the ‘Feuded With Michael Clarke’ XI

Aficionado's,

The Chairman and the Three Wise men have found themselves between a rock and a hard place, as the new cricket season hasn't exactly got off to a great start, despite the Mighty Blue Bags winning their first four games in the Shield outright at almost full strength and all but booking a place in the final before December. When NSW cricket is strong, Strayan cricket is strong, eh? Three blokes have cracked in November, and can't play on. And none of them have done a hammy. These sort of things can be career-enders. Not the first, nor the last, to have their heads done in; that's no place to be and there's no fun there when you're like that. This does not auger well. With two of the absentees in almost certain test contention, the selectors had to be disturbed from their slumber to do some hasty re-thinking for a squad to take on Azhar Ali's Paki's [btw it's pleasing to see Imran Khan's love child and namesake making a comeback at 32 after two years in the wilderness.] And then Jimmy Pattinson gets rubbed out for one match for calling an opposition player a homo - the third time he's called blokes names in a Shield game this calendar year. Doh. Then Smiffy gets reported, and cops a "code of conduct" and a fine for dissent, failing to remember the fundamental principle that The Man in White is Always Right. It seems they just can't help themselves. Given that the first four picked [SPD Smith, DA Warner, PJ Cummins, JR Hazlewood] are carrying the can for the team, the pickings are on the rather slim side. Yet again. And eight of the players in the squad are 29 or older. Where are the gifted 16-year-old tear-aways?

Amongst the droppee's post-Ashes, it was most disappointing to see the Token Muzzie brushed. The Ooz Man has once again been treated disgracefully by the selectors [he does average 40 in Tests after all], even though it never helps having a poor Ashes, moving to Queensland, ever, and making F-all early-season domestic runs. But you'd have to sincerely hope they aren't going to hang the "has-been" placard around Khawaja's neck. If you want to know about cricket being a cruel game, just ask Tokes, he'll tell you. You are in constant danger of being shoved out the back door without so much as a sausage. In the never ending quest for another opener, Harry Harris has been the victim of having his card marked "not quite a Test cricketer". JoBru Burns comes back from the bush for another shot at opening, despite having next to no form, purely on a horses for courses basis. No surprises either that the patsy in Sandpapergate and therefore the third "cheater" in the squad, Cam 'Bonkers' Bancroft, comes back with Alfie playing favourites and Chairman Trev saying "he can bat anywhere". That, after ten tests as an opener? Redeem one, and you have to redeem them all, is the only other explanation. Mike Neser is no bolter and no rookie and has been bought in to replace the perpetual 12th man Sids as the traditional "entertainment officer", handling important duties such as preparing the trays of powerful gin & tonics. The poster boy for the banana industry, PM Siddle's laugh-a-minute demeanour will be sorely missed, but he'll happily admit he's been carrying the drinks for a bit too long.

The Summer comes after the very close run thing that was the 2-2 Ashes in the Old Dart. Memorable only for Smiffy playing right out of his brain and getting Bradmanesque-like averages while his partner in crime Burbs Warner picked up a very bad dose of The Yips. Ian Baker-Finch came to mind; couldn't play the shots he'd mastered on the practice greens. Warner was obviously suffering under the ban on punching out Joe Root for being an obnoxious Pom in some bar room brawl in Birmingham, after which he made a mountain of runs. Never mind that the middle order failed miserably, often, or that Hazo and Cummo carried the attack under difficult circumstances bowling out Pommies and winning a couple of matches. It was not like the Glory Days of a five-nil thumping, 2006-07 style. Who will ever forget the "Never in Doubt" Test in Adelaide, when England declared their first innings closed at 500+, and still lost. The Great Warnie, Ooh Aah Glenn McGrath and Alfie Langer all retired, while Damo Martyn drifted off the face of the planet mid-season without explanation at the peak of his powers, never to be seen again. Stresscothick lost his shit after two tour games, and went home before the first Test, which he knew would mentally destroy him. Pup tonked a couple of classy tons and was never again dropped by Straya, while Roy Symonds went north in search of the ever elusive Barra and became a shadow of his former self. Things moved in mysterious ways that summer.

Which brings us around to the inevitable question. What would Pup do? Given that he eschewed a spot on the selection panel whenever he could, not much. Clarkey said practically said nothing on the ESPNSTAR TV commentary of the Ashes that was remotely memorable and he was sparely used, now that he likes to keep well out of the limelight in his home country, preferring the Sub-Continent where he is considered one of the deities in the Hindu sect which has cricket as its cult. Sachin is God, of course, but Pup sits right with him at the Long Table along with a host of other living luminaries. And why not spend most of your ample spare time in India, when you've retired too early, where you can really easily soak up the "star factor"? Pushing snake oil on Wagner vitamins TV commercials, and appearing in magazines wearing a Hublot watch can't be that hard, surely? No-one asks for Michael's opinion in Australia anymore - never did really - which is par for the course, given the best batsman of his generation's shabby treatment from the General Public, who've put in 15 solid years of wholehearted detestation of the bloke for reasons known only to The Great Unwashed. No wonder he's sodded off.

So for the utter, hopeless tragic, the following snippet is shamelessly clipped from the little known and poorly read website, cricket365 https://www.cricket365.com/, who've highlighted the speculation involved in selection in times of difficulty with this splendid idea...picking the ‘Feuded With Michael Clarke’ XI. All eleven, top to bottom. Simon "Strangler" Katich? First picked. Captain:

"A theoretical cricket team selected solely for the fun of it, often under some ludicrous self-imposed constraint.
It’s a harmless and entertaining menial diversion – the cricket selection equivalent of doing a crossword puzzle, claiming to be gluten-sensitive or solving a sudoku. It’s a piece of play not just beloved by the dregs of fandom, but endorsed by as revered a figure as Sir Donald Bradman.
Bradman himself, whose selection of an all-time XI for the book 'Bradman’s Best’ featured five specialist batsmen, two spinners, Don Tallon (Test batting average 17.1) batting at six and, wildly, given the evidence at hand, a cover blurb by Richie Benaud declaring ‘Sir Donald was the best selector I came across in the game anywhere in the world’.
(Bradman, by the way, would qualify for two out of the three XIs mentioned above, and surely only misses out on the third because Clarke was still two years away from his Test debut when The Don passed away)."

