on the back foot

Time wasters,

What a crappy little Test match in Adelaide to start off the summer - a dead-as-a-doornail drop in pitch, shocking over rates, extremely poor run-rates, and the standard of umpiring was simply appalling. Any other complaints or excuses? OK, it was tough on the first two days. 38+ degrees? Meh. Good beer drinking weather to be sure, but try playing for five days in Madras. Just ask Deano, he'll tell you. At least it went the full five days, unlike recent Pink Stink's in Adelaide, that were lucky to make three.

The new owners of the game - Channel Seven - were desperately trying to stave off the boredom and slumping ratings with the commentaors constantly saying "isn't this great...a return to the much loved good old days of Test cricket".

My arse. Wot? Go back to the days of say, Geoffrey Boycott and chums, who were about as exciting to watch as the grass growing around their feet. People forget that back in the days of eight-ball overs, the over-rates were very good, and the run-rate was quick. The Donald [as in Bradman], for instance, never ever "ground out" an innings in his life. Never mind the alleged artistry of his stroke-play, Bradman was so popular simply because he scored his runs so quickly [and rarely got out], compared to the average Joe Blow.

The Stats Guru was quick to point out that the unsung hero for India was R Ashwin, who bowled an astonishing 86.5 overs for the match, took six wickets, but most importantly, conceded well under two runs an over. Tied them up in knots, he did, which wasn't that hard on that deck. In the view of the man with the abacus, he should have been man-of-the-match...Mr Poojah's 246 ball century didn't cut the mustard in the grand scheme of things.

In the entire match, the run-rate never came even close to three runs an over in any of the four innings. The punching power of Burbs and Smiffy are long gone, and India are more than happy to go into the trenches and battle out a game of attrition. Straya's problem is they fell into the trap of playing the game the way the opposition wanted them to play. At no stage did they even remotely look like taking control of proceedings. Constantly on the back foot, so to speak, with an inexperienced Captain, who at various crucial points in the field, looked fairly clueless.

In the final paralysis, the 15 run first innings led was priceless, as is a 1-0 lead in a four match series. Straya now have to win a minimum of two of the next three games to reclaim the much esteemed Border-Gavaskar Trophy, which one random punter of sub-continental extraction tried to explain to a TV camera outside the ground "is much bigger than the Ashes these days, you know". Gawd...if England were playing, Adelaide Oval would have been as full as a boot on, they would have been hanging from the fig trees for all five days, rather than less than half full.

That useless Pommy Bamford NJ Llong had an absolute shocker - got no idea how many of his decisions were overturned by DRS - but these days Umpires, it seems, couldn't care less. In this day and age of hyper-surveillance, if they get it wrong, it will always be righted by God Television. The fundamental age-old concept of "The Man in White is Always Right" has now been totally undermined, even though they forget that the camera always lies. And as one of my Spies at The Ground astutely observed, the Bamfords have completely given up on looking at the bowler's footfall - stacks of no-balls were bowled, and went undetected. Now that's cheating, plain and simple. Again, the Stats Guru backed this up...of the 66 sundries entered in the scorebook, only five were no-balls. Five in five days. And they must have over-stepped by a country mile.

In this new age of Straya playing all gentlemanly-like, y'know, not too soft, not too hard, there was still plenty of chit-chat, and of course that Viral Rat Kohli just cannot help himself, once again proving to be beyond doubt the worst kind of serial pest. The freak should have been fined at least 25% of his match fee, for mine, just for being goose.

Kohli's gobful of a send-off for Finch when he was cleaned up by Sharma on the second day was an utter disgrace. Strayan coach Alfie Langer was quoted as saying his charges would've been called “the worst blokes” if they indulged in that kind of nonsense. Don't you hate it when there's one rule for some, and another for others? What a sqwarking dickhead, who did nothing with the bat, Kohli was constantly chirping away at Paine and getting in his face when he was at the crease, and the Indian skipper instructed Pant to get right up our Token Muzzie's nose from behind the wicket, reportedly saying to Uzzie "Not everyone is Pujara out here, mate." That's a very cheap shot, if ever there was one. Lucky that kind of stuff rolls off Khawaja's back...he's heard it all before.

So, what would Pup do?

At least Straya proved that they are competitive [the losing margin was about right], if timid. Nothing wrong with the bowling attack, they are much better than India in Strayan conditions, but Lord Crikey the batting is a worry. You might as well set fire to 1-6 in the batting order and start again. But of course that'd be the last thing the Chairman of Selectors and the Three Wise men will do. All they'll most likely do is drop the HandyComb and reinstate the Vice-Captain so Marsh Jnr and Marsh Jnr Jnr can play in front of their home crowd at a brand spanking new stadium. Haven't gone through the arduous task of checking all the latest Sheffield Shield scores - but on the word of others who have - no-one is crying out "pick me! pick me!"

Sheesh...the way it's going, it's gonna be a long and lazy summer, with plenty of chances to take a nap between lunch and tea.

too soft

Cut-throat Thugee's,

Everybody knows the Super Kat has been wanting to strangle Pup, again, for the last nine years, but it takes MJ Clarke to say the "S" word on commercial radio to get on the news these days, now he's a gentleman of leisure on account of he's "one of the most polarising figures to have worn the baggy green in recent times". [Never mind that Pup will actually be calling the upcoming Test matches for Star TV from a studio in Mumbai, while he's enjoying the cocktail circuit and shagging "mystery blondes" in his spare time. "Sorry Kyls, won't be home for Xmas"].

The quote at issue being "we're not going to win shit".

He's right of course, and you have to concede, the man does have a point. No-one wants to win a turd.

Now that "winning at all costs" has been strictly forbidden by the Powers That Be under a thing called the Player's Pact, with recommendations to the MCC that new Laws be introduced designed to limit sledging, and umpires be issued with yellow cards, and such like, plainly, the good old days have gone away. Testosterone-fuelled aggression has been banned outright. Condemned well and truly to the lil' history books. Now that you can't call a ninny a ninny, some of the great sledges of yore will be consigned to the musty shelves of the Lord's Library under the Dewey number for "pearls of wisdom". Do they have a collection of tampered balls in the Lord's Museum, along with other illegally altered equipment, like Dennis Lillee's aluminum bat or Javed Miandad's cast iron floppy hat?

No more is Straya permitted to grind Poms into the dust for days on end - which used to be one of the finest sights in world sport. Banned. No more finely sandpapering the Seth Efreaken's until you have an lovely effigy of a kaffir-kicking Boer. Illegal. No more calling a spade a spade in the West Indies. Not kosher. No more sticking it right up those bloody Indians, because, let's face it, the Indians don't like it up 'em. Don't like it at all. The Paki's have always been the Paki's, who were unsurpassed in days gone by for their deviousness and sharp practice. Straya never plays New Zealand or Sri Lanka or Bangladesh or Zimbabwe or Afghanistan or the Netherlands, so they can go suit themselves. But now, the Strayan players just have to put up with it all. Never mind your mother's sexual history being called into question, if some-cunt calls you a-weak-cunt - then what? You're now expected to cop it on the chin? Turn the other cheek according to the gospel of Matthew, Holy Jesus style?

When did the "rot" set in, before or after the greatest batsman of his generation resigned the Captaincy? That's a concept up for debate. But Clarkey quite certainly wasn't involved in any ghastly ball tampering this year, so he is entitled to take umbrage, and forget the inconvenient truth that Strayan teams on his watch were rather famous, by and large, for being loud-mouthed hard bastards with a penchant for night-club violence. He reminded folks that they do tend to forget how he let his bat do the talkin', and the worst he got down to was threatening "to rip the bloody arms off" some completely insufferable Pom. But by Michael's reasoning, with victory by any means now outlawed, the Strayans will have to play for the honourable draw for the time being, and with the First Test just six days away in Adelbrain, it's well worth backing at $4.50.

The Super Kat jibe was water off Clarkey's back; as Simon says himself, their relationship amounts to "less than zero" - but then Gerard Whateley, who's well known among the ABC cardigans for selling his soul to the devil, had to wade in to say that Pup had "missed the point". The point being that winning a turd isn't the point as the authorities have unilaterally declared that it's all changed and different now, with atonement, redemption, deference and respect making a comeback to a more mythical gentlemanly time. The so-called Spirit of the Game must be invoked at all times. There wasn't much deference or respect in Bodyline, was there? Same as it ever was. Pup couldn't let that pass and blew his top. And the former Captain also couldn't resist calling the radio caller names, describing Whateley as a "headline-chasing coward" and inviting him to take his coat off and meet him outside.

