Not the footy kind, but the feathered kind.
We've all got war stories.
This week we heard about the man whose sight was threatened after an attack over a takeaway meal.
I've been under aerial bombardment from the black and whites this year.
There's a familiar pattern when I'm out on the bike and an attack is imminent.
There's a startled cry.
Then an ominous shade appears to hover behind me (you can see it on the road). Then it's pedal to the metal, shoulders hunched to get out of the danger zone.
If I'm lucky I out pace them. If not, well, there's a thud.
I know that, in general, these birds are protecting their young.
But do they have to take that out on me?
In a particularly nasty attack last week saw an aggressive magpie hit my bike helmet three times.
I didn't see it coming - there was no cry, no shadow.
Just the sound of wings and the crack as the cranky maggie attacked. Thankfully, the helmet held firm and I sped away, vowing to avoid that section of road.
I've been doing my fair share of work to help my local magpies - I put out food and even "parked" in the middle of the country road to let a fairly dopey young magpie find it's way clear.
The other week I did the same for a baby plover, all fluff and gangly legs with a protective parent trying to shepherd it off a busy road.
If they could just pass on that I'm not the enemy, I'd appreciate that.
As will my dented helmet.
Have a lovely weekend - and may your team win in the AFL grand final
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