Those who have also been rendered speechless,
A rather large, short woman fully fitted out in genuine Western Suburbs gear from the eighties when Victa Mowers still had their major sponsorship splashed across the back of the jersey, got on the train home from Central after the game.
She plonked herself down into two seats with a hurrumph, and a couple of tears dropped out of both eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
She didn't bother to wipe them away, and then promptly fell asleep.
Had had enough.
There is nothing worse than having a long way to go home after losing by a bloody point.
Everyone's been there, and it aint no fun.
It was a very puzzling game in a baffling week.
Don't get me started on the decision to purchase the Easts captain, Braith Anasta, on a two-year contract starting 2013.
The bloke is by all accounts a scholar and a gentleman, but with looks only a mother could love...however, why on earth would you buy a 30-year-old five-eighth who's looking for some superannuation to get into rugby league's Sunset Home, when you have a perfectly good, nay superstar, five-eighth already on the books on a long term contract?
So, Anasta might be able to play second row, and might be strong enough to finish his career there, but really?
Beats me.
Lets just hope they haven't paid too much for him.
No idea what possessed me to buy tickets to the game, but the Marketing Dept clearly sucked me in as they offered really cheap tickets to the cheap seats for Members who didn't have one to hand.
Remind me to never again go to a South Sydney game, ever.
How could anyone forget that Rabbitohs fans come from the lower breeds?
You just have to take one look at Russell Crowe.
They are inevitably foul-mouthed on the barrack, when there is really no call to descend into the gutter at the football.
Don't they know that women and children are present?
Then again, the screaming banshee women and their children are just as bad.
They also steadfastly refuse to behave in a quiet and sociable way in the bars.
They are sore losers, and vindictive winners, but to be fair, on the way out of the ground a woman wearing rabbit's ears pushed her pram over the toes on my bad foot - which was only protected by a flimsy sandal - which produced a surprisingly effusive apology.
That's another thing Souths' supporters do, they take babes-in-arms to the football, no doubt to inculcate the yob ethos into them from birth.
The banner hanging from "The Burrow", where the lowest of the low hang out, was plainly offensive.
It was the so-called Heritage Round, so the Tigers wore a replica of the jersey worn by Western Suburbs in their last Grand Final win 60 years ago this year.
The banner read:
"Heritage. We've got ours. You sold yours"
Enough said.
Meantime, back on the field...
The Moltzen Kiddie scoring a try in the first two minutes auguered well.
After Benji almost didn't play after reportedly being plauged with chronic headaches after being all but knocked out in classic clothesline tackle for two weeks running, Souths decided to leave him alone on humanitarian grounds, and instead clearly targeted Moltzen, who was cleaned up heavily in a very late, very high tackle by that well known Souths hooligan Michael Crocker running at full pelt, as the Balmain full-back was completely defenceless as he'd just landed back on his feet after defusing a difficult bomb.
You could hear the sickening thud from where we were sitting in the stands.
It had malicious foul play written all over it and would have been a send off offence back in the day, but attracted no more than a penalty and a report, and the Faceless Men down at the Match Review Committee raised one eyebrow on the Monday morning telling the thug: you can escape a week's rubbing out if you plead guilty and we smack you over the wrist with a wet lettuce leaf.
Lord save us...
The traditional softening up period over the first twenty minutes was a bit like hand-to-hand combat on the Somme, with only a few inches gained here and there by either side.
Don't know that Souths made a single break over the advantage line in the first stanza - the 6-0 half time score tells the story.
The Bamfords also had a fair bit to answer for; constantly blowing really annoying penalties for trivial or technical infringements, when the fundamental off-side rule in the game went completely un-policed.
The players aren't stupid, and both sides took full advantage of being allowed to creep inside the regulation ten metres at every play the ball, as the referees were gazing off to the horizon looking to penalise some obscure infraction of the rules.
The end result was that much of the game just ground into a brutal stalemate.
Where's the spectacle in that?
After getting caned yet again in the penalty count, SC Sheens said on interview that he woud have his "usual head-butting" with the Bamford's boss about it, but you know it won't do you no good Tim, so why bother?
What's done is done.
Second half and all went very very well for a while, but then, why didn't Marshall go for two clear chances at the field goal at two converted tries up, that's 12 points in front, with ten minutes to go, just to put the fruit on the sideboard?
The Super Coach could be seen pulling out what little hair he has left on his bonce, given his mantra about field goals - "it's easier to ge 'em early, than to get 'em late".
Then they winded up, in the denoument, finding that they had no one to blame but themselves when they let in two lame, soft, opposition tries which should have easily been defended, to allow Souths to push the game into extra time.
A dead set coach killer.
Could barely bare to watch the scheduled ten minutes added on.
When the winning Rabbitoh's field goal wobbled its erratic way off the boot towards the goal, brushed both the cross-bar and an upright on it's way through, before falling over for the one point advantage, the chin went into the chest and the hands went to the top of the shaking head.
What should have been a rolled gold opportunity at victory turned into complete disaster in the blink of an eye.
Joisus.
It could well be time for a session in the Room Full of Mirrors down on the Balmain Road after that showing.
One more loss and they'll need a purple patch just to get back on an even keel, and then another one, to have a chance of a shot at the finals.
That's the best part of half a season, with almost a quarter already gorn.
The 24 year old Sydney Football Stadium now has a very lived-in look, and is showing her age [unlike the Olympic Stadium which looks and feels like it was built yesterday].
Never mind that don't do any maintenance on it.
My seat was broken.
It had been unhinged at the back, so whenever you sat too close to the edge of the seat with your hands in your mouth, you risked tipping forward and head butting the bloke in the row in front of you from behind, by accident.
Just leapt to my feet when there was a risk of that happening.
Still, the design means the circulation of people around the joint still works pretty seamlessly, and the latrines and catering were not overly overcrowded.
The beers were mercifully cold, if a touch over-priced, but it was VB, while the pies were thermo-nuclear.
What more do you want?
The smoking lounge out the back of Bay 30 at half-time was quite spectacular.
There were thousands and thousands of chuggers out there creating the tremendous sight of a huge cloud of tobacco smoke that heaved and pulsated in the sea breeze and then ironically drifted up and back into the top deck of the stands, as all the ciggies had been concentrated into the one area.
Chuckled, as the gasping social lepers got the last laugh
They'd even had the decency and sense to install a pop-up bar in the smoking lounge, outside the ground, to keep the addicts happy.
Bless.
There were some interesting scenes down at the Front Bar in The Local on Monday morning, but that can wait...
In the meantime...need a new plan.
WESTS TIGERS 16. Tries: Ayshford, Moltzen, Tuqiri. Goals: Marshall (2).
SOUTH SYDNEY RABBITOHS 17. Tries: Luke (2), Everingham. Goals: Reynolds (2). Field Goals: Inglis (1).
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 25,608.
Craves.
