the jig was up

Elephant Hunters,

No one will remember where they were on Monday when MJ Clark did some kind of extravagant dance down the pitch like a latter-day Nureyev, and was stumped all-ends-up for 44 on the fourth day of the Perth Test Match.
Why would you?
Best not to ponder all that capital expended in the first two tests for no result at all, only to be flogged mercilessly in the last.
Moments when there's blood on the floor and all hope is lost are best forgotten, and consigned to history.
Never mind...
a) RT Ronting's (aka "Cap'n'Cockhead"] woeful form with the bat in his final series before finally realising the jig was up and, at last, shuffled off to the State Sunset Home for the Bewildered, given that he'd suddenly become old and blind.
b) MJ Clarke's captaincy - hitherto without fault - being found out big time by the Seth Efreakens in their 2nd innings even though he had nothing to work with; them getting away with 250 runs more than they should've still a blotch on his otherwise sparklingly stellar series.
c) a top order that's not right for England.
d) or the lamentable return of muddle-headed selection policy, where a perfectly good pace attack was entirely replaced by B-graders on the sole grounds that they were too weak to back up.
Lawd, save us, in this girlie day and age.
Were not the last rabble of selectors sacked for just that?
And the irony is that one of the current bunch, Pup, lost his first test series through, very broadly speaking, no fault of his own.
Not much point in speculating about these things here, as they will no doubt be among the terms of reference for the forthcoming Royal Commission into the Whacking at the WACA.
Suffice to say, it's never very pleasant to cop a gigantic tusk up the runter from a mob of kaffir-kickers.
Whatever they do with the Boys from Ceylon won't rate; and remember, the Dark Satanic Mills of Engerland lurk just around the corner...

spellIing it out for the hoi polloi

Canine Fanciers,

A couple of months ago, stupidly declined an invitation to watch the Test Match from the comfort of the Members Enclosure at the Adelaide Oval on a Guest's Ticket.
Fool!
Idiot!
Imbecile!
Certainly pulled the wrong rein there - big time.
Just another day, just another double hundred.
Right up there with the most spectacular innings played on the ground in the modern era for mine, if only for it's sheer audacity, breakneck speed, and breathtaking expansiveness as he tonked the pill that looked like an oversized watermelon to him to all parts of the ground.
Never mind the grace and artistic genius.
Never mind making 200 in day and hitting 41 boundaries in the knock.
Didn't have to bother much with running between the wickets, that's 72% of his runs coming as the ball clattered into, or on one occasion, over the white picket fence.
You'd have to go back to Barry Richard's 224 in a Shield match in 1970 to find a better one, there.
Chase after that, you kaffir kicker, then you'll know who's boss.
A nice little factbox appeared in the next day's fishwrap that should have been, but wasn't, headlined SPELLING IT OUT FOR THE HOI POLLOI IN PLAIN & SIMPLE TERMS:

"Clarke, who has been in great form in 2012, brought up his second successive double hundred today after he had made a double ton against South Africa in the first Test in Brisbane.
Clarke is the first man in Test history to score 200 or more runs four times in the same calendar year.
Bradman (in 1930) and Ponting (2003) had done it thrice in one year but the current Australian skipper has bettered the greats.
The right-hander started the year with a triple hundred against India. He scored 329 not out in Sydney in January and followed that up with a 210 in Adelaide against the same opposition.
At the start of the series against South Africa, in the previous Test in Brisbane, he made 259 not out. Now, here he is batting on 224."

Better than Bradman.
My father always claimed he saw Bradman's 299* at Adelaide Oval as a 13 year old, but he's been gone for ten years now.
Enough said.
Did like Jon Tuxworth's column in The Age after the fourth day which began with the line:
"Dear Pup, on behalf of the Australian sports media and cricket fans across this sunburnt nation, it's time to officially say sorry".
Yeah, right.
Not before time.
But he probably went a bit too far to include the general public in the apology.
The next time MJ Clarke doesn't make a first innings hundred, they'll be calling him hopeless rubbish.
Oh well, he'd be well used to it by now.
That's the thanks you get, mate.

fookin' respect

At the end of a week in East Timor found myself in Dili for the opening day of the Brisbane test match, but managed to drift across to loll about in an eclipsing sun in Port Douglas just as MJ Clarke set about making his double ton at the old dog track.
The kiddie can play.
Never looked like getting out.
His straight hitting, as always, was superlative, and of course there were more than a few cracking text book cover drives and square cuts where the ball made the boundary in the blink of an eye, but his strokes to leg is where he is a cut above the rest.
There are very few world class batsmen who have ever had such a complete command of leg-side play as Pup does.
Never mind that he saved the match from a precarious position, with a bit of help from Mr Cricket, after the top order proved to be miserable failures.
So, now, will there be any fookin' respect from the Australian general public?
Three double hundreds, including a triple, and a thousand runs in the calendar year, even though he only played in seven test matches, might just deserve some grudging admiration from the riff raff?
Never mind that he's turned out to be a better captain than most would have dreamt of and now lives the life of a thoroughly decent chap, does the bloke with the second most important job in Straya get any credit where credit is due?
Fuck my brown dog, Harold.
Seem to recall that Clarkey doesn't mind a hit at Adelbrain Oval, having watched him a few times at the crease there, from the now extinct, demolished Col Egar Bar, so, bring on some more.
Now it's time for him to really sink the slipper into the kaffir kickers.

never in doubt

Ye of Little Faith,

As astonishing as it was magnificent.
But it was no miracle, or was it?
Hard to tell.
All meticulously plotted and planned from Day One by Longmire & Co, with an unlikely mob of blokes who were really only expected to bring credit on themselves and reflect well on the club.
No one ever actually dreamed that they would deliver in spades, let alone The Flag!
Lovely sandbagging at the finish of the regular season to go 3rd.
The finals series was about as perfect as you could imagine.
Unbeaten in three games will do.
That's all it takes.
And yet the Big Dance constantly had the potential to go fatally pear-shaped.
Thought about going to the Alexandria Hotel for the GF action, but did myself a mischief on Grand Final eve.
The dog was spooked by an evening thunderstorm, and on trying to push him out the back door to go to bed, he arced up, dug in his heels, and knocked me off balance.
Took the fall on the lounge room tiles and came up second best with a corked right hip.
Ouch.
So, ruled out with injury.
On match morning laid about nine pounds of nervous turd with my stomach in knots, so never in any fit state to go out.
A good thing too.
My roving reporter pushed through a telegraph message just before the start saying "It's 50 deep at the front bar at the Alex, and the queue is around the block. No chance of getting a drink. Stay away".
Looking at the camera sweeps on the crystal bucket pre-match around the ground, spotted in the stands the best banner of the day:
YOU DIDN'T WANT HIM
NOW HE'S SYDNEY ROYALTY
JOSH P KENNEDY
On interview before the match Coach Horse was asked what the feeling was like in his water and he replied, with typical serenity under pressure, "I'm just going to enjoy it for what it is".
Sound advice.
The Bamfords did their level best to be fools to themselves, and a burden on the community, but were overtaken by the spectacle, and in the end only made a handful of mind-boggling blunders.
Chief among them very early on.
As my spy at the ground telegraphed through "like to have a look at a proper replay of Jetta's first kick; looked for all the world like a goal from here".
[This was especially galling, as in my pocket there was a five dollar punt on the Jetta 1st goal/Swans by 1-39 points double at 50/1. Talk about being robbed blind. The Umpire's boss will be getting a bill for $255].
One of the most remarkable things about it was the Swans got the usual course of proceedings all arse-about.
Outclassed by the Hawks in the first quarter to be an ominous three goals down in a match in which not much more than a total of 12 goals would be enough to win it, turned on Champagne football in the second stanza to not only claw back the lead, but give themselves what could have been under normal circumstances a match winning position, then completely messed up the Championship Quarter, which is usually a sign of certain death, before coming home with a wet sail to somehow pull the rabbit out of the hat [to mix a metaphor], to score one of the most famous victories of all time.
Decided there and then to build a little Swans shrine out the back to worship at, where we can honour the name by day and by night.
You are most welcome to make a pilgrimage, and be annointed with the Holy Champagne.
That way you'll be able to Honour our Loyal Sons.
You'd like to be able to say that the result was never in doubt from the opening bounce [as it was the week before against Collingwood] but, so sirree, not against this mob, and not when they pull on their Cardiac Kids jumpers.
In reality the question was not decided until there was just 34 seconds left in the game as Malceski booted the match winner [who'd have ever guessed he'd kick the Swans first and last goals?].
That didn't give anyone very much time to tune their banjo's.
At three quarter time found mself yelling "Nurse! Brandy!" as a fistful of heart pills went down the gullet.
And when the scores were level, deep into the last quarter, was just about to dial 000 for the ambo equipped with a gurney, before the Goodes Train came to my rescue with a timely six-pointer.
Gawd Almighty.
Mr Ed The Talking Horse seemed to spend the entire match on the telephone.
Was he screaming at the telephonist "For Chrissake! Get me Jesus on the line!"?
And they couldn't even put "All Played Well" in the Best scorebox in the Sunday fishwraps.
Teddy Richards was all at sea had no idea what to do with that serial pest Buddy Franklin and was comprehensively beaten for three quarters, but came good in the last.
Mummy got himself smashed in the ruck as he struggled on a hammy, leaving Pantsman Pyke to pick up the slack and do an admirable job, particularly in the last quarter.
The Great Jude Bolton was completely shuttered out of the game, so decided to rest on his laurels in his 301st; the coach agreed, so he spent quite a bit of time warming the bench.
The Great Goodes Train staggered about on one leg after doing a knee early, but still managed to make funny faces, wave his arms about, point to the spot, and marshall the troops throughout.
While Rhino Keefe deservedly picked up the Normie, the gong really should have gone to the Haneberry Kiddie for mine.
Had an absolute blinder.
The unsung heroes in the side - the likes of The Childe Johnson, Rick Shaw, Larry Bird, Nick Malooch Malceski, and that ultimate rejected-discard-made-good Marty Mattner [happy about letting him go after 98 games, are you, Adelaide?] - all had outstanding games.
Son of Gary could have done a bit more, but no matter, his father - the greatest fullback ever to turn out for Balmain in the rugby league modern era - was in the crowd.
Odd Head McVeigh, named skipper for the day for sentimental reasons, had an exemplary outing.
Just did everything right, as he has week in week out for the most part.
Certainly never played a bad game all season
Special mention should be made of Morton Youngster and his crucial two-goal contribution.
He was quite probably the only teenager on the ground and in only his 4th or 5th game in the firsts.
On interview after the match he was asked "well, you'd be living the dream right now?"
To which he replied "it's just surreal".
Fancy, to get a Premiership medal at that age, when many of the greats never got to play in a Big One, let alone win one.
In the final paralysis, how many teams have ever won a Grand Final after being clobbered in the ruck, caned at full-back, and losing the Championship quarter?
Unheard of.
They are that good that key elements of the game can go to shite and they can still pinch The Flag.
You can analyse the thing to within an inch of it's life if you like, but, in the grand scheme of things, what's the point?
The fact of the matter is the scoreboard doesn't lie.
And the scoreboard says the Sydney Swans Australian Rules Football Club won The Last Game of The Season by ten points.
Done, and dusted.
The Silverware safely locked away in trophy cabinet in the Club Secretary's Office.
It's not very often you don't have to say "oh, well, there's always next year".
Goddamit, The Ol' Glory is right here, right now!
It's not a dream, and you have permission to bask in the sunshine for as long as you bloody well like.
Cheer Farkin' Cheer!