Warnie and Vaughnie are in Pup's corner, and even Haydos reckons you don't play Test cricket to get a Masters Degree in being a "good bloke". Just ask that Viral Rat Kohli, he'll tell you, because he is not a good bloke, and will take every opportunity to get under the Strayan's skin now that winning for them isn't everything anymore. Conducting yourself with the utmost decorum is far more important. The Strayans are now required to take even the lowest of low provocations, at which the Indians are specialists, in their stride. Be prepared for some surprises. Endless niggling with any comeback now strictly verboten can get to a bloke. Just ask Smiffy. Kohli is solely responsible for doing SPD Smith's head in in Poona, leading directly to many moments of madness. Pup had nothing to do with that.

Perhaps it's best to leave the last word to the newly crowned Strayan coach Alfie Langer, who told the press "I don't know what you people want. We were too aggressive and probably stepped over the line, and now we're being called too soft."

Glad the coach knows what's going on. No-one else does.

a heavily redacted document

Whingers,

Can some one please tell me just what-the-fuck is going on? Nothing else.

Cricket Australia chairman David Peever was quietly 're-elected' for another three years on the cocktail circuit as Chairman of the Board last week, just before he's savaged [by implication] as an "arrogant" sponger and "dictatorial" bully by his own 'Ethics Review'.

Yesterday, I got a thoughtful e-mail from the card-carrying-cunts at CA entitled "An Open Letter to you, our Australian Cricket Family", claiming that Good Ol' Peevsy had come up with an "honest and heartfelt response to the current state of play", and what a heartfelt bit of spun-up total poppycock it is. You can read the whole miserable, sniveling thing here.

Take this line just as a for instance..."While at times difficult to read and in some instances, difficult to agree with what has been implied – CA respects the findings of the review and what needs to be done to restore faith and prompt change."

Code for, righto, we'll sweep this one under the carpet while we continue to get on with the very serious business of dudding the Australian Cricket Family, not to mention the actual players - who are now expected to conduct themselves as complete and utter gentlemen without reproach on and off the field who cannot under any circumstances whatsoever 'win at all costs'. Here's an idea. Why not have a send off rule for the foul of mouth and the doers of evil? Brilliant! That'll solve everything. Great thinking 99.

The poor, poor umpires.

Boof took the teary fall and promptly disappeared off the face of the planet, Smiffy dropped a lazy 5-10 mill, Burbs Warner remain a bit touchy, can't take a sledge in a grade game and storms off the ground, Sutherland outlived his usefulness and was put out to a very lush pasture, while that crook Peever is fully immune to anything approaching "prompt change", along with his long-standing partners in crime such as Roberts, Howard, Hohns etc etc etc et al...

You have to love the fact that the public exhibition of the 'Ethics Review' report is actually a heavily redacted document, and everybody knows the only reason documents are redacted with a crude black texta is to protect the guilty.

There would be journo's out there as we speak busily working with their alchemists to remove the blank outs, and NAME NAMES in the papers. You can bet the house on that. Until that happens, nothing, absolutely nothing, will change.

Here's one of my favourites from the 'Ethics Review's 147 pages of mumbo-jumbo...

For the long-suffering Strayan cricket fan, what a time to be alive.

poor, poor Pup

Bean Counters,

Poor, poor Pup.

The Great Man has failed to make this year's AFR Young Rich List https://www.afr.com/leadership/afr-lists/young-rich/atlassian-cofounders-lead-young-rich-list-2018-20180918-h15jji

Weep my friends, Clarkey didn't even come close. $26 million [the net worth of one of the co-founders of Pedestrian TV of all things https://www.pedestrian.tv/] is the cut off point for 100th in the top 100 richest bastards in the country under 40.

At last report, MJ Clarke's net worth was only $16 million and falling, what with the real estate market going Antarctic, and Pup now consigned to being an unpopular unemployed former cricket 'celebrity' who is not asked for his opinion on anything anymore, you'd expect any sponsorships he still has will dry up over the coming year and he'll be lucky to have two bob to rub together in another 12 months.

To add insult to injury, complete & utter wally's in the form of Shane FIGJAM Watto Watson and Mitchell Joke Johnno Johnson are both richer than Pup, while other former Strayan skippers in Mr Ponting [$65M] and Mr Waugh [$27M] are now old men on another obscenely wealthy planet entirely.

In a list containing an astonishing number of millenial shonks and shysters [e.g.: tech wack-jobs, dodgy beauty products, and useless snake oil merchants aside, who would have thought there's a fortune to be made in leasing cars to Uber drivers?], My Mate Smiffy has done alright, despite suffering in disgrace after being sent shame-faced to Purgatory due to all that fuckery with a cricket ball on The Veldt.

While SPD Smith may have dropped between 5 and 10 mill on a few sheets of low grade South African sandpaper, the best batsman on the planet is still worth $27 million. DA Warner may well have squeezed onto the list also, if not for Tamper Gate, but still has a dilly bag with 17 mill in it.

However, both of them are very heavily exposed to Sydney real estate [and as everyone knows, anyone can do that standing on their heads] with at least half a doz negatively geared gaffs each, although Smiffy has taken a 10% share in "on-line furniture company Koala" https://www.koalaliving.com.au/ as a spot of speculative insurance.

It'll be interesting to see where Smiffy and 'Burbs square up after doing their time in exile.

But at 37, Pup can only stare at the slippery slope in hope.

lost in the frenzy of Grand Final Fever

Skeptics,

Lost in the frenzy of Grand Final Fever last week, the faceless men on the Australian Cricket Board, in their infinite wisdom, decided to appoint, not one, but two Vice-Captains for the upcoming test matches in the desert.Unprecedented, alright. Never before in the history of the world has Straya had two Vice-Captains.
Hazo and one of the too many Marsh Bros. got the nod to take up the Poisoned Chalice, after going through a rigorous and exhaustive selection process which included submitting a job application and then being interviewed by a seven-man panel of luminaries consisting of GS Chappell MBE, MA Taylor AO, JL Langer AM, TV Hohns, the "sub-standard" Chairman of the Board, Mr David Peever Sir, the "high performance manager" Pat Howard - who's never played a game of cricket in his life - and "Cricket Australia psychologist", Dr Michael Lloyd.

Lord, save me.
Cricket Australia employs a trick cyclist? Well, blow me down. Did they do a psychometric test on the applicants?
Fat lot of good that's done them. Doc Lloyd obviously didn't make the right reading of the minds of Smiffy, Burbs, or the hapless Barmy Bancroft viz-a-viz what kind of mad-dog devil got into their heads what made them done it.
Had no idea. No inkling that their brain-boxes had been so done in by the Kaffir Kickers that they were compelled be evil incarnate to go down to a hardware shop for some sheets of fine grain sandpaper for a few Rand.
Useless.

How the hell did that superlative hanger-on, Paddy Howard, keep his job, when he should have gone straight out the back door with Boof, without so much as a sausage?
Not much "performance" there, you'd think, eh, Paddy?
Thought they were making a clean break with the past? You were wrong. Dead wrong.
Howard must have FIGJAM Watto's negatives of photo's of the selectors.

Gone a bit off track here, as usual, but back to the point - what is the point of having two Vice-Captains? What is the point of having a Vice-Captain at all? Pakistan, for example, has never seen the need to have one, and don't bother, as they go through Captains with alarming regularity as it is.
The Laws of Cricket make important mention of the "Captain", but they are silent on the subject of "Vice-Captain".Under the Laws, if a Captain needs to leave the field of play to strain the potatoes or chug a quick nerve-settling gin & tonic, any old Joe Blow can be Acting Captain, just a long as there is one on the field at all times.

One thing is for certain, Pup would never have had any truck with the concept of a dual vice-captaincy back in his day - as far as he was concerned you can leave Captaincy by Committee up to the Poms, who have a long and proud history of including clapped-out former Captains' in their sides - just ask Nasser Hussain [remember him?], Freddy Flintoff, Athers, Big Daddy KP, the Cookie Monster etc etc etc, who all played on after resigning the Captaincy, but somehow, never assumed the Vice-Captaincy.
That's not the way leadership has worked Down Under over the eons, but now there's two deputy dogs each rattling the chain and champing at the bit.
What on earth is this all about? Beats me.
This nonsense about "leadership teams" [an oxymoron in itself] is finally falling out of favour in other codes - Co-Captains used to be all the rage in football teams, but no more, as they came to the obvious conclusion that no-one knew who was actually in charge. Cricket, in the meantime, goes backwards.

