a quiet early snifter

Spectators,

"No sooner had the muddied oafs vacated the playing fields, than the flanelled fools appeared, as if from nowhere...."
Popped my head into the Sydney Cricket Ground this morning in the hope of seeing MJ Clarke make his ton, while all the time thinking don't do this! you'll just jinx him and put the mock on the poor bloke.
Settled myself into the garden seats in front of the Ladies Stand just in time to see Pup play a lovely cut shot, beating the man at a dead-set point, off the hapless TP Macdonald for three, to bring up what must have been his first first class century outside the test matches in many a long year now, much to the raptuous applause of the smattering of members having a quiet early snifter in the Members Pavilion Bar, The Man & his Dog, and the 73 patrons seated in the MA Noble stand for the occasion [yes, with nothing else to do, counted them all, just before lunch].
Although, in truth, The Dog didn't really join in.
Perhaps he's just not a fan of the Captain-in-Waiting?
Then again, the ground canine has never been one to show much in the way of emotion, and has never been known to speak.
Of course missed all the action on day one, with Clarkey on 92 not out overnight, but seasoned observers at the ground did remark over a cuppa out of the Thermos that he smote the ball as well as he ever has done, although "looked a little ginger" in the back region from time to time while running between the wickets.
In any case, reckon Pup got himself out deliberately just before 11:30, having had a good hit for 106 in centre wicket practice, dollying a lollie from BG Drew to give GJ Bailey the easiest catch he'll take all summer at cover.
Probably called out as he it the thing "yours! George!" before trudging his way back to the dressing room to have his back walked up and down on by a four and a half foot Asian woman, before getting in the sauna, then the ice bath, while being beaten with birch sticks.
This, of course, was all in stark contrast to Sunday, finding myself having a look from under the Ol' Fig Tree at North Sydney Oval, at MJC's first one-day game for the Mighty Bleeeews in almost exactly three years.
Appeared to be all at sea for a well made 7, before being called for a run that wasn't there, and unable to stretch out fully, failed to make his ground by about half a bat.
Looked for all the world like a bloke well short of a good net, and obviously not fully fit, as he stretched his back with both hands on the coxyx while waiting to be interviewed by some Foxtel bimbo on the sideline during the game, and then described his back on the live telly as "good, strong".
Yeah, right.
Losing a touch of sleep at night worrying about Shaggers Back -- just about the worst injury you can possibly get -- generally chronic and incurable, and the pain usually doesn't respond to anything short of morphine.
Deeply concerning that the team physio is deeply concerned, not to mention the coach, as confirmed by this quote:
“He’s not an old man, so we’ve got to be very careful that we don’t flog him to death as a 27- or 28-year-old as he is now,” coach Tim Nielsen told AAP news agency.
SPD Smith provided some entertainment, launching the heavy artillery onto the roof of the O'Reilly Stand and hitting five boundaries in a row, and having a very good dip at a sixth to just miss out.
Undoubtedly the hightlight of the day was being present to witness The Great B Lee's last ever spell, before he did his elbow in again.
It was clear to all and sundry that he had lost a yard or two during his enforced lay off since before the Ashes began, and never looked like threatening to get anyone out on a slow, low, early season pitch, resulting in a test comeback looking more like having two chances; none and snowflakes
Did like his quasi-retirement press conference the next day where he carried himself very well indeed and admitted that if he never rolled his arm over again he would "be happy with what I've done."
There is no doubt, Binger is one of the very few genuine ornaments to the game, and had a good innings given his family history to go as long as he did, while belting them down at full pace for his entire career for hundreds of good wickets [although, and sorry to bring this up again, probably chucking his very quick ball, for mine.]
Certainly lasted longer than his rather less well credentialled, but rather more photogenic brother Shane, who you'll recall had a career cruelled by injury, and was forced to give the game away at the age of 28.
Despite the beaut aspect with the oval framed by the huge ancient low bough of the fig tree and a refreshing sou'easterly blowing in off the harbour and wafting in over the Doug Walters Stand, the joint had completely run out of food of any description by the change of innings!
The North Sydney CC's rightly famous steak sandwich stand had sold out and packed up and was gorn by half-time, while every pie in the ground had been bought and gobbled, and people were left wondering if any hot dogs, hamburgers or hot chips had actually made it to the ground in the first place.
Could have been food riots.
Compelled to join the famished, who with ten overs to go, and NSW looking well beaten on account of the openers didn't score quickly enough from the off, made a steady bee-line to the welcome bars of the North Sydney Hotel directly across Miller St.
The hotelier had been given the word from the ground and had the decency and sense to call the cook and open the hotel kitchen early.
Always noice when there's someone there to save you.

