the Cricket Australia Twilight Lounge

Jason Recliners,

You can just imagine Pup in rehab.
He'd be stretched out on the banana lounge by the mill pond infinity pool at home, surely?
Beautiful women with certificates in physiotherapy would be working on both hammys while swabbing his surgical wounds, as an exotic four-and-a-half foot female of slight frame would be walking back and forth on his Shagger's Back, with the cricket on the radio in the background.
Wouldn't have it any other way.
He'd be sipping on an iced tea with a scant slice of lemon and a cocktail umbrella in it given the ban on consuming alcohol while injured, which may, or may not, include the five o'clock dry martini.
At least The Board took my advice and installed SPD Smith as Captain forthwith, without much ceremony, apart from being cloaked by Tubby.
No one ever really doubted that The Baby Faced Killer would come up with a Captain's Knock when it was needed the most.
Fairy tales do come true; win the match on the back of you going large in yr debut game as skippy.
Did like the baptism of fire at the start, when Smiffy was sent into the field on the hottest day for cricket in Brisbane in living memory.
Something's going on.
Reminded me of playing in a social match as a specialist No.11 one time at the Burnside Rugby Union Club ground nigh on 35 years ago, which was rated all round as a genuine scorcher.
The thermometer under the clubhouse next to the water tank stand read 41.8 degrees celsius at one stage during the afternoon, and the farenheit side on the thing just said "Farkin' Hot".
There was a convenient large gum tree at one end of the ground that threw a shadow over the playing arena - blokes fought with each other to field at third man down there when it came time to change ends.
One of them got there at some critical stage in the match, went troppo, leapt the white picket fence, made a bed for himself out of twigs, branches and leaves, and promptly went to sleep.
You'd never believe it happened if you hadn't seen it with yr own eyes.
Drinks breaks were taken in the rugby clubhouse every twenty minutes, which consisted of a pint of lemon squash and ice and a pint of cold beer off the tap for each man.
The Umpires, sensibly, wore ridiculously large sombreros, with brims so wide that the bowlers had to run around them to deliver the ball.
The strange thing about it was that despite the trying conditions, the match was very hard fought with disputed calls galore - the Bamfords were busy - and it turned out to be a close run thing in the end.
If memory serves me right, the radio station team was beaten by the rugby club team by a handful of runs in the denoument.
Over drinks after the game someone managed to be sober enough to work out how to switch on the airconditioning at the fuse box, so everyone cooled off, and to a man, vowed that they would never play in anything remotely like that ever again.
And never did.
Smiffy got to the point on his inaugral day in charge when he found himself with no serviceable bowlers left in the tortuous conditions; just carried on regardless, knowing that test matches go on for a long time, under all circumstances.
Cruel heat? What heat? Crisis? What crisis?
Harden up.
You'd reckon that Pup would have had a wry smile on his face and given the new bloke a nod - neatly usurped by a 25 year old - as he contemplates retirement and the comforts and delights of the Cricket Australia Twilight Lounge.

a shot bird by his own admission

Canine Fanciers,

At long long long last MJ Clarke finally gets the respect from the general public that he so richly deserves but thought he had waited in vain for, for all these years...
And what did it take?
The death of a mate.
On the field of battle, if that's not putting too fine a point on it.
Suddenly, everything is changed and different.
Unintended consequences galore.
Here's a bloke who got a standing ovation coming into bat at Adelaide; something he would NEVER have got a fortnight ago, when the selectors were on the verge of dropping him over some terrible misunderstanding about fitness regime or something or another.
Of course, MJ Clarke and the Hughes family conducted themselves with admirable dignity during the terrible state of affairs, much to their credit.
And just after it came time to bring in your bat from the front porch at the start of the hastily cobbled together first test match, the Captain goes down in a screaming heap, after putting on a very well made half century.
Everyone feared that he would forever go down in the scorebook at 60 retired hurt, and that would be that.
From the time he picked up a chronic case of Shagger's Back when he was just 19 years old he knew that he'd gone too long and too hard on the workbench.
And who can blame him with the lie downs he's had?
But no.
Not happy with that; so having crashed, decided to crash through and make his hundred - bugger the agonising pain - and in the process managed to elevate himself to somewhere near national hero status.
That's the enchanting thing about Test cricket - you can go from day one wailing and gnashing of teeth, to second day heroics.
A "Captain's Knock" in the finest sense of the phrase, and everyone in the ground, nay the country, knew it.
And then late in the proceedings on Day Five he does the other hammy a mischief and declares on the wireless "I'm farked. Gorn for the season" or words to that effect.
As my Spy at the Ground telegraphed through "how many times do we have to witness the death and resurrection of Michael Clarke in this match?"
No need to worry, now.
Pup is a shot bird by his own admission.
"I may never play cricket again".
Keeping wickets is no place to run the game from, so have a Board Meeting and tell the Chairman and the Three Wise Men to appoint SPD Smith as Captain forthwith, and be done with it.
By all accounts the Baby Faced Killer is up to the task, and is currently on fire in all departments to boot.
MJ Clarke will retire in the knowledge that he had to earn respect the hard way, but in the denoument, at the seeming death of his career, he got it in spades.
Never mind the tragedy heaped upon tragedy.
Just like Glenn McGrath, who filled his boots at Lord's and deserves a bronze bust at the Grace Gates, MJ Clarke similarly deserves the same treament at the Vic Richardson Gates - who else is going to make five tons and two double tons at the ground in the near future??
Doubt we'll see it again in our lifetimes.
Just ask the Stats Guru, he'll tell you all about it.
He's had the abacus whirring.
In any case, the Guru's charged with using his authority to write to the Secretary's of the relevant Clubs, demanding that the statues be erected.
Goodluck Jonathan, with that.
Retired hurt be buggered, Pup thought, until he found as he struggled off the Oval for what will be most certainly be the very last time, that the future was behind him and the past was catching up.
A frightful sight to go out limping, not once, but twice, then, forever.
Final demise is no small thing, but, at 33, Clarkey knows what's shakin'.
Relinquishing the Captaincy won't be easy, but at least he'll be able to dine out in Adelaide forever on his record.

the front porch at Crazy Craves' run-down gaff

Vale PJ Hughes.
26 Test matches, three centuries, youngest ever to score two hundreds in the same game, average 32.65
A very close friend of MJ Clarke.
There'd be very few people alive today who remember Archie Jackson.
The front porch at Craves' run-down gaff.

the likelihood of it all going to merde in Brisbane

Canine Fanciers,

Pup, Pup, Pup!
What's shakin'?
What is going on?
Oh my dear Lordy Joisus.
Not the ol' hammy?
Tell me it isn't so, Joe.
How many years ago is it now that MJ Clarke retired from Twenty20 cricket on account of he was never really any good at it and so couldn't be bothered, and handed the short form captaincy to George "Bill" Bailey?
Why, oh why, didn't he retire from the 50/50 game at the same time?
Really, who remembers the great feats in one day cricket?
No one cares about it anymore, if they ever did - there's probably more silent interest in the Sheffield Shield - given it's the nursery for the only game that matters.
Only truly magnificent performances in test cricket can be re-called at will, especially if you happened to be at the ground at the time.
Everyone knows what it means to be your country's Captain, Pup, never mind the purists.
At age 33 and with a lifelong dose of chronic Shaggers Back to add to his woes, it's long overdue that the skipper reserved himself enirely for test cricket.
In truth, he's only got a couple more years at the top, at best, and that's if he's lucky.
Aggravating old injuries won't help.
At least he doesn't have old girlfriends on the lurk anymore.
There's plenty of other things to distract him, such as the likelihood of it all going to merde in Brisbane without him.
You'd want to give yourself the chance of making one more hundred at Lords, wouldn't you?
And Clarkey would want to win the Ashes next year before he wheels his wheelchair into the State Home for Crippled Captains, surely?
First class or nothing from now on, ol' mate.
You know it makes sense.

a gigantic tusk up the runter

Fellow Jesters,

Looks like MJ Clarke doesn't like Abu Dhabi much, as a cricket tourist destination.
Probably hates it even more than Dubai.
Seems the skipper had a problem about knowing exactly where his off stump was.
Didn't have an oustanding match by all accounts, being clean bowled in both innings.
Can't recall the exact details, but thinking Pup was bowled around his legs in the first innings just short of a 50, then had his middle peg taken clean out in the second, for bugger all runs
Suppose someone has stopped to think that they were playing on seriousy doctored pitches?
How come the curators in the UAE turn out a delightful featherbed that then turns into a four lane highay, a dusty road; purpose built for a side full of spinners.
Crafty buggers.
You'd have to reckon suitcases stuffed full of cash would've changed hands just to make sure it's so.
On the strength of only two games, the Stats Guru spuriously suggested with the tongue in cheek that Clarkey was in his worst form in a decade.
There were some hilarious moments in the match, like when Pup had a man field at straight hit, right behind the bowlers arm.
He was bagged from here to breakfast for being unsportsmanlike, but, as he said at the time, when yr a million runs behind, you'll do anything to get the bastards out.
When yr copping a gigantic tusk up the runter on the scoreboard, it's anything goes, isn't it?
Besides, it wasn't against the Laws - there's nothing stopping you from fielding a man there, as long as he doesn't move during the the bowler's run up; it's called common courtesy, which MJ Clarke always strictly observes.
There were a lot of laughs also in looking at the Strayan batting sheet and seeing GJ Maxwell listed at No. 3.
Who? Really?
In the denoument, that's the selectors fault, and the buck stops at the Coach.
They're just clutching at straws, aren't they?
Little wonder Mr Clarke sacked himself as a selector a couple of years ago.
You don't want to get tied up in that messy business.
The Chairman and the Three Wise Men have had real problems picking a top order for years, so you probably shouldn't expect anything dfferent.
It's not as if there's anyone else shouting out to be picked.
So, the bowlers are impotent on desert tracks.
Can anyone going around in first class cricket at the minute do any better?
Under the circumstances, you can imagine the Captain's surprise at his press conference on arrival at KSA, when some low blowie put it to him that his job could be under threat.
You could see he wanted to say WTF?, but wisely asnwered the question with a question "Why?"
Pup, obviously, needs to spend more time in the nets, he'd be the first to admit it.
The skipper also needs to be given room to call on our curators in a quiet and sociable way.
It's also a good thing, in the early part, that he dislikes Seth Efreakens intensely.
MJ Clarke's views about Indians are well known, which will stand him in good stead for the summer test matches at home.
You can only hope.