You be the judge.

another winter of discontent dissolves into Mad Monday

Exhaustee's,

The insanely fanatical resilience of the rusted-on life-long die-hard Balmain supporter has never been in question, even in the most trying of circumstances. The faithful will travel from miles around to be at the Spiritual Home, Leichhardt Oval, for their religious experience. The devoted will pack themselves together on that Hill, like sardines in a tin, and become this writhing, heaving, screaming mass of humanity that has a life all its own [see above]. Adherents of the Mighty Tiges let everyone know they have come for just one thing. To worship at the altar of a Tigers victory. And still they come, tumbling down from the Balmain Road or climbing "heartbreak hill" up from the Parramatta River and pouring in through the Mary St turnstiles, at even the slightest whiff of more glory for Balmain. At the appointed time, there's a crowd surge as serious pre-loaders leaving the Orange Grove Hotel [where drinking in the middle of the street is not unknown on match days], marching in colours, with flags waving, taking the short cut through the old Rozelle lunatic asylum [which has always been tastefully referred to as the "mental hospital"], arriving at the Glover St gates at the back of the Hill in the unshakeable hope of another magnificent Tiges triumph. And still they come, Balmain supporters are everywhere, and all of them will tell you they'd rather be at Leichhardt Oval on a Sunday arvo. Said it before, say it again, it is without a doubt the best viewing ground for rugby league in Sydney, and possibly the world. The last of the great suburban grounds. Ever since it was literally blasted out of the cliff face as a Great Depression work creation project with the rubble used to smooth out and fortify the Hill and build a swimming pool below in 1934, it's had iconic status. The idea of creating a large artificial amphitheatre for the game - where the spectators are more or less on top of the players - was a brilliant one. Improvements, tho', have been few and far between. Spectator facilities [highlighted by the 1950's era brick latrines without bog holes at the side of the Hill] have always been sub-standard, there's never been any car parking, the desultory scoreboard has its own idiosyncrasies and a famous bar, the Norman "Latchem" Robinson Stand was a 1970's monolithic mistake, and the original white-ant-eaten dinky little wooden Keith Barnes Stand, which holds only a thousand folks or so, has always been occupied by Tiges legends and club worthies on their way to The Pantheon. Most of the hallowed ground is standing room only for the hoi polloi. Despite none of it meeting any of the National Rugby League's criteria as a suitable up-to-code 'stadium' worth having matches at, and despite it being left in wrack and ruin as the autocrats at the Powers That Be have long been threatening it with closure as a waste of maintenance money - to howls of protest - the Spiritual Home endures. It's very hard to close an institution.

The final game of the season was a sell-out a couple of weeks prior, given that Robbie "The Best Leb in the Game" Farah was due to play his 303rd and final game before retirement. And it was do or die, the last throw of the dice to make the finals. Punters flocked to the ground doubts that Farah would even play, as he'd put a hairline fracture through his tibia 26 days previous and therefore had to "play on a busted leg". Robbie was ruled out of the game on match day morning, meaning he would have to do his lap of honour in a suit and tie.Then, ten minutes before kick off, Super Coach Mr Magoo dramatically pulled the trigger and decided to risk being a player down, and he put Robbie on the bench so he would indeed play his final game. Nobody expected the Great Man to come on much before ten minutes from the end and throw the ball about a bit from dummy half, and that's pretty much what happened. Fans got to say their much anticipated farewells to the Living Legend, and whether it was a tactical mistake picking a player who might as well have come on in a wheel chair is neither here nor there in hindsight. It's not every day of the week that your team - with everything to play for before a capacity crowd - is comprehensively outplayed and robbed blind by the Umpires. They had to beat Scummo's Cronulla-Sutherland Sharks by any margin to make it into 8th on the final ladder. [In a quirk of the table, a draw would have seen both teams go through the finals at the expense of Brisbane, but that result would have been clear cut case of match fixing, so it was never on]. It was victory, or nowheresville. But it never looked like it was on. Balmain didn't show up to play, were lacklustre from the off, despite taking the early lead with penalty goals, and then the refs turned against them, with the Bamfords constantly blowing the whistle for obscure technical infractions of the rules that no-one else could make any sense of, and the Sharks were given free ground to get away with four tries free gratis. There is no other sound in the world quite like a deafening Leichhardt Oval crowd going absolutely apeshit when Balmain scores - and in this case there was but one opportunity to go off one's tits.

So, for the eighth season in a row, emotional disconsolate fans filed out of the ground holding back tears, kicking the dirt with their boots. Yet again, no finals appearance. Another winter of discontent dissolves into Mad Monday. The screaming mob had yet again failed to spur the team on, and the usual 10 point home ground advantage at Leichhardt just did not materialise. For those of us who've been around a while, the Miracle Year of 2005, when they won the Premiership coming from stone motherless last mid season to finish fourth on the final ladder, slowly recedes further and further from the memory, the Grand final losses of 1988 and 1989 are in real and present danger of being lost in the mists of time, while the most famous Premiership victory of all in 1969 has now been consigned to the dustbin of ancient history.

Ah well, as they say in the classics..."there's always next year".

WESTS TIGERS 8. Tries: Garner. Goals: Momirovski (2).
CRONULLA-SUTHERLAND SHARKS 25. Tries: Feki (2), Nikora, Morris. Goals Johnson (3). Field Goals: Gallen (1).
At Leichhardt Oval.
Crowd: 19,491.

the End of an Era, and that's no lie...

Die Hards,

The premature end to the Swans season was so cherry ripe for nostalgia it was sweet & juicy. As the Stats Guru was quick to point out, a 300 gamer and no less than three 200 gamers all bowing out on the same weekend, with two of them playing their last games in another bloke's 300th. A promoter's dream. It's not every day of the week that you see a hero's chair-off, let alone a double chair-off, or a triple, and in this case a quintuple chair-off. Yep... Jarred McVeigh, Kieren Jack, Heath Grundy, Nick Smith and Lance Franklin; all five hoisted on shoulders before the emotion-charged laps of honour.

Of course, Buddy batted away his 300th as if it was just like any other game. He's now an automatic AFL Life Member, entitling him to enter the Members Enclosure at any ground, and never having to pay for his lunch for the rest of his born days. Amid the richly deserved accolades, Lance quickly forgot that he'd spent half the season in Sick Bay after doing himself various mischief's, declaring that he's more than willing and able to play on until he's 85. And who could blame him? He really starts to hit pay-dirt next year when his massively backloaded contract money starts to kick in, with three years left on the nine-year $10M something deal. What's not to like about that? Brings 'em in through the gates, and he'll kick a thousand goals standing on his head.