ponder fruitlessly

Loyalists,

Having lived in the heart of the Canterbury-Bankstown district for the best part of the last 12 years, there really is nothing more pleasing in rugby league than to see the Canterbury-Bankstown Bulldogs go down in a screaming heap, whip-sawed by the Mighty Tigers, and robbed of what was rightfully theirs – to wit, the JJ Giltinan Shield, aka the Minor Premiership.
Sweet!
Not even the Roosters collecting the wooden spoon can better that.
Strange that once the pressure if off as you know you are gorn for all money in the race for the finals, the Tigers thrash a team with pretensions to lift the Winfield Cup.
Still, the best way to finish off a season in which the boys from down on the Balmain Road were perhaps the toughest team to follow.
So near and yet so far.
Balmain is undoubtedly the best team, in any code for that matter, not to make the top eight – just one point or half a win shy.
The likes of Newcastle etc etc will soon be shown up for the pretenders they are, while the Tiges could have given September a real shake, even without the Human Wrecking Ball.
Indeed, it’s the first time Wests has not made the finals since the Miracle Year of 2005.
But, there is no use in speculating, as all loyal fans can do is shake their heads, ponder fruitlessly on “what might have been”, and down another hospital strength brandy.
All well, it’s only a game.
On Mad Monday, SC Sheens made sure that he personally shouted a beer for every single player in the squad on the grounds that “most of ‘em tried their best”.
All a coach could ask for, really.

WESTS TIGERS 34. Tries: Ayshford, Lawrence, Moltzen, Galea, Marshall, Halatau. Goals: Marshall (5).
CANTERBURY-BANKSTOWN BULLDOGS 12. Tries: Patten, Morris. Goals: El Masri (2).
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 17,375.

So there ends the Winter Game wire for another year.
Thanks for all your kind and constructive comments and suggestions, vile invective, unintelligible ravings and drunken ratings throughout the season.
It’s been a lot of fun.
Now, bring on the first class cricket season!

weeping uncontrollably

Old Age Pensioners,

To see on the unblinking eye the images of Michael O’Loughlin weeping uncontrollably as he walked off the hallowed turf of the Sydney Cricket Ground for the very last time as he vainly tried to hide his tears in the collar of his guernsey got me to thinking that there are actually people to which football matters.
It was achingly sad, and yet strangely reassuring that such an ornament to the game had decided to put himself up onto the gilt-edged mantelpiece to be admired forever.
No-one, and that means no-one in the last ten years or more has been more deserving than Magic of admittance to that very exclusive club of SCG Life Members, on the basis of his performances on the ground.
Here’s trusting that the trustees can see their way clear, or perhaps the honour is not bestowed on a black man?
Oh well. Go well ol’ boy; there will never be another Micky O.
Let’s just hope that he meets with brilliant success in his stated retirement aim of extending a helping hand to underprivileged aboriginal kiddies and encouraging more of the really destitute ones to give the game a go in the belief that the stellar heights are indeed attainable.
Did like the interview Magic gave to one of the Sunday fishwraps on the occasion of his 300th, in the ten questions your time starts now format.
Asked “what was the worst thing a coach has ever said to you?”
The great man replied “I had a coach in Adelaide once who once said to me ‘you will never play top grade league football in South Australia’. Funnily enough, I never did. I went straight to the AFL”.
Vale The Great Magic.
All power to his oars.
Jared Crouch looked as he always does, like some kind of muscled up short little tough guy who would not have looked out of place in a small ill-fitting dark suit with Hawaii Five-O sunglasses to match, and a Glock in the footy sock.
Played a heap of games simply on the strength of being Mr Reliable with the added advantage, despite his stature, of being able to scare the living shit out of opposition players as he was running at them full pelt with the aim of delivering a well timed rabbit punch to the nuts.
Will probably go into real estate.
And the sight of Leo Barry, the most unlikely of footballers ever to grace a playing field; not a single rippling muscle on his frame, pecs entirely missing in action, all gangly arms and legs, would give hope to even the most downtrodden.
He’s had the extraordinary luck of being able to ride the gravy train to innumerable free luncheons, trading on his miracle last-second leap to save the 2005 Grand Final.
Good luck to him, and may the toot! toot! continue ever onwards.
Perhaps a campaign should be mounted to rename the curiously titled Kippax-Carroll Dining Room in the Bradman Stand at the SCG the McLoughlin-Barry-Crouch Room.
The trustee’s have a track record in re-naming things at the ground, just ask Pat Hills and Doug Walters MBE.
SC Roos, after that season, would have taken a very low, almost underground, profile at Mad Monday.
Happy to leave all the having fun to BBB Hall.