like winning and losing mattered

Arid Date Fanciers,

Thinking that Dubai might not be MJ Clarke's favourite destination.
Haven't heard of or seen hide nor hair of the bloke for five months.
What has the skipper been up to in an exceptionally long break in an increasingly crowded cricket calender?
Probably been lunching well and then up on the work bench freshening up his chronic case of Shaggers Back.
If you weren't overly busy, wouldn't you live the high life if you were him?
But, obviously, he hasn't been spending enough time in the nets.
Nice work in the 1st innings, falling for the three-card trick to be caught in the leg trap for 2 off 13 balls, and then backed that up with a 2nd innings fail, simply not hitting some fairly ordinary spin bowling to find himself plumb for 3 off 9 balls.
Two fingers from the Bamford's.
Oops.
The report card would have been marked "can do better".
Oh well.
At least, in keeping with Ol' Emirates tradition, there's been no one at the ground to witness the debacle...a sea of empty blue seats.
They'd get more at a Shield match.
Just like at Mark Waugh's farewell test match, only The Man and His Dog, a handful of journo's, and the ground staff were there to see the miserable demise.
In a joint obsessed with money, no doubt the Dubai cricket authorities would have marked down the gate takings as "negligable" and you'd have to wonder if they would have sold many dry corporate boxes, with the weather reliably described as "farkin' hot".
The beer for the team probably came in through the Diplomatic Bag, let alone a bottle of Tanqueray.
Not exactly the best preparation you could imagine for an Strayan summer, without the benefit of hindsight.
We'll find out when they get home, and the day the selectors see common sense.
At least Pup had the decency and sense to take full responsiblity for the debacle - he knows well enough that the buck stops here, at the top - and refused to blame the coach or his players, saying the only difficulties appeared to be "the conditions" and a "lack of match practice".
Well, maybe, while everyone was at a loose end, they should have organised to play a couple of five-day practice matches...you know, Michael Clarke's XI v Brad Haddin's XI...Probables v Possibles...at somewhere like Alice Springs, in the desert on a rough track, that sort of thing, before they went to Arabia?
Play it like winning and losing mattered, but bend the rules for maximum time in the middle.
Did anyone think of it?
If not, why not?
At this time of year, it's all about horses for courses, isn't it?

Pakistan 454 and 2/286 dec; Australia 303 and 216.
Pakistan won by 221 runs.

that fatal air of invincibilty

Devastatees,

Having been in the back blocks of rural north-western France for the best part of the month of September, it's been rather difficult to get a handle on what's been going on at the pointy end of the season.
Even Le Monde - which is still put on the back of trucks for same day delivery to the provinces and prints pages and pages of sports results in very small typeface every day - doesn't carry the scoreboxes from the Strayan Rules or the Sydney Rugby League.
It was at least 12 hours before news that the Swans had reached the Grand Final filtered through on the bush telegraph in that part of the world.
So, in no position to comment really, but let me go on, as it can't pass without mention.
A friend of the Good Lady Wife's remarked "not a very good day to save your worst game of the year for".
Which got the Stats Guru to thinking about some eerie similarities between the Swans' first and last games of the season.
Soundly beaten, nay thrashed, by the GWS Pygmies in the opening round of the year, then whip-sawed without mercy by Hawthorn in the last, which just happened to be "the only game that matters".
Everything in between went swimmingly; far too swimmingly as it turned out.
A mate of mine, who takes only a passing interest in the caper, made judgement: "they were beaten before they got to the ground".
That's the truth alright
After an absolutely stellar second half of the season, as the Swans swept all before them to easily take the Minor Premiership, they thought they were shit hot and so did everyone else.
Then, by all accounts, they had a saloon passage into the Big One, strolling through the semi final and then winning the premlinary final in emphatic style, by which time even some Melbourne based pundits rated them as short-priced favourites to take the flag.
Only problem was, after all that, Sydney wound up imbued with that fatal air of invincibilty, and ended up playing the Grand Final over and over and over in their heads well before they even got to Melbourne in the Last Week, let alone the dreams of grandeur they had in their sleep the night before.
In finish, the Swans were completely outfoxed by a much better "big game team", who pulled off some sandbagging of their own brilliantly just when it mattered; almost falling at the last hurdle before the Grand Final, only beating Port in a cliff-hanger to qualify, calling up injured players, and stamping themselves all over as the clear underdogs.
But by then, the Hawthorn Football Department had finished pouring over the well-worked gin-soaked plans and secretly determined behind closed doors not only to beat Sydney, but annihilate them.
No one saw it coming, except the Hawks.
Never mind the ten goal football lesson to end all ten goal football lessons, the hair pulling, the gnashing of teeth, and self-flagellation that followed perhaps the Swans biggest disaster since moving from South Melbourne - "Psych War" is what it's called - and there's no doubt at all about who won it.
Found myself knocking about in Champagne the week before they started to pick the grapes on the 16th of September, which is always a very nervous time for folks around those parts.
They know all too well their livelihoods and reputations rest on it.
They were most unsure about what would happen, but they erred on the side of pessimism, given that they thought the crop was probably ruined by the howling winds and flooding rains of August, and predicted the harvest would be more or less buggered.
They doubted very much that any Vintage Champagne at all would be made in 2014.
But, with knotted eyebrows and that marvellous Gallic shrug of the shoulders with upturned hands they passed it off with whatever the French phrase is for "Oh well. There's always next year", and just got on with it.

SYDNEY: 2.3, 5.3, 8.5, 11.8 (74). Goals: Franklin 4, Goodes 2, Jack 2, Kennedy, McGlynn, Tippett
HAWTHORN: 5.5, 11.9, 16.11, 21.11 (137). Goals: Roughead 5, Breust 3, Langford 3, Gunston 2, Hodge 2, Burgoyne 2, Hale, Hill, Puopolo, Suckling
Norm Smith Medal: Hodge.
At Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 99,454.

just about as close to a perfect season as anyone could imagine

Loyalistsa,

Little wonder the hapless Tigers found themselves out like a shag on a rock on a Thursday night for a game against the Contemptible Bulldogs.
Thursday night, eh?
Brilliant way for the NRL to begin their hastily cobbled together scam aimed at World Domination, by having rugby league matches played five days a week.
But really, it was just plain embarrassing to watch.
To have not one, not two, but three tries put on you inside the first ten minutes of the match - that's not even half way though the Traditional Softening-Up Period - is simply unacceptable.
All concerned knew it.
Their hearts were obviously not in it.
As things stand, they know they are incapable of winning even a rigged chook raffle.
Said it before, say it again - probably said it right here a year ago - it'd be the same form of words: the club is in very serious need of rebuilding.
A couple of young fella's have stepped up well enough to first grade this year by necessity given the nightmarish horror of an injury run this season, and the rest of their junior ranks - by and large farkin' huge South Sea Islanders - is bristling with talent, the potentional of which is as yet unfulfilled.
The main problem is they desperately need more experienced journeymen in the forwards and the backs, but they just don't have any money to buy them, let alone retain their youngsters, with cashed up clubs always sniffing around.
You'd have to imagine Coach Potter would be on shifting sands having seen his team have nigh on 150 points scored against them in the space of just three games.
And that after The Board, under pressure to pull the sack, decided to keep him on for a few weeks to the the end of the year, because they had nowhere else to go.
Poor Harry, he's entitled to say "but, what'd I do wrong, Guv?", but that won't help him, he'll be shown the door at season end, and be shat out the poop shoot without a sausage.
Mad Monday can't come soon enough.
It'll be many many years until they come close to winning the JJ Giltinan Shield again.

CANTERBURY-BANKSTOWN BULLDOGS 30. Tries: Lafai (2), Jackson, Thompson, Ennis. Goals: Hodkinson (5).
WESTS TIGERS 10. Tries: Brooks, Woods. Goals: Paterson (1).
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 9,877.


