Fellow Freakers,
Not that there was any spy at the ground, but if there was, they would have commented on the Tigers being "pedestrian, ordinary" and "never looked likely".
And yet Balmain did nothing particulary wrong, having locked it up at 6-6 after half-time after an old fashioned arm wrestle.
Found myself out on the back deck for a quick smoke during the break, only to come back in to see the Tiges have three tries put on them in nine minutes after the start of the second half and it was game over.
And all the scoring came off the pin point accuracy of kicks in play from one man, Todd "Farkin" Carney, which were clinically finished off by the Cronulla outside backs.
There is simply no coaching against that.
Reluctantly opened the Saturday morning fish wrap and read the first line of the match report:
"The Wests Tigers have conceded that they are probably at their lowest ebb since the jonit venture began".
Reading on, there was no shortage of named people gnashing their teeth, but there was no attribution for that quote.
Always did like "lowest ebb" as a form of words; it implies that you'll probably end up face down, in a place where you shouldn't, or want to be.
The blowie journo hovering about the dead carcass had obviously been talking "off the record" with The Club Secretary in some dodgy bar on the Balmain Rd to get that official dire admission.
Oh dear.
Coach Harry must be at the end of his tether trying to see a way out of the abyss, while you'd think SC Sheens would be thanking his lucky stars that he was moved on at the end of last seasonn so he can no longer be held responsible for the ignonimity, while the Club Secretary is undoubtedly apoplectic.
When you are fielding a way below full strength team covered in band-aids, with half the side too young and too inexperienced to really be playing with the big boys in first grade, what is the coach expected to do?
Where is he meant to go from there?
The most astonishing thing about the week was the fact that at a time when the Tiges can barely field a fully fit team, they let a player go, in the form of Young Jacob Miller.
Miller expressed some doubt that he'd ever be able to break into and cement a spot in first grade and the club tended to agree.
While he has all the skills in the world, he's too small, too slight, and a yard too slow to compete with the monsters going around in the NRL, so they concluded he'd be better off in the dark satanic mills of northern England, where the game is played at a more leisurely pace, so he was packed off on the mid-week flight to Hull RLFC.
Gor' Blimey.
Never mind what the fans think - they've already voted with their feet with a woeful attendance - the official number through the turnstiles surely must've been inflated even to get that many in.
On the wide shot on the telly, it looked like there was no-one there in a stadium that seats 40,000...you would have struggled to spot The Man and His Dog on the bleachers.
The Stats Guru noted that the Tiges were on a hiding to nothing after coming into the match on the back of a reverse purple patch [ie five losses in a row], so now make that six.
A seventh loss on the trot this Friday night to South Sydney, who are a mighty chance of making the Grand Final on current form, would represent the worst losing streak since 2000.
Might thave to factor in the possibilty of the lowest ebb getting lower.
No idea who ghost writes his regular column in the Sunday fishwrap, but whoever it is gives the Great Benji Marshall a nice turn of phrase.
Benji was highly critical of himself...admitting he failed to adequately lead the backs, was too timid in attack, not robust enough in defence, shied away from hard tackles, his kicking game was entirely ineffective and he was generally rubbish throughout; summing it by saying "it felt like I was playing in a dinner suit".
He might as well have added "while balancing a tray of Martini's".
Stone motherless last on the competition ladder with a third of the season already gorn.
You don't need to get the abacus out to tell you...
All hope is lost.
WESTS TIGERS 6. Tries: Utai. Goals: Sironen (1).
CRONULLA-SUTHERLAND SHARKS 30. Tries: Feki (2), Fifita, Robson, Bukuya. Goals: Gordon (5).
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 9,858.
Swans spanked.
Simple as that.
Remind me.
From which end of the MCG does the Fat Lady sing at quarter time, when the away side has had five goals to one kicked on them?
No matter how hard the likes of In Like McGlynn, Son of Gary, Odd Head, the Mad Canadian and JP Kennedy tried, there was simply no way through that defence.
It looks like Hawthorn, after losing last year's Grand Final, have taken a leaf out of Sydney's book and put a very high premium on the value of defence.
They locked down the Swans forwards man-on-man, giving the mid-field nothing to aim at, let alone any easy targets, and routinely put a loose man or two into the Sydney backline.
The Swans beaten by a team that's pinched their blueprint without shame, and shown up by a another very good side, just as predicted after the Geelong game.
After failing the initial litmus test, SC Horse must be scratching his head and twirling his quiff thinking "how do you combat being done in by yr own game?"
A fair conundrum, that.
The Swans can ill-afford to be shuffled out of the top four at this stage of the season, which they've just been at five and two and on a fraction of a percentage, into fifth spot on the ladder.
You'd hope Longmire is sensible enough not to be sucked into the trap of being in fear of the fear of not winning, but he'd know all about the utmost importance of winning away, especially at the MCG, where as you'll remember there was a long running hoo-doo going on before the Premiership Triumph.
Winning at home is a given, which makes me wonder if the wrong rein has been pulled with my purchase last week of tickets to the cheap seats in the dinky little temporary stand in the shadow of the construction site at the SCG for the almost- sold-out game against Essendon, now known over time as Marn Grook, in a few weeks?
You can only hope not.
Nah, bugger pessimism, she'll be right Jack; the Bombers are beatable with the right approach.
Just ask Geelong, they'll tell ya.
In the meantime, they've got some work to do with the flip-chart markers.
They're fit enough, but need to be getting smarter on the training track.
Ended up not watching much of this one after the opening stanza more or less put paid to the end result, favouring the double episode finale of Lillyhammer on SBS instead.
Norwegians are funny people.
Tuned in during the ad breaks, and after the show...just in time to hear the Hawthorn team song sung...without doubt the worst in the leauge, and that's saying something in the company of some tuneless shockers.
No one needs to put up with that.
Click.
HAWTHORN: 5.3, 11.3, 14.6, 18.11 (119). Goals: Roughead 4, Hale 3, Gunston 3, Franklin 3, Breust, Hodge, Bailey, Osborne, Burgoyne.
SYDNEY: 1.4, 4.5, 7.7, 12.10 (82). Goals: McGlynn 2, Kennedy 2, O'Keefe 2, Goodes, Bolton, Lamb, White, Parker, Pyke.
At Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 54,725.