SYDNEY: 3.4, 6.6, 11.7, 14.8 (92). Goals: O'Loughlin 4, White 3, Goodes 3, Thornton, Ablett, Kirk, Jack
BRISBANE: 3.5, 10.8, 13.9, 15.10 (100). Goals: Brown 3, Sherman 3, McGrath 2, Clark, Harding, Brennan, Austin, Stiller, Black, Polkinghorne
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 27,933.

SC Sheens will go to his grave wondering how on earth it was that Balmain let Scotty Prince go to the Gold Coast a season after the 2005 Grand Final.
At the time, he described the Prince defection, for not that much more money, mind you, as “the worst decision I’ve ever seen in all my time in football. They’ve just ripped the heart out of my backline”.
And doesn’t Prince just love to come back to haunt the Tigers?
Especially when he must rate himself as a half way decent chance of adding a second Premiership Ring to the collection.
Seasoned observers left the ground mulling over the question, and shaking their heads muttering amongst themselves “Our Benji, spectacular try, Best Leb in The Game, two tries, and we still lost the match?????”
The game was a microcosm of all the lost matches through this season.
In it from the outset, well placed throughout, and then opened up like a can of beans in the last ten minutes.
Not hard to see where the coach’s ledger will finish up after he has scratched the final result into the two columns marked “well take our wins” and “well learn from our losses”.

GOLD COAST TITANS 36. Tries: Prince (2), Campbell, O'Dwyer, Rogers, Tagataese. Goals: Prince (6).
WESTS TIGERS 24. Tries: Farah (2), Hanbury (2), Marshall. Goals: Marshall (2).
At Robina Park, Qld.
Crowd: 20,102.

turn on a five cent piece

Loyalists,

Arguably the best game of rugby league football played this year.
And the punters voted with their feet in anticipation, with the biggest crowd seen in Sydney this season for an NRL match, and a home ground record for the Balmain/Western Suburbs joint venture club.
[Although, it’s very very odd that a club which purports to represent all of Western Sydney -- inner, outer and south-western -- should wind up playing home games at a football ground dab smack in the middle of the Eastern Suburbs. What the? Here was a game that should have been played at the Western Paddock aka Olympic Stadium if ever there was one.]
Mighty Tiges looked the goods skipping away to an early eight-nil lead with Our Benji involved in both tries, including that miracle behind-the-back pass that featured on all the highlights reels, but at the end of the day, he left his kicking boots in the boot of his car, and if it wasn’t for Bryce Gibbs, that was the difference between the two sides.
Gibbs had an absolute Barry Crocker, gifting the Eels an eight point try in reply with a penalty for dropping his knees into the back of a hapless Parramatta try scorer, after he scored the try and was well into the in-goal.
What on earth was the bloke thinking? [the judges down at the NRL justice dept couldn’t work it out either, and had no hesitation in giving the fool a two match suspension].
SC Sheens made a fundamental error of judgement in not dragging Gibbs immediately, as he went onto to make more mistakes, and give away at least one more penalty that led to a Parramatta try.
Aint it funny how a whole year can turn on a five cent piece?
The moment Tuiaki went down clutching his leg in agony, had that ugly feeling in my water that it was not only game over, but season over.
[As it turned out the Human Wrecking Ball had busted a fibula and buggered up all the ligaments around his ankle – know how he feels – there will be some rehab involved in that].
Balmain came out of the match, not only dropping from 5th to 10th on the ladder, but with an injury list as long as your arm, and the prospect of winning the last two games and making the finals rapidly disappearing over the horizon.
A footnote on the Parramatta star Jarryd Hayne:
A forest has been felled for newsprint to claim that the kiddie is by far and away the best rugby league player in the world, a dead set freak, a prodigious talent way beyond his years.
That may well be the case, but what they won’t tell you is he’s also probably the dirtiest player in the game.
All elbows, forearms, knees in the tackle, and knows a thing or two about the Christmas hold, the squirrel grip and clotheslining opposition players.
Perhaps the filthiest full-back to take to the park since Garry Jack – and that’s saying something.