Little wonder you can rest Sam Reid on a whim, when the Buddy-Tipsy Show kick ten goals between them!
Really, they couild have rested the entire first grade side and turned out the seconds and they still would have won.
This is really starting to sound like a broken record, but yet another leasuirely weekend stroll in the park.
The other seven sides in the top eight must be worried sick about how they are going to come close to beating the Swans, who if memory serves and chortling of the Stats Guru is anything to go by, have won 16 of their last 17 games.
If they hadn't inexplicably gone down to the Greater Western Sydney Pygmies in Round One, and 1-3 after the first month of the year, it's just about as close to a perfect season as anyone could imagine.

Just as the season well and truly reaches the pointy end, it seems that this bloggy blog blog is about to fall off the radar, and go into premature abeyance.
That's it as far as commentary goes here.
Will find myself spending the entire month of September in north-western France, where, as far as can be gathered, the local population couldn't give a blue root about The Rules, that's our Rules, not theirs.
People keep asking me "why are you going to miss the entire finals series, Craves?", which is a good question, to which the obvious answer is "they say it's nice over there this time of year".
Little does anyone know that my jet bird will be touching back down at KSA on the morning of Grand Final Day.
Cheer, Cheer, The Red & The White...
Onward to Vic-Tor-Ree!

WESTERN BULLDOGS: 1.2, 5.5, 7.10, 9.13 (67). Stringer 2, Boyd, Cooney, Liberatore, Bontempelli, Hrovat, Johannisen, Griffen.
SYDNEY: 7.3, 11.5, 17.7, 20.10 (130). Goals: Franklin 6, Tippett 4, Lloyd 2, Goodes 2, Malceski 2, Jetta, Towers, Hannebery, Parker.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 22,430.

a tale of two cities

Mudlarks,

Buddy kicks nine.
Now that's penetration for you.
The Saints didn't have a hope, no way of stopping him going in through the front and back doors whenever he wanted at will.
It was only a matter of time until Franklin did something mad.
Before he came to the Swans, he had a reputation as a big game player, and he delivered in spades in his 200th, and found himself being chaired off the ground after the final siren.
Just getting his act together for September?
You'd have to hope so.
The sandbagging continued when JP Kennedy was subbed off during the 2nd quarter at the slightest hint of a niggle, which the commentators, to their credit, tried to talk up as a full-blown hammy.
They're obviously on the Sydney payroll.
Coach Horse must be confident JP already has the Chas Brownlow in the dilly bag - he could bench him for the rest of the season and he'd still win the thing.
After last week's stroll in the park that is finals time HQ - the MCG - they made light work of an undermanned St Kilda, who just didn't have the strength or height to match them.
Swans threw a few youngsters into the game, as My Spy and The Ground remarked "to shark the pack" to see if they cut the mustard, if they're required at the pointy end.
You'd think they'd go top on that showing, especially with Geelong and Hawthorn playing each other this weekend in a Promoter's Dream.
The late season run is being timed perfectly, and Coach Horse knows a thing or two about orchestrating the games that matter - just look at the genius moves that went into the back end of 2012, and we all know what happened then.
Excellent to see the Ugliest Man in Football given a lap of honour of the SCG to mark his retirement from the caper; he just took the accolades like the dignified man that he is.
Unique in every way, you have to wonder if there ever has been a finer ornament to the game?
Who can ever forget Lewis Roberts-Thompson's exploits in the 2005 Grand Final?
Robbed of the Norm Smith, for mine, what's more to say?
And here's a bloke who "honestly, I never thought I would play AFL football", and after a chequered career dogged by injury, was asked what it was like to reach the 100 game milestone, to which he replied "I am astonished. No one told me that I'd played 99. I had no idea. I'm gobsmacked".
When he did play, there was rarely a player as good as him across the half back line, gangly as hell, all arms & legs, hands everywhere, and could run, yessiree, and had a deceptive amount of height about him so could take those high marking stops at goal, and kick the ball back to the forwards, who's already turned on their heels when they saw who was coming.
And there's been few braver men in the melee, worked the stacks-on-the-mill brilliantly, perhaps the hallmark of his career.
And could kick a goal to boot, if he was asked to.
Gave more to the game and got more out of it than he ever imagined, despite the pain and suffering that took him there and in the end bought the curtain down on an illustrious career.
Vale L-R-T.
You will be sorely missed.

SYDNEY SWANS: 6.3, 8.8, 15.9, 19.13 (127). Goals: Franklin 9, Tippett 3, Cunningham, Malceski, Jetta, Lloyd, McVeigh, Towers, Parker.
ST KILDA: 1.1, 2.4, 5.7, 8.8 (56). Goals: Riewoldt 3, Stanley 2, Gwilt, Armitage, Steven. At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 31,361.


The heavy rain set in just before kick off.
The Spiritual Home is uncomfortable at the best of times, but is plain miserable in the wet with next to no cover except under the mighty Port Jackson fig trees that really only convert the precipitation into large bucket like drips that will soak a hat in one hit.
Only foolhardy die-hards would have made the supreme effort of getting to Leichhardt Oval, in the almost certain knowledge that all they'd be going see would be Balmain's season nadir.
Needless to say, didn't find myself among them, never mind me following the team for a quarter of a century, still regarded as a fair-weather fan.
Donned the Driza-Bone in the howling winds and flooding rains of a classic East Coast Low, to trick up the aeriel on the short wave radio, only to find the wireless dominated by a call of some rugby union game between the Wobblies and All Blicks that no one in Dad's Shed cared about.
So, shut down the crystal set, turned off the light and retreated from the severe weather to the house to get in a hot tub, on the grounds that "you can always read about it in the papers" in the morning.
By all accounts, the game itself was by no means pretty.
That'd be more than 100 points scored against the hapless Tigers in the space of just two matches - believe.
Much to his chagrin, the Stats Guru has been burrowing deep into the archive to try to find another instance, and is struggling to come up with one within living memory.
Surely you'd have to call for the mercy rule and just excuse them from the rest of the season, no point turning up fellas, just go on post-season holidays as usual via the Room Full of Mirrors and contemplate your navels.
Nothing for it.
Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
The best thing to come out of the whole schemozzle was the long-awaited retirement of Braith Anasta before the game.
The bloke has spent half a season in sick bay, where he remains, and at long last decided that he simply can't go on.
Probably one of the worst buys in club history.
Braith had a stellar career at the Bulldogs and the Roosters, playing more than 250 games, won a Premiership, appeared in four test matches for Australia, and turned out ten times for NSW in State-of-Origin.
Now, that's good, very very good.
But as he reached his twilight years, Easts could see the writing on the wall and could no longer keep him under their salary cap so they sold him on a short-term deal to Balmain, who were fool enough to buy him.
He was the incumbent club captain at the Roosters when they punted him, no less.
Played just 31 games in two years for the Tigers, and did absolutely nothing.
Anasta never did fit into the Balmain culture, no one ever really liked him, and in the end it was a bitterly disappointing, costly denoument to an otherwise glittering career.
But he only had himself to blame.
So sad to see great players - as shadows of their former selves - play well beyond their use by dates, purely for money - Balmain supporters will only ever remember that, not what he did for someone else at the height of playing days.
He came to Leichhardt on a contract that said "I'll play anywhere, except at lock".
Where did he end up playing his last year?
Lock.

WESTS TIGERS 4. Tries: Hitchcox. Goals: Paterson (1).
SYDNEY ROOSTERS 48. Tries: Minichiello (2), Jennings, Moa, Waerea-Hargreaves, Kenny-Dowall, Tupou, Pearce. Goals: Maloney (8).
At Leichhardt Oval.
Crowd: 5,297.

for the sake of completeness

Due to unforseen circumstances, the bloggy blog blog will not appear this week.
Back next week.
The scoreboxes are included for your consideration, and for the sake of completeness.

PORT ADELAIDE: 2.3, 3.7, 5.12, 7.16 (58). Goals: Boak 2, Neade 2, Wingard, Lobbe, Westhoff.
SYDNEY: 2.2, 5.6, 8.9, 12.12 (84). Goals: Cunningham 3, McGlynn 3, Franklin 2, Tippett 2, Rohan.
At Adelaide Oval.
Crowd: 50,087.

