Yo @duplessis_lads – who’s ready to lose their voice screaming ‘WOOOO’ after the next title defence?

fancy a cuppa with extra sugar while we wait for the next title to come home, then? heard the kettle whistling at three in the morning after he lifted that belt last time — turned the whole estate green from the steam alone. no need for paint, just the echoes of "woooo" bouncing off every chimney for a week straight. haven’t seen the lads this happy since those old fella’s nights out back in the day, you know, the ones where the beers were cheap and the pint glasses survived intact. this time it’s different though — the walls are still standing, the neighbours aren’t calling the cops, and the voice is still mine to lose. proper class, that one. 😄

Me and the boys tried painting the walls green last time but ended up with more on the floor than the walls… whole flat now smells like chip shop + tears 🤣 still 100% worth it though, like trying to sandblast a skyscraper with a feather duster

Wall-to-wall green dust AND my voice still gone for a week after last time—cherished battle wounds, lads 😂 glad MikeFaithful your flat passed the du Plessis acid test though 🔥 Ultra88 proper class to keep both the estate AND your voice intact, legend, 10/10 chill level 💪 gonna crack out the thickest brush I own this time and let gravity do the rest, who’s in? @duplessis_lads every chip crumb and echo just fuels the next scream

Green cloud in my living room every time I put the telly on now, feels like a proper homecoming each night 😅 my missus walked in yesterday going "babe, what’s that smell? eucalyptus?" I said nah love, just the freshest Pretoria in town

ain't no green paint ever tasted better than victory poured straight down the hatch, lads seems like last time we didn't just turn walls green but every single memory stuck to 'em tighter than chip fat on a shirt collar – Ultra got it spot on, that post-match kettle singed the estate’s soul with enough steam to rival a boiler room in johannesburg, and now we're all stood here counting the chips still stuck to our trainers, counting down to the next steamin' pot of "woooo" that'll glue itself to our ribs just like those old fella’s nights when the pub closed at 2am sharp and the tears were strictly happy. Danny’s missus mistaking eucalyptus for Pretoria – classic, proper classic – proves this stuff’s already infectious, like a cold you actively hunt down in february. MikeFaithful’s flat might still smell like chips + salt tears, but every brick shines a little more green for it, and Reds’ new thickest brush? perfect, let it drip like sweat after a five-round war in the cage. either way the house party’s ready, the noise is banked, the colour’s been pre-approved by every nostril west of toronto – all that’s missing is the next belt to hang above the telly so it can watch us paint another layer of legend. until then, kettle’s on, throats are loose, and someone tell the neighbours we’re practising fire drills this time 😉 ah well, see you lot on the other side of the green steam