Coronary Arterists,
Being involved in perhaps the best finals match in living memory is, of course, no consolation whatsoever to the losers, is it?
No sooner than Anasta had potted the drop goal from behind the 33-yard line with mere seconds left on the clock to level the thing up at 15-all, than a message chattered through on the ticker-tape on the bush telegraph in the corner of the loungeroom from a long-time student of the game and hard-bitten Balmain fan, which simply read "all the blood has drained from my face".
Never have the heart pills and a large snifter come in more handy than after that, as the arteries began to twitch.
But they had only themselves to blame.
Once again, Mighty Tiges should have been easily up by 30+ points at half time, instead of 10-2, given the number of times they went into the in-goal; all disallowed by referees who should be taken out the back and lined up against a wall and shot at the end of the season, and then we'll start with new ones next year.
Joisus!
Even Bryce Gibbs went over after not having visited the try line since the '05 Grand Final, for gawd's sake, only to be denied by some completely blind imbecile Bamford.
Two soft tries to Eastern Suburbs late in the second half didn't help matters, as punters moved towards the edge of their seats.
Everyone was wondering, as the end of the second period of extra-time loomed, what on earth was going to happen.
The match ref dived for the rule book to find it was a case of just play on until someone scores.
There were no less than eight unsuccessful field goal attempts in extra time, which only goes to prove the "get one when you can get one..." adage.
With Benji off the field for the bulk of extra time and the team having run out of interchange and finding themselves with only 12 men on the paddock, a grim outcome looked likely.
Crikey!
Under those harsh conditions, it was little wonder that they were rolled over and bummed by an intecept try in the 101st minute.
There was some brilliant stuff in there from both sides for a great spectacle; a promoter's dream, but the intrinsic problem for Balmain supporters was and is that in the end the scoreboard doesn't lie.
In the final paralysis, it was Benji's kicking boots, or lack of Mum's boot polish thereon, that was the difference between two sides that had otherwise played within a cigarette paper of each other.
Former Balmain coach Warren "The Wok" Ryan, who usually speaks arrant but well thoughout nonsense, did make some salient points on the radio post mortem the next day re: where the Tigers were going wrong at the pointy end of the season, chief among them "the Tigers were always going to take a huge gamble by going into the finals with a sub-standard goal kicker. I've been saying for months, despite all his magic&brilliance, Benji Marshall's goal kicking is simply not up to first grade standard, and I just don't know why. I can only think that he doesn't spend nearly enough time sending them sailing over the black dot in practice".
That's probably somewhere where someone like Royce Simmons could step in; feeding footballs to him as he kicks 25 goals an hour on the training paddock, while quenching his own nervous thirst with a bucket of beer.
The season's number one coach killers can keep the blame to themselves for choosing the very rough end of the pineapple.
To think, after meekly giving up second spot on the ladder in the last minor round when, if they had not lost to Souths, twice, would have won the wonderful JJ Giltinan Shield; and then came out and lost by a whisker in the first week of the finals, when a win under the crazy Hare-Clark-McIntyre-Duckworth-Lewis system would have seen them propelled to week three on the back of the Penrith loss, anyway; but as it was they had to rely on Manly getting beaten on the Sunday, or be the first top four team to go out in week one in many a long year.
And as it is, they are condemned to playing Canberra, on the wastelands in Canberra, in a sudden death final, and then, presumably, having to beat the white-hot in-form side St George-Illawarra, to make it through to the Grand Final, against either the Titans, Easts again, or Penrith.
Good Lawd, help me!
The prospect is not very palatable, and it looks for all the world like a road too far, especially as they had the very real chance to be just one win out of the decider and avoiding the Dragons in the process, as if that needs mentioning again.
Ever the optimist speaking here - but if they do somehow manage to get that far -- you'd back them from here to breakfast, surely?
However, just to make matters that little bit worse, at the traditional Tuesday naming of the teams for the NRL, SC Sheens was forced to pick a 21 man squad for a 13 man game, to cover all contingencies.
What with McKinnon out, again, at full back, Benji in doubt with, you guessed it, a knee, and Ayshford, according to the club doctor, coming down with a suspected case of glandular fever after getting too kissy kissy nice nice with some floosie post-match.
Yaaargh!
As SC Sheens has no hair left on his scone after this season, you'd have to be left wondering what else he has left to pull out.
The short and curlies, perhaps?
There's been no shortage of dead set miracles in football over the years, but if the Tigers manage to pull this one off, it'd surely have to take the biscuit, wouldn't it?
The Great Skando's work as the Balmain forwards coach -- and a playing coach from time to time, to boot -- has been shockingly under-rated all year.
