Long sufferers,
Just plain silly, is probably as good a way to describe it as any.
To kick seven goals zip in the first quarter, and then 12 in total, and almost lose the unloseable game would have had Coach Horse at the end of his tether for the second game on the trot.
What the??
It certainly had me reaching for the jar of heart pills in the final quarter.
Lucky there's powerful pharamcueticals about the house.
Certain cardiac arrest averted.
The scorched earth policy in the first quarter; to come out with all guns blazing and the flamethrowers hard at work, is fine and dandy if you can then consolidate it into a solid following three quarters, all the time maintaining a match lead.
But they can't.
The vexed problem of the fade out, or as it's known 'round here, the Swans sleepy bye-byes time.
My spy at the ground, perched high up in The Gods, left early in the Championship Quarter, for the two and a half hour drive home [thankfully Country Members get a significant discount on their tickets for the time and trouble they have to go through], pushing through a message on the Bush Telegraph in the corner of the lounge room:
"Sick of the shitty football, the wind, and the cold".
Who could blame him.
The Train was not at all comfortable playing in the cotton wool suit he'd been provided with by the Football Dept.
It was clear he'd come back too early.
Just before the Cats miraculously got in front, poor ol' Goodesy was subbed off with Spida Jnr replacing him.
Who would have thought a nephew of Peter would be the most unlikely of saviours, kicking the Swans winning goal with seconds left on the clock?
Bizzare.
At full time, the Bush Telegraph spat out another message.
It was from the Youngest Daughter, who was looking at it on a telly at some pub somewhere:
"Could barely stand to watch the last ten minutes. Ridiculous."
Well said.
Still, as they say in the classics, a win is a win is a win, and you'll take any you can get.
And a good get it was too against Geelong.
Hoisted Sydney well clear of the mid-table log jam, and more or less consolidated them in the top four.
Bring on this weekend's game against the Pygmies at The Bush.
Loose the bears on the midgets, and let the gaming begin!
SYDNEY: 7.0, 8.2,10.6, 12.8 (80). Goals: McGlynn 2, Reid 2, Jack 2, Bolton, Armstrong, Jetta, Pyke, Kennedy, Everitt.
GEELONG: 1.1, 3.3, 6.6, 11.8 (74). Goals: Podsiadly 2, Chapman 2, Motlop, Selwood, West, T.Hunt, J.Hunt, Enright, Hawkins.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 27,400.
You can't consider yourself a real fan unless you travel.
So found myself on Monday night deep inside enemy territory ambling up the ramp to the more or less brand new Joey Johns Stand at the Newcastle International Sports Centre, now known as Ausgrid Stadium.
It's an impressive structure, just the right scale for a provincial ground, with the seating bays, the people flow, the dunnies, the bars and food outlets arranged on the brilliant Olympic Stadium Homebush model, on a much smaller basis, of course.
Never mind that the stand is named after a bloke who spent his entire legendary career coked & iced to the eyeballs - Newcastle people don't worry about that when it comes to one of their own.
It's all changed an different now, and yet it somehow felt like old home week [after all, did live in Our Town for two and a half years] with thousands upon thousands of Tigers fans streaming into the ground to the point where they almost outnumbered the Knights home fans.
And they sported perhaps the most colourful and diverse array of costumes ever seen at an away game.
The boys from ZZ Top with their waist length beards were in, in their ancient Western Suburbs jerseys with the Masterton Homes sponsor's logo, and even saw a quite rare Wests Magpies top displaying the Victa Mowers brand.
You are going way back there.
There were plenty of old Balmain guernseys, and the odd lunatic here and there, including the very fat, short bloke who teamed his baggy shorts and socks and sandals with a white business shirt and a yellow and black striped tie, with an enormous top hat made out of blue fluffy felt with a Tigers scarf wrapped around it.
Things got even more loopy at half time, when a bloke was seen who was into some crossing dressing thing, wearing a Richmond Tigers jacket, while another had on a hand-knitted orange jumper with a Collingwood Magpies scarf around his neck.
But my favourite by far was the chap in the NE smoking lounge [which has a panoramic view over the entire trotting track] who had on an unbranded yellow jacket and a black t-shirt with white lettering on it which read KNIGHTS SUCK.
Overheard him saying to a Newcastle fan who was talking to him "Nah. I don't come to the football very much".