The Great Jarred "Odd Head" McVeigh was probably the lynch-pin in the rightly famous "Sydney brick wall" style defence that got them to the flag in 2012. At the height of his illustrious career, Odd Head's ability as a stopper was impeccable and impenetrable and he looked as if he was born to it. Staunch comes close as a word to describe his feats. Back in the day when the game revolved around the idea of stopping the opposition from getting on the scoreboard, McVeigh was in his element as every forward he ever played on knew they were in for a hard day at the office. And he did all 300+ games as one of the cleanest players going around; hardly every gave away a free kick and never appeared down at The Tribunal, while going clean through the toilet in the Brownlow voting because Umpires only like pretty boys, not the hard working domestique. He reserved himself a pedestal in the Pantheon a long time ago now - only a very good opponent could get around him and right to the end he was still outfoxing the clever younger ones despite having lost a yard or two in pace. But eventually his body gave out on him and at the end of his last game he appeared like he had nothing; completely-fucked, buggered, rooted and a hot mess of tears, completely overcome by the moment, after a game of footy that must have been hell for him to play in. A world of pain right there. But the look of sheer joy on his odd face when he scored a very rare goal after being told to push forward in his bowing-out match and try for one, was priceless. You couldn't feel happier for a bloke if you tried. One for the ages. And it looks like J.McVeigh is going to lurk around in the shadows at the back of the box learning how to be a backs coach at the Swans. And why not? Makes sense. He's seen it all. It aint over yet.

The Great Kieren Jack was always a highly improbable success story. Spawned as he was by rugby league royalty and Balmain champion, The Great Gary Jack [undoubtedly the best rugby league full-back in the world at the time and the best Balmain No.1 in living memory], soon enough, Jack Jnr realised that he wasn't much good at this league caper. Then someone worked out that his eye-hand coordination might be better off in the Rules, to which he bought the fleet footedness and rugged defence of his father. Who'd have thought that on debut K.Jack would go on to play 264 first grade games, all of them for his home town? Sadly, he played on for a year too long, got hurt, and ended up not being picked for the Seniors in the back half of this season, and along with McVeigh, was only selected because it was to be his final game with the season gone. But, back in the day when the mid-fielder was King and reigned supreme, Jack Jnr had it all; the world at his feet with that great go forward from the scrimmages, darting in and out all over the shop with his lightning turn of pace, a ripping mark who took his fair share of screamers, whilst loving bringing down opposition mid-fielders like sacks of potatoes, again, just like his father. Although you'd expect that he's broken his nose far fewer times than Dad Gary, who now boasts a conker of super-substantial proportions. It must've been tough to play in that very long parental shadow, let alone in a "different game", never mind getting admired by those of us who follow both codes. And he's got smarts, having done an MBA while playing, and now professes "I'd really love to run a footy club one day". K.Jack, Salut! Admitted to the Swans Pantheon, forthwith. It aint over yet.

The Great Reg Grundy has already been covered to bits in these pages over the years as Odd Head's partner in crime during the Glory Days. The love child of a man who was among the chosen few and a good Norwood boy, Heefy became a superstar backman with a uniquely languid old-fashioned style and ended up as one of the club's elite champions, for which there is a special corner reserved in the Pantheon. Sadly, his glittering career also petered out in Sick Bay and he appeared at the ground in a regulation Swans suit and tie, along with the "forgotten man"...

The Great Nick Smith. As far as is known, no-one ever wrote a single word about Nick Smith in any of the Melbourne papers, ever. He was just never the kind of player to attract any attention; he had a job to to do and he got on with it. A distinction he holds in high regard is the fact that he's the only player in history to play 200 games without scoring a single Brownlow vote, but it's difficult to recall if Smiffy ever played bad game. One of the best back-pockets to grace a football ground in history - Mr Reliable personified - and by all accounts, a champion club-man, loved by all. It's just so easy to forget he was integral part of the "brick wall" that played in that pennant winning side of 2012.

Then there were two - just a pair of survivors from that '12 Grand Final side now, who will play on next year - JPK and Beanpole Reid. [Not counting Parker, who was picked as the reserve for that game, but didn't play].

Well, that's more than enough nostalgia for a year - nay, a decade - which has now come to an end...not in harsh words and bitter recriminations that some other clubs that failed to make the finals went on with, oh no. They were in the mood to warm the cockles of the hearts of the die-hard rusted-on; a fairytale finish to the season, not going out with no whimper, but with a genuine dead-set End of an Era. Those blokes over there with the binoculars looking out at the horizon with those far away eyes are realistically thinking about 2022, and what sweet timing that would be - a decade between premierships.

And it'd be a safe bet that Mad Monday was one of the better ones in years.

SYDNEY: 6.2, 6.3, 11.4, 17.7 (109). Goals: Franklin 4, McCartin 3, Kennedy 2, Papley 2, Parker 2, Blakey, Rowbottom, McVeigh, Jack.
ST KILDA: 2.5, 5.9, 7.12, 8.16 (64). Goals: Bruce 2, Ross 2, Membrey, Long, Steven, Steele.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 33,722.

Meantime, over in Tigerville, the rugby league season continues to blunder on, starting earlier and finishing later than the AFL. And, as if by some miracle, The Mighty Tiges chances of reaching the finals remain alive. The meagre crowd of faithful who turned out at the Cambelltown Sports Ground were going absolutely apeshit at half time, after some routine Benji Marshall magic had them leading the hapless Knights 30-0. And they continued with the steamroller treatment after the break, toying with the Knights before taking the foot off the pedal. That said, if you can't beat Newcastle at Campbelltown, then you might as well pick up your ball and go home. As everyone knows, it's been a long time between drinks for the Tiges, and if they make the Top 8 it will be the first time they've got there in eight long years. How long have you been hearing that Balmain are a goddamn hard team to follow? The Miracle Year of 2005 is now in clear & present danger of being lost in the mists of time. There's two matches to go, both eminently winnable, and they really must keep on winning, for a change, to be in with a shot at just sneaking in at the pointy end of the season. Then, all bets are off and anything could happen.

You can't buy tickets to the last match of the regular season against Scummo's Sharks at the Spiritual Home - Leichhardt Oval - for love nor money. With the Best Leb in the Game appearing in his final game in prospect, the joint sold out mid-week. Hope still springs eternal, for those of us who should know better.

WESTS TIGERS 46. Tries: Nofoaluma (3), Matterson, Jennings, Marsters, Garner, Chee-Kam. Goals: Momirovski (7).
NEWCASTLE KNIGHTS 4. Tries: Guerra.
At Campbelltown Sports Ground.
Crowd: 11,107.

the fire in the belly

The Great Robbie Farah sits on the historic Wayne Pearce scoreboard at Leichhardt Oval ahead of his 300th game. Publicity shot: NRL Photos.

Grandstanders,

It was only fitting that The Great Robbie "The Best Leb in the Game" Farah should score a try in his 300th match in the National Rugby League. And it was a trademark try from dummy half too. Farah, without fear of contradiction, has been among the very best dummy halves of his generation; it's very difficult for any defence to figure out which way he's going to switch the ball, or who it's going to go to, how long or short he goes, or if he throws the dummy and decides to go himself. The crash or crash through set play in a desperate attempt to ground the ball in the in-goal before half dozen man mountains pile on top of him and try and roll him on his back. He's done it dozens of times in his 69 tries, and it's not even his job to score tries. Being the team point-man, directing traffic, is usually a thankless task, but Robbie brings a rare flair to the position. And he's one of the finest exponents of the deft little inside flick pass as he's hoofing it on the blind side. And he played the full 80 minutes in his 300th as the Tigers never had another hooker to pick on the bench. That takes genuine courage given his advanced years. At least the team came up trumps for him - unlike losing The Great Benji's 300th a couple of weeks ago - in a see-sawing, nail-biting cliff-hanger that would have seen off most of Balmain's cardiac patients.