So, now no-one knows who's 2IC anymore and you'd love to see the Job Description, Essential Qualifications and Key Performance Indicators of an Australian Cricket Co-Vice Captain, in the unlikely event that there are any.
No one appears to have asked TD Paine what he thinks about it, now having two subordinates snapping at his heels. What if he's forced from the field for any reason, or embroiled in some imbroglio? Are Hazo and Swampy meant to put their hands up like good boys and say "pick me! pick me!". Smacks of no succession plan post-Smiffy, something awful.
Seen a lot in my time, but this one is a real hum-dinger that will no doubt go a long way to restoring Straya to their rightful place as the No.1 cricket team on the planet.
If that wasn't enough, after the Grand Finals, the same gutless faceless men finally made the move to replace that old honky James Sutherland as Chief Executive Officer, after he'd been in the gig for eleven years too long [on the standard HR principle that six years in any job is enough.]
And what a choice choice they have made in one Kevin Roberts, who played 23 first-class games as an opener with an average average for New South Wales, but failed miserably to achieve his main aim in life - to Captain the Blue Bags - a long time ago now.
You'll remember Roberts as CA's chief attack dog in the bitter and protracted pay dispute with the players. A nasty peice of work.
In the end Roberts got Sutherland to do a lot of reverse-pedalling and humiliating backing down after he locked-out the players without pay for a whole month to howls of protest [in the end the Player's Association refused to work with Roberts on account of his utter intrangience], but now that he's the Big Kahuna, all he rabbits on about is "developing and achieving trust" with the players, after he rat-fucked them good and proper last year.

Can someone please tell me what faark is going on?
The man obviously has the widest of support in the greater "Cricket Community" as he goes about smoothing over the troubled waters he played such a big part in creating.
Not.
Roberts is a lap-dog Peever protégé in the dark arts who comes to the Boss Cockyhood under deep suspicion that "the culture" at the Board has not changed one iota since SandpaperGate.
They made damn sure the findings of the two inquiry's into "the culture" that were set up in the wake of the 'scandal' were sidelined.
Shelved, shoved under the carpet, not to be seen or heard of again, and everybody in the "Integrity Unit" has now jumped ship after being treated like offal.
Cricket Australia is a seething behemoth bureaucracy with hundreds of employees and scores of spongers that spends over $45M a year on Media & Marketing alone.
Lord Crikey, if the governing body doesn't need proper steerage, nothing does.
It was a classic case of the need to bring in a highly-qualified talented outsider to sweep the place clean with a bloody great SABCO broom, but that was never going to happen with so many people desperately clinging onto their power trips and bloated stipends.

God help the poor blokes in the god-forsaken United Arab Emirates, who now have a new "in the Chairman's pocket" CEO they hate with a passion, and two Vice-Captains who no-one has any idea of what their responsibilities, if any, are.
What a mess.
SNAFU.

"he is an awesome Australian"

Hillites,

Now that the football season is over, it's perhaps time to turn our attention to the forthcoming season of the summer game and look forward to wasting whole weeks at a time during the Silly Season to the soundtrack of the thwack of willow on leather and the ripple of polite applause, by asking - what would Pup do?
The Great Man has been unusually quiet of late, apart from copping a right bollocking for endorsing some fly-by-night get-rich-quick scheme being offered by Dodgy Bros. Pty Ltd of Brisbane.
No one has asked for his opinion on the cricket lately, and Michael has certainly been entirely silent on the subject of being so rudely brushed by Channel Seven for their brand spanking new commentary team for the you-beaut whizz-bang cricket telecasts we'll all be enjoying this summer.
Clarkey was always very leery of being a selector; he voluntarily gave up the job that had been foisted on him when he was skipper on the well grounded principal of "you pick 'em, I'll play 'em", but would Pup have come up with this mob of 14 to play Pakistan in two tests in Abbers and Doobers next month?

Tim Paine (c), Ashton Agar, Brendan Doggett, Aaron Finch, Travis Head, Jon Holland, Usman Khawaja, Marnus Labuschagne, Nathan Lyon, Mitchell Marsh, Shaun Marsh, Michael Neser, Matt Renshaw, Peter Siddle, Mitchell Starc.

Labuschagne [what kind of South African name is Marnus, anyway]? Neser [another South African]? Dogget? Has anyone ever heard of these people?
31-year-old Jonny Holland [played two tests two years ago] in a battle with Ashton Agar [four tests on very friendly tracks] for the second spinner's spot?
But most remarkably, the ranks of the quicks must be very thin indeed with the selection of Peter Siddle, who'll be 34 in November.
OK, Cummins and Hazo are both very flaky and prone to being rooterised by injury, but where are the young tear-aways coming through the ranks? Nothing to see there.
Must have been under the misapprehension that Sids had given the 1st class game away yonks ago, or was he brought out of retirement for this one?
In any case, did spot the brand new Strayan coach Alfie Langer on the telly [he had the decency and sense to wear a sports coat, wisely eschewing Boof's ill-fitting bag of a track suit] saying that Sids had been picked only because "he is an awesome Australian".
A tried and true servant of the game is Sids, a class bowler in his day, with vast experience being the perennial bridesmaid at 12th man - no doubt about that - but "awesome" is a much overused word these days Alfie. Maybe he's just trying to stay in toon with the Yoof of Today?
No idea.
GJ "The Big Show" Maxwell has been cruelly snubbed again [Alfie: "there's a method to our madness"] due to him bagging the selectors.
As usual, there are too many Marsh's in the squad, and note also, that no Vice Captain has been named.
Perhaps they have done away with the meaningless office, after it was so was thoroughly put through the wringer by 'Burbs Warner of sandpaper infamy?

Of more import is this year's major touring team, India, so it's pleasing to see that they have continued their grand tradition of being unable to win away from home, being tidied up very nicely by the Poms 4-1 thank you very much.
The Evil Viral Rat had excuses galore after India were tipped for their best showing in the Heart of the Empire for a decade, but the fact remains that the Poms are as good at pitch doctoring as the Indians, and the Sub Continentals will never do no good on bouncy wickets in the Wide Brown Land, because they don't like it up 'em, don't like it all.
There are now inevitable calls for Kohli to be sacked as Captain...the Times of India said in an editorial that he "dons the roles of chief ball polisher, sledger-in-chief, DRS caller, umpire chatterer, schedule decider, huddle addesser, and media hater" implicating he's too busy to actually lead the team.
It's also come to my attention that India has a player called Pant, so no doubt he will be dubbed "Trouser" by the louts on the hill in Straya...as in "oi, drop ya daks, Trouser, and gissa look".

So there is hope yet to avenge Straya's last tour of India, the sheer absurdity and stress of which drove Smiffy off his rocker, out of his mind, and over the edge.
But not much.

On a side note, it should be put on the record that Alastair Cook CBE knocked up yet another ton in his final match in the test caper [33 tons at an average of 45], so he's now a dead-set certainty for a knighthood...but did overhear someone saying the other day about Cookie "I cannot remember a single shot he played, but I do remember watching him bat for a very long time".
And James Anderson is now the leading all-time fast-bowling wicket-taker in Test matches - that's probably just a function of the number of games played these days [Jimmy's been going around for 15 years] - but he aint no Ooh Aah Glenn McGrath, who he's just overtaken on the record list, oh no, siree.
After playing with him for 12 years, Cookie was asked what he thought of Jimmy, and he just called Anderson "a freak"...enough said.
There's also been some Pommy song and dance about a ball that the Englishman Adil Rashid bowled being comparable to Warnie's "Ball of the Century".
Absolute poppycock. It was a good nut to be sure, that turned at right angles a country mile outside off [could well have been called as a wide] on a made to order pitch, but it had none if the sheer poetry of Warnie getting Gatters, so that's all that can be said about that.

At least the Powers That Be have thought far enough ahead to give the Strayans a two-test warm-up in over-cooked far-away lands ahead of the Indian summer, but it's a shame that the magnificent old Sharjah ground is no longer in use.
It's an approrite metaphor for the state of cricket Down Under at the minute; the ground was abandoned, left to rot in ruins and was over-run by goats and chickens, but it did manage to rise like a phoenix from the ashes in time to host the 2018 Blind Cricket World Cup final back in January, and nothing of note has been played there since.

the true horror of the debacle in all its ghastliness

Fellow aghastees,

Out-muscled, out-played, out-smarted, out-foxed...GWS Pygmies too strong, too fast, too good on the day.
Sydney Swans taken apart.
That's about the truth of it.

Never mind not turning up on the day, Sydney were worried out of it from the very first bounce.
After spending the whole season losing at home and winning narrowly on the road, the Swans have a knack of losing finals badly when absolutely nothing about Plans A, B or C goes right.
Finals footy is never pretty, especially in his day and age when the main plan of attack seems to be to try to trap the opposition in a sandwich press and prevent them from scoring at all costs.
Little wonder people north of the border call Rules "aerial ping-pong"; apart from rugged tackling and fully-fighting, there's not much skill on show or joy for the spectator seeing the ball being aimlessly knocked about in a rolling maul of flying bodies, as no-one has enough time to hang onto the pill and do anything with it before being crunched into the turf.
The fans pay to see long kicking and high marking in good strategic play, but that seems to have fallen right out of favour in the now hyper-defensive game, where goal kicking has been reduced to the rovers banging it on the foot in hope, or just soccering goals off the ground.
It could have been worse - a whole lot worse - for Sydney, if the Greater West had kicked straight - 10.19 is a stoopid winning score, and there were 25 behinds in the match, the same number as the Melbourne/Geelong final the night previous, which was similarly unattractive.
In four finals over the weekend, 101 behinds were scored [and how many of them were "posters"?], with just 74 goals booted.

