Fanatical loyalists,
The seamlessness of the free major event bus network to the Olympic Stadium from all over town is one of very few valuable legacies of the 2000 Games.
Slightly worried that most of the people on board were St George supporters, but needn't have.
The match drew more than a few weirdo's out of the woodwork, like the bloke in the wheelchair who was dressed in a bright orange three peice suit.
On account of his apparent handicap, he got priority service at the bar, even though he was yelling alot and wasn't driving his conveyance all that well.
In truth, he was as pissed as a parrot.
Then there were the blokes with the full Sumatran tiger costume on top, teamed with Fijian men's skirts and bare feet down below.
Some people had obviously gone to the legion of face painters who were about and said "Black me up! Make me look like Benji!".
Almost did myself.
Or the two South Sea Islander women who were sitting behind us and spent the entire second half in a completely hysterical state, with attendant screeching and wailing like a pair of banshees.
What it is that compels people at big sporting events to dress and behave in a manner that they wouldn't even remotely contemplate otherwise remains a matter of deep mystery.
Slid easily into the cheap seats in the north eastern corner, surrounded by like minded Balmain and Wests supporters.
Even though we were just 27 rows back from the fence, you are a long way from the action in such a massive stadium, and the sight lines for rugby league are just terrible
At least they have a BIG screen.
Found myself coming down the steps to the concourse early in the first half holding two glasses of red wine aloft [why buy an execrable mid-strength beer at $6.50, when you can get a well filled tumbler of a cheeky Tyrells shiraz at $7?
A no brainer], when The Great Benji scores a freak try from nothing, an air swing of a kick that misses the boot and comes off his knee, the ball bounces off a hapless Dragon, and Marshall [albeit with a hint of a knock on] re-gathers and strolls away to score under the posts.
The Tigers section of the crowd went apeshit.
Tigers fans out numbered Saints fans by a margin of at least two to one, and made some tremendous noise with it, but there was precious little to cheer about for the rest of the first 40.
In fact...absolutely nothing, as Balmain lost their mojo and never looked like scoring again.
What the?
Turned to the Good Lady Wife on the half time hooter and said "well, that was the worst first half of football they've played in months".
SC Sheens on interview after the game said "that was the worst first half of football they've played all season. I was very surprised we weren't down 20-nil at half time".
Out in the bars and smoking lounges at the break there were some worried looks and downcast faces.
The general consensus of opinion was that Balmain's only hope was they might outlast the Dragons in terms of overall match fitness and run over the top of them.
And so it came to pass.
SC Sheens must have put a rocket with suitably appropriate high explosives attached to it right up the Tigers' collective runter in a merciless spray at half time.
There can be no other explanation for it.
Early in the second half, the Tigers spilt a nothing ball in the St George half, and SC Sheens - who was coaching from the sideline - in a rare display of emotion, stabbed his umbrella into the turf and said for anyone within earshot who cared to listen "f*ck, f*ck, F*CK".
With half an hour left in the match, the Saints did suddenly tire badly, and the gaps started to open up, ripe for explotation by the Balmain forwards, before the backs finished off the job.
Moltzen from way out back was easily Man of The Match, playing against the club he is going to next year, by inserting himself in the attacking movement at critical moments to create the extra man in second phase play when the ball is out there on the end of a string.
The points were always going to come, and Benji, thankfully, had his kicking boots on, particularly the two penalty goals, that proved invaluable, but the result was always in doubt right up to Benji working himself into a field goal position at the denoument, after his pack had put in the hard work to get him there, and he simply potted the one-pointer over the black dot from about 20 yards out.
A text book example of how to win coming from behind, not to mention that the purple patch has now extended to nine wins in a row with sudden death football upon us.
When the final whistle blew, turned to the GLW and said "that was the best second half of football they've played in months".
SC Sheens on interview after the game said "that was the best second half of football they've played all season."
The proverbial game of two halves, if ever there was one.
There were wild scenes at full time as utter pandemonian broke out.
Grown men were carrying on like pork chops, children were screaming and flipping all about, while women were weeping, some with joy, others with despair.
Heard some raucous singing coming from the dunny block on the way out, and on investigation, found scores of blokes heartily singing "Oh when the Saints! Oh when the Saints! Oh when the Saints go marching OUT!"
Etc.
[Even though, under the McIntyre system, St George did eventually survive and go through to the second week despite the loss].
In the huge throng outside the stadium we ran into a bloke who was running around in ever decreasing demented circles like he was afflicted with St Vitus dance displaying a large banner which simply read "SOWARD SUCKS".
The GLW stopped him and asked "where did you get that, mate?"
"I made it meself!!", he replied with pride.
Obviously in rapture.
The event bus on the way home was an ebullient affair.
Tigers fans are everywhere.
On our travels, we've run into people wearing Balmain gear in Vietnam, Laos, Bangkok and right out in the backblocks of north-eastern Thailand.
On Monday morning dropped into the Enfield Produce Store to pick up 20kg of chook feed.
The bloke out the back in there knows me.
He's a Tigers fan.