The Stats Guru was moved by the occasion to go through some very early scoresheets and reckons Farah is probably the only Balmain junior who's appeared in 300, coming from the fine stock that he does. Born in Campsie, playing his all his jnr footy for the Enfield Federals and the Leichhardt Wanderer's, and debuting for the Mighty Tiges as a 19 year old in 2003, just like his partner in crime, the Great Benji Marshall. He was front and centre in the Miracle Year 2005 and had a glittering representative career, hooking for Straya, among the first picked for New South Wales at the peak of his powers [2010] and Lebanon; yep, Lebanon [7 matches]. His first and last appearances for the Cedars are worth noting in passing only because they spanned an astonishing 17 years. Farah is very much in favour of honour, bravery, blood, guts & glory, and he epitomises them all.

These pages are littered with crazed caustic rants about the worst coach inflicted on Balmain in living memory, Jason "Squeak" Taylor, a cruel, vindictive bastard if ever there was one, and his shameful and disgraceful hounding of Farah right out of the club. The tawdriness of the entire episode was beyond belief. [https://crazycraves.blogspot.com/2016/07/beneath-my-dignity.html].It was one of most appalling periods in club history in those bleak and lean years, support hit rock bottom, and it wasn't that long before the dysfunctional board were finally forced to act, and sack Squeak, under intense pressure from, and the eternal relief, of the long-suffering rusted-on supporters. [https://crazycraves.blogspot.com/2017/03/karmas-bitch-so-long.html].Robbie was forced kicking & screaming and in tears to take refuge at Souths, and played 26 half-hearted games in the Wilderness, before eventually being dropped, and running round in the Redfern reserves, a shadow of his former self. Thinking for all the world he was all washed up, Robbie was unexpectedly rescued and welcomed back to the Spiritual Home by current super coach Mr Magoo at the start of last year. And he's been playing out of his mind and out of his skin like a man possessed ever since his triumphant return. All's well, that ends well.

And then, mid week, to quell any rumour, Robbie promptly and with good grace and humour announces his retirement from he caper at the end of the season. Not because he hasn't got the fire in the belly anymore, it's just at age 35 his body is a shot bird. He admitted on interview that during the season for the last four years he's more or less been on the physio's bench 24/7 just to keep going in what is one of the most brutal sports on the planet, and his brother Eddie - who's the Chief Physio at the Rabbitoh's - is starting to get a bit tired of all that pro bono work he's been doing for him. Most people thought this year would have to be his last hurrah, but Robbie was honest enough to say he can't guarantee where his "headspace" will be next year and doesn't want to end up in a wheelchair. So, that's the End of an Era, right there. Leichhardt will be a lesser place without him, but The Great Robbie Farah can rest very easy on his laurels amongst the other god's in the Balmain Pantheon, to which he was admitted, along with The Great Benj, many many moons ago now. Thanks for the memories, mate. You won't be forgotten.


NEWCASTLE KNIGHTS 26. Tries: Ramien, Ponga, Hunt, Moga, Kenny-Dowall. Goals: Ponga (3).
WESTS TIGERS 28. Tries: Thompson (2), Marshall, Farah, Momirovski. Goals: Mbye (4).
At International Sports Centre, Newcastle.
Crowd: 21,029

After Tom "Farking" Hawkins kicked his 5th soft goal for the Cats, My Spy at the Ground tapped out mssg on the ticker tape "The Swans haven't replaced Reg Grundy Jnr" which is true. There is just no replacing long experience and large footy smarts overnight. But some of these new kids on the block are keepers - there's always one or three who make the grade every year - but it's when these rookies become 50 Gamers that the Red & White will be competitive again. just for a for instance, always though Callum "The Saw" Mills was the goods from first time he appeared; got all the skills for a backman and he'll replace Reg in due course. In this game where only pride, and most importantly, contracts are the only thing to play for, The Saw put in a Best on Ground showing in a losing side, for mine. They could have been flogged by ten without him. Everybody is making a song and dance about all the Swans veterans falling by the wayside this year and their only dedicated ruckman also doing himself a mischief, but the newbies will come on. Buddy won't play again this year after now coming down with a dose of sciatica, and he's got his hands full anyway, being a brand new father. The Supreme Optimist is dreaming of a new look side in the mix for the Top Four by 2022, and then, as Donald J Trump and New Zealanders keep saying..."we'll see what happens".

SYDNEY: 3.3, 6.5, 7.6, 12.8 (80). Goals: Dawson 3, Heeney 3, Ronke 2, Papley, Kennedy, Blakey, Parker.
GEELONG: 1.1, 6.5, 10.10, 16.11 (107). Goals: Hawkins 5, Clark 2, Dangerfield 2, Duncan 2, Ratugolea, S.Selwood, J.Selwood, Parsons, Atkins.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 32,911.

Footnote: As far as this bloggy-blog-blog thingy is concerned, the footy season might was well be dead, buried, & cremated and we've just arrived at August; oh woe is me, woe and the gnashing of teeth etc. However, seasons come and seasons go, and with The Ashes about to get underway in the Old Dart in the hope of long awaited redemption against The Old Enemy, folks will inevitably begin asking "What would Pup do?"

streaking towards immortality

Grandstanders,

It was only fitting, right and proper that a fully noood male streaker should appear on the ground with two minutes left in The Great Benji Marshall's 300th game of first-grade rugby league. It was like some kind of bizarre allegory of Benji as old man re-enacting his first appearances as a wild young man breaking free, letting it all hang out - the jink, the step, the weave...outfoxing his opponents at every turn...and then the soaring acrobatic leap through the air and clean across a veritable brick wall of defenders before crashing to the ground with a triumphant thud, deftly planting the ball in the in-goal, underneath the black dot for TRRRYYY! Sadly, the pudgy streaking basketcase who was rudely ejected from the ground clad only in a hi-viz vest half wrapped around his waist with his prodigious flabby arse still in clear view, was bought down in a crashing gang wedge tackle by some 6'9" Tongan security guards before he could reach and embrace his hero.