Little wonder, in that get up.
In stark contrast, the all pink and black uniform the Balmain players were wearing in honour of some nonsense known as the Women in League Round didn't suit them.
They did not look pretty in pink
Everything appeared to be lovely-jubblies at 14-0 after the first ten minutes, with That Trying Scoring Freak going in for a well worked try through the centres, and Lote "What'd I do, Guv?" Tuqiri scoring a trademark regulation wingers try, taking out the corner post in the process, and The Great Benji bagging a penalty goal - but then suddenly, it all went to shit.
Started to go down the S-bend when Balmain were in a first class field position and Ray Bloody Cashmere decides to put a stink on in the scrum.
Punches flying everywhere, but nothing landing, so Ray just gave away the penalty for starting it and got a talking to from the Bamford.
That seemed to really fire up the Knights, and the biggest, meanest, blackest, bastard back in the Newcastle side, Timana Tahu, then proceeded to smash open the Balmain right edge, not once, not twice, but three times.
leaving Matty Utai flailing in his wake each time as he was overwhelmed and over-run.
Gawd crikey.
The Ute hung his head very low as he trudged off the ground at half time, and rightly so.
Was rather vocal in the barracking duel with a few Knights fans around me, [startled them by breaking into song when Lote scored, with the ditty "Lott-ee, Lott-ee, Lott-ee! We're livin' the Lott-ee life!], so did cop a "go back to Balmain, where you belong" on the way up to the bar at the break.
Fair call.
So just put on a broad smile and threw my hands in the air.
To compound the woefulness, the Tigers were robbed blind in the second stanza, with the Bamfords very happy to freely award home crowd penalties, and then came the coup de grâce, with Be My Beau Ryan sent off for ten minutes to the sin bin mid-way though the last half for allegedly going on with a try saving tackle after the tacklee had been called held.
Joisus!
It looked perfectly legit to me, but the refs obviously called it a [border line at best, for mine] professional foul, so off you go, son.
Utterly outrageous.
Any chance of winning was gorn, then and there.
Poor ol' Robbie Farah still looked cut up after his mother's funeral mid-week, and failed to make much of an impact, most of the forwards played poorly, and Marshall just could not get the mojo working off a platform that wasn't there.
SC Sheens was not a happy camper after the game; not so much bothered with the send off or the appalling Bamfording, just cranky about the slipshod defence for the second week in a row that allowed two games to get away that the Club Secretary had been banking on winning easily.
Too scared to look at the ladder -- the top eight has got away from the bottom eight, but the Tigers must now be sitting in the bottom end of the top half after two unexpected losses.
The second bye week this weekend can't come soon enough.
No doubt the super coach would have booked in a long, hard session down at the Room Full Of Mirrors on the Balmain Rd to keep them occupied.
On the full time hooter did the cap abuse thing; tearing off the Tigers headgear and chucking it on the ground in a desultory fashion and stomping on it good and proper.
A nearby Knights fans called out "Oi! That's no way to treat a hat!".
Just beamed an idiot grin back at him and said "Don't worry about that, mate, it just adds character to the thing".
On wandering out of the ground, the 11 year old boy who was in our party commented out of the blue "That Benji Marshall knock-on. That was the game changer".
It seemed fairly insignificant at the time, but on reflection, the lad's observation was dead right.
The young fella obviously has more insight into the game than gibbering codgers like me.
Aftewards, there was nothing for it but to repair to my ol' mate Trev's gaff, and get plastered.
That sort of thing tends to happen when two old blokes who are long time Balmain supporters who don't mind a drink in a crisis get togther when they are tired & emotional.
On Tuesday morning, hobbled onto the platform at Broadmeadow station [the signs say "Home Station of The Newcastle Knights" - spare me] and spotted a grizzled Tigers fan, still in the kit from the night before, chain smoking while he read the Newcastle Herald, all the time shaking his head.
When the train to Fat City arrived, he got up, binned the paper, got on, and promptly fell asleep.
Obviously, had had a gutful.
NEWCASTLE KNIGHTS 38. Tries: Tahu (3), Houston, McManus, Uate. Goals: Roberts (7).
WESTS TIGERS 20. Tries: Lawrence, Tuqiri, Iosefa. Goals: Marshall (4).
At Hunter Stadium.
Crowd: 18,687.