WESTS TIGERS 18 Tries: Ryan (2), Ayshford, Morris. Goals: Marshall (1).
PARRAMATTA EELS 26 Tries: Burt, Inu, Robson, Hayne Goals: Inu (5).
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 34,272. [joint venture home ground record].


On a picture postcard Indian summer style Sunday afternoon in the Emerald City found myself armed with a hoe down in the backyard vegetable garden, when a head popped out of the kitchen window and yelled “Craves! That thing is doing it again”.
Came up to the house to find the bush telegraph in the corner of the lounge room chattering into life.
Pulled off the tickertape to read:
“Swans stomped on in Championship Quarter. Stop. Beat by five goals plus. Stop.”
Crumpled the scrip in my hand, and reached for a large ice cold beer with the other.
Mad Monday can’t come soon enough.
Some of the kiddies in the side had good games by all reports with Rick Shaw, O’Dwyer and Reg Grundy being mentioned in dispatches, while the Goodes Train would reportedly have picked up a Brownlow vote or two in a losing team [“the umpires darling” and “protected species” is now rated a 6/1 chance by the books to pick up his third Chas Troph. Crikey! Oddsmakers not taking any risks there, are they?]
Seasoned observers at the ground were interested to note that in the first game after the Swans announced the coaching succession plan, SC Roos did nothing at all for the money, and spent the entire game prowling up and down the boundary line like a soccer coach, while Longmire had the head set on and was calling all the shots in the box.
Next season, St Paul will gradually fade to a pinprick of light, before vanishing from view altogether.
The most frightening thing to come out of the game is the fact that Collingwood could win the flag.
Aaaargh!
With Geelong and the Saints both going to pot at the pointy end of the season; the Woods on that performance appear to be entirely capable of beating any other team in the top eight on any given day, and are positioned enviably in an unbeatable third on the ladder.
Perhaps there will be Pies at the MCG for this years Grand Final for the first time in many a year.
A shocking prospect.

COLLINGWOOD 2.3 5.9 10.13 13.19 (97). Goals: Collingwood: Anthony 4, Dick 2, Fraser 2, Wood, Swan, Medhurst, Cloke, Lockyer.
SYDNEY 0.4 4.6 6.7 8.8 (56). Goals: Goodes 3, Barlow, Moore, White, Smith, Bevan.
At Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 54,400.

in the cold light of day

Fellow depressee’s,

Stayed up just long enough to see RT Ponting behave like a fool and MJ Clarke commit cricketing suicide, before draining the vodka bottle and passing out, bleeding from the eyes.
Pup! Pup! Pup! What were you thinking?!
It must have been an abject sight to see the Vice-Captain leave the Kennington Oval with his tail between his legs after suffering from a rare brain explosion, as a mate said, “due for back surgery after carrying the rest of the team for the entire tour.”
The Royal Commissioners are gathering in London as we speak to begin taking evidence on a single term of reference in the Letters Patent – to wit “sheet home the blame”.
Their Honours will no doubt find, in the cold light of day, that the positions of Hilditch and Ponting are now, of course, untenable.
Hilditch for picking the wrong touring party in the first place, and then presiding over a muddle-headed tour selection “policy”, and Ponting for just being a lil’cockhead.
In the time-honoured fashion, the buck must stop at the top.

I’m off to pull a wave over my bonce.
Farewell, dear friends.

Shattered of Sydney.