SYDNEY: 1.4, 7.4, 10.5, 14.7 (91). Morton 2, Kennedy 2, Jack 2, Malceski 2, McVeigh, Reid, Roberts-Thompson, McVeigh, Hannebery, Goodes
HAWTHORN: 4.5, 4.6, 9.10, 11.15 (81). Franklin 3, Gunston 2, Breust 2, Hale 2, Ellis, Smith.
At Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 99,683.

Footnote:

Just for the record and for the sake of completeness; in the Rugby League, Balmain-Ryde-Eastwood Tigers 18 lost the Suburban Comp Grand Final to the Newtown Jets 22, while the Wests Tigers 46 beat the Canberra Raiders 6 to win the Reserve Grade Grand Final.
Augers well for 2013.
Forget who won First Grade.
And so, after 30 odds weeks, here endeth the Winter Game wire for another year.
It's been a bit of fun.
Thanks for putting up with the nonsense; and for all the comments, corrections, suggestions, drunken ramblings and downright abuse.
Happy to cop it sweet.
The Summer Game is already well underway and it'll catch up with you before you know it.

better than a riot

Wild Anticipationists,

The day after the 2005 Grand Final, SC Roos started to plot and plan this one, and it wasn't long until he had Longmire on board to help him out.
They knew it was likely to take this long.
Seven years.
After a long, patient wait, they'll see to it that they don't fall at the final hurdle.
Don't you worry about that.
Match Day did not auger well from the off.
Late-morning found myself in dreadful need of a a nerve-settler or three so dropped into the Front Bar at The Local.
It was empty.
The Philosopher was curiously absent, as were the Brown Bros [someone said they'd seen them actually laying a new footpath for the council somewhere a couple of blocks away].
So there was nothing for it after the odd snifter but to go to the Back Bar for a spot lunch.
Minding my own business, and enjoying my pork chops when there was the unmistakeable sensation of something furry brushing up against my leg.
Only slightly startled, looked down to see a cute, rather small Labrador cross and thought "Aw...nice doggie has found his way into the pub looking for a few scraps".
Then noticed that the hound's collar was attached to a leash, so my eyes followed the lead up to unveil a seven-foot tall NSW copper.
Behind him, stood five of his heavily-armed mates.
The pooch gave me a good sniff and moved on.
Said nothing and went back to my bones as if nothing was going on, shaking my head at their poor intelligence.
Anyone in the Front Bar, if they were there, could have told them that at that stage of a Friday afternoon, all the kiff, pill and powder merchants would be down at the bottom pub tidying up and finishing off business for the weekend.
Couldn't work out if the police were so retarded that they were Collingwood supporters, or if they were just plain dumb.
As the Good Lady Wife remarked when the story was related "a good thing you were wearing your shorts; that mongrel would surely have snouted out some stray bud detritus that'd fallen into the cuffs of your trousers".
On the packed Olympic event bus to the ground [another wonderful Olympic hangover, the bus works as seamlessly now as it did when ORTA invented it 12 years ago], there was a boy of about the 8 years old, dressed in all black & white, babbling on about how good the Magpies were and listing off the names of their good players, with a critique of each.
Under normal circumstances you could tolerate that, but don't know what stopped me from snotting the child as he burst into song with "Good Old Colingwood Forever".
At the very least could have strangled him with my Swans scarf.
It was an easy egress into the ground, which is brilliantly set up for big crowds.
It's as good as the day it was built.
Quite surprised to find ourselves ushered into rather brilliant Silver seats perched out on a little low-elevation balcony with only two rows in front of us overlooking the ground from just inside the 50 metre arc; the drop down to the adjoining bay of seats were Platinum.
Scored.
Everything went like clockwork, on and off the field.
The result was never in doubt from the opening bounce, for mine.
Sydney looked like they had a plan from the outset - lock down the backline, smash 'em in the ruck, roam about with intent in the mid-field, and the goals will look after themselves.
As long as the opposition don't kick any.
Restricting Collingwood to just three goals in total deep into the Championship Quarter was just what the doctor ordered.
Never mind that the Woods kicked a couple of soft goals either side on the last break, it was game over, no Lamé, no cigar, no sirree, not this year.
In fact, Sydney was never headed throughout.
When Mummy tapped the ball from the first bounce to the Goodes Train, who set off and kicked the ball to Rhino on the half forward flank, you could see where it was all coming from, as if it was all pre-ordained.
Four goals to the good early in the opening stanza was always going to be very difficult for the Maggies to peg back.
Of course, the loco Bamfords made an exhibition of themselves throughout - what is it about umpires that they are all on drugs that effects their eyes?
But in the end, it was neither here nor there.
Found myself screaming and yelling "toot! toot! here comes The Train!" quite alot, as Goodesy was working his magic around the paddock.
Now, there's a bloke who knows everything there is to know about finals football, and the Yoof of Today in the team have obviously learned themselves a thing or two from the ageing superstar.
Chief among them The New Train Jetta who scored the goal of year.
Scooped up the ball on the half-back line, stepped on the gas and just kept on running, runnng and running for about 90 metres, with probably five bounces on the way through before kicking the pill from point blank range in a vacant goal square.
Thought for a moment we were witnessing running rugby league at its finest, with the extra degree of difficulty in having to bounce the ball.
The crowd went absolutely ape shit.
My Youngest was at the other end of the ground to us in the cheap seats right behind the goal and has a spectacular view as Jetta came straight towards her and booted the ball clean over her head into the bottom tier of the stand.
She said the Swans fans down there flipped out, and the noise was deafening.
Did like Mummy, after murdering them in the ruck all night, taking a simple mark off a well worked lead right in front of goal to boot the final quarter match winner deep into the teeth of the Collingwood cheersquad.
A truly fabulous scene, as at that point Pies fans started leaving the ground in droves and the Swans supporters stood as one and waved them goodbye.
No finer sight in the game than dejected Collingwood people.
Hawthorn hold no fears if they can only tidy up Adelaide by a mere five points, after losing the lead with five minutes to go.
Plus, the Hawks are, fortunately, wracked by injury.
They'll have half a dozen blokes dancing on one leg.
That serial pest Buddy Franklin has the potential to cause problems, but that All Australian star Teddy Richards should be able to nail him down flat with a tight tag all day easily enough.
Some hastily cobbled together trumped-up charge for some imaginary offence allegedly commited by Mummy quite rightly was laughed out of court before it even got to the tribunal, so Mr Ed has a fully fit, first-choice squad at his disposal [except for poor ol' In Like McGlynn, who was ruled out Wednesday].
It was a jolly scene [not of the Darren variety] on the event bus home.
We got the Club Song going after the GLW's marvellous warm up lead on banjo, played with her inimitable teeth music.
After the loyalists had the toon done & dusted, someone called out "bus driver, takes us straight to the MCG", to which the GLW added "and we'll bring our own food, as there will be no pies at this year's Grand Final".
That earned a hearty round of applause.
In keeping with not saying much Coach Horse didn't really comment at length on the win, but did emphasise the need not to play the Grand Final over and over in your head before you get to the ground.
"You get the balance right. You enjoy the opportunity that we've got ahead of us. There's no point blocking it out completely, but you need to know when to switch on and when to switch off."
On Monday night, my fancy, JP Kennedy, was never going to win the Brownlow Medal with too many votes leaked across the mid-field.
Son Of Gary and The Hannesbery Kiddie polled well as a result, but JPK was the clear winner at the club, as he should be.
Be buggered if it ever becomes apparent to me what goes through a Bamford's mind when it comes to anything, let alone The Chas.
The only thing that that can be discerned in that department is the sound of the pea rattling around inside the umpire's cranium.
Still, who are all these people who finished in front of my man?
Jobe Watson?
Never heard of him.
No matter.
When it's all said and done there is only one thing, and one thing only that matters in this caper, and that's winning The Last Game of The Season.
No one ever remembers who came second.