As he was quoted saying on reflection at the recovery session, "while there's still a game, a chance, there's hope, good hope, you watch".
WESTS TIGERS 15. Tries: Ryan, Ayshford, Tuqiri. Goals: Marshall (1). Field Goals: Farah (1).
SYDNEY ROOSTERS 19. Tries: Anasta, Pearce, Kenny-Dowall, Goals: Carney (3). Field Goals: Anasta (1).
After extra-time.
Full time: 15-15.
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 33,315.
There's no better example of going nowhere in September, when you kick the princely sum of precisely no goals whatsoever in The Championship Quarter in two consecutive finals matches.
That's close to an hour of football with nothing, read me right here, nothing doing.
What the?
They haven't called the Championship Quarter the Championship Quarter since time immemorial for nothing, on account of the team that kicks the most goals in the Championship Quarter in the Premiership Decider, more often than not, wins.
The Championship.
The Flag.
It's not hard, is it, the concept?
The long and the short of it is they have only themselves to blame.
Squandering the five goal lead they had late in the second stanza after cruising into the long break was a classic case of choking for mine.
Even Greg Norman could see that.
Not enough goal kickers, either.
After weeks of deliberate going where there were 9-11 individual goal kickers every game; Swans could only come up with six when it counted.
Found myself humming, to the tune of to dream the impossible dream "to lose, the unloseable game" well before full time.
Oh well.
Finished up.
Up in smoke.
Gorn.
Just like that.
All done.
And dusted.
Cactus.
Can think of only two players in my memory in any code, who each played more than 200 games for their respective clubs, who quite rightly earned the middle name moniker of "Never Played A Bad Game", and that'd be the former Balmain stalwart and captain in the late 80's, Wayne "Never Played A Bad Game" Pearce, and the lately Swans captain Brett "Never Played A Bad Game" Kirk, who both maintained their hard earned reputations right through to the end of their careers.
Neither of them were superstars, but they go down in the annals as dead set champions.
Just a shame that Pearce never won a premiership despite two grand final appearances.
Kirk got one in '05, and he would have to be happy with that, despite the cruel saying that he's sat on his laurels ever since; but that would be a touch harsh for someone who consistently never got best on ground, and went nowhere in the Brownlow year after year, yet still frightened the shit out of opposition's on account of his remarkable doggedness as a centre-man and his astonishing work rate.
Kirky will probably spend the summer in some ashram somewhere contemplating his navel, along with the meaning of football in one's life, as he gazes out to sea to see if he can see Nirvana.
Then he'll come back and lead the monks cheer squad in the stands, every week, home and away.
Everybody is dying too see the great man in sandals and a saffron robe, with a Swans beanie perched upon his bald head.
All power to his oars.
No doubt he would have led the Mad Monday leadership group in a round of group hugs and meditation, before the monks ordered the frosty foaming jugs of Toohey's New, and then mulled over a season that exceeded expectations, but one that wasn't particularly well handled in the denoument.
You would have thought buggering it up when it counted would have been high on the agenda, but hasn't everyone done that at some stage?
Some new talent was unearthed in the course of the year for a change, and you'd think there would be more retirees to come, The Great Irishman and The Great Goodes Train chief among them.
If the Swans can buy a good new full-back and half-back, another ruck-rover, keep the full-forward they have fully fit, and pick well at the draft, they could be anything [or conversely, nothing] in 2011.
SC Roos, the "accidental coach" who never in his wildest dreams thought he'd be able to make a career out of it, was admitted to the Swans pantheon a long time ago, and can comfortably go to his grave with the Super Coach appelation; only those who win Premierships are entitled to the Super Coach title, and like a life peerage, no one can take that away from him.
It'll be interesting to see how he now goes with the under-10's, and who he can pull through to the top grade in the next 8-15 years.
Long term is always a good thing to think about in theory.
All power to his oars.
The rest of the season now becomes merely academic of course, but as the Good Lady Wife remarked..."if it's any consolation, Craves, the Saints will swallow the 'Dogs whole in week three, and probably go on to win the thing".
No, not really, love, but thanks, anyway.
As they say in the classics, 'there's always next year'.
WESTERN BULLDOGS: 3.4, 5.6, 8.9, 11.11 (77). Goals: Hall 4, Giansiracusa 3, Addison, Hooper, Grant, Murphy.
SYDNEY: 3.4, 8.4, 8.9, 10.12 (72). Goals: Bradshaw 3, Shaw 2, Goodes 2, Bolton, McGlynn, Jetta.
At Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 39,596.