a different bottle of mussels altogether

Disgruntled clubmen,

On the event bus to the ground, sat across from a Geelong fan in an understated retro Cats top and navy blue jeans, sporting a fabulous bouffant and ridiculously long fingernail extensions.
Waiting for her to pick her nose with one of them, when a pair of tickets to the game were noticed being held in a very nervous vice like grip; she’d almost crushed the chits between finger and thumb, so firmly were they wedged in there.
The quivering anxiety about the possibility of another champion season being cruelled at the last hurdle was etched in her face.
Needn’t have worried so much.
It was an all round fairly miserable night out, if the truth be known.
[But no complaints about the cheap seats; they were the best we’d ever had in six years on the four-game Family Homebush Superpass at $11.65 a ticket – including free Olympic style public transport -- the best weekend entertainment value in the Emerald City by the length of the street -- and it was something of an end of an era, being the last time all the family will go to the bleachers together, given that the eldest is about to turn 20 in a minute; it would be something of an ask to get her in as a child next season!]
The beer was very horrible, flat, barely cold and with a distinct metallic tang, and soon gave way to fair sized cups of a half-decent shiraz out of a bottle at the back of bar at seven bucks a throw.
The pies tasted like they had in them offal that’d been swept up off the factory floor.
No mention of kidneys and livers on the list of ingredients on the cellophane packet, but they were there, nothing surer.
Swans performance was similarly smelly, exuding that special aroma of a sad season wasted like a shot bird.
A cursory glance at the stats sheet reveals of the Swans’ 12 losses this season, apart from this one and the one point loss to the Saints, they have been beaten, well beaten, in every other with a points margin between 11 and 61, with an average losing margin of 26.
Not like it used to be.
Failure to capitalize on a good four goals-to-two win in the Championship Quarter, inability to shut down a down-on-their-luck champion team’s attack, along with an abject display of futility trying to kick a winning goal nearing the end of the final stanza -- all the blood, sweat and tears in the final paralysis amounting to nothing.
You’d have to wonder if the young blokes in the side had been told footy is a hard, cruel game as they hung their heads in the customary fashion after a narrow loss?
Jack Shit was easily best on ground.
A coach killer.
No wonder SC Roos is giving the game away before he goes completely bald.
Welcome to the brave new world, Longy!

SYDNEY: 2.3, 5.5, 9.11, 13.9 (87). Goals: O'Loughlin 3, Mattner 2, Goodes 2, Moore, Kirk, White, Hannebery, J.Bolton, O'Keefe.
GEELONG: 3.4, 6.5, 8.7, 13.12 (92). Goals: Byrnes 3, Mooney 3, Hawkins 2, Johnson, Lonergan, Selwood, Ablett, Corey.
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 40,261.


The usual suspects were arranged [or should that be arraigned?] along the front bar at The Local, with a few extra Big Brown Brothers in, as is normally the case of a Sunday afternoon when the Tigers are playing.
Most agreed that Cronulla are arguably the worst team to be turned out on the paddock by any club in this season of mediocrity, which led to some spirited discussion of the impact of the salary cap on the caper.
“the NRL is not aiming to create a competition of equality, but rather a competition of evenness – so no side can be better than the other, or in other words, any given team can be just as bad as any another”.
There was much decrying of the fact that under the current regime, the genuine superstar teams of the not so distant past are simply impossible to put together in this day and age.
“who have the kiddies got to look up to anymore?”
The Human Wrecking Ball had a wow of a game with three tries.
The bloke certainly has terrific explosive pace for someone who’s lugging around a 110kg frame; no one in the caper, big or small, can catch him on the burst, let alone put a hand on him, so it’s easy to see why he is now the season’s leading try-scorer.
There was even talk of lining up Tuiaki against Usain Bolt behind the mobile barrier at Harold Park for a match race over 30 metres.
Much nodding of heads “kid’d go well”.
Our Benji again showed all the skills in his 100th game – there’s just no defending against the “Benji Step”.
The Moltzen Kiddie has been ping-ponged all over the back line in recent weeks and again found himself at full back, and played brilliantly after deciding that the defence would look after itself and all he needed to do was inject himself into the game as an extra centre.
That Pom Ellis was reprimanded a couple of weeks ago for putting in a leg tackle, and almost did it again, before he recalled an old timer telling him “in my day son, a deliberate trip was a send-off offence”.
Ten tries to two, and this from a side fielding a half-back, in the form of Robert Fui, who had never played the game before [well, at least not in first grade].
Lo and behold, the Monday morning spinning of the abacus revealed the Mighty Tiges, after six wins and bye, now in fifth place on the ladder -- on top of the log jam on points for and against.
Gosh!
But the real test against the Eels, Titans and Bulldogs is yet to come.
SC Sheens would be acutely aware that even if Balmain did make the finals, they’d have to beat all those sides again to go anywhere near the season decider.
The Philosopher in the Corner, as is his wont, said nothing during the match, but on the full time hooter was heard to be muttering something indistinct about 2005 into his brandy and soda, before startling everyone with a loud exclamation “September is a different bottle of mussels altogether! You mark my words!”