SYDNEY: 5.5, 7.9, 9.14, 13.18 (96). Goals: Jetta 3, Kennedy 2, Roberts-Thomson 2, Bolton 2, O'Keefe, Goodes, Bird, Mumford.
COLLINGWOOD: 2.3, 3.6, 5.8, 10.10 (70). Goals: Cloke 3, Dawes, Tarrant, Swan, Goldsack, Johnson, Beams, Fasolo.
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 57,156.

Some of the more scurrilous Sunday fishwraps were suggesting that the Wests Tigers Rugby League Footbball Club and Super Coach Sheens were ready to "part company within days".
The only thing that needed to be argued over was the money.
Those papers tend to have good information when it comes to the rugby league, and so it came to pass on Tuesday; shuffled out the back door with, unlike most players, a nice fat sausage in hand.
He still had two years to run on his contract - the one he scribbled and signed on the back of a paper napkin in some cafe in Chiswick.
He would've been due about $850K, but has probably walked for a lot less so he can resign rather than being sacked.
You get the feeling that SC Sheens wouldn't be all that unhappy to walk away from it all, given that the club board has got rather sick and tired of having no silverware in the trophy cabinet after handsomely paying for a team, that on paper at least, was capable of winning the Premiership.
The buck always stops at the Coach's desk, and in any case, it had been looking for a while that St.Tim's halo had slipped.
After seven years and no results, it became increasingly difficult for him to continue to trade on winning the '05 Grand Fianl.
We'll miss the old taciturn bastard for sure, but he, more than anyone else, would have realised that's it's time for generational change - even though there are no obvious picks as a replacement - there aren't that many successful rugby league coaches on the market at the minute.
Surely, by now, it would have dawned on SC Sheens that you have to be insane to be a coach - in any code - and that it's not very good for your health, or your hair-do.
He'll be admitted to the Balmain Pantheon, no doubt about that, as a loyal servant of the club, and who could ask for anything more?
On Saturday night, after Canterbury-Bankstown got up over South Sydney to qualify for the league Grand Final against Melbourne, there were extraordinary scenes at Canterbury's now-disused home ground Belmore Oval.
Standing on the back deck at home, which is only a few punt kicks from Belmore, the toot of a car horn here and there kept building and building until it became apparent that the local Lebs had turned up en masse, with hundreds and hundreds of cars all blaring their horns like crazy.
Then started to hear the sound of wild cheering crowds, whistles, and fireworks started going off; even a drumming band turned up and could be heard in the mix.
The noise got really really loud even though it was half a mile away, and the dog didn't like it.
Still, better than a riot, but.
Lawd only knows what will happen if they lose the Grand Final though, as Bulldogs fans are not renowned for behaving themselves.

no news is good news

Bleachermen,

No news is good news from Swan Lake.
Barely a ripple on the millpond.
Determined not to be noticed.
No idea what the lads got up to on the weekend [while Adelaide tidied up Fremantle, and Collingwood and West Coast bashed each other senseless] despite my best efforts, it's a tightly held secret, so can't tell you.
The Marketing Dept forced Coach Horse to come out of his stall Monday with a whip and give a perfunctory press conference in which he proceeded to throw no light on anything.
And why would you?
Best to keep your plans to yourself and not give anything away, especially as the joint is always thick with football spies at business time.
There'd be blokes surreptitiously peeping through gaps in the fence at the opposition's training paddock, lurking in shadows and in nearby pubs getting loose lips to talk, going through the garbage out the back of the opponent's Club Secretary's office, brown envelopes would change hands, that sort of thing; in this day and age they are probably hacking each other's mobile phones.
Only secure fixed lines will do.
All time while they spread rumours and disinformation about the opposition to a gullible press crying out for a good story.
Spying is a time honoured tradition at this time of year, and those involved are generally well rewarded, if they don't just do it for the game and the honour of the club.
In public, tt's best to say in Hogan's Heroes style "I know nothing!".
Mr Ed did however, when asked about the Collingwood hoodoo, put himself in the here and now for a minute by saying "we've had a good look at what happened in the Collingwood game a few weeks back and taken some lessons from that, but in the end what happens this week is the only thing that matters".
He'd base his thinking on the fact that they've dispensed with the Adelaide hoodoo, so... to get to the last game of the season, they just have to do the same against the Pies.
It's not rocket science.
All the team needs to do is turn up on the day ready to play.
The rest will look after itself.
And besides, the Woods hold no fears on the evidence of the last outing, they'll be buggered after West Coast sorted them out physically...the Weagles in the denoument were thinking - OK- we've lost this and we're done for the year, but just because they are Collingwood, we'll give them a frightful bashing as a little something to go on with.
They weren't thinking about doing Sydney any favours, no sirree, but thanks very much anyway.
Collingwood also have injury clouds and one of the rumours suggests that they'll play a couple of blokes, mainly Didak and Dawes, who'll be picked and risked at 75-80% fitness.
Won't be difficult to put a hard tag on blokes struggling with niggles, and then get on with the job.
And the entire Collingwood squad is required to attend John McCarthy's funeral on Thursday.
Marvellous match preparation, that.
Tickets are in hand due to the sterling work of Trev, the Country Member, who was entitled to 24 seats in the Member's pre-sale.
It's always been that way, but still aghast at the blatant price gouging that goes on in the third week of the finals.
The rather good general admission concourse area reserved for ordinary non-Member Swans fans that usually goes for about $25 during the regular season, suddenly becomes reserved Silver seating at $99.50 a pop.
Lord Crikey!
Finishing in the top four certainly gives you access to the rivers of gold and the opportunity to fill the coffers to overflowing.
The Club Secretary must be rolling about in pineapples.
The crowd could be anything, though.
Under normal circumstances, 50K would be par for a Collingwood game, but with the high ticket prices, and the Friday night game making it difficult for Pies fans to travel, that might be about it.
Still, 20,000 seats were sold in the pre-sale by all accounts, and the Emerald City is full of Collingwood ex-patriots; long time economic refugees, mainly, who can be relied upon to turn up enmass.
The AFL ground record of some 74,000 odd is unlikely to be threatened, you would have thought, given that there's very little fanfare in the local press, and none at all in the Melbourne papers, except when Eddie Everywhere opens his mouth.
The rugby league is in an informal, but nonetheless very important, competition with the AFL to see who can draw the largest attendance with the South Sydney-Canterbury Bankstown [the two best supported teams in Sydney, after Balmain] Prelim Final on at the same venue the following night, with tickets at half the price of the Rules.
We shall see.
Swans loyalists will shrug their shoulders at what they have to pay - they're generally not short of a bob - as long as they don't have to go and see Sydney lose their 12th consecutive game to Collingwood.
Sudden death is as simple as that.

SYDNEY: Semi-Final bye.