NORTH QUEENSLAND COWBOYS 64. Tries: Wright (3), Taumalolo (2), Winterstein (2), Moga (2), Morgan, Sims. Goals: Thurston (8).
WESTS TIGERS 6. Tries: Woods. Goals: Paterson (1).
At Townsville Football Stadium.
Crowd: 12, 317.

sandbagging started before the game even began

Beach lovers,

Been a denizen of the East Coast of the island for nigh on 30 years now, the most part of it in the Emerald City, and cannot remember a worse season for the "August winds", a well-know phenomenon in these parts.
This year they turned up six weeks early, and have been howling on and off ever since.
The biting gale seems more freezing than in years past - bone rattling - as it sweeps in from the south-west over the vast expanses of suburbia affectionately known as "Sydney's armpit", routinely gusting to 70-80kph, after being funneled in off the Great Dividing Range and onto the wide open Cumberland Plains.
Everone's saying they are the worst in living memory, and who's to argue?
Not me.
There's no denying something's going on with the weather.
You can only throw a rug over yr shoulders and pop a tea cosie on yr head, and cup a small glass of brandy to warm in your hands to ward off the shivers.
Why has any of this any relevance to the question at hand, you might ask?
Well, anyone from Melbun, on hearing the winter weather sob story from the Emerald City would say "Perfect weather for football! What are you on about? Hard'en up!"
Certainly, the punters scattered about the stands looked utterly miserable on the telly in their ice-suits and woolly hoodies as they sipped hot drinks and guzzled smuggled booze from their Thermos flasks.
The only thing my Spy at the Ground could offer was a desultory "cheer, cheer".
And all they came to look at was the Swans having another routine, albiet rather brisk, Saturday evening stroll in the park doing just enough to win, never mind that the Bombers put in a good effort in the Champo and came within ten points at some stage, it was never in doubt from the first bounce.
And that, after the sandbagging started before the game even began.
The officials were told an hour and a half before the opening hooter that L.Franklin would not be playing, and T.Membrey would step into the breech in his absence.
It's all by the book as long as you offer a good excuse for a last minute injury; "knee soreness", "general soreness", "complete rootedness" will all do just fine.
So long as the umpires have something to sign on off in the scorebook.
Marvellous.
And there will be a few more with creaking bones who'll take unscheduled "rests" between now and then, mark my words.
The Goodes Train would be a prime candidate.
He knows what September is all about, and it's truly remarkable how he manages on one leg at his age, only a yard or two slower than he used to be, hasn't lost any of all those skills, and can kick goals.
What money to have the Strayan of the Year on your side?
Checked the boards at my bookmaker's the other day and found the Swans posted a clear shoe-in to win the Premiership, and JP Kennedy a very short priced favourite in a field chock full of runners to win the Brownlow Medal.
For the most part unbackable.
The most astonishing thing about the season so far, after their really atrocious start, is that the wheels have never looked like falling off, movie-style.

SYDNEY: 5.3, 7.8, 9.8, 11.13 (79). Goals: Tippett 2, Goodes 2, McGlynn 2, McVeigh, Rohan, Pyke, Kennedy, Reid.
ESSENDON: 1.1, 3.4, 6.6, 8.9 (57). Goals: Ryder 2, Myers, Ambrose, Howlett, Carlisle, Hurley, Heppell.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 36,804.


What a strange week in Tigertown.
The skipper Robbie Farah on "stress leave" on account of he's "very upset", but what exactly he's upset about has never been clearly explained, except that some buffoon north of the border called Gordon Tallis has been putting words into his mouth.
Tallis, of course, has never played for Balmain and has no right to be meddling in their affairs, so why would you worry about anything the bloke says?
Who cares if he is badmouthing you behind your back?
Especially as the buffoon is well known for untruths and hyperbole.
The Club Secretary says if he's done anything to offend The Best Leb in The Game, then he'd like to talk it over with him and sort it out, without actually articulating what needs to be sorted out.
And then Coach Potter found it necessary to hold a rare Sunday press conference ahead of the Monday game to explain himself, and defend himself against criticism from faceless men who should know better.
Can anyone tell me exactly what's going on here??
With all the palaver of the last fortnight or so, it's easy to lose sight of the fact that there are football matches to be played every week.
So it wasn't surprising that the Westen Suburbs Magies faithful failed to turn up in their droves to Campbelltown "wouldn't go that far on me holidays" Sports Ground.
The blokes on the comedy radio commentary got a tweet asking if the crowd was dead in the fx mics, to which they said "no, it's just that there's no one here".
The match itself went to script, at a predictable 6-12 down at half time, it was only a matter of time until the floodgates opened.
Balmain went in with the early try and it was all down hill from there as they were out-foxed by a team of seasoned professionals on their game.
By all accounts, the Tigers played like they were unsettled.
They're no show like that for September.
It'd be much better if they failed to make the eight at all, rather than get eaten for breakfast in the first week of the finals, and shat out the other end.
Good to see Simon Dwyer was at the ground.
Now there's a bloke who's had shocking luck.
A promising career cut short when he snapped a few tendons off his spinal cord attempting an innocuous tackle in some nothing game, and now has no use at all of his right arm at age 25, three years on.
Seems some influential people in the Injured Players Benevolent Fund noticed that Simon had fallen on hard times, but was reluctant to ask for help.
They didn't owe him anything, but they promptly organised a very large testimonial dinner for him at a ballroom at some 5-star in town and raised more than $300,000.
Then at the ground through sponsorship, donations, raffles etc they raised another $70,000.
At least the poor bastard won't end up sleeping under a bridge that way.
Now there's a club looking after its own...

WESTS TIGERS 6. Tries: Akauola. Goals: Richards: (1).
MELBOURNE STORM 28. Tries: Koroibete (2), C.Smith, Chambers, Waga. Goals: C.Smith (4).
At Campbelltown Sports Ground.
Crowd; 7,782.

a turn up for the books

Eternal Optimists,

Well, there's a turn up for the books.
As My Spy at the Ground remarked "just goes to show Balmain can still win against good sides, and win well".
Never mind that Canterbury simply didn't turn up to play, uncharacteristically out of sorts for a top three side.
Tigers played it simple, because it's a simple game; the forwards went forward and gave the backs room to move at will, but the secret was all of their well worked set plays paid off and resulted in points on the board.
To wit, just before half time from about 15-20 yards out - The Best Leb in The Game worked the ball out of dummy half and it sailed clean across the whole backline, six or seven sets of hands, the ball carriers were jinking and weaving and throwing dummy passes left right and centre, no less than three decoy runners were deployed to confuse the defence and the pill ended up with the winger, running at full pace, on the right touchline, who found himself essentially unmarked, with his opposite number off balance, and cruised through to plant the ball on a hankerchief next to the corner post, then took out the post all arms & legs style as bodies piled up on top of him as he slid into the advertisting hoardings.
Gold.
Show me a better set play this year, from any team.
Said it before, say it again: no finer sight in world sport than running Rugby League.
You could kinda feel a thumping coming on.
Keefy Lulia - now there's a name to conjure with - equalled the joint venture club record for scoring the most the tries in a match.
Only two other blokes have scored four in a game, don't ask me to name them, the Stats Guru knows.
Keefy, eh?
Another one that Coach Harry rescued from the Dark Satantic Mills of English rugby league, and brought him back to Leichhardt.
Lulia knows the caper...busted out of reserve grade purely on sheer form, and sat on the firsts bench for a few games before being named in the run-on side, and thought to himself that given he'd been given the chance, he might as well have his finest hour.
How it used to be done back in the day.
Bravo.
And all this was after a week when Coach Potter was told that there was a high level whisper from the board that if he didn't change his attitude and win on the weekend, then his name and position would become an agenda item at this week's board meeting.
He told 'em to get lost.
It was all kept in house, hush hush, but there is no doubt that the boss came close to getting the tap on the shoulder.
A couple of journo's sniffed the smell of dead meat, but didn't have more than mere speculation to publish on, no one was talking, only a little bird singing.
At least Harry now knows that he's skating on thin ice and who is paying his not inconsiderable salary.
It's very harsh to blame the coach for mine, given the horror injury toll in the first half of the season, a bit of argy bargy in the selection process, and other shit out of his control have all contributed to a fairly ordinary season, thus far.
Still, he'd be well aware where the buck stops.
And there's no easy run home for the Tigers.
Propped my walking stick up againt the front door at the Front Bar at The Local on Monday morning, and with the aid of a typically Sydney wild & wicked westerly gale [known in these parts as "The August Winds". In July? Something's going on] it flew open to reveal the Philosopher in his usual corner leafing through the morning's fishwrap.
The Barmaid had thoughtfully fetched some cubes of cheese and cabanossi on little sticks from the pokie lounge to nibble on as he savoured this week's favoured tipple - a vodka on shaved ice, topped with orange and mango juice out of a two litre bottle that's handily kept under the bar, garnished with a twist of lemon - he calls it an 'Ogo Driver', or just an 'Ogo' for short.
The Philosopher reached for his biro, circled the scorebox on the back of the paper, peered over the rims of his glasses, poked his bony finger at it and said "well, that was a close run thing, eh?"
PS. Don't get me started on The Great Benji Marshall. He'll keep.

WESTS TIGERS 46. Tries: Lulia (4), B.Thompson, Sironen, Brooks, Woods, Gavet. Goals: Moses (2), Richards (3).
CANTERBURY-BANKSTOWN BULLDOGS 18. Tries: Inu, Lafai, C.Thompson. Goals: Hodkinson (3).
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 22,225.

No word from Swans HQ in ten days - not a squeak, not an inch of newsprint - as if everthing and everyone has been in lock down, with nothing to do.
Hope they've all got a good book to read.