So, just where do you start on Benji's glittering career? How to do justice to it? The Stats Guru is having a field day with the numbers. Only four other players who have pulled on the Black & Gold at some stage or another in the 111 year history of the club have played more games. 89 tries, 402 goals, and 15 field goals speaks for itself. And usually you would not give a Kiwi an even break, but Benj has also played 28 test matches for New Zealand [only recently re-called after a seven year absence]. It was a shame the team contrived to lose in his 300th, but true to form, the dead set Superstar put on the final passes after orchestrating the set-plays for two tries, and came within inches of scoring himself. In the end, Benj was given an impromptu haka and chaired off. Enough said.

Call me a one-eyed Balmain tragic if you like, but It's not too far of a stretch to call Marshall the finest five-eighth of his generation, possessing a gifted talent, all the skills and then some, a football brain the size of a watermelon, and he's always been a superlative master in broken play - don't care what anyone says, running rugby league remains the finest sight in world sport. He had Class written all over him when he debuted in Match 1 back in the olden days of 2003 as an 18 year old, became famous as "The Entertainer" and "The Magician", and he certainly played that role beautifully in the Miracle Year 2005 towards that famous Grand Final victory against all odds. And he's as passionate about the game as he was 16 seasons ago. Too much old growth forest has been felled to tell the tawdry story of how Benj was forced out of the club in a stoopid disagreement over money that should have easily been resolved, then played 67 games in the Wilderness, before making a triumphant return to Leichhardt in 2018. He still wants another Premiership after all these years, but at age 34, he replied honestly on interview after the game on whether he would play on next year: "Dunno. Suppose they will want to talk to me about that soon." It matters little - been saying in these pages for yonks - the Great Man was admitted to the Balmain Pantheon of all-time out-and-out Legends a long long time ago, and can rest on his substantial wreath of laurels whenever he damn likes.

The memory remains vivid of when Benj was at the peak of his powers in 2011, finding myself in the latrines under the N.C. [Latchem] Robinson Stand at the Spiritual Home, Leichhardt Oval, straining the potatoes at half-time. Zipped the trousers and almost tripped over a Balmain supporter spreadeagled on the tiles, twitching, while on my way out. No-one was rushing to his aid, they were giving him a wide berth berth, so presuming the poor codger had just over-indulged somewhat, moved on. Soon enough, a bloke dressed in ancient beer-stained Tigers merch with wild hair and a half-crazed look in his eyes stumbled out of the dunnies and scabbed a smoke off me. [Attempting to make polite conversation] - "Did you see that bloke on the floor in there? Doesn't look in great shape, does he? [laughing]". The Wildman replied, "Nah, I just decked him". "What?! Whaddaya mean you just decked him? Why'd you punch him out, he's a Tigers fan?!" "Yeah, yeah, but he was telling everyone at the pisser that Marshall was having a bad game and could do much better in the second half, and no-one bags my Benji like that and gets away with it, so I decked him." Chugged my gasper as quickly as possible, and moved on. Astonished. Never mind back then when every kid on the block wanted to be Benj, that was the sort of true devotion the man inspires.

WESTS TIGERS 18. Tries: Nofoaluma (2), Thompson, Jennings. Goals: Mbye (1).
PARRAMATTA EELS 30. Tries: Takairangi (3), Ferguson. Goals: Moses (7).
At Western Sydney Stadium, Parramatta.
Crowd: 24,125.

And so, it's come to this.

Season over. Plan B, if there was one, never worked. This comes as a considerable shock to the Swans' rusted-on - just pride to play for and it's only July? No chance of going deep into September for the first time in a decade? Well, the Stats Guru - being the eternal optimist - reckons the "mathematical chance" remains. In the highly unlikely event that they win all their last six games, they'd finished the season at 12/10, which might be just enough, just, to scrape into the Top 8. However, after the embarrassing inability to beat - let alone flog senseless - the hapless second-last Carlton at HQ, the Red and the White know, deep within their heart of hearts, that they'll be had like kippers for breakfast by any genuine Premiership contender.

As the wheels fall off and teams drop out of contention like birds from trees in a heatwave, it's that "Coach Sacking Season" time of year again. Under normal circumstances, that would put Super Coach Horse under the proverbial cloud. Of course, Longmire unpragmatically calls Sydney home these days, and has knocked back a "big money offer" to nudge out his protégé Rick Shaw and take over the reins at North Melbourne. It's a decision he may yet come to regret. You can only go out to lunch on yr reputation for so long. What happens if the Swans board puts all sentiment and track record aside in the ruthless race for the top, and decides that SC Horse is all washed up at the end of another unsuccessful season in 2020, pulls the rug out from under his contract extension to 2023, and unceremoniously pushes him out the back door without so much as sausage? With quite a few old blokes due for retirement, and a mob of 18 year olds running around, the Swans won't be competitive again until 2022 at a minimum, so someone has to be thinking a breath of fresh air might be a good idea, surely? Just saying.

Never mind the future, back to the present. After the lamentable performance against Carlton in a bitterly cold, howling westerly gale that made goal scoring a lottery, My Spy at The Ground pushed through a melancholy two word message on the Bush Telegraph that neatly summed up Sydney's most recent escapades: "Swans unwatchable". Enough said.

SYDNEY: 2.5, 3.10, 5.12, 8.14 (62). Goals: Parker, Dawson, Jack, Rowbottom, Papley, Heeney, Reid, Lloyd.
CARLTON: 2.5, 5.8, 6.13, 9.15 (69). Goals: Casboult 2, Walsh, Fisher, Gibbons, Lang, Murphy, Silvagni, McKay.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 32,570.

"gone in down to the second knuckle"

Aghastee's,

It's been a while since there's been a low dog act on a Rugby League field - it's a thug's game played by gentlemen, after all. So, you can imagine my horror. The disgust and outrage was felt across the entire Balmain diaspora. Stay with me on this.

Early in the piece against the hated South Sydney, Tiger's legend Robbie "The Best Leb in the Game" Farah was underneath the black dot and about a foot and half from the try line, pinned to the ground on his back by two Souths players, when that filthy Pommy scumbag George Burgess came in over the top and gave Farah's left eye a bloody good gouging. That is, straight up, a send-off offence. It was no mere 'facial', oh no siree, and it went on for a long time and word filtered through that one seasoned veteran on the radio commentariat exclaimed, "oh my Lord, he's gone in down to the second knuckle there!". On the telly, Whispering Johnathan Thurston AM was moved to comment "it doesn't look good and I don't like it. That, and biting, are the two lowest acts on a rugby league football field and I think he's in a lot of trouble". The ugly suppurating pusball should have been given his marching orders on the spot, but no, the Bamfords only reported him. Surely with all the technology today, the bloke in The Bunker could've just told the ump to send Burgess off. Not to mention this character has got form. He's from West Yorkshire for a start. He copped a four week suspension for gouging some New Zealander while playing for Great Britain in a test match late last year. And now he's done it again. Thankfully, the Souths coach had the decency and sense remove Burgess from the field in short order and bench him for the rest of the game, knowing full well that he was a marked man. If left on, Balmain would have bashed Burgess to buggery - from pillar to post - and he would've come away alot worse off than Farah, who thankfully, only got a real good shiner. What a shocker. Unconscionable conduct on the highest order.