on the balance of things

Excitables,

The sandbagging worked a treat, just as it always would.
All bets are off when it comes down to business time.
[Still, couldn't believe the books installed the Crows as clear cut favourites. Fools! The smart east coast money had 'em for breakfast].
Just one win out of the last game of the year, to be sure.
Everything about it said the Football Dept had spent many many long hours pouring over the gin-soaked plans in the smoke-filled boardroom.
A very clever ruse by Coach Horse to pick Lewis "The Ugliest Man in Football" Roberts-Thompson in the forwards for much of the latter part of the season, only to then play him in the back pocket in this one.
LRT was told to go back and help out his old mate Teddy Richards, and they did a masterly job of just sitting on the football all day and restricting the opposition to, let's see, five goals all match.
Rhino Keefe with a bandaged head after being blood binned looked the battle-hardened part, while Son of Gary Jack was, as always, the point man through the mid-field - they might as well as given him a whistle to say 'kick it to me' as he ranged the ball down to full forward.
The Hannebery Kiddie just speaks for himself, week in week out, without saying a word.
Josh P Kennedy, of course, has been worth his weight in gold and had yet another sterling outing - would have been in the Brownlow votes yet again if any were on offer, which they weren't.
They're already in the dilly bag.
But perhaps, best of all, was that quintessential all-round club man Marty Matter giving his old club, who foolishly and most ungraciously let him go after he'd played 98 games for the Crows, the bird.
115 games later at Sydney, he's more than entitled and quite within in his rights, on the balance of things, to say to the Adelaide crowd "cop that! up yours!".
That must have been very sweet for a bloke who was very shabbily discarded, only to be swiftly rescued from the AFL dumpster by the Swans in trade week.
Seeing In Like McGlynn weeping on the bench after he'd done a hammy wasn't a particularly edifying sight, but suppose that hiding your humanity would be a bit difficult under the circumstances, knowing in yourself that you're gorn with a season-ender, and you won't be playing in the Grand Final; no cigar after such a year of solid hard work.
He was subbed off to Sick Bay with Mitch "Who?" Morton, the only Swans player in the match who'd not played in a final, and the only teenager on the ground.
Did well, and kicked two goals to boot!
The youngster must be thinking how lucky he is - talk about a saloon passage to a flag after playing but a handful of games in the Big Time - dragged in on the coat-tails of the greats.
As the Greater Western Pygmies will tell you, this is no place for boys - only grown men need apply.
To show just how good the Swans defence is, the Stats Guru was quick to point out that the Adelaide score of 5.12 was their lowest of the season, and the Crows worst score of any of their 27 finals appearances.
The Guru also mentioned that the Swans have been very busy through the mid-field and upfront, with only two players featuring in the list of the top 25 goal kickers at the end of the regular season.
And who are they?
Jetta and Goodes, and they're both well down that list.
Reckon those two fellas have found alchemy when they work so sweetly together.
Everything they've touched in recent weeks has turned to gold.
It was remarkable to see The Train outrun a couple of should-be speedier Crows players, as if he's found an extra leg in his old age, after losing a yard or two over the last couple of seasons.
The surgeon seems to have done a miracle job this time around.
The long and the short of it is everyone in the squad has seemingly kicked a goal or two through the year and the backline is nailed down flat.
It might not be spectacular, or even very pretty, but jeez, it's clinically effective.
It's neither here nor there who the Swans play in the Prelims.
West Coast, of course, would be most preferable - there's history going on with that mob, and they are, after all, one-all - and that would necessitate the Weagles making two, long road trips - across to the MCG this weekend to play the Pies, and then to Sydney the next, if they make it.
Collingwood hold no fears on the evidence of the last outing against them a few weeks back, but boy, it'd be a dour, miserable, low scoring affair that'd be almost completely devoid of spectacle.
So, cheer, cheer the Weagles.
What goes on in the other half of the draw doesn't really matter, either.
Fremantle go across the Nullabor, but stop halfway to the east coast, to play in Adelaide.
Whoever wins will then go to the MCG to be stomped on like ants by Hawthorn.
However, if you throw all form out the window and look at it askance, there are seemingly still no end of tasty possibilties in prospect - as one of my correspondents on the other side of the island transmitted "what about an all WA Grand Final, then?"
But, with the engineering and sandbagging that's been going on, it looks for all the world like a Swans v Hawks Grand Final has been pre-ordained.
In reality - which is a good place to be - just can't imagine any other match up, as, by rights, the two best teams in the comp should be meeting in the big dance.
That's how business time is usually arranged.
My Spy at the ground sent through a telegraph message close to the end of what up until that point had been a goal-less Championship Quarter "Crows are too busy beating themselves to win the game".
Yep, that's curtains.
Handling the week off during the pointy end of the season is always a tricky challenge for the Football Dept.
What do you do with them if they're not playing?
The curse of the finals bye has been well noted in the past, so it'd probably be best to roast a piglet over some slow burning charcoal and put on a keg for players as they put their feet up.
In athletics and swimming it's called tapering.
In footy, finding the key to that rest and relaxation, rather than being tired and emotional and playing the next game in your head over and over, can be elusive.
I'm sure Mr Ed would be telling them "don't let the nervous tension get to you, forget about football for a week, and just chill."
Everyone, take a deep breath.


SYDNEY: 2.2 7.2 8.4 11.5 (71). Goals: Goodes 3, Jetta 2, Morton 2, McGlynn, Kennedy, Parker, Reid.
ADELAIDE: 1.3 2.7 3.10 5.12 (42). Goals: Johncock, Callinan, van Berlo, Sloane, Walker.
At Football Park, Adelaide.
Crowd: 44,849.

Didn't go into the Front Bar at The Local on Mad Monday after the Mighty Tigers ignoble exit from the rugby league before the finals.
In fact, gave the joint a wide berth for a few days on account of the ridicule wasn't worth copping and in the full knowledge that everyone would soon forget that it ever happened.
No one ever remembers who didn't make September.
The Philosopher obviously looked like he'd lost all interest in football as he sat in his usual corner.
On approach, he lifted his head from the racing pages of the Daily Terror, pushed his glasses down to the tip of his nose and peered over this week's favoured tipple, a Russian Standard vodka and tonic in a highball with a twist of lemon, and said "at least the Swans are doing alright, aren't they?".
And then resumed his study of the Caulfield Cup weights.
Enough said.

two deaf mutes

Match Fixers,

Was it just my imagination, or was there some sandbagging going on here?
Sure looked like it, for mine.
The game was lost at three quarter time, and the portents were there much earlier.
Thinking the coaching staff at some stage would have issued the order "don't try, but whatever you do, don't look like you're not trying"
You only have to consider the fact that the scores were level early in the Championship Quarter, and then Geelong kicked eight goals to zip
Under normal circumstances, that would have required a Stewards Inquiry on suspicion of not running the horse out on its merits, but the favourite got up, the bookies weren't unhappy, and it was never contemplated.
Bob's your Uncle.
There was that kind of feeling that the Swans decided to throw the game after being outplayed fair and square in the first half.
They were at Kardinia Park after all, so why bother?
This might all be a conspiracy theory, but if it's not, and it's true, then it's very clever strategy.
On the face of it, the Swans have been found out by good teams three times in the past four weeks. which would be a worry for any other team, but what if they lost one or two of those on purpose?
Sure, they played Hawthron right down to the wire in a ding-dong fight to the finish just to show what they are made of, on account of the fact that the Hawks are the dead-set short-odds Premiership favourites and Sydney needed a yard stick to go by in what turned out to be the best contested game of the season so far.
If they haven't realised it by now, that'd make other teams sit up an notice.
But you have to wonder if the Collingwood game, even though the margin was a mere eight points in the finish, wasn't thrown as well.
Just look at how they gave up a healthy Champo quarter lead in that one, in a game that everyone said "they should have won".
It was as if Sydney did all they could to avoid winning the minor premiership after leading the comp for the best part of six weeks.
There would have been blokes down in the Football Dept. spinning the abacus in the first quarter, if not before the start of the game, knowing where the beads would settle, and saying: "look, there's no point playing real hard, the minor premiership is gone, and we can't finish second and with that goes the extra pressure of playing a home semi-final in week one, so we might as well finish third and go to Adelaide to play The Pretenders in the first week of the finals. That doesn't hold any fears for us, so let's just take the foot off the pedal, put the key players in cotton wool, finish with no injuries, and gear up for business time."
You know it makes sense.
In the grand scheme of things, the Swans are now in a position where they can field their best possible, fully fit, first-picked side for the finals.
Only now will they have their eyes on the prize.
They've closely studied the Hare-Clark-McIntyre-Duckworth-Lewis finals system, and deliberately engineered the best possible draw, avoiding all the good teams to start the pointy end of the season.
Brilliant!
And it's all been done with smoke and mirrors so that no-one really notices.
Let's face it, they are two games out of the Grand Final, if they want it, and at the very least, have the double chance, that's unlikely to go unused.
Smart, smart, smart, Coach Horse.
The most entertaining thing about the match was that there was no love lost between the two sides.
They hate each other.
Thought Reg Grundy going down to the Tribunal to argue what little case he had was a bit cheeky, given that he put a good forearm jolt plus an elbow don't argue to finish to the chin of the Podsiadly - who no doubt deserved it - but rules is rules.
So, he's rubbed out for a week?
No matter.
Lets just hope that sort of uncompromising attitude continues on into September.
They'll need it.

GEELONG: 4.3 7.5 12.7 17.10 (112). Goals: Hawkins 4, Podsiadly 3, Chapman 3, Christensen, Mackie, Bartel, Duncan, Vardy, Johnson, Lonergan/
SYDNEY: 4.5 5.8 7.12 11.12 (78). Goals: Goodes 2, McVeigh 2, McGlynn, Bolton, Kennedy, Jack, O'Keefe, Mumford, Walsh.
At Kardinia Park.
Crowd: 20,045.


