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.