It's a shame the send-off rule fell out of favour many seasons ago. Back in the Bad Old Days nigh on 30 years ago send-offs were routine watching more games of rugby league than you've had hot dinners as a sports reporter; the cry from the crowd on the hill "off! off! off! off!" was commonly heard. Foul play was rampant. The capital offences of biting and gouging apart, you could also get sent off for a classic "Coathanger" or "Clothesline" swinging-arm head-high tackle. Blokes were diving trying to milk a send off. Tripping aka the 'leg tackle' could see you banished. Squirrel grips and Christmas holds were given the blind eye and fighting was tolerated, but you could find yourself all alone in the sheds with no one replacing you for starting an all-in on-field brawl, "The Stink", by really hitting some bloke in the head more than a few times, some times, toe to toe, and more often than not sending him down like a sack of potatoes with a freak right hook. You could even get sent off for patting a referee on the head as you were being sent to the sin bin; just ask Steve "Blocker Roach", he'll tell you. Jokes aside, Guvna, gouging is simply not on. In a game that's always had high ethical values, unlike rugby union, a team guilty of foul play of the high crimes and misdemeanors order should be penalised by being reduced to 12 men for the rest of the match. Simple. What ever happened to that?

In the denouement, the vile pile was sent straight to the Judiciary without the opportunity to take a guilty plea, and The Three Wise Men took a dim view of it, and the great steaming turd got rubbed out for nine weeks. Some say ten weeks was about the right freight, but nine will do. There was no mea culpa, just weak self-centred excuses: "I've been pretty upset. My career is probably in the balance. What I've done looks pretty disgraceful on the footage there. It's a shame really". Even though he'll be eligible to play in the finals with Souths looking good for the top four it's a season ender for all intents a purposes. Why does some shitty thug come along to ruin it for everyone? What possesses someone to do such a thing to a Balmain Living Legend is beyond me, and at his age and off contract he'll be very lucky to get another start at Souths and will fall one short of playing 150 games. Serves him right. By the time he's had nine weeks off when they could really use him, he'll be unwanted in September, and no one else will have him. Finito. Kaput. Back you go to the Dark Satanic Mills, where you belong, sonny Jim.

And oh, that was before the Mighty Tiges beat the bastard arseholes, in some very tasty comeuppance.The Rabbitoh's thought they had the game in the dilly bag, potting a field goal to break the 8-8 deadlock with six minutes left. Then Chee-Kam loomed up out of nowhere while Balmain were pretending to be setting up for a shot at goal, busted the Souths line with a neat dummy, the jink and the step, and he ran away to score without a hand being laid on him at the finish. Unbridled joy, right there. Chucked the walking cane aside and leapt out of the Jason Recliner lounge chair screaming. Cop that! Oh, how sweet it is.

WESTS TIGERS 14. Tries: Thompson, Chee-Kam, Goals: Marsters 3.
SOUTH SYDNEY RABBITOHS 9. Tries: Allen. Goals: Reynolds (2). Field Goals; Reynolds (1).
At Western Sydney Stadium, Parramatta.
Crowd: 9,807.

Well, well, well...it looks like there's life in the Old Girl yet. After a cracking wins over arch enemies West Coast and Hawthorn in the the weeks previous, the Swans took fully three quarters to finally put the hapless Suns away in a very dour affair. And let's face it, if Sydney couldn't beat the stone motherless Gold Coast, then they richly deserve the Wooden Spoon. At 6-8 with eight games to go, The Red and The White can only afford to drop one or two games to squeeze into the top eight, and they have a negative percentage that desperately needs improving. The draw is favourable with only two current top four sides to face, and while there's faith, there is hope, however misplaced.

It's a season that's perpetually on the brink of being cruelled by injury, with Lance Franklin yet again on the sidelines as his ageing body faces the wrack and eventual ruin of throwing his weight around like there's no tomorrow. It's the only way he knows how to play. A classic case of doing a mischief is Callum "Sinkers" Sinclair, Sydney's one and only ruckman, who took a heavy head knock the week previous, and then dislocated his shoulder, not once, but twice...forcing him from the ground and Aliir Aliir into the ruck. Been saying for yonks that that "Chands" Aliir should play more in the ruck; he's got the build, and he acquitted himself well. The problem then is, there goes your goalkeeper, who seems to be essential in the current game.

Based on the "No Buddy, No Cigar" principle, it looks like SC Horse has now turned to Plan B, deciding that bombing it long and getting the crumbers to kick in hope is not the sure way to kick goals it seemed to be under the current rules and regulations. Maybe try holding things up, pin-point kicking from the midfield along the wings and then fire the pill in to any old Joe inside the 50m mark and have a shot. Longmire's got enough talls in the arsenal, Reid, S, The Ronk, The Lizard Blakey, the McCartin Kiddie if you like, all spring to mind. So why not use them? They should all be kicking a thousand goals at training every week. Every club seems to have a goal scoring problem at the moment, and when it's all said and done the scoreboard, never lies.

SYDNEY: 3.3 6.3 10.6 14.9 (93). Goals. Reid 2, Blakey 2, Ronke 2, Papley 2, Heeney 2, Jones, Aliir, Kennedy, Hayward.
GOLD COAST: 2.3 5.5 6.7 7.9 (51). Goals. MacPherson 2, Wright, Sexton, Scheer, Day, Miles.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 26,194.

chockablock with all time greats

Cardiac patients,

How good is it to be robbed blind? C'mon! Just how good is it, people? With nothing in it in the darkening shadows of full time, with the the heart rate going into fibrillation and the blood pressure about to explode, a dodgy free kick is given against the Reds well outside the 50m mark which is pretty much at the edge of the centre square at the SCG, and then for some highly technical infraction of some obtuse rule nobody understands, the whistle blows again for an outrageous 50m penalty, and the Maggies boot the winning goal from right in front and the Fat Lady starts singing just as the final siren blows. Oh, the pedantry! Oh, the sheer bastardry of the Umpires. Away with you, thieving officialdom! The bloody Bamfords strike again to leave a very sour taste in the mouth after what was a pretty good game of football. Sydney was not expected to be all that competitive given Collingwood's purple patch of form, and The Wood's were due for a loss after all, but the authorities were having none of it, so, they robbed us blind. To make matters worse the commentariat on the telly were jerking themselves in glee and talking about a "miracle win". You know what to think about that. More like defeat, snatched from the jaws of victory. Never believed in miracles until they are seen with my own eyes, never will. To lose the unloseable game in the dying minutes. Desperately unlucky to be charitable at the very best. With the Umps ag'in 'em, the SCG is rapidly becoming a hoodoo ground for the Swans; who'd be a member when almost every time you go there in the past couple of seasons, they get beat? It's a cardinal sin in football - you must win at home, and then try your best to jag a few away to have any hope. So cruelly denied. Gawd almighty. Could go on, but won't.