Mad Monday of course came far too early.
Not surprised when we walked into Leichhardt Oval on Saturday night and found it not overly busy.
There weren't that many people in the scramble up Heartbreak Hill from the Parramatta River to the Mary St entrance, apart from a few old folk like us who huffed and puffed their way up and said to each other "it doesn't get any easier does it?"
It was clear early on that without the Best Leb In The Game in the engine room, the Mighty Tiges are a disorganised shambles.
Down 6-10 at half time, they were still in with a theoretical chance at victory, but on the evidence of the first half, everyone at the ground knew that the game was up, and all hope was lost.
It's never nice to see your side completely clueless at home.
Never mind that Balmain came into the match still, after interminable weeks of hanging on by the skin of their teeth, in with a mathematical chance of finishing 8th.
All they needed to do was beat Melbourne by more than 14 points, and then rely on the hapless NZ Warriors beating the inform Canberra who were coming home with a wet sail.
Needless to say, it never looked likely, neither of those things happened, and the Tigers ended up finishing the regular season in 10th.
Joisus, Mary & Joseph.
What a miserable season it panned out to be, after one that held so much promise with the mid-season purple patch, only to be cruelled by injury.
Even though they had a basketful of excuses, The Great Benji on interview after the game, as the stand-in skipper, couldn't hide his humanity and his bitter disappointment, but was sensible enough just to say and leave it at "we only have ourselves to blame".
At half time went around to the Norman "Latchem" Robinson Stand to strain the potatoes in the expansive urinals under the stand, and then go out the back to blow a number amongst the dumpsters.
A rather dishevelled Tigers fan stumbled out of the dunnies with a wild look in his eyes and botted me for a smoke.
The conversation went something like this:
"Aw mate, can I get a fag off you? I've just been in a fight, and the bastard broke me flag", evidenced by the fact that he cast his Balmaim flag attached to a stick of dowell that had been busted in the middle onto the ground in a desultory fashion.
"Jesus! Where did that happen?"
"Just in there, in the dunnies there."
"Why? Was it a Melbourne fan?"
"Nah mate, he was one of us, a Tigers supporter"
"Bloody hell. You idiot, Why did you do that?".
"He was bagging Benji Marshall really loudly at the urinal, and I can't stand anyone bagging out My Benji, so I decided to go him"
"What happened?"
"Well, it wasn't a fight really, I just wrestled the prick to the floor, on the tiles there, and thought about giving him a couple, but didn't want to get into any trouble, so I didn't, even though the arsehole still broke my flag", and then launched into an apologia "Look at me. I'm not a fighter. But I was a high school wrestling champion in my time".
From there on in he just started jibbering about the Glorious Olden Days, rattling off the names of some of the great players of the 80's, and wondered if anyone remembered them anymore, and then launched into an apologia "Look at
The bloke was clearly unhinged.
Asked him about how he came to be a Balmain fan, telling him that my fandom began on moving to Sydney almost 30 year ago.
"I've never lived here", he said, but then failed to explain how he got his obviously ardent attachment to the Tigers.
"I live in Orange. I've lived there all me life, mate. I come down for all the Leichhardt Oval games every year, and I get usually get to the Parramatta and Penrith away games too. I love Leichhardt".
Takes all types.
Took my leave, and went back to re-join the Good Lady Wife in the bucket seat next to mine.
Must say that the new bank of seating they've installed on the small terrace which runs along the length of the ground below the mighty imposing Hill.
It's raked back in only five rows from the touch line.
They are the best seats in the house.
It would have cost them next to nothing to put them in, but it is a welcome long overdue improvement for a heritage ground that has never boasted first class spectator facilities, given that 80% of the crowd have always been, and still are, accomodated in standing room.
We were parked three rows back right on the southern 20 metre line, and when you are that close in that kind of man-made ampitheatre, you are for all intents and purposes right there in amongst the action.
When it's an uneventful passage of play and the crowd is quiet you can literally see the grunting grimmace on the player's faces and hear the thwacks as they are relentlessly crunch each other in the tackle.
Magnificent!
That Pom Ellis did nothing in his last game after four years at Leichhardt.
Why kill yourself to bring down the curtain on a short but outstanding career in the No.1 grade?
Rest on your laurels and take the plaudits on retirement is obviously the only way to go, son.
Vale Gareth, you've been a credit to the club and an ornament to the game.
SC Sheens didn't pull any punches on interview after the match, saying he would take full responsibilty for the debacle of a season and walk, if the Club Sectretary asked him to.
Said he'd go quietly if he got the tap on the shoulder, adding that that was up to The Board, and not something he had any control over.
Shrugged his shoulders and said "that's football. we'll see what happens".
Not about to fall on his sword, but you get the feeling that St Tim wouldn't mind getting the chop, even if only for the sake of his own sanity and general well being.
With the aim of getting a quick get away at full-time, we watched the last ten minutes of the match from directly behind the Melbourne in-goal, out the back of the disabled reserve where they put all the people in wheelchairs.
Felt right at home.
Wondered why the two blokes standing in front of us - who were well dressed in smart-casual with no signs of allegiance - weren't screaming and yelling like everyone else, but then spyed them signing each other, and realised that they were deaf mutes.
Even though they couldn't hear the full-time hooter at the denoument, they knew it was game over, season over, and waved goodbye to everyone around them in a jolly fashion and then left the ground, silently.
There was simply nothing more to say.
Rather apt, really.

WESTS TIGERS 6. Tries: Marshall. Goals Marshall (1).
MELBOURNE STORM 26. Tries: Hoffman, Manu, Norrie, Proctor, Waqa. Goals: Smith (3).
At Leichhardt Oval.
Crowd: 10,834.

if it wasn't for the partisanship

Loyalists,

Shit happens.
Fancy holding the best attacking team in the comp goalless in the opening stanza, and then giving up a 27 point quarter time lead to be leading by bugger all at half time?
Those sorts of things happen when you play against really good sides who refuse to lie down.
Some good lessons to be learnt from that at the pointy end of the season.
Something to do with keeping the jackboot on the neck and then twisting the jugular.
And there were a couple of worrying signs.
The Great Train had his best game since his comeback from injury, even though his kicking options weren't the best at times, while the New Train, the Jetta Kiddie, had his worst game of the season.
Hawthorn sorted him from the off with a very tight tag.
Not hard to coach that.
JP Kennedy was once again Best on Ground, doing my not inconsiderable each-way punt on him to win the Brownlow at between 22/1 and 25/1 no harm at all.
Rhino, the Hannebery Kiddie and Son of Gary all had their usual exemplary games, while the beared wonders in Rick Shaw and Master Malceski dug deep and put in.
But the Ugliest Man in Football had an inexplicable shocker - LRT just couldn't get involved or do anything right - and was subbed off at three quarter time in favour of Mitch "Who" Morton.
You really do need to have all 18 players on the ground footballing out of their minds to win these kind of matches.
Can't afford to carry any passengers steaming into September.
The "Best" line in the scorebox in the Monday morning fishwraps must read "All played well".
The Swans have specialised in it all season, so now is not the time for a few blokes to have off games
That said, if it wasn't for the partisanship involved, it would have to go down as one of the very best games of the season
Sydney were right in it until the final minute or two, but it's the second time they've lost by agonisingly small margins in recent weeks.
These two teams are very much looking like Grand Finalists, for mine.
Adelaide will probably go top in the grand scheme of things, but look to be pretenders on the dint of their luxury draw and are likely to be found out some time during the finals, Collingwood are very good and certainly know how to play in the big games but appear to be bit flaky, just like the Swans. when the blowtorch is applied to the belly, while West Coast have the best home ground advantage of anyone and may well be the smokies in this.
Geelong, Fremantle and North Melboure can pretty much go suit themselves.
As always, it came down to the Championship Quarter, but as it happened that didn't decide the issue for once.
Glad the the Good Lady Wife reached for the top shelf at three quarter time and shook some top qual heart pills out of the bottle for me.
With the eventual seven lead changes in the final quarter, a big time coronary was a certainty for this idle spectator without them.
Coach Horse was ambivalent about it, simply noting that it was a marvellous test for both sides with Business Time just around the corner, in the full knowledge that the Swans could finish anywhere between 1st and 4th in the denoument.
So they must just bloody well win at that hell-hole known as Kardinia Park, simple as that.
But, it is yet another hoo-doo ground for Sydney, and there is a bad feeling in my water.
You only have to go back to that completely miserable experience there all of five years ago now, the first and last ever, to realise why:
http://crazycraves.blogspot.com.au/2007/06/stroll-in-kardinia-park.html
http://crazycraves.blogspot.com.au/2007/07/pontiffs-seed-is-strong.html
The Cardiac Kids should go well from here on in, safe in the knowledge that it doesn't matter how much you win the Grand Final by.
A Bloody Point will do.

SYDNEY: 4.3, 8.5, 10.7, 14.11 (95). Goals: Reid 2, Mumford 2, Goodes 2, O'Keefe 2, Jack, McGlynn, Malceski, Roberts-Thomson, McVeigh, Kennedy
HAWTHORN: 0.1, 7.6, 10.11, 15.12 (102). Goals: Franklin 4, Burgoyne 3, Puopolo 2, Suckling 2, Gunston, Smith, Shiels, Sewell
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 31, 167.