Reports started coming in at half time that the ground was eerily quiet as the faint strains of the Fat Lay singing could be heard wafting in over the Randwick End.
Only minutes into The Champo and it was plain for all to see that there wasn't even any point in praying to the various patron saints of Lost Causes, because it simply would do no good - they were shot birds.
No Nick Davis Come To Save Us here.
With two goals on the board, and despite some highway robbery by the umps going on, soon after half-time My Spy at The Ground shot through a message that got the Bush Telegraph in the corner of the lounge room chattering "don't think you can even blame the Bamford's for this one".
The Swans can usually carry a few passengers and still get by with a narrow win, but not when the whole team is travelling in steerage.
In the 'best' column in the scorebox they might as well have put "All Played Poorly", as it was impossible to pick out a Best on Ground for the Swans.
By the last break, Super Coach Horse had pulled great tufts of Ashley & Martin hair out of his bonce, and with still only two maximums on the scoreboard, he started to feel sick in the guts.
There is a school of thought that says it's better if your team fails to make the finals, rather than risk making utter fools of themselves by being bundled out of the picture in the first week in a right royal trouncing of a thumping.
No one saw it coming, least of all Longmire - he was trying to hide his face from the cameras in shame...oh...the sheer embarrassment of kicking only four goals, total, for the match.

While all this was happening the Stats Guru was completely apoplectic and going off his rocker on the beads, predicting all sorts of total shockers for the record books.
The Guru began to make loud strange wailing sounds, when the abacus revealed the full enormity of the disaster: At three quarter-time, the Swans still needed another goal just to equal their worst ever finals showing in the history of the known universe, which was way way back in the mists of time in 1899 Grand Final when South Melbourne managed to kick 3.8 [and lose by a single point to Fitzroy at the Junction Oval].
In the pathetic denouement when the "mercy rule" should have been invoked, if there was one, it became apparent that the true horror of the debacle in all its ghastliness had not happened in a very, very long time...the match was, just for starters:
*The Swans' lowest score at the SCG in 385 home games over 36 years since South Melbourne were relocated harbour-side for the 1982 season.
*The lowest score by any team in a final since Collingwood's 2.2 (14) in the 1960 Grand Final which was played in an atrocious mudbath.
...the list goes on and on and on, down to the very last funny-ha-ha one *The lowest score by any team that has included Lance Franklin.

Only one player needs to be singled out by name, and of course, that's Toby "Fucking" Greene of the GWS Pygmies
This bloke has a rap sheet as long as your arm over the years, is the dirtiest of filthy arseholes, and the most hated player in the game at the minute.
Never mind his "Russian Cossack dancing-style marking technique" - putting his studs in the chests and guts of the opposition at least three times [it's plain old kicking - with intent - and should be a reportable offence, for mine] - going in with a knee to the head is just low dog act, and yet he got off with a paltry $2.5K fine.
With his form?
WTF?
What were the Bamfords doing, where were they looking?
Greene should be hounded out of the game altogether as he will never learn, and in the interim, rubbed out for the rest of the finals series just for being a cunting rabid animal.
The very worst of the worst.

Some football boffin somewhere spouted the true-ism "the Swans are good enough to make the finals, but not good enough to win them".
So, quite obviously, Sydney need to be ruthless in the off season, letting below-average players go without so much as a sausage, and then getting into the market to buy/trade at least another ruckman, another tall forward at a minimum, and some half-way decent midfielders, all with at least 50 AFL games under their belts, then try to pick up some more gun rookies in the draft, and that's just to be competitive in 2019.
A very tall order indeed.

In the meantime, after Sunday Smoko down by the Magic Waters of the winter ocean baths, which involved a fair bit of navel gazing, Mad Monday was cancelled.
With steam coming out of his ears, SC Horse took the entire team to The Room Full of Mirrors down on the Balmain Road to take a good, hard look at themselves.

SYDNEY: 1.4, 2.4, 2.6, 4.6(30). Goals: Papley 2, Parker, Ronke.
GREATER WESTERN SYDNEY: 2.3, 4.7, 7.11,10.19(79). Goals: Greene 3,Cameron 2, Himmelberg 2, Coniglio, de Boer, Ward.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 40,350.

John Longmire, Press Conference, SCG, Saturday 8 September 2018.

the one percenters

Speculators,

Super Coach Horse is the master strategist; we know that.
But you can imagine the gasps of horror a fortnight or so ago, when he decided at the last minute to leave Buddy and Luke "'Parker!" Parker in the stands for the crucial game against Hawthorn and a crack at the double chance in the finals.
After saying there was no room left for playing Ducks & Drakes, we all cried out - what was he thinking resting [managing, wrapping in cotton wool, or whatever] the All-Strayan Captain and the best-on-ground from the previous week? So what if they're riddled with niggles? Give 'em a needle.
In retrospect, though, it was a simple ploy. It doesn't take a genius to work out that Horse is a genius. It's now bleeding obvious that Longmire had long concluded that the double-chance was all but jack-shit worthless.
There was little or no point in beating Hawthorn in the final match of the minor round to finish 4th, as that would have only set up a meeting with the run-away Minor Premiers and red hot faves for The Flag, Richmond, in the qualifying final.
Nothing to be gained there, as Those Bastards from Punt Road would most likely have had the Swans like kippers for breakfast, and they would then go into the second week of the finals as losers.
So, why not manufacture yet another heart-stopping cliff-hanger of a typical Cardiac Kids narrow loss to the Hawks and drop down to 6th, and then get into death fight with the down-on-their-luck injury-ravaged out-of-form Greater Western Sydney Pygmies, who the Swans easily beat away three weeks ago?
Good thinking, 99.
After week one of the finals it's all sudden death anyway, and it's much better to go into that a winner, baby, and delay a meeting with Richmond until the Prelims - you never know, anything could happen, the wheels might fall off the Dusty Martin Juggernaut in the interim.
It's all rather clever. Now they just need some more football spies - intelligence gathering and planting fake news goes on all season, but it's now at a premium.

The only conceivable fly in the ointment in the gin-soaked Master Plan is the damnable SCG, and having to play a bloody final there.
What a shit-hole of the home ground that is.
Of the Swans eight losses this season, no less than six were suffered at home. WTF? That qualifies as a hoo-doo in the making.
Its' still difficult to believe Sydney reneged on the final year of their contract to play three home games at Cathy Freeman Stadium, where their record has been excellent. Why? Too close to Sydney's armpit and the GWS "heartland?". Just across the road from Spotto? No one from the Eastern Suburbs will travel there? There's nothing wrong with the ground.
And the Swans can't play at the MCG for nuts, either.
But that's neither here nor there at the minute.

When it's all said and done, it's an eight-armed octopus from here on in, until seven are rudely chopped off, leaving but one curling the cup aloft.
The Stats Guru was aghast when he read that some bloke that no one has ever heard of, "sports data scientist Darren O'Shaughnessy" - who's apparently been running the algorithms over the writhing Cephlapod - came up with the following predictions based on irrefutable pure mathematics:

Sydney Swans

43.4% chance of winning the first final.
3.3% chance to make it to the grand final.
1.0% chance of winning the grand final.

The Guru asked "how come the Swans aren't 100/1 down at the books, then? The best you can get on The Red and The White winning against all odds is 15/1".
He whipped out the abacus, set it a'whirring, ran all the combinations along the beads yet again, and when asked about the calculations of Sydney's chances of being triumphant on that One Day in September, replied "anyone can win on their day, so, ah, about 50/Fifty, even money."

HAWTHORN: 2.4, 3.6, 7.8, 12.11 (83). Goals: Puopolo 3, Gunston 2, Henderson 2, Morrison, Roughead, Worpel, Breust, Schoenmakers.*
SYDNEY: 2.3, 6.7, 8.8, 10.14 (74). Goals: Heeney 2, Papley 2, Sinclair, Cunningham, Kennedy, Jack, Florent, McCartin.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 39,660.

Meantime, over in rugby league la-la land, any tiny mathematical chance the Mighty Tiges had of making the Top 8 were kept slightly alive with the 22-20 win over the Silvertails from Manly-Warringah, but all hope was finally dashed by other results, and in the final match of the 24 game season, Balmain suffered the appalling indignity of being flogged mercilessly by the hated evil arch-rivals South Sydney to the cricket score tune of 51-10 in a miserable denouement.
On that form alone, the Rabbitoh's are a top chance of taking the pennant, for mine.