It would be most remiss of me not to mention last week's news of the retirement of The Great Heath "Reg" Grundy. After an illustrious career, his chronic dose of Shagger's Back finally gave out on him. You know; the mind is willing but the flesh is weak. He'll be 33 next week. And with his carcass now rooted beyond repair, the poor old bugger never did get to play a farewell game and be chaired off the ground. There was always a whisper in the stands that he was Reg Grundy's love child, although that requires some suspension of disbelief as he has an apparently legit bro called Brodie going around for the Pies and Reg Grundy Snr died a happy man in Bermuda at the ripe old age of 92. Still, the name stuck. Reg came from the Redlegs up the Norwood Parade way there, and played in the SANFL as a kiddie, and then did ten hard years in the Swans Senior's. In the "Sydney System" he took four years to find a regular place in the side by re-inventing himself as a backman in the days when midfielders were King. Then he became an integral part of the famous 'brick wall' that kept all kinds of opposing high quality hard bastards quiet in their forward line. Reg's ariel work was unparalleled and he drew gasps from the crowd tackling the biggest and best forwards of the era head-on and slamming them into the turf right through to and including the 2012 Grand Final, when it all payed off. Remarkably, there are still five survivors of that team; NS Smith, JPK, L Parker, S Reid and Grundy's partner in crime, J "Odd Head" McVeigh, still on the Sydney roster. Also of note is an alumni of that great Granny - and another great backman to boot - in Rhyce "Rick" Shaw, is now the interim coach at North, after One Of The Scott Bros. was shamelessly punted out the back door after a decade of loyal service with out so much as a sausage. And they're doing better than the Swans on the ladder. Joisus. No one is safe. Be that as it may, even after Grundy's glittering career that would have made him a household name anywhere else, his retirement would have been lucky to have rated three or four paragraphs on the inside back pages of the Melbourne Papers. Please tell me that's wrong.

Grundy just played on and on and on. No-one, least of all himself, expected him to get this far. That's because he was remarkably bullet proof - never got injured - missing only six games from 2009-2017. And a superlative club man having played his entire career amounting to 256 games in the No.39 for The Red & The White. Nobody else. So Heefy, a club Life Member, is now admitted to the Swans' Pantheon, which is already chockablock with all time greats.

Vale Heath Reginald "Never Played a Bad Game" Grundy. Go you good thing.

SYDNEY 3.1, 5.1, 10.2, 11.7 (73). Goals: Reid 6, Franklin 2, Fox, Papley, Blakey.
COLLINGWOOD 1.4, 5.10, 7.12, 11.14 (80). Goals: Wells 3, Brown 2, Mayne 2, Pendlebury, Stephenson, Mihocek, Reid.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 34,649.

The Mighty Tiges were never given much chance of beating the top-of-the-table rampaging Rabbitoh's - despite Souths extensive injury list - but they gave a very good account of themselves, and surprised everyone by actually leading at half time and looking much the better side, until they got all too predictably steamrolled in the final stanza. A few dumb passes and some set plays that went awry was all that was in it at the denouement. As they say in the school boy classics "gallant in defeat".

It's just one those seasons again, just as it has been for the last decade - jeez they're a hard team to follow. The ever hopeful Stats Guru has pointed out that at 5-6 with 44% of the season gone, Balmain are still in with a chance, however remote, but their hopelessly consistent inconsistency [WWLLWLWLWLL] needs to be dealt with by Super Coach Mr Magoo quick smart if they are to make the pointy end of the season.They're desperately in need a Rabbitoh's-style purple patch to be any hope, so why not start with this weekend's bye that automatically attracts two Premiership points? You cannot and do not lose.

Every time Souths beat Wests, can't help but be reminded of the day many moons ago now when the Rabbitoh's flogged Balmain by 50+ points to bugger all at Leichhardt Oval, and a bloke who was a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic dressed in full Tiges paraphernalia on leaving the hallowed ground, kept saying loudly to himself over and over and over again..."South Sydney will rue the day, South Sydney will rue the day...". The two clubs have history, some of which will never be repeated, forgotten or forgiven. And by some quirk of mystery scheduling, they meet again in four weeks.

SOUTH SYDNEY RABBITOHS 32. Tries: Murray (2), Reynolds, Cook, Knight. Goals: Reynolds (3), Gagai (3).
WESTS TIGERS 16. Tries: Thompson, Marsters, Marshall. Goals: Marsters (2).
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 18,195.

stone motherless

Misérables,

You can imagine my dismay on being told that the weekend footy had been officially designated the Umpires' Appreciation Round. Now, you can understand the Indigenous Round, the Women's Round, the Multi-Cultural Round - there's even a "Magic Round" in the league this weekend - but an Umpires' Appreciation Round? What have the Bamford's ever done?

Taught my children from an early age the basic tenets of the art of barracking at the football: always be the boosterist for your team; go berserk when they kick goals, get delirious when one of yours pulls down a screamer; never unnecessarily bag your own players; urge forward your under-performing ones on to Victory and wherever possible pick on an opposition player for even the slightest of pretexts and try to put him off his game with a few well chosen words all day, but as for the Umpires? Well, they're fair game. It's open slather, anything goes - freestyle, no holds barred, gloves off, the further below the belt the better. Calling into question the Umpires' marital status of their parents at birth is de rigour. They don't mind. They know they're professional bastards. Warn them not to come the raw prawn with you. Recommend an optometrist, or accuse them of being illiterate or lazy or both for their inability to consult, or even read, the Rule Book. The Bamfords neither want nor need to be appreciated. You know that the best Umpire's are the ones you never really notice, unlike Ray "Fucking" Chamberlain whose sole purpose in life seems to be drawing attention to himself. Every decision they make against you must be challenged and should be howled down, and when they rule in yr favor they get grudging respect, at best, along the lines of "about time!".

The Swans are in more trouble than the early settlers. If you thought going winless for the first six games of the season back in '17 was bad, then being 1-6 with almost a third of this season gorn is well beyond Sydney's reputation for having "a slow start". Everybody's saying they've lost their mojo or aren't drinking enough pickle juice. Never mind how lop-sided the team is viz-a-viz youth & experience, and the ordinary journeymen they've bought to fill the gaps, it is possible to fool old and young at the same time. Other sides have found them out, have been quicker to adapt to the new rules, and run them around in circles. Injury doesn't help. The backs are shot. No Buddy = No Cigar. While it's good to see the Goal Kicker from North Adelaide in the Hayward Kiddie back from a busted jaw, Richie Cunningham then goes and does himself a mischief and will be missed. The oddest buy of the off season, that injury-prone crock from Central's Daniel Menzel, is yet to play a game and will probably miss half the season. On his last legs. Sums up the situation perfectly.