Appalling, just appalling.
Happened to be in the Back Bar at The Local with the Good Lady Wife enjoying the cheap and cheerful combination chow mein as the Tigers slumped to a quite ridiculous scoreline of 0-26 at half time.
We had another function to go to after the game, but she kindly offered me an out on the hooter for the break with "you can go home and have good cry if you like"
Declined, but still found myself tired and emotional later in the evening.
All hope was lost, there and then.
Bugger.
With the Best Leb in The Game in Sick Bay for the rest of the season, there was never any direction in attack as no one could decide who would run the engine room in his absence
The defence was utterly hopeless as Tigers defenders slipped off would-be tackles as easily as taking the skin off a rice pudding, as the Chooks shrugged them off, and ran them ragged all the way to the try line.
Every time we looked up from our lunch plates it seemed the Roosters had gone in for another four pointer, again.
Joisus.
It was hard to fathom what was going on
If Easts aren't running stone motherless last in the comp then they should be, on their season effort to date, and yet they easily towelled up the team who were touted as early premiership favourites at the start of the season solely on the strength of their roster.
No-one dreamed that they would have so many injuries that the Rehab Dept would be overwhelmed to breaking point.
Gawd knows, Benji Marshall tried is damnest and with his last goal of the game scored his 1000th point in the caper, but without his partner in crime Farah, none of the set plays came off, and his imagination when it comes to improvised play is beyond most of his team mates, without Farah's translation.
My spy at the ground somehow managed to wander into the dressing room press conference afterwards and told me he saw the Great Benji, in his role as acting captain on interview alongside SC Sheens.
He said they both said something about "execution" being the major problem.
He laughed heartily, and sent through the telegraph message in jest, suggesting that Tigers fans would be building the gallows at Leichhardt for the summary executions that would be a feature of the full-time entertainment in what will almost certainly be the last game of season.
There's been some scurrilous idle chatter in the more disreputable fishwraps suggesting that SC Sheens could well be on shaky ground
The raison d’être being that St Tim has taken the Tigers to the finals just three times in 15 years...mind you they did win the Grand Final in '05, but the bloke has been trading on that ever since, no doubt.
The board tried to put in a performance assessment team a couple of years back, but SC Sheens would have nothing of it, and instead threatened to walk, and demanded a new contract, which was signed on the back of a napkin in some cafe in Chiswick, if memory serves me right.
Sheens is the sort of bloke who will sack himself before anyone comes along with the tap of the shoulder.
The Great Chris "Bludnut" Heighington played his 200th game, a fair rarity in this football code.
It wasn't his best in the double hundred.
However, he will long be revered as the consumate club man, having played all of them for Balmain.
Now there's a bloke who gets picked week in week out, never draws attention to himself, and just goes about doing his job, no questions asked.
Well known for doing the hard yards and not expecting any thanks for it.
Was admitted to the Balmain Pantheon a while ago now, at the rank of loyal servant to the game.
Few have been better or more consistent in any pack of forwards.
The Club Secretary would be a mass of quivering nerve endings as he spins about on his swivel office chair trying not to look at the stark numbers on the abacus in front of him.
Balmain are now down into what's euphemistically called the "mathematical chance".
i.e. they have to beat Melbourne straight out and rely on the hapless Chocolate Soldiers to pull off a highly unlikely win, and what's more, they'll know that result almost a full 24 hours before they play.
So it'll be all, or nothing.
If you were a betting man, you'd have to favour the dead rubber.
While gate recpiets haven't suffered much in the back half of the season due to the extraordinary number of loyalists out there, the prospect of losing the generous coin that comes with finals appearances would be weighing heavily on his mind, given that he will just about have to empty the coffers in the off season buying less injury prone players.
He'd be happy that we have taken up his offer of upgrading from bronze general admission membership to a silver seat in the new bucket chairs they've installed on the eastern concourse at Leichhardt Oval for the last game of the season.
From there you'd be looking directly into the afternoon sun, so good thing it is a Saturday night game.
Don't expect that it'll be very busy.
It'll be grand, though, to farewell That Pom Ellis in person; one of the last of the great hardmen plays his final game for the Tigers on account of Gareth has decided to go home to the dark satanic mills where he was born and finish his career playing for the pension in the Lancashire and Yorkshire League.
A club stalwart and an ornament to the game who's now been admitted to the Balmain Pantheon.
Not the only Pom to be so honoured.
Think Keith Barnes, Garry Schofield, and Ellery "The Black Pearl" Hanley.
For some unknown reason, returned to The Local on Sunday morning, just for a very quiet one in The Front Bar.
The Philosopher was in his usual corner, nursing this week's favoured tipple, a drink that he says he's invented himself, which he calls a "Cat's Arsehole": a jigger of vodka and the same of triple-sec, poured over ice in a high ball, and topped up with grapefruit juice.
He ordered me one and fixed me with his bead and watched me purse my lips and said "ah ha! appropriate for this time of year, don't you think?"

SYDNEY ROOSTERS 44. Tries: Tupou (3), Nuuausala, Kenny-Dowall, Moga, Pearce, Minichiello. Goals: Anasta (6).
WESTS TIGERS 20. Tries: Koroibete, Lawrence, Heighington, Murdoch-Masila. Goals: Marshall (2).
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 15,736

robbed blind

Pyschoanalysts,

Robbed blind.
A more disgraceful and deplorable display by legally blind umpires with only a fleeting acquaintence with the rule book has not been seen all season, in any code.
The incompetance of rugby league referees knows no bounds, it seems.
Never mind that the Bulldogs were playing from an off-side position all day in defence, there were some plain shocking decisions in the in-goal.
Take the Robbie Farah try for the Tigers that the Bamford ruled as "held-up" but then sent it upstairs to be reviewed by the idiot in the video referee's box, who couldn't made up his mind, so sent it back to the ref, who then upheld his own original decision.
What the?
Farah fumed and went up to the Bamford and said "Look, mate. I put that ball down. One thousand percent".
In a brazen admission of utter failure to do his job, the Bamford replied "I can't pay what I can't see".
Lord, save us.
And then there was the last 'try' of the match awarded to the Bulldogs, who clearly had a player run around one of his own players to deliberately obstruct the defence.
The rule book says that that's not allowed, under any circumstances.
The ref, bewlinderingly, awarded the try, but again sent it upstairs for some kind of confirmation/justification, where it was ruled "defender not impeded", quote unquote.
What the?
My spy at the ground tells me the Tigers fans who were brave enough, or some say, foolish enough to attend a Bulldogs home game [the class Canterbury supporters regularly get into fights and trash trains from Olympic Park when they lose] went absolutely ape-shit and there would have been a riot if the match had been played at somewhere like Leichhardt.
Lord save us.
The Best Leb in The Game, with his Captain's hat on, was so livid he started screaming into the Bamford's face at point-blank range "tell me! tell me! tell me how that wasn't a sheperd?! Even Blind Freddie could see it was obstruction!".
With his eyes spinning around on their stalks and steam coming from his ears, thought for moment that Farah going to grab the Bamford by the scruff of his neck and snot the fool.
Farah was promptly banned by the club's Football Dept from making his customary appearance at the post-match press conference as he would have just exploded and had a melt down.
SC Sheens was more circumspect afterwards saying he felt "hard done by" and would be having a quiet chat with the Bamford's boss on the Monday morning.
So the full time score should have been at least Balmain 26 Canterbury 18, but, oh, no siree...that's not what the scoreboard said, and as we all know, they scoreboard doesn't lie, nor does it account for criminal acts of highway robbery.
As you might have guessed, nothing gets on my goat more than stubbornly stupid buffoons masquerading as officialdom.
Maxwell & Cummins, we know who you are.
Farah would have also been very filthy with himself for fluffing the first chance at field goal in extra time from good field position, when he set the set-play too deep, found himself cramped for room, and the ball scooted off the boot and under the cross bar.
Inu, in the last minute of extra time, potted a hail-mary long-shot to snatch victory for Canterbury from the jaws of an extra-time draw.
Joisus.
SC Sheens did what he does best, and stated the bleedin' obvious on interview after the game: "We needed to score one point. We didn't score one point. So we lost".
A Bloody Point, eh?
In this week's minor miracle, Balmain again somehow manage to cling on by the skin of their teeth to 8th spot on the ladder at 11 wins/11losses with two to play, but the real shame of it is they are just now coming into some hardened late season genuine form with the forwards back in harness and the backs finding their mojo again, and would have given September a real shake if they were higher up on the ladder.
But it's season over now, for mine, after the shocking news that came through on the Sunday morning that Farah had been to the hospital complaining of a sore mit, and the x-rays confirmed that he'd picked up a season-ending busted hand.
To lose one of your marquee players at this stage of the year, especially the one who drives the engine room, makes it curtains, surely?
It's cruel game, rugby league.
It's becoming close to unbearable living in the heart of the Canterbury-Bankstown district now that the Bulldogs have won their 12th straight game and will easily pick up the JJ Giltinan Shield for the minor premiership - what with blue and white flags poking out of souped-up car windows, doof-doof, and various mongs and dingbats wandering about the streets aimlessly, dressed in full Canterbury Bulldogs kit.
Sick-making.

CANTERBURY-BANKSTOWN BULLDOGS 23. Tries: Barba, Reynolds, Tolman, Wright. Goals: Inu (3). Field Goals: Inu (1).
WESTS TIGERS 22. Tries: Koroibete (2), Marshall, Woods. Goals: Marshall (3).
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 29,194.