In the final paralysis, The Tiges finished 9th on the ladder, two wins out of the finals, with a negative for/against. Suppose that's better than 14th last year, and even though home crowd numbers are up, that's the seventh consecutive Winter of Discontent without a finals appearance for us long-suffering die-hards.
Given Balmain's last game of the season was on a Thursday night, at least the players had a full four days to celebrate Mad Monday, and any atrocities that did occur were insufficient to rate a mention in the papers in Sydney - where becoming a disgraceful drunken rabble is de rigueur.
Coach Clearly It's Cleary's methodology of basing the game almost entirely on defence early in the season was all very well and good, but as the year got out to the pointy end, numbers on the scoreboard started to count against them coming up against good attacking sides, who all made the top 8.
Those with a negative percentage, apart from the Tiges, all deservedly finished in the bottom 6.
It's very pleasing to see that club Life Members, The Great Robbie "The Best Leb in the Game" Farah and The Great Benji Marshall, both sign on for another year in 2019, at the ages of 35 and 34 respectively. Only Farah has said that 2019 will be his last season. Benji, of course, thinks he's immortal, and why not?
It's just fine and dandy to have some sage old football brains and legends of the game hanging around the club to teach the young kiddies right - but where are the new generation of children coming from?
Crikey. Even Chris "The Try Scoring Freak" Lawrence might go around again at age 30.
Luke Brooks will do nicely at half-back thank you very much, and the mid-season buy of The Gambian, Moses Mbye, as a full-back utility was an astute long-term move, but apart from the 6'4" 115kg Samoan Refrigerator in Ben Matulino in the front row, the pack needs more oomph, and the backline could do with extra pace and punch in the outside centres and out on the wings, where they were found out this season.
And the much-heralded marquee buy, Josh Reynolds, proved to be an absolute shocker as he was completely rooted by injury throughout and hardly played a game.

All things the Club Secretary has to consider very closely in the off-season.
Longtime Loyalists are sick and tired of weeping into our beers, and you can lay to that.

SOUTH SYDNEY RABBITOHS 51. Tries: Jennings, Reynolds, Crichton, Walker, Graham, Johnston, T.Burgess, Sutton. Goals: Reynolds (8), Clark (1). Field Goals. Reynolds (1).
WESTS TIGERS 10. Tries: Lawrence, Nofoaluma. Goals: Marsters (1).
At Sydney Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 12,037.

King of The World

Buddhists,

It comes as no surprise that B.Franklin has been named skipper of the team that never plays.

Obvious choice...

Onya Lance. He knows that he's King of the World, and that's all that matters, baby. "Kick it to me!"

As the only Swan in the made-up pretend side, it proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that The Red and The White are a Champion team, not a team of Champions, so of course The Bud should be honoured as the greatest player who has ever walked upon this earth.

On a side note - god, you've gotta love the snubbed Tex Walker when he opens his mouth...

"I understand that Adelaide or South Australia in general, it's hard to get people here," he said.

http://www.afl.com.au/news/2018-08-29/tex-wants-answers-from-unhappy-mcgovern?camefrom=EMCL_2463199_110558209

Buddy shifted himself to this side of the island many a long year ago. Look where it's got him now.

Wise move.

a wet sail in a six goal gale

Grand Standers,

Complete and utter chaos! There's a footy match to get to! Imagine the horror!
It's quite extraordinary, but not surprising, how a city of five million is paralysed by a total shut down in the railway system - yep good ol' Shitty Rail had excelled themselves beyond measure this time, a "network tech upgrade" had gone horribly wrong and the whole communications network was gorn. Meltdown. No trains. None. All day. All they could do was to revert to manual signalling to get any choo-choos running.
Always planned to drive to the ground so the ol' crip could take advantage of a cheeky, free, corporate car parking space close to the stadium, but as the motor was inching along in a stupendous traffic jam - rat-running along the the main western railway line to Homebush - big crowds of people were milling around bus stops outside the stations looking at their phones trying to find out just what the fark was going on as the odd bus jammed-packed with sardine-like punters rumbled on by without stopping.
And the transport authorities had plenty to move on this Saturday, with a full house expected at the Royal Agricultural Society Showground "Spotto!" in the afternoon, followed by the 66,000 who eventually made it to Cathy Freeman Stadium for the evening Bledisloe Cup rah rah across the road.
Joisus.
A total cock-up is always a great way to start your one and only afternoon out at the ball park for the season.
It was the third consecutive year me and the GLW have turned out for the Swans away game against the GWS Pygmies, this time with both Favourite Daughters in tow.
Finally eased the carcass into my choice seat on the Green and Golden Bell Frog wing 15 minutes before the opening bounce, but at least half the crowd missed the first quarter as they continued to pour in - not to worry - they didn't miss a thing.
Captain JPK made a shrewd decision to kick into breeze from the off, so the Swans would would be going with the wind in the final stanza, and what mighty blow it was.
A classic example of that weather phenomenon peculiar to the Emerald City at this time of year known as "The August Winds" - a bitterly cold westerly gale pushing 35 knots whipping across the vast outback and funneling over the Great Dividing Range and onto the Cumberland Plain - the denizens of Sydney hate it with good reason - it's plain shitful. The ambient temperature never got close to ten degrees and plummeted as night fell.
It's the sort of weather where the foam on beer cups is blown into the faces of the punters in the cheap seats.
The first half must have been one of the most boring exhibitions of Strayan Rules seen this year, as both teams seemed intent on trapping their opposition inside their defensive 50's, and the play quickly degenerated into a fully-fighting arm-wrestle, with scrimmages and stacks-on-the-mill galore - and by half time a Swans flag we had with us, that had been in disuse since the TV broadcast of the 2016 Grand Final, could only be waved four times for Swans' goals.
WTF?
And to add Sydney's woes, they were carrying more than a few passengers, who, as usual, shall remain nameless. You know who you are.
At the main break My Spy at The Ground, who was sitting right next to me, was making dark mutterings about being two goals down in a very low scoring match and the likelihood of the Swans being run over with a steam-roller in the second half as GWS are younger, stronger and much faster...but soon enough wounded Pygmies began making their way to the bench and down the race and suddenly, after Sydney did mighty well to draw the Champo at a single goal a piece, the Red & The White broke free and came home in a storming last quarter with a wet sail in a six goal gale.
The crowd, who were 85% Swans supporters, went absolutely ape-shit.
Sydney decided to bomb long on the breeze into full forward and hope for the best - and the best is what they got with L.Franklin throwing his weight around.
At one stage Buddy even went for the ol' one-two; marking in the forward pocket, playing on, hand-balling to a team mate, running around him to pivot onto the left foot, getting a hand-ball back and banging it on the boot, the opposition bamboozled...but the shot was a couple of inches off line.
For the second week in a row, Buddy kicked more than half the team's goals.
What with SC Horse revealing n interview post match that Franklin has been riddled with niggles and is a 'week to week proposition', his effort in the denouement was worth being gonged with the Brett Kirk Medal for Best on Ground alone.
Haven't seen Luke Parker in the flesh for a year, and he was all but impossible to recognise as he's bulked up into the size of the Sherman tank. and the thought kept running through my head "good god, the man must be on steroids."
It was a pleasure to see young Tommy McCartin perform; at 18-years-old he already has a stature of and plays like a grown man, and has plenty of footy smarts about him, and seems to have a stellar career ahead of him.
Without a shadow of doubt, draft pick of the year.
Llooooyd and Odd Head McVeigh toiled like sheepdogs all day in the backs, but the Swans are desperately missing Reg Grundy's love child.
Richie Cunningham made some brilliant penetrations when it counted, while Old Jack Jnr and JPK took it upon themselves to marshal the mid-field and round up some Pygs.
The forwards could have been better; they really didn't get smart until the last quarter putting two very clever positional switches that resukted in certain goals - but, hey, eleven goals won't win in September, Lads.
In the stands, two boys of perhaps 11 or 12 years old were sitting behind me - one was fully dressed in Swans merch, the other had all the Giants gear, and they were at each other tenaciously throughout, while urging on their favourite players.
It warms the cockles to hear the fine art of barracking still alive and well among the Yoof of Today.
Despite the result, the GWS kiddie got the best of his mate on the day. And he didn't see himself as a loser.
There's just no hatred in a Sydney Local Derby, unlike other two-team towns such as Perth and Adelaide.
However, being a cruel bastard, just couldn't help myself but to break out into a rousing rendition if "Wot's it like? Wot's it like? Wot's it's like to lose at home? Wot's it's like to lose at home?!" to howls of derision.
With an injury list as long as your arm, the Pygmies are shot birds at the pointy end of the season for mine...the Swans aint doing much better in Sick Bay and now there's absolutely no room for sandbagging or playing ducks and drakes for final ladder positions - the equation is very simple - beat Not Bloody Hawthorn Abloodygain this Saturday at HQ and they're in the top four with a second bite at the cherry reserved.
The Stats Guru, who is a student of Pure Mathematics, will tell you, do the Hawks over and the Swans are, in theory, just two wins out of the Grand Final.
But that would be getting way ahead of ourselves, and everybody knows the evil dangers of glittering baubles and false hope.


