Out-of-Towners,
Found myself in Newcastle on Saturday night, where, in a rabid rugby league one-team town to it's bootstraps, the care factor about AFL is just about approaching zero, so never saw a single frame of this game, not even in the newsreels - it went down the wormhole.
Still there was some good footy to be had if you knew where to look; even in the working man's game's heartland, news filtered through on Sunday morning that Newcastle City had beaten Maitland at home to the tune of 16.20 (116) to 0.0 [00] in an Under 13's Australian Rules match.
The goal umpire at one end was fairly busy as a five goal southerly buster ripped in off the Barrington Tops.
My spy at the ground telegraphed through that it was "a bit blowy".
In the meatime, the Swans were in Brisvegas, where the trumpets sounded and the fat lady sang at half time as "the mid-field ran riot", by all reports.
That'll do me.
The fishwraps by and large acclaimed Oddhead as man-of-the-match in their "best" lists , and why not with thirty-five touches in the game?
The Swans goal-kickers list is as long as your arm, as it should be.
The Stats Guru delighted in pointing out that Rick Shaw, in his 200th game [94 for Collingwood, 106 for Sydney] kicked his third goal since 2011.
Goal kicking is obviously not his long suit, but give me a better half-back over the course of his long and illustrious career.
The bloke can play - otherwise he wouldn't be picked week in, week out - and few others can run it out of the backline and punt it into the middle of the park with a pin-point kick like Rick can, with a view to helping someone else boot a goal somewhere just over the horizon.
A scholar and a gentleman, and a dead set champion, for mine, and there are not many of those left.
Despite the slow start to the year - Sydney sneak into the top eight for the first time this season after seven games, which is as good a place as any to be, with more or less a third of the season done.
SC Horse would be tugging his forelock trying to find the way and the means to a purple patch, which they will most definitely need if they want to threaten the top four.
The optimists will say "but it's only May!"
However, given the Hawks gave the Saints a 23 goal football lesson mind you, yep, that's right, 23 goals to the good, on the weekend, anything could happen at Cathy Freeman Stadium this Friday night.
BRISBANE: 2.0, 3.5, 5.6, 6.8 (44). Goals: Paparone 2, Lester, Rockliff, Green, Cutler.
SYDNEY: 3.6, 8.8, 14.11, 18.15 (115). Goals: Goodes 3, K Jack 2, Kennedy 2, Parker 2, B Jack 2, Derickx, Cunningham, Reid, McVeigh, Shaw, Lloyd, Jetta.
At The Gabba.
Crowd: 17,957.
In an unremarkable weekend of of representative football [apart from the New Zealand rugby league team's haka - which is an absolute corker] my attention was bought to the Under 20's State-of-Origin game, in which some junior Balmain players were involved, by all accounts.
Apparently the match had it all; spectacular running rugby league, clothes-line tackles, squirrel grips, Christmas holds, punch-ups, all-in brawls, sin-bins galore, and even some choice verbals when some weak poof called Mitchell Moses, of Balmain, playing for New South Wales, called some annoying Queensland player a "farkin' gay c*unt".
Looks like the current crop of teenagers have been told and shown how it's done by the old fellas.
That's what the crowds come to see, despite what the authorities will try to tell you.
And as a bonus, the Blues won.
Appears they got the the miscreants in a room together after the game, banged their heads together, and asked them "which one of you bastards called this bastard a bastard?", Moses put his hand up and was promptly rubbed out for two weeks for homophobic vilification, and ordered to undergo a couple of heavy sessions in the Room Full of Mirrors down on the Balmain Rd for his trouble and indiscretions.
In this day and age, they'll tell him, you just can't go 'round calling random blokes "lard-arsed homo's"
Sorry, but it's not on, anymore.
Fair enough, but in his defence, he would no doubt have said it was all about state pride, your Honour, no personal spite in it, honest.
Popped my head into the Front Bar at The Local on Monday morning and found The Philosopher in his usual corner enjoying this week's favoured tipple, a straight Screwdriver, no garnishes, no ice, thanks.
Banter among the patrons turned to the general issue of sledging, moral and mental disintergration, and after the argument went around in circles for a while, all eyes looked upon The Philospher to settle the question.
He just nodded, gave his shoulders a slight shrug, adjusted his glasses, and said "same as it ever was".
WESTS TIGERS: Bye {representative weekend}.