Who would've thought, as we get down to business time?
Fancy that...the Swans kick 26 goals...that featured 14 different goal kickers for only the second time in the club's history, including some bloke called Morton.
Morton?
Who's Morton?
Even at an unlikely 3-6 goals down at quarter time, it was clear that a Swans win was never in doubt as they were always going to kick a cricket score against a team that's done nothing all year.
It was terribly nice of those pretenders Adelaide and Collingwood to lose games they were expected to win easily to hand back top spot to Sydney, with a win in hand and a better percentage, and two games to play.
Thank you very much.
The Stats Guru was quick to point out Sydney/South Melbourne have equalled the club record set back in 1945 for most number of games won in a season at 16 [with the caveat that South went down to Carlton by a handy margin in that year's Grand Final; a match that was apparently characterised by "extreme on-field violence". Sounds like it was just one long brawl. Pity those days, when punters would walk for miles and pay a hefty admission fee just to see that sort of thing, have gone away].
Swans have also won more Championship Quarters than any other team this season, which just goes to confirm the critical importance of the third stanza.
Of course the strength through the spine was where it was won again, and some students of the game are now talking up the prospect of the entire Swans mid-field being picked holus-bolus in this years All-Australian team [now there's a very curious institution. It must be the only instance in any sport in the world where a national team is selected, but doesn't play a game against anyone, because there is no-one to play].
Special mention should be made of that Canadian rugby union player Mike Pyke.
It's only taken him a couple of years, but it now appears that he's got the hang of this caper, long after most clubs would have given up on persevering with him.
As Mr Ed says of The Pantsman "his ability to listen and learn is second to none".
Had a blinder in the ruck, squashed anyone they cared to put on him, and kicked three through the big sticks to boot, until he was subbed out of the game with a hobble, and replaced by the mystery that is Mitch Morton.
Again, Mitch who?
Coach Horse dismissed the result out of hand on interview after the game, saying it signified nothing and even professed to having no interest in winning the minor premiership: "all we are focussed on is beating really good sides, like the two really good sides that we have to play in the next two weeks".
Very interesting that the rugby league match in Sydney had a bigger crowd than the Australian Rules match in Melbourne by a fair way, for most likely the first time this season.
The Western Bulldogs obviously have no supporters, as there were a lot of South fans in - as far as you can tell on the telly - while support for the Canterbury-Bankstown Bulldogs is going through the roof, and Balmain Tigers fans travel, and are everywhere.
Maybe that's why Channel Nine coughed up a lazy billion for the rugby league TV rights mid-week.
Who knows?
But you would have thought people who shell out that many beans know what they are buying.
Let's face it, in terms of the pure entertainment factor, the rugby league has a lot more going for it on the crystal bucket than the Rules does.
The league game is over in a guaranteed 80 minutes plus ten minutes for half time, as opposed to the Rules game which is always a long, drawn-out affair where the result is often decided well before the thing finally ends after the best part of three hours.
And the Rules is definitely not made for television as the machine fails by its very nature to capture any more than half of what's going on as it shows virtually none of the leading for marks, the positional play, the jostling and general carry-on behind play that's all intrinsic to the game and that you can only see when you are at the ground [once knew a television camerman who worked on the AFL live coverage for a full two seasons before he realised the teams changed ends after every quarter - his sole purpose in life was to keep the ball in the dead set centre of the shot every time].
In stark contrast, 100% of the league game is up there on the screen for all to see.
Little wonder, with everyone belatedly crowding onto the band wagon, this weekend's blockbuster against Hawthorn at the building site that is the SCG with a considerably reduced capacity was sold-out three weeks ago.
Win that, and the minor premiership is in the dilly bag and everyone else can go suit themselves.


WESTERN BULLDOGS: 6.2, 8.3, 11.5, 13.7 (85). Goals: Addison 4, Dickson 3, Giansiracusa 2, Lake, Cordy, Picken, Johannisen
SYDNEY: 3.2, 10.5, 16.9, 26.11 (167). Goals: Pyke 3, Roberts-Thomson 3, Goodes 3, Mumford 3, McGlynn 2, Reid 2, O'Keefe 2, Hannebery 2, Jack, Parker, Morton, McVeigh, Kennedy, Jetta.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 19,396.

two football teams...

Meteorologists,

A tremendous wind storm blew up on Friday with the fearsome breeze gusting at 100+kph and causing havoc at Kingsford Smith Airport just across the way; it was enough to rip a panel of fibro off the back of Dad's Shed and smash it to simthereens, and send the ol' fashioned radio set crashing to the floor [old technology - it survived].
Never mind the wind chill factor.
The tempest was no better on match day, when you could also add into the mix sleeting, sheeting, horizontal showers.
The day after, as the Swans braved the magic waters at Bronte and the coaching staff enjoyed Sunday morning smoko in their anoraks and ear-muffs, the boffins down the bureau declared it to be the coldest August day in the Emerald City in ten years.
Like, that's a decade.
Something's going on?
Under the circumstances, rather glad that good seats were unobtainable, as anyone who was in any way lame or infirm and was fool enough to go to the ground, would have most likely been carted off to the hospital, there to die of exposure.
Even the kind offer of a free ticket on the morning of the match was not enough to entice me to tempt fate and catch my death.
In any case, there were two football teams at Cathy Freeman Stadium on Saturday night - but only team one tried to play football.
Collingwood were simply hell-bent on strangling the game to death, by just sitting on the football, closing down any hint of attack, and then hoping for the best.
A very cynical strategy from the Black & White Bastards, for mine, which has nothing to recommend it, but after all, Collingwood will always suit themselves and say "well, hey, it worked, didn't it?"
Their meagre goal tally all came from snap shots on the pivot inside the 50, or miracle long bombs outside, virtually not a one from a set shot.
God forbid if these two teams meet in the Grand Final.
The spectacle, the colour and movement, any charisma, or "wow" factor will be left at the Grand Final breakfast, in favour of a grubby, hard-scrabble game of football in the afternoon.
Very hard to pick a Best on Ground given that no one, on either side, was allowed to shine or stand out in such a dour, lack-lustre affair.
The Bamfords probably dropped some pieces of paper with some names on them into a hat and pulled out the Brownlow votes at random.
JP Kennedy would have been one name.
Did himself no harm in the lottery.
It's inexplicable how the Swans seem to go weak at the knees at the mere mention of the name Collingwood as if it was a synonym of the boogy-man; an 11 game losing streak against the Pies is some kind of hoo-doo, to be sure.
And, by rights, Sydney should have won.
As my spy at the ground telegraphed through at the denoument "bad kicking is bad football, as Wally May used to say" after the Swans squandered any number of chances in front of goal.
Coach Horse didn't have much to say on interview after the match, but did remind the press that the Swans were only two points behind with a few minutes to go.
No mention of blowing a 17 point lead in the Championship Quarter.
Yeah, well, most times you'd give them the benefit of the doubt and say near enough is good enough is fair enough, except in this case near enough was clearly not good enough.
Now things get interesting if you take the abacus out and spin the beads.
Adelaide must now be odds on faves to take the minor premiership with a soft-as-a-pillow draw in the last three games.
Especially when Collingwood, Sydney, West Coast and Hawthorn all come up against at least one or the other in the run home.
Can't see Sydney finishing top unless they win all three; lose one and they'll stil be thereabouts, but lose all three and even the top four is in peril.
Note that certain loud mouthed individuals [no names, no pack drill, Mick Malthouse] have been whinging in the fishwraps about the Crows supremely advantageous draw, having played GWS, Gold Coast, and Port - twice.
Not to mention Sydney also playing the Pygmies twice, as a matter of course.
But as my Correspondent in The Sou'Strayan Provinces writes:
"The AFL made this problem for themseleves as soon as they expanded beyond 12 teams and have done nothing to address it, and they only complain when they find out two out-of-town teams are on top".
The upshot of his ensuing argument being that Victorians will always be Victorians.
Us Colonials will take all the ladder positions we can get, thank you.
See you in September.

SYDNEY: 1.3, 4.7, 8.11, 9.16 (70). Goals: Roberts-Thomson 2, Goodes, McGlynn, Bird, Kennedy, Pyke, O'Keefe, Dennis-Lane.
COLLINGWOOD: 3.2, 5.4, 9.4, 12.6 (78), Goals: Beams 3, Cloke 3, Didak, Fasolo, Thomas, Blair, Seedsman, Wellingham.
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 45,827.