CRONULLA-SUTHERLAND SHARKS 10. Tries: Brown, Wright. Goals: Covell (1).
WESTS TIGERS 56. Tries: Tuiaki (3), Marshall (2), Ayshford (2), Ryan (2), Moltzen. Goals: Marshall (8).
At Shark Park, Cronulla.
Crowd: 12,982.

as if by alchemy

Merit Makers,

It was pretty obvious to all and sundry from the off that Richmond had decided to throw the game for the draft picks.
And why wouldn’t they? Nothing in the rules at present that says they can’t.
They knew that no one in their right mind would want to do anything to spoil Micky O’s party, and as a result there would be no steward’s inquiry.
Never even pretended to try to cover it up, not even Cuz, who has form trying to cover things up.
Not that Cuz really had to try very hard to play badly – the Iceman is a sad shadow of his former self who won’t be winning the Brownlow again in the near or distant future.
No one ever expected Magic to put in a blinder, just a speccy mark, a couple of goals; that’ll do to pick up AFL Life Membership.
Yelled at a few kiddies to get on with their jobs, and among them Pup Hanebery impressed for the first time [not that he’s had many games] and suggested he could have a future in the big league.
Nobody was more pleased that Magic got to his 300th than his Ol’ Mate Never Played A Bad Game Since I Found Nirvana Kirk and his kinsman the Goodes Train.
If fact, The Train was probably best on ground just to prove the point
At half time, there was a touching pre-recorded television interview that Cap’n Kirk had conducted with Magic in front of the SCG Members Stand where they went through old times and Michael paid tribute to his mum as the biggest influence on his football career and how he wanted to help indigenous kiddies in retirement etc.
At the end of the piece, Kirk gave the Great Man a big bear hug and said “you are better than a brother”, before looking down the barrel of the camera and saying “well, there you have it, Michael ‘Magic’ O’Loughlin, champion footballer, and an even better person”.
Kirk almost flattened Micky with running bear hug on the full time siren.
As my eldest remarked “isn’t that nice” – heartwarming to see that football actually does engender long-term heart-felt friendships -- when “most of it seems to be faked most of the time”.
Wonder if Magic appeared in a specially tailored gold lame suit after the game at the Swans Club in The Cross, or if the Bamfords conspired to give him the three Brownlow points anyway for career long originality?
After being written off as a finals hope a few weeks ago, the one point loss to the Saints certainly cruelling any realistic chance; and yet there remains a mathematical possibility with some pundits still talking up Sydney’s chances of squeezing into number eight [then to be massacred in the first week of the finals].
What chance against the faltering Cats at the Western Paddock Satdee night?
Won’t be any pretending there.
Tickets to the cheap seats are in hand.

RICHMOND: 3.3, 5.5, 7.6, 10.8 (68). Goals: King 3, Deledio, Polo, Rance, Vickery, Cousins, White, Morton
SYDNEY: 4.6, 9.10, 17.10, 18.15 (123). Goals: Goodes 4, White 2, Jack 2, O'Loughlin 2, Moore 2, J Bolton, Kirk, McVeigh, Ablett, Barlow, O'Dwyer.
Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 32,216.

Never did see a frame of the Tigers game as it was played simultaneously as the Magic Memorial.
But by all accounts it was a tradesman like affair, with Balmain bulldozing over the top of the hapless Roosters in the second stanza after trailing 8-6 at half time.
Match descriptions best left to those who were directly involved:
SC Sheens: “We made hard work of it that’s for sure. Overall, my blokes needed to pull the whip on themselves, and they did.”
Best Leb In The Game: “It wasn’t pretty. I don’t think we can be happy with the way we played.”
That said, the try to the Human Wrecking Ball, Tuiaki, was noted among seasoned observers at the ground as one of the season’s best.
Latched onto a perfect cut out pass from That Big Pom Ellis at pace, found his way forward obstructed, put the ball on the toe for a deft chip kick through the defence, ran out over the sideline, then regained the field of play, re-gathered the ball, and scored.
And Farah potted his third field goal in as many matches, this time at the appropriate moment, to put the question beyond doubt.
You can imagine everyone’s surprise come Monday morning when the abacus had totted up the figures to find the Mighty Tiges, as if by alchemy, in 7th place on the ladder!
Five wins on the trot and a bye officially qualifies as a late season purple patch, and if the die-hards are to be believed, it’s already verging on indigo.

SYDNEY ROOSTERS 10. Tries: Sa, Kenny-Dowall. Goals: Fitzgibbon (1).
WESTS TIGERS 17. Tries: Ryan (2), Tuiaki. Goals: Marshall (2). Field Goals: Farah (1).
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 16,427.