SYDNEY: Split-round bye.

an ornament to the game

Free Radicals,

Things did not auger well from the off.
Tigers found themselves robbed blind within the first three minutes of the match, when a perfectly good Balmain try was disallowed by a seriously vision-impared Bamford by the name of Shane Hayne [whatever possessed the Hayne's to call their son Shane is anyone's guess].
Shane didn't even consult with his touch judges or refer it upstairs to the TV ump, then moments later allowed a very dodgy Manly try at the other end - just blew the whistle and pointed at the spot - which was duly converted, to gift Manly a 6-0 lead in the blink of an eye.
The Tigers morale was shot then and there.
They knew that not only were they up against a very good side, in front of their highly partisan home crowd at that shitful hole known as Brookvale Oval, but they also had to battle a hostile referee...and to make matters even worse...the Mad Monk, who took up his seat in the stand as the Manly No.1 ticket holder, so they also had a nasty Prime Minister agin 'em; a bloke who hates anyone who lives south, east, west of The Bridge and is determined to rub their noses in it.
The flappy-eared buffoon must have taken much delight in seeing The Fibro's being spanked by the Silvertails first hand, as those who aspire to the cloth, do.
Coach Harry must have been thinking "what is it that I can do?"
That's probably the season nadir.
The abacus out the back of the Secretary's Office says it's not season over just yet, but Balmain has an unusually tough run home.
There has been talk on wires of how some sides have been given soft draws, and are only prominent because of them, but the Tigers certainly aint among them.
That's all well and good, but September usually sorts the men from the boys, and it's rare in the modern era to have lowly ranked teams barge their way through to the Grand Final.
Guessing Staff HQ would be taking a good look at the playing roster with an eye to the future.
There's no shortage of Islander kiddies who can play, in the lower grades, but they don't have much money to buy players in the off season.
The road will be long and the way will be hard.
Mention must be made of the unfortunate retirement of Liam Fulton, after 161 games for Balmain in an injury-wracked career at the age of 29.
The consumate workhorse, a fearsome tackler, explosive out of the ruck over ten metres, try scorer in tight situaions...forced to give the game away through general wear and tear, with the career ended by no less than four bad head knocks this season that attracted the concussion rule.
The doctors told him he would be a fool if he went on, "you don't need no more brain damage, son" and he thankfully took their advice.
Fulton is one of the last links to the Miracle Year '05, there are only two others now who continue to play for Balmain who appeared in that year's Grand Final - Farah and Richards.
Liam knew fairly early on in his career that he would never rise to the status of outright Champion, but was happy to settle for being a well-respected long-serving Clubman who's among the first picked week in week out for years on end when he was fit.
Quite content to put his snout up someone else's arse in the scrum for the right money, however modest that may be, as long as it's enough.
Turned out to be a scholar and a gentelman who never put a foot wrong.
And an ornament to the game.

MANLY-WARRINGAH SEA EAGLES 40. Tries: Hiku (2), Foran (2), Gutherson, Stewart, Cherry-Evans. Goals: Lyon (6).
WESTS TIGERS 8. Tries: Lulia, Nofoaluma.
At Brookvale Oval.
Crowd: 13,432.

Best Champo of the season by far.
It's not that often that anyone kicks ten goals in the third quarter while keeping the opposition to a single solitary behind.
My Spy at the Ground, who's a master of understatment, wired in at the last break "it only needed one good quarter to put that rabble away"
The had the Double Blues at their mercy at half time, and absolutely anihalated them by three quarter time.
This week, Buddy appeared as the Beardless Wonder - it was only a matter of time 'til he kicked a bagful - just needed to lose Sampson's hair.
His set shot kicking - witness the one he curled back in off the left boot from 70 metres out - has improved outta sight, and Nick Davis Comes to Save Us has had a lot to do with...at training he'd say "now here's a hundred balls Buddy, here's the 50m arc, and those things over there are the big sticks".
Practice makes perfect.
Lance it seems is conforming with the Sydney way of things, the "club culture", ethos or whatever it is - it's highly disciplined...with the aim being to get just get on with the job and keep out of the papers.
And of course in the acres of football newsprint that is printed in Melboune, South Melbourne only ever get grudging respect at best when they are doing well and are about to snap the necks off the all the Melbourne teams.
You'd think that that'd be worth a mention.
But no.
The headline will always be "Carlton fought bravely before gallant defeat".
My arse.
Word on the street has it that the smart money are talking up the prospect - just as they did last year, only to be goosed - of JP Kennedy winning the Brownlow.
And why not?
Did he not just beat the club record for most consecutive games with 25+ possessions since records were kept, and just keeps going?
That'd be eyecatching.
Consistently up there in the "best" line in the weekly scorebox in the fishwraps, and blind Freddy can see that Josh can play.
Still, who knows what the umpires see?
They are in another world.
Who on earth thought up the concept of giving the vote to the umps for Best on Ground?
The Miracle of Democracy at its perverse best, and don't the bookies and the punters know it.
Coach Horse is worried.
He thinks the words "cocky" and "complacency" have crept into his vocabulary, and that's not good, but he must be comforted by the fact that he knows how to get a team to the Grand Final and win it, with the help of the Secretary's Office, the Football Dept, and Sick Bay.
Been there, done that.
No shortage of silverware.
Not counting any chickens or anything.

SYDNEY: 2.4, 6.6, 16.10, 18.14 (122). Goals: Franklin 6, Reid 4, Parker 2, Goodes 2, Rohan, Malceski, Lloyd, McVeigh.
CARLTON: 1.2, 5.5, 5.6, 7.9 (51). Goals: Henderson 2, McLean, White, Bell, Johnson, Everitt.
At Sydney Cricket Ground
Crowd: 34,965.

two telly's and a couple of nil-all draws

Bleacherites,

It was a "most unusal day" in Perth.
As one commentator said "it's not often that you get up here on a very wet morning and its still pissing down with rain in the afternoon".
Loved the television close up pictures of the hardy die-hards on the bleachers in their heavy-duty plastic poncho's with puffy shower cap hoods that they haven't had call to use in years, all shrugging off the miserableness and trying to look 'brave', not many smiling until the camera landed on someone laughing his head off - that spectator must have been the one a sandwich short of a picnic.
Despite the appalling weather, Swans should have been goals in front throughout, but only the torrential rain balanced the two sides.
Buddy v Mackenzie was an absolute corker; at one point they were flat out on the ground wrestling Greco-Roman style like two pigs rooting in mud.
What a sight.
But at the end of the day, you'd reckon both blokes would call it a nill-all draw under the conditions, even though Mackenzie probably thinks he won the battle.
Mike Pyke v Dean Cox was undoubtedly the match up of the day.
The Mad Canadian with arms like snakes up against the Eagles all-time club record holder with 280+ games under his belt - all played exclusively as a ruckman - best in the business at the age of 32.
The upstart North American did well to match him, and would settle for the nil-all draw.
Did note that the Parker Kiddie picked up some kind of ridiculously large tubular trophy for being Best on Ground [why a trophy? was it the Up Yours Eagles Medal? The two sides do have history after all].
But there was general consensus in the household that Benny "In Like" McGlynn should have got the gong - he played superb rugged wet weather football, no quarter asked for, no prisoners taken, and booted a couple of big ones while he was at it, priceless in a predictably low scoring game.
Teddy Richards, gawd bless him, and Full As An Esky built the brick wall across the backline, and West Coast were fooling themselves if they thought they could get through that.
On a day like that, just dig the trenches.
JP Kennedy had a stirling game, better than the other Josh Kennedy on the ground, who could only boast smashing the poor kid Jones with a full on hip'n'shoulder to the head that saw Zac go off and fail the concussion test.
Welcome to the big league son.
The Tribunal took a dim view of it and rubbed out Kennedy of Perth for a week, which is fair enough under the current rules.
How much newsprint has Craig Bird generated in the Sydney papers given that he's been one of the Swans' best players all year?
None, zilch, as the Little Birdie continues to fly under the radar with his unobtrusive style that gets right under the skin of his opponents.
Where the Brownlow votes went is anyone's guess, given the Bamfords would have probably seen precious little as their contact lenses fogged up in the driving rain.
The Stats Guru pointed out that The Great Goodes Train with 341 games broke the all-time record for number of games played in top grade by yr indigenous fella, overtaking The Great Andrew McLeod of Adelaide.
The powers that be in the Colonies could only see their way clear to name a dining room after McLeod in the new southern stand at Adelaide Oval.
The SCG Trust can do much better than that, surely?
They'll at least have to have a life-size bronze scuplture of The Train installed at the SCG.
There's no shortage of precedent.
Just ask Basil Sellars for the cash, he'll stump up.
The Strayan of The Year?
No better candidate for the 11th bronze at the ground, simply given his exploits on the hallowed turf over the years, if nothing else.

WEST COAST: 2.2, 4.5, 6.7, 7.9 (51). Goals: J.Kennedy 2, Priddis, Shuey, Darling, Cripps, Lycett.
SYDNEY: 3.4, 5.12, 7.14, 10.19 (79). Goals: Goodes 3, Parker 2, McGlynn 2, Rampe, Reid, Franklin.
At Subiaco Oval.
Crowd: 25,076

Have found myself wondering from time to time why there aren't two telly's in the house.
Everyone has got more than one, right?
It's rather difficult to watch two games of football being played simultaneously on a single crystal bucket.
The upshot being, didn't see a lot of this game, apart from at half-time in the rules match and during the ad breaks, but didn't miss much by all accounts.
My Spy at the Ground was despondent over the number of unforced errors and the shocking penalty count accumulated through plain ill-discipline.
Went on about "can't blame the Bamford's this time, they only have themselves to blame" or something or another.
For the third Origin week in a row it was a case of No Farah, No Cigar - which is really getting like an annoying broken record - but at least that's over now.
And without A.Woods also, there's no punch in the forwards, who find themsleves directionless without their skipper, and so there's next to no effective go foward from the pack.
What hope do the backs have on the back of that?
Penrith are in-form, mind you, and go top after playing at Leichhardt, having benfited mightily from their dream season draw - soft as - and the Origin byes falling the right way for them.
The Loyal Faithful who turned out on cue in their droves at the Spiritual Home were sent packing, yet again, disappointed.
The Tigers could be anywhere, given 6th to 11th on the ladder all have the same number of wins [with the byes a complicating factor], but sink to 10th on a negative for and against.
They're in a big log jam with no way out unless they can they string a few wins together as they approach the pointy end, which still aint beyond the realm of possibilities, but gee, they're a worry.
Balmain more than likely to be eaten like kippers for breakfast come September, if they get that far.
On interview after the game, Coach Potter reckoned the gearbox may be the problem, especially when he hasn't got the full drive train in working order.
"We made far too many errors and just couldn't get out of second gear".
Harry at his taciturn best, but in truth, the whole season must be driving him right out of his brain.
It is mine.
Joisis, they're a hard team to follow.