Ah, Timmy Moltzen.
You've got to hand it to him.
After notoriously breaking a deal to transfer to St George [who had his signature signed sealed and delived on a contract] this season and doing an about face to stay at the Tigers via some complex series of negotiations and transactions, he comes back to bite the Sainters on the arse with a hat-trick of tries for Balmain!
As you can well imagine, Dragons fans were most unhappy about it and didn't hold back on making their views known at the ground.
Nice one, Timmy.
Didn't see a frame of this match live as it was played simultaneously with the Swans across town, but my spy at the ground suggested that The Great Benji had his best game all year with the famous trademark jink, the step, the whirly-gig all on display, only confirmed by the newsreel.
Few sides do second halves better, probably because they are among the fittest teams in the comp after they are thrashed week in week out on the training track, but there are some who complain that the long list of players in the Sick Bay could be a result of being "over-trained".
Who knows?
SC Sheens didn't think much of it, drily noting on interview after the game "the defence was an improve on last week", noting "it was good of them to come back from 0-8 in such atrocious conditions" but then pretty much limited his comments to "that's the kind of win we need".
Indeed.
The coach, surely, must be thinking about what kind of team he can turn out on the park in the finals in they get there with a few due to come off the Injured Player's Fund.
Even Lote "What'd I do, Guv?" Tuqiri is getting sick of living the Lote life with a broken arm, and is talking about a comeback if the Tigers get "deep into September", although you'd think they'd be very relucant to play him with no match fitness in the only games that really matter.
Needless to say it gets harder and harder to climb up the ladder towards the pointy end of the season.
The Tiger's cling on tenaciously to eighth spot on the table and the chasing pack is starting to thin out, but they don't have the easiest run home - up against 1st, 14th, and 2nd in the remaining minor round games.
You'd have to think they need to win a minimum of two of those to make September, so there is no shortage of tight-rope walking to come.
Popped down to the newsagent on Sunday morning for the ritual pulping of my Lotto ticket, and popped my head into the Front Bar at The Local just across the street.
The Brown Brothers were very sheepish, after their Worriers were relentlessly flogged by the Cowboys, to end all hope.
To their credit, the Kiwis' openly acknowledged that they were the classic roosters turned into feather dusters, going from beaten Grand Finalists last year to having no chance of making the finals with 3 games to play this year.
Whappen? They said, sadly.
Couldn't bring myself to drink their beer despite their urgings, and left them to drown their own sorrows.
The Philosopher was in his usual corner, nursing this week's favoured tipple, a Manhattan prepared with Canadian Club on ice in a lowball.
While lamenting that the absinthe behind the bar was unaffordable, he flipped his fishwrap over onto the back page, and vigourously jabbed his finger at the picture of The Great Benji in full flight, offering "where there's life, there's hope".

WESTS TIGERS 22. Tries: Moltzen (3), Fulton. Goals: Marshall (3).
ST GEORGE-ILLAWARRA DRAGONS 12. Tries: Morris (2), Rein.
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 10,546.

pure insanity

Scholars of The Game,

We're playing with the edges of history here.
The Stats Guru was quick to point out that South has never won nine on the trot since they were uprooted and transplanted in Sydney all those years ago, and you have to go back to the 1926 and 1934 seasons to find the previous instances.
So now this is becoming a thing well beyond living memory.
Ominously, though, South failed to make the finals at all in '26, and were beaten by Richmond by a handy margin in the '34 Grand Final.
Ooops.
At least the buffoons in the television commentary got it right for once when pondering how the Swans had got to the top of the table and stayed there for so long, saying "well, they are pretty close to the perfect football unit".
You can attach all the superlatives you like to this team, but that just about sums it up.
Too strong, too smart, too well coached.
While you could have given Best on Ground to anyone in the mid-field...think...Son of Gary, Odd Head, The Hannebery Kiddie, In Like, Smiffy...it should have gone to Teddy Richards, for mine; had a superb game in the backline, bobbed up everywhere all the time and single-handedly closed down any attacking threat the Blues might have posed.
And it was interesting to see The Goodes Train and The Fast Train in the Jetta Kiddie working in concert across the middle of the park.
The coaching staff has at last realised that they have some unspoken telepathy going on, where they instinctively know what the other is about to do.
Very pleasing to see The Great Rhino Keefe - one of the last of the great hard-nuts - play in his 250th.
Asked in a pre-match profile interview what he thought of his career, he just said "I am very lucky and priviledged to have been able to live this lifestyle for the past 13 years".
An ornament to the game, you do get the impression that Rhino knows how to live the life.
The Great Bolts will be out for a few weeks after doing a knee, but it appears he'll come back just in time to play his 300th in the Grand Final.
Timing.
The Bamfords had a routinely poor game, but the bad decisions cancelled each other out in the end.
There was a most unusual indcident, when a Bamford was mysteriously subbed out of the game at quarter-time, as he couldn't go on, and was replaced by the Reserve Umpire.
No explanation as to what happened was forthcoming, so maybe he just did a Johnny Briggs and had a nervous breakdown and was conveyed in a straight jacket to the nearest lunatic asylum.
Spotted a nice banner in the Dockland's mix that just read:
REG IS OUR EDGE
A nice nod to another of those unsung heroes, Reg Grundy.
Mr Ed, pressured by the press to speculate on the future rather than be in the place he prefers - the present - demured and offered "our challenge is to see if we've improved enough to get over a terrific side like Collingwood".
So he is thinking about the prospect of the double purple patch after all.
With J.Bolton out, Collingwood have done the Swans a huge favour by suspending Dane Swan for two matches after the fool turned up for training after a night on the drink.
Wouldn't you know it?
After having trouble attacting a decent sized crowd all year, suddenly everyone is on the bandwagon.
As the Good Lady Wife noted, Sydney's notoriously fickle fair-weather fans strike again.
Decent tickets to this Saturday night's Blockbuster at The Bush are unobtainable.
As of first thing Monday morning, general admission tickets were sold out, and the remaining Silver and Gold seats were way way up in the gods with stratospheric prices to match.
With the way my ageing eyesight is, from up there in the Olympic Stadium, wouldn't be able to see a thing, let alone make out the number plates on the player's backs.
Oh well, that's what you get for loyalty.
Just have to wait for the finals to get tickets, when it's first come first served to pay through the nose.
Let's hope there's a glitch in the catering and the Pies are off.
Will just have to watch it on the telly from a comfortable lounge in front of a warm fire and spend the price of admission on some fine Champagne instead.
Damn.

CARLTON: 3.1, 5.3, 6.6, 10.11 (71). Goals: Waite 3, Armfield 2, Garlett 2, Gibbs, Casboult, Murphy.
SYDNEY: 4.4, 8.6, 11.8, 14.9 (93). Goals: McGlynn 3, Hannebery 2, Roberts-Thomson 2, Goodes, Bird, McVeigh, Jack, Jetta, Malceski, Mumford.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 39,942.

How bizzare, how bizzare.
Without doubt the most utterly ridiculous game of football played all year, in any code.
On a quiet night at the Olympics, found myself pottering about down in Dad's Shed with the loopy MMM call on the old fashioned radio-set in the corner.
Rather taken aback by the Tigers being down 6-22 after no more than ten minutes, and that was enough to get the healthy Monday night crowd out at Campbelltown pretty antsy, given the home side had been gifted a brace of penalties.
WTF?
If you can't beat the team running stone motherless last, you might as well pack up your boots and balls and go home.
The match then degenerated into a touch football game played by girls in some suburban park somewhere, as both sides took full advantage of the non existant defence.
Razzle dazzle football it may well have been, but that's not what the punters come to see at this time of year -- they want tough and dour.
No surprise to see Balmain go in 18-22 behind at half-time, but it was only a matter of time until the floodgates really opened up wide.
In the end the Tigers came right over the top of them like a tsunami, scoring the last 45 points to 4.
Repeat, WTF???
Supercoach Sheens expressed his frustration at being unable to explain exactly what went on, and who could blame him, sayng little more than the bleedin' obvious..."I was very disappointed with the defence".
The Best Leb in the Game, with his Captain's hat on, put a finer point on it..."We just didn't want to tackle, we were just lucky they didn't want to tackle either".
77 points all up in an 80 minute game, is pretty much a point a minute in anyone's language.
And the new kid on the block who no one's ever heard of, the Fijian kid called Marika Koroibete - in only his second top grade game - scored not one, not two, not three, but four tries in the second half alone.
Pure insanity.
Needless to say the feat equalled the club record.
But Parramatta - who must have forgotten that the ground exists having not played there since 1999 - were always prime targets to be beaten at their own game after the break.
The Bamfords had real trouble keeping up with it all, and blew the whistle too much if only to try to slow the whole thing down, but the unintended consequence was giving both sides even more opportunity's to score.
The radio call could barely keep pace.
While the Great Benji scooped the various Man of the Match awards, it should have gone to The Great Heighington for mine, for his sheer work rate alone.
A shuffle of players through the backline is a SC Sheens trademark move late in the season as he looks to settle on finals combinations.
Very pleasing to see Be My Beau Ryan - another of the last of the great hard nuts - play his 100th game, and he had a very good outing too.
Having seen the first half, SC Sheens gave Beau free reign to do what he liked, so he played variously at wing, right centre, fullback and did everything but score, ironic really for a bloke who's planted plenty in the in-goal area in his time.
And the result was dead set critical in what the MMM call describes as the premiership table "brought to you by Bailey's Ladders".
[They've also got the Red Cross blood bank to sponsor the blood rule when someone goes off to the blood bin - the slogan being "if you're tough enough to watch rugby league, you're tough enough to give blood". Marvellous]
After a weekend of improbable, highly fortuitous results, the Tigers sneak themsleves back into 8th, a game clear of the chasing pack for the last spot in the finals.
Thank the Good Lawd Joisus for that.
Joey Johns acting as sideline eye was asked by the lads in the commentary box what he thought of the game and he replied "kisses and cuddles are not the best preparation for the finals".
Anyone have any idea what he's on about?
How bizzare, how bizzare.

WESTS TIGERS 51. Tries: Koroibete (4), Utai (2), Blair, Heighington, Moltzen. Goals: Marshall (7). Field Goals: Marshall (1).
PARRAMATTA EELS 26. Tries: Mullaney (2), Roberts, Sio, Tautai. Goals: Burt (3).
At Campbelltown Sports Ground.
Crowd: 14,822.