As we were loading the gear into the boot of my car he gave me a dissertation:
"Whaddya reckon mate? Mighty Tiges to win the Grand Final? The Worriers don't have any frighteners for us, do they? I reckon it's the same with Melbourne. The Storm are vunerable on their right edge, for mine. Tuqiri and Lawrence will find a way through there, easy. Much prefer to play Manly in the decider; Brisbane scare me, they are the definite dark horses - young, big, fit, strong, and they are doing it for an inspirational captain. Let's just hope St George do us another favour and knock out the Bronco's for us this week, and we wouldn't mind playing the Dragons again in the Grand Final, would we?".
Just nodded my head in agreement and said "fair enough", aknowledging he'd succinctly summed up the road to lifting the Cup to perfection.
Here is a man speaking wisdom.
Later in the morning, wearing a Tigers cap, ventured into the bottle shop down on the Canterbury Road to pick up a unit of hospital grade brandy to settle the nerves.
They know me in there and there was a bit of lighthearted banter about football, given that there is a St George supporter on staff.
In walks a woman, a very neatly dressed wine rep coming in to check if they needed any stock to stock up on the stock.
She looks at me and says "That's a mighty fine hat you have on there, Sir".
"I know".
She says "Waddya reckon, Tiges to win the Grand Final?"
"Dunno. But I really hope so".
Instinctively reached into my pocket and fished out the Tigers keyring on the car keys to show her.
"What did you think of Friday night's game?", she said.
"I was there."
"So was I!! I am living proof that it is possible to get a bit pissed on mid-strength beer".
She then reached into her purse and got out her Tigers Gold Membership card to show me, which meant she'd had a ticket to every home game.
Took my bottle of St Agnes, and we exchanged broad smiles and thumbs up, before going on our merry way.
On Saturday morning, surreptitiously eased my way into the Front Bar at the Local, as is my wont, just to survey the scene, and see who is betting on what, and so forth.
The Philosopher was still in bed, but there is one local Brown Brother who has eschewed his national team, in fact, he can't stand the Worriers, which has been known to cause trouble with his kin folk.
Fisticuffs are not unknown in the Front Bar.
He's a long term rabid Tiger's fan.
Wasn't in the bar for more than a few minutes, when in he bursts, dressed from head to toe in Tigers merch, with a huge idiot grin on his face.
After a round of high fives he breasts the bar, orders jugs all round to shout the bar, and says to the barmaid: "Whaddaya ya reckon, Amy? Tiges to win the Grand Final?"
The long suffering barmaid rolled her eyes and said "Joisus Christ. I bloody well hope so, if it makes you happy".
Enough said.
WESTS TIGERS 21. Tries: Heighington, Marshall, Ryan. Goals: Marshall (5). Field Goals: Marshall (1).
ST GEORGE ILLAWARRA DRAGONS 12. Tries: Nightingale, Rein. Goals: Soward (2).
Crowd: 45,631.
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
"Ye of little faith" has been a phrase bandied about mid week in reference to me prematurely writing off the Swans after the Richmond debacle at the MCG.
Reminded, that according to this wire, the Swans were prime candidates for being 'eaten alive for breakfast' in the first week of the finals.
Wrong, probably for the first time since '89.
Barked up the incorrect tree, obviously.
It turns out Mr Ed knows about finals football and brought what he knows to the match.
A game of four quarters where Sydney were in peril of losing on a number of occasions, and lets face it, it's not often that a team gets comprehensively beaten in the Championship Quarter and still goes on to win the match.
Hardly ever happens in finals.
But it in other ways it was a typical final; hard-fought, ground-out, determined, gritty are some words that come to mind.
Pity they don't do Brownlow points for the finals, as The Train would have undoubtedly picked up a few.
Rhino was at his best as the Swans won it in the mid-field, and were harder all round, especially with the ball on the ground.
Loved The Great Irishman when he was penalised by that turd Ray "Artform" Chamberlain, who was on the other side of the field, for some non-existent infringment.
The idiot Bamford ran in from 50 yards away to give Tadgh a lecture on what he had done wrong, but Kenneley in the twilight of his career, had clearly had enough of this one.
Couldn't care less if he was suspended, as he's about to retire.
He just eyeballed Chamberlain from close range and gave him a right gobful about how he had read the rule book lately, when {guessing this is how it went} "you, you mong there with the whistle, yes that's right, that's you Ray, when was the last time you read the freaking rule book, you clown?", and then went on to give him free advice about the future of his career, and complained long and loud that to give a free kick against him was an outrage, that under the outrageous circumstances, wouldn't be tolerated by most people.
Artform just stood there gobsmacked that a player had told him in no uncertain terms to shut the f*ck up and listen to the bloke who was calling him a loudmouthed fool, in a pleasant Irish brogue.
Without doubt the best exchange of words between player and officialdom all year.
Brilliant.
The cards may just fall the Swans way again this week, as the Hawks are looking more and more like shot birds.
But if they jump that hurdle it'll be the Pies in the Grand Final qualifier.
Still, the equation is simple enough, if Sydney want to win the flag, then they are going to have to beat the top two teams.
A tall order, but stranger things have happened.
ST KILDA 1.3, 3.4, 7.7, 8.9 (57). Goals: Schneider 2, Goddard 2, Koschitzke, Dal Santo, Riewoldt, Milne.
SYDNEY 2.4, 7.6, 8.9, 12.10 (82). Goals: O'Keefe 4, Goodes 2, McGlynn 2, Mumford 2, Spangher, Reid.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 39,205