WESTS TIGERS 10. Tries: Austin, Brooks. Goals: Richards (1).
PENRITH PANTHERS 26. Tries: Whare (2), Idris, Moylan, Naiqama. Goals: Soward (3).
At Leichhardt Oval.
Crowd: 16,698.

rapprochement will never happen

Bandwagoners,

It wasn't exactly the "violent murderous revenge" that had been tipped, nay promised, in some quarters.
In fact, when you are as well placed as the Swans are, there's no need to excert yourself; all you have to do is enough to win.
The scoreboard doesn't differentiate between one point and 100 point winners.
Pleasing to see K.Jack win the B.Kirk Medal for Best on Ground.
He also got some sort of Cup with white ribbons on it, which you can only presume is the perpetual trophy for the absurdly named "Battle of The Bridge"?
Picked up all the silverware he could lay his hands on, and if you're the skipper, wouldn't you?
JP Kennedy had a fine game for mine; he's developing into one of those players who largely goes sight unseen, but just digs in week in week out and goes strong right to the finish, with little or no fanfare about it.
He could walk down the middle of George Street, and no one would have any idea who he was.
Kiddies wouldn't exactly be rushing up to him asking for autographs.
Swans players can freely go about their day to day business in Sydney without being harrassed by the general public, except for the Buddy & Tipsy Show of course, which is hard to ignore on and off the field.
Seven goals between them will do, this week.
Without doubt the match up of the day was in the ruck...really enjoyed The Mad Canadian v Bad Mummy.
Obviously a few scores to settle there, with Pyke having literally forced Mumford out of the side, telling him to Go West.
Don't think they like each other very much.
It shows.
Both blokes would probably say that they won, but an impassionate judge would most likely call it a draw.
Good to watch, though.
So, that's ten on the trot, for the first time in living memory...you'd have to be into your 90's to clearly remember going to those games as a young lad the last time it happened
With only four more home games remaining, all against easily beatable sides, the Minor Premiership is there [caveat: that's if it doesn't all go to shit and the world turns upside down in the interim] for the taking if they want, which SC Horse may not.
In the Premiership Year of 2012, seem to recall there was a fair bit of jigging about and hanky panky in the pointy end of the season, not to mention outright match rigging; just make sure you do just enough to lose.
Depending on how the cards fall, it could well be more advantageous to try to finish second on the laddder - nothing wrong with resting key players in the denoument, and not sure that the authorities have ever successfully booked anyone for tanking or sandbagging.
Longmire is a clever man - he's not one for throwing the dice - his huge football brain would be down in the Football Office as we speak, fixing the beads on the abacus with a his beady eye as they whirr about back and forth.
The gin-soaked plans from yesteryear would be kept firmly under lock and key in the Back Office, available to the inner circle only for consultation with white gloves on, while the Super Coach would be working on crafty schemes of his own.
You know it makes sense.

SYDNEY: 4.4, 8.9, 12.11, 15.16 (106). Goals: Franklin 5, Tippett 2, Kennedy 2, Jack, McGlynn, Jones, Reid, Jetta, Bird.
GREATER WESTERN SYDNEY: 1.4, 1.7, 4.10, 8.12 (60). Goals: Bugg 2, Cameron 2, Whitfield, Ward, Smith, Hoskin-Elliott.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 27,778.

The short wave radio set in Dad's Shed struggled to pick up the signal from Campbelltown Sports Ground due to the dire weather.
The hardy folk who exposed themselves to the bitter wind chill coming off the Cumberland Plains would've grudgingly sympathised with the handful of opposition die-hards who had made the supreme effort to travel from the national capital to also turn up.
Maybe the Raiders supporters were trying to get away to more balmy weather?
As the radio commentor said "if you think it's cold out here at Campbelltown with a westerly gale in, I've just checked the Bureau website and the apparent temperature in Canberra right now is -7.8 degrees".
Lucky they weren't playing in the ACT...hypothermia territory right there.
The Mighty Tiges were very gritty under difficult and trying conditions, especially after losing a marquee player inside a minute who probably didn't warm himself up properly in the cold.
Who knows?
Tedesco finds himself gorn for all money with busted a knee cap within the first 15 seconds of the game and will need a season-ending scalpel to the scapula.
Deary me.
The bloke is the Tipsy of the NRL for mine - very flaky - his list of career injuries are as long as a broken arm.
And just to think, after signing a lucrative deal with Canberra [of all teams] he reneged on the contracutal arrangements on second thoughts to stay with Balmain on the grounds of something to do with "loyalty" while dropping half a mill in the process, when the Tigers Football Dept more than likely would have been glad to see the back of the enormously talented, yet prone to crippledom kiddie and free up some salary cap into the future??
Don't know who wins there.
Solid slog for the pack won them the game, but the Anasta field goal inside the last nine minutes appeared to be the clincher with the game having decended into defensive trench warfare.
Ah ha! Don't speak too soon.
Balmain were very nearly robbed blind by the Bamfords with a dubious - at best - penalty for holding an attacking player without the ball with about three minutes remaining.
My Spy at the Ground reckoned the home crowd was rather upset by it all, they were dead-set furious until Croker of Canberra contrived to turn the mood of the crowd into pure joy, by missing the penalty goal by a whisker as it faded away on the howling breeze, knowing that that would have put the Raiders in front by a point, and surely the winners.
A classic case of snatching defeat from the jaws of a god-given victory
There was no shortage of niggle the game, and a few all in-stinks, which is always good to see.
There's no doubt these two teams hate each other, always have, always will...rapprochement will never happen...not while some people have long memories, me included, given that this year being the 25th anniversary of the excruciating pain of the ill-fated 1989 Grand Final.
Enough said.
Somehow, no idea how, the Tigers now find themselves in sixth place on a log-jammed ladder with a game in hand, but are still firmly anchored in the bottom half of the top eight, going nowhere, as they have been for most of the season.
The pessimist would say, on recent showings, they'll be eaten like kippers for breakfast come September, but as every knows, finals time is a different kettle of fish altogether.
Coach Potter must be saying to The Board "what more can I do?"

WESTS TIGERS 19. Tries: Nofoaluma (2), Richards. Goals: Richards (3), Field Goals: Anasta (1).
CANBERRA RAIDERS 18. Tries: Lee (2), Croker. Goals: Croker (3).
At Campbelltown Sports Ground.
Crowd: 9,243.

blame the Winter Solstice

Nervous Types,

Well, what's there to say about this forgettable lack-lustre affair?
Not much really.
By now, SC Horse would have scratched it into the side of Coach's Ledger in the Football Office marked "we'll take our wins", and promptly banished it from his mind - no lessons to be learnt here.
What should've been for the Swans a leisurely Friday evening stroll, walking the dog in the park, turned out to be anything but.
Most likely the worst first half Sydney have played all year; through no want of trying, they just couldn't hold onto the ball, constantly just out of reach, going this way and that, the pill dancing elusively off the fingertips, repeatedly coughing up possession.
Couldn't get a goal to save themselves, and it was only brutal, ugly defence that kept the hapless Tigers to a single goal in the second half that delivered salvation.
They would have been slaughtered by a better team.
And then for the second week running, with things finely in the balance, and the cannister of heart pills at hand, Lance Franklin kicked the two match winning goals and took the get out of jail free card.
He's earning his keep, whatever his keep might be.
Seems like Buddy is now getting set-shot coaching from none other than Nick "Come to Save Us" Davis, who knows a thing or two about booting big ones under pressure - goes out to lunch on the stories.
Longmire was clearly unimpressed with the hand-to-hand combat in a low-scoring affair, and if his quarter time spray at the on-field huddle was anything to go by he would have been absolutely spewing at the long break, while steam would have been coming out of his ears at the final hooter.
Still, it's not at all that surprising that after sweeping all before them, Sydney now find themselves with the double purple patch clearly in view, in an on-field struggle even against lowly teams they should beat in a canter.
Blame it on the Winter Solstice.
Richmond unlucky in the denoument, for mine.
The Stats Guru was quick to point out that the "violent murderous revenge" to be inflicted on GWS this weekend will be the the first time in 79 years that South Melbourne/Sydney have won ten on the trot.
That's a very long time.
But they better watch out, with the Pygmies having just won back to back matches for the first time in their short history.
Sydney should be fully aware that after the debacle of round one - which will in the fullness of time no doubt come back to bite them on the ladder before season's end - the Pygs aint no easy beats no more.
After all those wins in a row the Swans are, on the balance of probabilities, "due for a loss", and as even the most ardent supporter knows with the diff a bit iffy, the wheels can fall off at any moment without warning.
From now on, it mostly has to do with messing with people's heads, and the "psych war" will only get more intense as the season edges closer to the pointy end.