GREATER WESTERN SYDNEY: 3.3, 6.6, 7.9,8.12 (60). Goals: Cameron 2, Himmelberg 2, D. Lloyd 2, Shiel, Bonar.
SYDNEY: 1.2, 4.3, 5.9, 11.14 (80). Goals: Franklin 5, Jack 2, Parker, McCartin, Hayward.
At Sydney Showground, Homebush.
Crowd: 21,433.

Found myself straining the potatoes in the dunnies behind the old Kiosk at three-quarter timer at Henson Park in Marrickville on Sunday afternoon, when two blokes were overheard at the urinal discussing how the beer cans were freezing into their hands and the merits of the match in question - the 2018 Reclink Community Cup - when one said "but this match is massively wind assisted". The other bloke replied "This? Oh, yes, fuck-yes..."
The August Winds had got even worse than the day before, with a very tough sou'wester now howling in over the Sydenham Road End.
Such a pity really, as Reclink is a very serious, full-umpired mixed-sex game of amateur charity Rules.
The Wailers [musicians] and the Sailors [media] train for about six weeks for it. There are local rules. Each team can only field nine men and nine women at a time, but there's unlimited interchange and both teams boasted a bench of twenty or more.
The Ladies come in for special treatment; it's women only ruck contests, same-sex contested marking, boys can only tackle girls around the waist, but the gals can go in as hard as they like, and boy, didn't they, with a fair few Christmas Holds and Squirrel Grips going right in there and up the cloaca.
Luckily we'd got there early, drove through the back gates, swung the motor onto the hill, and set up a tail-gate party on the back of the Hyundai Stand, which offered some protection from the gale that was chilling the bones of this old man, who was turning 61 on that very day.
The only saving grace was the bright winter sunshine.
DJ Albo, the local member who's now retired from playing for the Wailers, had a go at some commentary on the Tannoy in the second quarter and sounded like the consummate politician that he is: "ooh, he's got him in the...oh dear, aaah", "and a Wailer's gone down! Surely an illegal tackle Umpire!" and "very controversial...that will be spoken of at the after-party, no doubt".
The foul weather certainly saw crowd numbers well down on previous years, but still people made valiant attempts at picnicking on the hill and there were more dogs in than ever before, with scores of loose hounds bounding around; one or two flipped out over the boundary fence and had to be shooed off the field of play.
The match itself was a see-sawing affair - check out the scorebox! - the Sailors won the toss and kicked with the wind but failed to capitalise while keeping the Wailers scoreless.
The muso's then used the breeze well - which by this stage had blown out to 40 knots - and by the third quarter it was blowing so hard any ball kicked into the gale would go straight up and down, while the likes of Travis "The Lunatic" Blanco, Harry Hervey and Timothy Fernandez booted balls for the Sailors in the Champo that caught the wind and sailed a clear 70-80 metres through the big sticks, but the Wailers were always going to win with that howler at their backs in the final stanza.
Brrrrr. Take me to the nearest log fire.
Streaking has a long and proud history at the Reclink Cup, but with the wind chill factor plunging the ambient temp to less than 5 degrees there were fears it might not happen this year.
The Ground Announcer, apart from describing in detail the antics of the various canines on the hill sniffing complete strangers and singing the praises of the local booze, constantly urged someone - anyone! - to their to get their gear off; "drop the daks", "feel the breeze", "just go nude", "get on there and freebag", "hang out the flapping bits", and it took until the final 40 seconds of the close-run thing until some lanky bloke finally jumped the fence.
He stripped off on the boundary line, did a run through the play and around ground - entirely unmolested by anyone - jumping on the backs of two Sailors players as he went. The game just went on as if he wasn't there, then the final siren hooted, and Fat Lady sang.
But, as the GLW later commented "crikey! if you were minding your own business playing football, it would scare the living shit out of you having a naked man jump of your back without warning, surely?"
There is suitably-edited video of the streak somewhere in the cloud to conceal the identity of the perp if the cops ever try to book him for "indecent exposure".
The Great Scandal of the Reclink Cup 2017 in Melbourne was that someone complained about the streakers, and can you believe this, they were duly booked and issued with fines for "public indecency".
What an appalling travesty of justice!
To make matters worse, an offer by Reclink to fund their legal expenses was ruled illegal as the organisation gets Govt. funding...the thing eventually blew over and out, and the fines were just paid.
Disgraceful.
What puffed-up starched-shirt silliness. It's the difference between the two towns; something like that would never happen in a place like Sydney, where you can go around completely un-noticed dressed as a jester if you want. Anything goes.
When all was said and done, the now rather pissed Ground Announcer thanked the crowd on the Tannoy for their attendance and good behavior throughout, and ended with "and it's always good to see the bloke in the Responsible Service of Alcohol vest look like he's just wandered in from the Wayside Chapel".

WESTERN WAILERS: 0.0, 4.1, 4.1, 6.4 [40].
SYDNEY SAILORS: 0.6, 0.7, 4.9, 4.9. [33].
Best on Ground: "The Bison" for the Wailers, Antonovic for the Sailors.
At Henson Park, Marrickville.
Crowd: 3,500 (est).

While all this was going on, a shadow of bitter disappointment was cast over Balmain's spiritual home, Leichhardt Oval, as the home side were soundly beaten fair & square by a well-placed St. George side before a full house of the faithful.
The Mighty Tiges have yet again, for all intents and purposes, failed to qualify for the league finals, losing their second last match of the season, and will now most likely finish in 9th or 10th place on the ladder.
Arrrrg. Agaaaain.
Just like last season.
So near, and yet so far.
It's now been seven long long years since Balmain have made the Top 8 - said it before, say it again, jeez they're a hard team to follow - in fact, since Balmain won the Premiership in the Miracle Year of 2005, the Tiges have qualified for September only twice.
It's worthy of a thousand word essay, but the less said about it at the present juncture the better - Mad Monday is still to come.
For the moment, let's just allow a tear-drop to roll out of a cornea and down the cheek as us true-believing die-hards trot out that useless freakin' platitude "there's always next year!!".
Gawd, help us.

WESTS TIGERS 10. Tries: Lawrence, Naiqama. Goals: Marsters (1).
ST GEORGE-ILLAWARRA DRAGONS 20. Tries: Pereira, Leilua, Frizell. Goals: Lafai (4).
At Leichhardt Oval.
Crowd: 18,387.

all is forgiven?

Casual Observers,

Rolled in through the front door of my gaff having just touched down at KSA after a six-and-a-half hour flight across the sheer vastness of the Pacific from Apia, and clicked on the telly, only to see that there were four and a half minutes left in the Swans/Pies match at HQ, and that there was nothing in it, and thought to myself "Oh no! Sweet Weepin' Jesus upon The Cross! The Heat Attack Kids are at it again."
Just had time to drop my bag and gawk in fear of the wheels falling off with three losses in a row, when the Childe Tommy McCartin somehow got boot to ball just outside the goal square and the pill rolled through the big sticks with a flailing Magpie fully-sprawled on the ground but not able to put a finger-tip on it; the Goal Bamford gave the two fingered salute, waved the flags and the Fat Lady sang.
Note the scorebox tells the story that it is always the third quarter, The Championship Quarter, "The Champo" that more often than not decides football matches, with the Swans booting five big ones, while keeping the Woods to just three behinds.
On interview post-match, SC Horse identified The Champo as where the side kept their hopes alive of not slipping out of the Top 8, and when asked about Buddy being thrashed a bit more than usual on the training track and then kicking six goals - more than half the team's total - Longmire simply replied "Franklin played well".
Also of note was the triumphant return of Alex Johnson, the quintessential Comeback Kid.
It was six years since he last played a game of seniors - six years - absolutely rooted by injury, he was...time and time and time again.
SC horse noted that Johnno had become the Honorary Boss Cocky of Sick Bay, seeing he'd spent so much farkin' time in there, and blabbed on about how he was good for kiddies going through Rehab and dealing with the psychological impact of long term injury.
He's probably put Callum "Saw" Mills in the Room Full of Mirrors down on the Balmain Road and given him a damn good talking to.
Gawd help him, Johnson did his left anterior cruciate in 2013 and has had a knee ever since, enduring not one, not two, no, but five knee reconstructions after the first two were hopelessly botched, and he then got dropped from the Swans roster before being re-drafted as a rookie at age 26.
A lesser man would have given the game away long before now.
On interview after the game Johnno was was asked the ridiculously stoopid question on whether he could name all the players he played with in his last game - the 2012 Grand Final victory - of course he could - rattling off the monikers in quick smart fashion for television.
Also of note was the Wagga boy Harry Cunningham playing his 100th game for the Swans.
Cunningham is yet another one of those super reliable performers who always plays under the radar, and can reel off a hundred games without anyone really noticing.
Harry's had the odd quiet one, but he's probably never had a bad game, even after missing most of last year with a foot, which is still giving him taffy.
The run home is not what you'd call easy by an stretch of the imagination for Sydney [8th], with Melbourne [4th] away at the G in a last gasp practice for the finals, then the Battle of the Bridge [Pygs 3rd] at Spotto!, then not bloody Hawthorn [5th] abloodygain, before going headlong into the maelstrom that is September. Woo.
Stave off Mad Monday for as long as you can, Lads - that's all you can do at this stage of proceedings - there's no opportunity left to play Ducks & Drakes.

