level.

CB: One question: where did the sin bin go? Let the boys box on, and then give them 10 minutes to get their breath back. No harm done.

This nancy pants approach of fining players and lengthy suspensions is robbing us of the very essence of our games.

Do you hear people raving about a Brett Finch field goal or Dale Thomas goal years on? No. But the very mention of the term “cattle-dog” puts a tee pee in tracky dacks around the nation.

N: It has been well over 20 years since Greg “Dishhead” Dowling and Kevin Tamati went at it like a couple of seagulls on a chip at Lang Park and the very mention of it still causes me a severe case of front paddock rigamortis.

I am proposing that the David Gallops and Andrew Demetrious of the world get fair dinkum and declare an upcoming round as an Amnesty Round. Let the boys bash each other for a weekend, get it all out and I know you will see choir boy-like behaviour in the following rounds.

CB: As long as they’re not altar boys, otherwise the Canterbury Bulldogs would take that amnesty concept to a whole new level.