RICHMOND: 4.2, 6.4, 7.6, 7.9 (51). Goals: Riewoldt 2, Miles 2, Edwards, Hampson, Deledio.
SYDNEY: 1.2, 4.2, 7.5, 9.8 (62). Goals: Franklin 4, K. Jack 2, Reid 2, McVeigh.
At Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 34,633.

Pleasing to see the two Balmain boys acquit themselves well for NSW in State-of-Origin II.
An old fashioned game of football that took us way back.
As the GLW commented after the Traditional Softening Up Period [aka the first 20 mins], "these blokes aren't just playing the game, they are fully fighting".
That's it - state on state, mate on mate, date on date - in effect, a state-sanctioned bashing.
If it happened anywhere but on the field, they'd all be up on serious assault charges.
That's what the people come to see.
Laughed me head off as A.Woods went absolutely apeshit at the final siren, running around like a chook with its head cut off trying to mount anything that moved, with that utterly delightful idiot grin he has on his face going right off as NSW won a three-game series against QLD for the first time in a million years.
The eyes were spinning.
Haven't seen unbridled joy like that in a while.
The bye didn't fall the right way for Balmain - again - but hey that's life, and it's still two points in the dilly bag and you don't even have to turn up to play.

WESTS TIGERS: 2nd mid-season bye.

order an ambo

Bandwagoners,

Another one that had that air of inevitability about it, given that there was little or no hope against the South Sydney steamroller - no finesse, not much skill there - just roll over the top of them with huge, ugly units, and the relentless pressure will get them in the end.
Wouldn't want to meet any of the Burgess Bros in a dark alley at night, let alone share a cell with them at Long Bay.
No Farah, no cigar, is sounding like a broken record, and the The Try Scoring Freak just couldn't put his hands on the ball, always spilling it out of the end of the fingertips.
Thinking Adam Blair - the club's worst buy ever - played his worst game ever [and he's had his fair share of shockers].
Gave away nigh on all the Balmain penalties in the first half that led directly to points on the board for the opposition just through his own stupdity.
Late in the second half, Blair contrived to find himself entirely out of position on the wrong side of the scrum, and copped an almighty serve from the young half back, Luke Brooks.
The 19-year-old told his team mate, the grizzled veteran Blair, in no uncertain terms, that he was a "complete and utter idiot" - the words could have even been more profane than that - the kiddie didn't care about such nonsense as seniority and history.
Reputation has no place on the field of battle.
On interview after the game, Blair tried hard to hang his head in shame, and was asked where to now? to which he replied "I reckon I'll be touched up by the coach on Monday and Tuesday".
At least he's knows what's comin'.
At the finish the television commentators reminded South Sydney supporters that they have two byes in the next four rounds.
The Good Lady Wife commented "oh dear, that'll mean the crime rate will go up".
Coach Potter made no bones about it in the press scrum after full-time: "I thought the score was a reflection of how the game went. No disrespect to our team, we tried as hard as we possibly could but you can’t hand over possession like we did.”
No disrespect?
What is he saying?
We'll find out in due course.
Somehow, no idea how, the Tigers manage to cling onto 8th spot on the ladder.
With that in mind, slipped into the Front Bar at The Local on Monday morning in the hope of getting some insight, but instead found The Philosopher in his usual corner crunching on a split half cucumber that the barmaid had thoughtfully poked into his Bloody Mary, but all he could offer as he took the last bite out of his salad and had a good draft of his health juice was "well, as a Balmain boy, you'd know all about the utmost importance of remaining optimistic".

SOUTH SYDNEY RABBITOHS 32. Tries: Johnston (2), Turner (2), Merritt. Goals: Reynolds (6).
WESTS TIGERS 10. Tries: Austin, Tedesco. Goals: Richards (1)
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 20,721.


Found myself perched on the bottom deck of the first tier of the Doug Walters Stand (it will be hundred years before people like me call it the Victor Trumper Stand), overlooking the south west corner of the ground at the Randwick End, on Saturday avo, with the Country Member, his young lad, and a shady character only known as Mad Mac.
We knew that there would be a fair mob in when we saw the event bus queue at Central snaking around into Eddy Ave.
There was a huge crowd of red and white milling around outside the gates waiting to go in, when a group of four very large blokes cut a swathe through it as if they were parting the Red Sea.
They had Port guernsey's on, draped in very heavy trench coats and tall Cossack-like black hats, and one of them wore a conspicuous leather jacket with a coat of arms elaborately embroidered on the back, that was topped with the words: SERBIAN CHETNIKS.
Thought to myself "ooh, they're not the sort of Port fans you'd want to mess with".
All class.
There are not many games on at the proper time on Saturday arvo nowadays, when back in the day all the games used to be played at the same time on Saturday, and then, along came television, so couldn't pass up the opportunity to have a look see at 1st v 3rd first hand.
The first quarter was a behind-a-thon ...count e'em...couldn't kick a goal to save themselves, then they inexplicably let Port right back into the game in the second, so, as usual, it all came down to The Champo, but then it didn't, even though Sydney kicked 5 mighty handy goals to three, the question was far from settled.
Never got the the chance to put on my Mexican death mask to scare the shit out of the nearest opposition spectator - that only gets donned when you get to the point in the game where your team has won it, beyond doubt, and the Fat Lady starts singing.
Never happened.
Blind Freddy could see the Swans were in a struggle to the death against a quality side.
Port doesn't boast much in the way of heavy artillery, but they more than equalised the Swans ruck, and they rely on being very fleet of foot and being the fittest team in the comp.
As the Swans started to flag at the start of the final stanza, and were out on their fet well before the finish, Port just carried on is if nothing had happened.
That's probably why they've won so many games this year.
With 20 or so minutes left, found myself reaching for the heart pills that someone had thoughtfully tipped into my pocket before leaving for the ground.
With 10 minutes to go, the cliff hanger unresolved and the finger nails down to the quick, someone asked if they should order an ambo for me.
Hell no!
Obviously what was needed was a drink in a crisis and the cry went up "Nurse! Brandy!" and the hip flask was duly passed around.
Never quite been among or seen or heard a crowd at the SCG go so absolutely ape shit in the denoument, as Lance Franklin kicked the two match winning goals in the last five minutes
Everyone just lost their shit and were on their feet in the standing ovation to end all standing ovations as the final siren sounded.
Got away with it by four points.
Never mind the quivering mass of nerve endings.
As we were leaving the ground, the Country Member's lad pointed out the extraordinary sight of the mass of humanity that was shuffling along Driver Avenue towards Paddington and Darlinghurst - an ocean of red & white.
Never seen anything like it since one day at the 2000 Olympics.
Little doubt the ground was less than seven thousand short of capacity, a full house for all intents and purposes, jammed in like we were in the tiny thin seats with yr knees more or less jammed up against the row in front of you, nothing luxurious about it, and cannot imagine sitting in a seat like that for a whole day at the cricket!
Laid my eyes on the fully completed new MA Noble & Bradman Stands for the first time, which the Trust has spent a squillion on, for the exclusive use of Members.
You'd be much better off in there by the looks, and why not?
The rich and entitled can afford it, it seems.
On the event bus back to Central after the game, there was some animated discussion among the folk on board on who might be Best on Ground, so a straw poll was taken that awarded the Brownlow votes, if the Bamfords had any sense, thus: 3 votes Franklin. 2 votes K.Jack, 1 vote Ebert.
Was thinking on reflection that the Swans have been relatively lucky with injuries; the Sydney Football Dept has a happy knack of keeping their roster largely out of Sick Bay with proper training and preventative treatment, so news that filtered through on the Monday morning that the Hannbery Kiddie would be rubbed out for about a month with an ankle mischief came as a blow; a big loss to a firing mid-field.
The Stats Guru had no need to point out that that's eight on the trot, and they only have to get past Richmond (a) and GWS (h) in the next couple of weeks to complete the double purple patch, and then they've got a dream draw in the run home.
Coach Horse, as he sucked on his out-sized Cuban gazing out to sea during Sunday morning smoko down by the magic waters, would have been thinking that you never look a gift horse in the mouth, while scratching what's left of the hair on his head thinking of ways to keep the team focused with their eyes on the prize.