Just a footnote on the Andrew Gaff [what a wonderfully appropriate name] v Andrew Brayshaw Perth Stadium altercation, that was quickly dubbed as "a moment of football madness".

By most reports - but not all - Gaff had had a "brain explosion" and OK, clocking a bloke cold well behind play, sending a few teeth flying and busting the poor bastard's jaw is a pretty low-dog act, and he got rubbed out for eight weeks for it, which is just about the right freight for mine, although you could argue that ten games is closer to half a season and would have sent a good message to jnr footballers that that sort of rubbish is just not on, but why oh why on earth do the Blowies in the Meejah still have to bring up that hoary ol' chestnut - the Barry Hall v Brent Staker king hit way back in 2008 - as if it's some kind of time-honoured benchmark of horrendousness, when there is simply no comparison?
Is that now all that Big Bad Barry will ever be remembered for?
Staker was a very well known serial pest who would just not shut up, and Bazza had simply had enough of him on the day, so he decked Staker simply to give him a fat lip to close his potty-mouthed gob, so he was unable to continue with his continual drivel-like sledging.
If you have a look at the archival footage, after Staker had gone down, BBB assumed the classic Barry Hall pose of both arms outstretched to the crowd as if to say "Wot? Me? What'd I do?"
Lance Frankin does it every time a free kick is awarded against him.
As Staker himself said of the wack on Perth radio mid-week "I've got no idea how it didn't draw claret".
Barry must be absolutely sick to death of that one being bought up every damn time someone gives somebody one on the chops, putting his stellar, if slightly troubled, career in the shade.
Will no one remember Bazza as the only bloke to have kicked a hundred goals or more for three different clubs, being an All-Australian four times, and yes friends, he actually did Captain the Swans in the Grand Final of the Miracle Year 2005, not mention being a fully paid up Life Member of the AFL, or that he's an inductee into the freakin' AFL Hall of Fame - Hall's in the Fame - for crying out loud.
His Very Big Badness has been firmly ensconced in the Swans' Pantheon for many years anyway, regardless of his foibles.

All is forgiven, remember?

SYDNEY: 3.2, 4.4, 9.6, 11.7 (73). Goals: Franklin 6, Dawson 2, Kennedy, Ronke, McCartin.
COLLINGWOOD: 4.1, 7.3, 7.6, 10.11 (71). Goals: Varcoe 4, Hoskin-Elliott 2, Cox, Daicos, Sidebottom, B.Grundy.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 39,238.

There is always a particular pleasure to be derived from the Mighty Balmain Tiges beating the hapless Newcastle Knights away.
The International Sports Centre in Newcastle has an ambivalent place in my heart; going there many times as a cub sports reporter during my time living in "Newy", but as a partisan Tiges spectator the last time the ground was graced with my presence it just so happened that moi was very seriously pissed throughout, and the only memory that remains is that Balmain lost.
But my abiding memory of the joint was back in 1990, attending a crucial game and having the misfortune of sitting on the hill with a small group of other Balmain fans, and we were targeted throughout by the local rowdies at the back of the hill, and in the second half when it became well apparent that Newcastle were going to lose, Knights supporters started to gob on us, and it'll be very hard to forget, let alone forgive, leaving the ground with a Balmain cap covered in the spittle of Newcastle fans - all class, those people.
So it was with delight that my portable light-weight bush telegraph that I had transported to Samoa lit up with the words from My Spy at The Ground: "Tigers up by 9. Newcastle lose at home, again".
What with jet lag and the time difference, it would have been a tough ask to see the Friday night game live on the satellite TV in some dingy bar in Apia, and while Samoans playing in the Rugby League are very well respected at home, it's Rugby Union that is undoubtedly king; everywhere you go you see hand-painted signs saying GO MANU! [the name of the national team].
In the meantime, there are few things worse in football than some utter utter bastard club sacking their useless coach, and then coming along blatantly trying to steal the coach of the team you support.
And it's happening as we speak.
Penrith punted Anthony Griffen as Head Honcho after the weekend with immediate effect for some entirely inexplicable unexplained reason as his team is well inside the Top 8 at the pointy end of the season, and then come out publicly and say they have put a handsome three year contract on the table for the Balmain coach Ivan "Clearly It's" Cleary.
Hang on a bit here, doesn't Cleary have another two-and-a-half years left on his contract at Leichhardt?
Little wonder the Balmain Club Secretary, Justin Pascoe, told the Panthers they could shove that idea clean up their runter, informing the fishwraps "this club will not be pushed aside or bullied or railroaded by anyone" and "we're not going to let anyone come in and just poach our coach without a fight and we're going to fight tooth and nail to keep Ivan. We're not going to release him."
Go in hard Pascoe, take no nonsense.
Who cares if Cleary's son Nathan is the star half-back at Penrith? Or that going back to the foot of the mountains would turn the wagon wheel full circle?
Penrith sacked Cleary after they narrowly avoided the Wooden Spoon at the end of the 2015 season, for Chrissake - and now they want him back? All is forgiven? WTF?
That's something virtually unheard of in the entire history of the rugby league universe; re-hiring sacked coaches.
It's obviously that devious shonky buffoon Phil "Gus" Gould who's behind all of this - 110% - so here's hoping that dead-set shyster is in for yet another massive fail.
Up yours, Chocolate Soldiers.

NEWCASTLE KNIGHTS 16. Tries: Mata'utia, Ponga, Guerra. Goals: Sio (1).
WESTS TIGERS 25. Tries: Packer, Brooks, Farah. Goals: Marsters (7). Field Goals: Brooks (1).
At International Sports Centre, Newcastle.
Crowd: 18,561.

a breakfast of kippers on heavily buttered toast

Screaming Believers,

As the two Wimbledon men's finalists were enjoying a breakfast of kippers on heavily buttered toast and a pot of tea, the competitors in Le Tour were sleeping off the cocktails of drugs and alcohol from the night before ahead of tackling the pavé to Roubaix, and all of France and Croatia were a quivering mass of nerve endings anticipating the World Cup final in Moscova, a pretty good game of football was being played at Docklands in Melbourne.
The Swans were fully fighting North right down to the last 100 seconds of the match and supporters of the Red and the White were going apeshit.
A perfect storm of world sport's hysteria.

It was undoubtedly the best game of footy Sydney has played this season.
My Spy At The Ground [who needed a very stiff whisky afterwards to get over the nervous excitement] had at least seven other operatives working the stands for this one, but they were all in such a state of tension, stress, freak-out, then elation, that they were rendered useless and left speechless, and only the sounds of wild a hootin' and a hollerin' could be heard coming down the line on the Bush Telegraph.
By the looks of the faces of the disappointed, nay, shattered 'Roos fans in the stands on the telly, they most likely would not have appreciated a rousing rendition of "What's It Like to Lose at Home?"
The Stats Guru was quick to point out that North hasn't beaten South at Docklands in more than a decade, suggesting the Tin Shed should be made Sydney's home ground forthwith, forget the SCG.
The Swans have a deserved reputation as the Heart Attack Kids, so my cardiologist should really warn me off this game for life, after yet another nail-biting topsy-turvy cliff-hanger - Swans two goals up at half time, two goals down at the end of The Champo, but they had more legs to boot a quite extraordinary six goals in the denouement and win by a single straight kick.
Joy on a stick.


Of course, Sydney came into the thing after having rings run around them by Richmond and Geelong and being soundly beaten in the previous two games - ruining their perfect away record - and leaving the Swans battle-wounded as the number of patients in Sick Bay continues to mount alarmingly, and now the team's field marshal, JPK, seems to have aggravated his Shagger's Back, and could be out for a game or two.
Don't usually name names in a side where the "best" below the scorebox should read "All Played Well", but for the first time in weeks the mid-field played up, with Heeney The Cardiff Zucchini leading the way; the most thuggish-looking man in the team, Gentleman Jones, thrusting forward; The Goal Kicker From North Adelaide in the Childe Hayward running rampant; and The Pearl Papley looking pretty in the crumbs.
Even without wise old heads in Odd Head McVeigh and Reg Grundy's love child, the replacement backs still built Sydney's trade mark brick wall, while up front the 20-year-old kid Ben "The Ronk" Ronke has the makings of one of the toughest, smartest goalsneaks in the game, and was Best on Ground for mine.
Speaking of young things, 18-year-old Tom McCartin, who comes from Tasmanian Football Royalty, is turning out to be Draft Pick of the Year and has a long and distinguished career ahead of him.

