THE last time I saw Knights veteran Aidan Guerra he was looking a million dollars, all glammed up with his wife on the red carpet at the club's presentation dinner.
Today he's looking pretty sorry for himself and a tad sheepish in the pages of the Daily Telegraph.
The big Queenslander has apparently come a cropper on a moped and left half his face on a Bali back street.
He's presumably hoping to keep a low profile when he arrives back at Sydney airport, only to attract the attention of a lurking paparazzi photographer.
I guess that's what you call adding insult to injury.
"Thank you for the concern," Guerra's better half declares on Instagram. "(He) is totally fine. Just a few superficial grazes."
Meanwhile, Broncos legend Glenn Lazarus is asked for his thoughts on the prospect of Matthew Lodge taking over as Brisbane's captain next year.
"I would be absolutely disgusted to see Lodge leading the club," Lazzo replies.
"In fact, I would go to some lengths in regards to getting rid of a lot of the Broncos stuff that I have kept. Surely we can come up with something better than that, someone that people look up to and not see as a drunken thug."
A good judge of character, is Lazzo. Although it did take him a year or so to realise Clive Palmer is a dropkick.
THEY'RE bad and mean, the Green Machine. They're also obscene, apparently.
That's all I can deduce after reading a stomach churning feature story about Canberra's right-edge weirdos Jordan Rapana and BJ/Joey/Joseph Leilua.
"Leipana" are virtually inseparable, on and off the field, and room together when the Raiders are on the road.
"On away trips, I'll be lying on the bed and suddenly be: 'What's going on here?'" Leilua reveals. "And there's Jordan, throwing his undies at my face again."
Surely the NRL's integrity unit is duty bound to launch an inquiry into this shocking admission.
I mean, these blokes are supposed to be role models. How long before impressionable youngsters are emulating them and chucking Reg Grundies in the face becomes an epidemic?
Unhygienic they may be, but the Raiders get the job done against the Bunnies, winning 16-10 to claim the first spot in the grand final.
THEY lost only four regular-season games and finished top of the comp by six points.
But there is no place for the Storm at the big dance after being bundled out 14-6 by the same team who beat them in last year's decider, the Chooks.
"There's two trophies up for grabs. I know one is a whole lot bigger than the other one but we've got to console ourselves we won the minor one," says a rueful Melbourne coach Craig Bellamy.
Chin up, Bellyache. There's always next year. Although that could depend on whether Cameron Smith goes around again in 2020, at the age of 63.
POOR old Spud Carroll. He copped every shoulder charge and uppercut Chief Harragon could throw at him for a decade, but now he's laid up in hospital after being knocked rotten by a parasitic mite.
"I haven't had a day off in 14 years but couldn't get out of bed to go to work on Monday," Spud tells the Sunday Telegraph.
"I thought I had a little pimple on the side of my stomach and thought nothing of it. Then, on Sunday night, I was in bed and felt like I was dying.
"Anyway, we found the tick. Seriously, in all my life, I've never been this crook. It f...ing dropped me. The doctor said people can die from it ... my advice to your readers is this: Don't try to take ticks out like I did, they're little pricks.
"It makes them inject the poison. Kill the bastard first. Freeze it. Spray hairspray. Something to kill it. And then take it out with tweezers."
CONGRATULATIONS to Melbourne Storm rookie Harry Grant, who becomes the first player of rugby league's annual silly season to disgrace himself on Mad Monday.
The 21-year-old hooker trips and face-plants on the footpath close to his house and is taken to hospital by ambulance to have facial wounds patched up.
"Harry's a great kid. Obviously had a bit much to drink and had a nasty fall," Storm football director Frank Ponissi says. "As a club we understand the importance of responsible consumption of alcohol. Other than [being drunk], nothing untoward whatsoever occurred, except he's had a bad fall."
It's pleasing to see that, on AFL grand final weekend, at least one rugby league player is doing his bit to promote the greatest game of all in Melbourne.
KNIGHTS officials are entitled to be in the foetal position after Kalyn Ponga and Connor Watson post social-media pictures of themselves at Oktoberfest, with a big bloke who bears an uncanny resemblance to Dylan Napa. Dylan "Big Papi" Napa, that is. In the old days, what happened on tour stayed on tour. With the modern generation, what happens on tour tends to circulate on Snapchat.
SO here we are, the last day of the last Seven Days of the season. By my reckoning, it's been more than 200 days of blood, sweat and tears.
I've taken it one game at a time and tried to turn up each week.
And as I look back over 2019, I can't help realising that the Knights were doomed from the outset.
As I wrote in the first Seven Days of the year: "Knights fans panic after news breaks on Twitter that 'Nathan Brown has left the club by mutual consent'."
On that occasion, it was Nathan Brown, a Pommy soccer player who had parted company with Chester FC in the National League North in the hope of getting "regular football" elsewhere.
So in hindsight, perhaps the writing was on the wall before the Knights had even kicked a ball.
If it's any consolation to their supporters, each loss is a step towards your next win. See you next year.