SYDNEY: 2.8, 6.12, 11.13, 14.14 (98). Goals: Franklin 5, Goodes 3, McVeigh 2, K.Jack, Jetta, Kennedy, Hannebery.
PORT ADELAIDE: 1.2, 6.5, 9.10, 13.16 (94). Goals: Schulz 4, Monfries 3, White 2, Wingard 2, Ebert, Westhoff.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 41,317.

launch a satellite

Space Cadets,

Found myself otherwise engaged of a Saturday arvo and distracted from the football as both games were played almost simultaneously, and saw very little apart from the newsreels on the crystal bucket.
It didn't matter.
They are perfectly capable of carrying on regardless without me.
So all the news that's fit to print this week is second and third-hand.
It's not every weekend that both your teams win away, with no help from you.
Did note on the newsreels that they reckoned that Buddy might be in a touch of trouble down at the tribunal for laying on a classic hip'n'shoulder to shove some hapless Gold Coast player over the boundary line and slam him up against the advertising hoardings, flailing about all arms and legs.
Back in the day he would've impaled him on the white picket fence.
Thankfully, The Tribunal, to their credit, found that it was all legit, no harm done, and Franklin had no case to answer.
Let's face it, if you can't put on a smack-'em-down shirt-front, can't do a damaging hip'n'shoulder, if you can't crack a few heads, can't rip a blokes rib cage out in a ball-and-all tackle, and can't do the Christmas Hold during stacks-on-the-mill, then it's a girls game, isn't it?
C'mon, most of those playing are grown men who can take the punishment.
The superstars of Rules have always been those capable of throwing their weight around with gay abandon while keeping the ball on a string.
That's what the people come to see.
AIong with the nimble ones with finesse and running skills, and those who can actually slot 'em through the big sticks, isn't that what it's about?
Officialdom should keep right out of it, for mine.
They've been re-writing the rule book since the 1860's - maybe they should stop now?
The wild-eyed one-eyed Crows supporter from the Colonies warned me from the off that the Swans were taking a huge gamble on Tipsy's flakiness - never mind the brou-ha-ha surrounding the trade.
The Stats Guru - [who, being the whiz with the abacus that he is] - also takes a keen interest in money, y'know, who's up who and for what, that sort of thing - so he's calculated that this year alone Tippet has had knee tendonitis to start the season, then a broken rib, and now a knee cartilage trim that will keep him sidelined to mid-July at best - the medical bills must be piling up at the front door of the Football Dept, while Kurt hasn't been called upon to do much while still rolling about in cash dollars galore.
Yep, that's flakey.
No-one wants to get ahead of themselves too much, but if Sydney can brush aside Port like so many slugs and leeches in the forecast rain this Saturday avro at home, then a double purple patch - ten wins on the trot - is a real and present possibility, and that will dead set guarantee a set-in-stone place in the top four, and if you then don't lose at home for the rest of the season, you'll probably go top and get the saloon passage in September.
Simple.
At this point in the narrative, SC Horse's biggest worry must be the spectre of complacency.

GOLD COAST: 1.6, 3.9, 6.13, 10.14 (74). Goals: Kolodjashnij 2, Dixon, Cameron, Russell, Ablett, Matera, O’Meara, Lynch.
SYDNEY: 3.3, 8.4, 13.4, 17.7 (109). Goals: Cunningham 4, Reid 3, Kennedy 2, Franklin, Jetta, Parker, Lloyd.
At Carrara Stadium.
Crowd: 21,354.

For the first time this season, the ground attendance at Tiger's game oustripped those who turned up for the Rules.
Then again, they do tend to go ape-shit over their Rugby League in Newcastle, being the rabid one-team town that it is, and there are Balmain supporters everywhere.
With Sick Bay down on the Balmain Road being rapidly cleared out and troops being returned to the battlefield, it should have been a regulation win against a side coming off six straight losses [much to the chagrin of Novacastrians, who've also seen the team's owner rapidly going down the gurgler to worse than broke, and offloading the debt-laden club to anyone who'll have it for $1 - but that's another story].
But no, my Spy at the Ground mentioned that the Tiges were almost robbed blind when two Balmain players, who were both off their feet jumping for the pill, collided in mid-air, with Braith Anasta contriving to plant himself head first into the turf in the in-goal while his team-mate bounced off him and fell to earth with an almighty thud.
While most immediate concern was for the health of those involved, an on-side Newcastle player found himself aimlessly wandering through the aftermath, saw the ball was loose, casually gave it a touch down, and appealed for a try on spec - which after a lengthy television review - was duly awarded, even though no-one in the crowd or on the field, including the referees and touch judges, saw it with the naked eye.
Go figure.
It might have been legal, but there was no honour in it.
Seems Balmain got revenge in the denoument with a cheeky field goal by Richards, of course, to put on a three point buffer with less than ten minutes left on the clock, and then they just ground it out to the finish and that's all she wrote.
Pat Richards - Man of the Match by all accounts.
Can play; a rock in the last line of defence, has a hand in everything in broken play, and can kick.
Apparently he booted some prodigious kick out of nowhere to great advantage that was described by the commentator on the ABC radio match summary thus: "there is no doubt about Pat Richards' ablility to launch a satellite".
There is nothing but praise for the bloke around town, coming back after all those years working his arse off in the Dark Satanic Mills, to play in the big leauge again, almost a decade later at the age of 32.
If he wasn't in the Balmain Pantheon already, he is now.
Who knows where they'd be without him at the minute?
Tigers hover about in the bottom half of the top eight, as they have done for weeks now, going nowhere.
In the wider view, looks like Coach Harry will have a season-long concern with inconsistency, and he'd be worried sick that Farah and Woods will most likely be called on by NSW twice more this year.
They'll need luck.

NEWCASTLE KNIGHTS 20. Tries: Uate (3), Roberts. Goals: Roberts (3).
WESTS TIGERS 23. Tries: Tesesco, Richards, Lawrence. Goals: Richards (5). Field Goals: Richards (1).
At International Sports Centre, Newcastle.
Crowd: 22,173.

loose men everywhere

Ecstatics,

It's ironic that one of the better memoirs of the Geelong Football Club goes by the title of "Loose Men Everywhere".
Well, not on a Thursday night in Sydney in late May.
Precisely the opposite, as it turns out.
The book, of course, is now out of date, on account of it wouldn't include Geelong's biggest losing margin against the Swans - ever - even if you go back in the mists of time to the South Melbourne glory days, you won't find a bigger one.
A 17 goal football lesson in anyone's language.
The Stats Guru's head was spinning like a top as the records tumbled like nine pins in a blood bath.
Couldn't get the abacus going fast enough.
A little Bird was singing SC Horse has continued the tradition of SC Roos on how to handle bye week.
Have all the players over to the coach's place for a Saturday afternoon BBQ & a keg on the weekend when they're not playing, talk some shit, tell a few lies, relax and have a good time, and then at the end of the day the coach goes around to each player individually and says "Now, piss off. I don't want to see you for three days. Go home. Here's your ticket. Go and see your Mother".
A clever man, is Mr Ed.
They don't talk about it, let alone make a song and dance about it, it's just done.
The Tipsy-Buddy Show continues to roll on like a caravan of colourful [adopted] Sydney identites, who are reminded constantly that the wheels could fall off at any moment, without warning, if they're not careful - but do they care?
It's taken a while for the Swans big investment in tall timber to pay off, but boy when it does, they are like huge mobile Kauri trees brushing off opponents as if they were some kind of pesky insects or loose leaves.
Can play, can kick goals.
Pity that Franklin is utterly hopeless at the set shot, but there are few better exponents of the snap goal - haven't seen an inside-out banana kicked from ten yards out in quite a while.
Tipsy makes up for it with long bombs and strong punts for goal from the mark.
Everyone is talkin' about how the Swans mid-field is on fire, but the backs hardly get mentioned.
Why?
To keep a class opposition to zip at the first break. a single goal to half time, and just two six-pointers by the end of The Champo takes some doing.
Full as an Esky, Rick Shaw, and Teddy Richards and their cohorts are a bit like The Men Who Stare At Goats.
They build a brick wall across the backline and invite the other team to try to run through it, only to watch them bounce off it in a flailing heap, every time.
Up front, the goal kickers list in the scorebox was more than impressive, even Big Ted and The Train got a mention.
The offical crowd on paper looks pretty good, also.
Sydney will always turn out for grinning winners, but Thursday night could work with a 7pm start time, giving people enough time to knock off work in town, have a drink and a bite to eat before proceeding to the ground and getting home at a half-way reasonable time.
It's all about location, and with the public transport sorted, the SCG has that in spades, but the jury is still out, for mine.
Obviously, the Marketing Dept is clearly targeting the different kind of people who live in the Eastern Suburbs, who are too busy sipping lattes and guzzling Chardonnay while weaving the odd basket or two on the weekends to go to the football.
Gold Coast away and Port at home to come will sort the men from the boys and that'll be through the half way mark in the season, and then it's "easy" street for a while.
Still the Swans find themselves at 3rd on for-and-against in what is the complete log jam that is the AFL top eight at the minute.
There's more work to do, but luckily, they've been told, and they know it.
Don't spend hours on end trawling other people's football blogs, but did note on the AFL's official blog page that some Geelong supporter had posted the comment "well done AFL for gifting Kurt Tippet and Lance Franklin to a 'struggling' out-of-town team, who only won the Premiership two years ago".
Well, sucko, pal, that's just the way it is.
Mustn't gloat, but remember years ago being accosted out the back of the Olympic Stadium at half time during a Geelong game with Sydney leading by a fair margin by some wild eyed clearly insane Cats fan who botted a smoke off me.
He was entertaining enough.
My parting words to him were "well, you've come a long way to lose", left him perplexed, then slipped into the crowd and disappeared.

SYDNEY: 4.4, 8.9, 14.11, 22.16 (148). Tippett 5, Franklin 4, Goodes 3, Hannebery 2, K.Jack, Derickx, Bird, Lloyd, McGlynn, Jetta.
GEELONG: 0.3, 1.3, 2.4, 5.8 (38). Goals: Hawkins 3, Simpson, Johnson.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 37,355.

Pleasing to see the two Balmain boys have good games for a winning NSW side in one of the very best matches of rugby league seen in long while in State-of-Origin I: one for the ages, world-class.
WESTS TIGERS: Mid-season bye.