The best ding-dong-go of the day had to be to the pairing of the strikingly jet black Sudanese refugees in Aliir "Chands" Aliir ranging across the Swans half-back line, going head-to-head against Majak Daw coming off the bench into North's forwards.
Who would have thought of such a thing, just a few short years ago?
They took turns beating each other, trying to out-lead, out-mark and out-fox on the run for the ball and all arms and legs in the scrimmages - both played great - but you can't go past Daw kicking four to win that stoush, on a losing side.
We've all doubts about them, but when their athleticism clicks, they are well in it.

And all the while through the first half, Buddy was trying very hard not to score his 900th goal, busy feeding the forwards for others to have a ping at the big ones, as if he didn't particularity want the adulation.
He's No.1, and he knows it, but there's a job to do.
The kick that finally made the milestone was a textbook Lance Franklin set shot from 50m; the long run-up, a few steps to the left, then bang! The ball comes off the left boot aimed high, wide and handsome as the pill gracefully arcs back in, to go straight through the high diddle-diddle.
What a corker!
900 x 6 = fifty four hundred and fifty points on the scoreboard, and that had the Stats Guru in paroxysms - giving Buddy a flying chance at making it beyond 1100 career goals, and retiring a very wealthy man indeed, touch wood.
The result appears to be the hinge on which the season swings - injury toll or no injury toll - they're in the top four with 69% of the season gone, so September action seems all but assured.
And that's saying something, coming from the eternal pessimist.
Keep that banjo tuned.

NORTH MELBOURNE: 5.1, 6.2, 12.5, 15.8 (98). Goals: Ziebell 5, Brown 4, Daw 4, Macmillan, Hrovat.
SYDNEY: 3.1, 8.3, 10.6, 16.8 (104). Goals: Ronke 5, Franklin 3, Hayward 2, Heeney 2, Papley, Cunningham, Fox, Aliir.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 25,633.


And...when too much sport is barely enough...it's not often you get the satisfaction of both yr football teams winning on the same day and it was the first time this season that the Swans and Balmain played simultaneously, so only caught fleeting glimpses of the rugby league telecast from one of the few grand old heritage suburban grounds left in the game, Kogarah Jubilee Oval, in the ad breaks during the Rules.
But by all accounts it was the day that Robbie 'The Best Leb In The Game' Farah achieved sweet revenge against the former coach, [Jason "Squeak" Taylor where are you now?] who outrageously and cruelly hounded him out of the club through no fault of his own [they just hated each others guts] - by playing an absolute blinder for Man-of-the-Match, with his deft dummy-half work and trade-mark short kicking game.
It was the Old Band back together again on a Mission from God, with the Great Farah in déjà vu mode, and his magnificent old partnership with The Great Benji Marshall now back and rolling again.
They hadn't played together for Balmain in 1,772 days.

It is still impossible to believe that two blokes who featured in Balmain's glorious Grand Final Victory of 2005 are still playing, both thinking they would never return to Leichhardt after taking off to earn their pensions in the wilderness of other clubs before retirement, and then being coaxed back to their Spiritual Home in a masterstroke by coach Clearly It's Cleary.
The maths don't work here - you've got a 33-year-old and 34-year-old playing with a new lease of life that no one thought even remotely possible.
Mr Cleary is well aware of the club's history and tradition, and it must have something to do with them now having a very significant place in it - both stars being Life Members - however, he's no sentimentalist, and neither should a coach be.
If they can both hold a place in the first grade side, then they richly deserve a last hurrah, if not, they can rest easy on their laurels.
It warms the cockles of a die-hard Balmain fan of 30 years standing to see things put right.

And to make things sweeter than a nut, the Mighty Tiges haven't beaten the Saints at Kogarah since 2005, also, and the Dragons was where Benji washed up before his Lazarus act [after a really silly really stupid totally avoidable gim-crack argument with the dysfunctional Balmain Board over money].
It's just such a pity it's probably come too late for everyone - on 8-9 and a bye with seven games to go, it's going to be a toughie to make the finals from here, but the draw is reasonably favourable, so see what happens, eh, bru?
Farah played so well that other jokers are now trash-talking him, with Sam Burgess of the South Sydney Rabbitoh's [who released Farah back to Balmain] reported as threating to "go him" in this week's time-honoured blood match.
While Burgess is a big, ugly, nasty bruising Pom; good luck, Sam.

ST GEORGE ILLAWARRA DRAGONS 16. Tries: Hunt, Widdop, Dufty. Goals: Widdop (2).
WESTS TIGERS 20. Tries: Brooks, Thompson, Nofoaluma. Goals: Marsters (4).
At Jubilee Oval, Kogarah.
Crowd: 15,992.

oh no, Pup's out of a job

Whingers,

As the footy season ploughs on, with the Mighty Tiges yet again out of the rugby league frame despite the triumphant return of the Best Leb in the Game to The Spiritual Home at Leichhardt, and the well-placed Sydney Swans now at very serious risk of having a season cruelled by injury and producing a bitter winter of discontent, it's now perhaps time to dream of the summer game and those warm, lazy, hazy days in the sun.

Never mind that Straya are now fielding the B team, as the Terrible Treacherous Trio have been getting in some match practice in what might as well be cricket injun country where sandpaper is legal - Canada [currently in the ICC's 17 member Americas Division along with other world cricket powerhouses such as the Turks and Caicos Islands, Costa Rica and Belize - a Sydney 1st grade side would beat Canada in a canter], it's come to my attention that Pup is out of a job.
You heard right, no longer to be heard or seen on the telly above the thwack of willow on leather, as flanneled fools cavort about the village green.
With the Seven Network having rudely pinched the cricket rights off Nine's Wide World of Sports, sending Mr Packer into a 78rpm spin in the his poor shallow grave, there's no room for MJ Clarke in the commentary box anymore it seems.
Always had my doubts about the meejah caper as a post-game career for the great man; a cricket brain the size of a watermelon to be sure, but that whining little voice was harsh on the ear, and he was never ever popular with the General Public who took a dim view of his first engagement to L.Bingle for some completely unfathomable reason, and he had an undeserved reputation among cricket followers as a stuck-up prick, smart arse and wise guy.
It was would be of no surprise at all to now see Clarkey relocate full-time to India, where he is fêted like God - as the greatest batsman of his generation should be - and he's been spending months at a time there anyway, lately with Star TV on the IPL.
Not much point staying at home when yr treated like offal.
And Michael could always just retire to obscurity on some blissful tropical island as a welathy absentee landlord and real estate baron, and no-one would notice.

But Pup is not the only casualty in the drama, oh no siree; Chappelli, Tubby, Heals, Warnie, and that almighty English dick-wad Mark Nicholas have all been brushed by Seven as has-beens and are now lining-up down at Centrelink, with only Slats being offered a job.
They would never ever be able to coax Bill Lawry across - he was an extremely loyal Packer man and wouldn't be seen dead at Seven, content now at age 81 to remain where it's all happening in his pigeon loft for the rest of his born days.
Seven have got Tim Lane [now a "veteran broadcaster" at 66], James Brayshaw [who can ever forget Jimmy's stellar 75 match Sheffield Shield career?], and Alison Mitchell on ball-by-ball, and a bevvy of superstars in RT Ponting AO, GD McGrath AM, MJ Slater, DW Fleming, JN Gillespie, SM Katich, BJ Hodge, GS Blewett and DP Nannes in the 'experts' chairs.
What a line up!
Ricky is widely acknowledged to be as boring as batshit, Flemo is all over the shop like a mad dog's breakfast, Whispering Ooh-Ahh is just Ooh-Ah, the last time anyone ever heard of Dizzy he was hooking big barra in the Top End, The Super Kat will strangle someone or something, Hodgo is there to sharpen up his undoubted skills at giving the selectors a spray, Blewy comes to TV via an undistinguished career in commercial radio, and Dirksey's only claim to fame is a rumour that he once played for the Netherlands.
You've got to be super excited to point of drooling in expectation about all those fresh faces telling it like it is.
Might have to just carry on regardless as usual, and switch on the steampunk powered wireless - the set still works, and wild out-of-control speculation that the Strayan Broadcasting Commission would be stripped and robbed of the radio rights proved to be unfounded.

The photogenic and very well qualified Pommy, Alison Mitchell, is of note, being added to the Seven team "not because she's a woman" but in the name of politically correct gender balance.
It's 35 years since a female was last heard regularly in that masculine bastion of a television cricket commentary box in this country, the last one of course being the great Kate Fitzpatrick way back in '83.
Everybody was scratching their heads back in the day as to how Kate managed to land a job as a cricket spruiker as she came from a background as a popular stage and screen actress, people worried desperately if she had some kind of extra-curricular relationship happening with KFB Packer, and she seemed to rub the Old School Tie brigade up the wrong way everyday anyway, so she only lasted a single season.
Given that Kate is now 70, it might be too much of an ask of her to make a comeback as an Honourary Grand Dame.
Shame.