Brisbane hadn't beaten Sydney at the 'Gabba in a decade, so there was definitely some kind of hoo-doo going down there, but the The Stats Guru struggled to find the last time the Swans had been on the bottom of the ladder, stone motherless last on the table. He did determine that they haven't finished last for 25 years [1994], and the following year they bought Plugger to solve all their woes. SC Horse has been at the helm for 203 matches, just one more game than SC Roos before him, so it'd be an opportune time in the minds of some supporters to pull down the curtain on a glittering career on and off the field. Seems like they're being coached by committee anyway, with so many assistant coaches falling over each other in the box. In the eight Longmire years, the side have won a premiership, made two other grand finals [thrashed in one and robbed blind in the other] and never missed the top eight. The Swans have only dipped out on September three times since the turn of the century. The "Sydney System" never got the credit it deserves.

You'll never read about it in the Melbourne papers, but here in the Emerald City the Swans have been an easy team to follow, they just kept on winning. For the the first time in a decade, tho', the Swans face the prospect of not getting past August after a bitter winter of discontent. But, It's a funny game. How good would it have been to have had some tasty cash splashed on the Swans to make the finals at 0-6 at couple of years back at mouth watering odds? Miracles do, and can happen, just not very often.

BRISBANE: 5.6 7.8 11.15 14.19 (103). Goals: McStay 2, Cameron 2, Hipwood 2, McCluggage 2, Rich, Cutler, Berry, Rayner, Robinson, Zorko.
SYDNEY : 1.2 7.6 10.6 12.9 (81). Goals: Papley 4, Hayward 2, Dawson, Heeney, McCartin, Florent, Kennedy, Lloyd.
At Brisbane Cricket Ground, Woolongabba.
Crowd: 20,075.

It was most unfortunate for Balmain to come across Eastern Suburbs' Latrell Mitchell when he's in the mood to put on a clinic. The man is a freak. Much to the Tiges chagrin, everything Mr Latrine touched turned to gold. Three tries, and a hand in virtually everything else and a stack of goals to score a stoopid number of points single handedly. And it's the Tiges turn to bump into a bloke at the peak of his powers, and stand there and just watch him put on "one for the Ages", "a majestic masterclass". Super Coach Maquire can take a leaf out of SC Sheens book, and scratch his mark in the right column marked "we'll take our wins" and "we'll learn from our losses" in the Coach's Ledger kept in the Club Secretary's office. You can't coach against that sort of stuff. In a straight forward game, it's that simple Just ask Esan Marsters who was made to look 2nd rate with Mitchell just brushing him off like a fly on numerous occasions.

It's bruising stuff. After the State Election, their home ground - the Sydney Football Stadium - is now in a state of having the wrecking ball put through it, so the Roosters have to play some of their home games at the SCG, which is really an old AFL paddock with a concrete-like Bulli clay centre-square to play rugby league on. Never mind another blowout scoreline, that must hurt.

As it is at 4-4 after eight rounds, its same same only different. The Tiges marvellous inconsistency's got it all so far - upsets, blow-outs, floggings, close ones, cricket scores, beaten in extra time etc etc et al.

It's too early to call, but lets face it, the really good sides won't have much trouble running over the Tiges this year, and if they do by chance happen to make September they'll be had like kippers on toast for breakfast. So, the die-hards could be shaking their heads, staring down the barrel of the 8th season in a row of Balmain not appearing in the finals, after yet another long bitter winter of discontent. That's a long time between drinks. They've always been a hard team to follow.

As they say in the classics..."they'll need a miracle".

SYDNEY ROOSTERS 42. Tries: Mitchell (3), Tupou, Keary, Butcher, Cordner. Goals: Mitchell (6).
WESTS TIGERS 12. Tries: Matterson, Farah. Goals: Marsters (2).
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 13,666.

a few more to get past the Great Jack Titus

Richmond 'immortal', Jack Titus. c.1934.


Weepers,

There was a bit of song and dance made about Lance Franklin going past the Matthew Lloyd benchmark to now have kicked 928 goals in his wild career.

Everyone was quite rightly getting themselves in a lather celebrating the magnificence of the man, but one of the boffins on the Commentariat on the telly made some good sense for a change..."Franklin might be the last man ever to kick a thousand goals"..." you look around now and it's hard to think of anyone else who could do it". Food for thought. It had the Stats Guru scurrying for the abacus to get the beads whirring. Then, as you wind back down the all-time great goal kickers, the next best active player is Jack Riewoldt - one of those ones from that family of hard bastards down Hobart way - who has 608 goals to his name. That's way way off the pace. Then as the abacus slows down even more you get to some old men in the likes of Eddie Betts, JP Kennedy, The Rough Head, and Tom "Fucking" Hawkins down there in the 500's. All of them, from Buddy down, are north of 30 years old in a young bloke's caper, so they're in the twilight of their careers, and they'll get nowhere near the thousand. And to think, there was some trash talking going on about Franklin being sick of losing and wanting to move on, which was promptly scotched as poppycock by skipper K.Jack, who well knows Buddy's nine year contract is heavily backloaded; the longer he plays on, the more cash he gets, and there's no other club who'd be prepared to trump the price of the Swan's best paid player by a country mile. As it stands, there's no doubt Lance will be the biggest earner in all the AFL in 2020.

Buddy needs quite a few more to get past the Great Jack Titus [970 goals]; he of the stellar career with Richmond, the 1930's freak full-forward and superstar who could play all day and score goals from anywhere, but the fully running drop kick from a half-forward flank was among his favourites. The drop kick vanished from the game in the late 70's as outmoded; it'd still be a sure fire way to drill the pill through the big ones, but you can't find the room, let alone the wide open spaces required for it anymore. Titus also met an unusual end for an immortal, dropping dead at the age of 70 in 1978 in the front bar of his pub, the Limerick Castle in North Melbourne, after he had ejected a troublesome patron half an hour earlier.

The full-forward position has fallen in and out of favour for decades as the game's evolved, but it has now been made well and truly redundant. There's not much place anymore for long range pin-point play onto the running chest of a big bad full-forward, when you've got ankle-biters constantly at yr heels and other smalls who rummage around like rats in a rolling maul pinging off the crumbs for six pointers from left right and centre. Of course, the Glory Days of singing "there's only one Tony Lockett" have gone away, that's a shame. He was the motherload. But, everyone knew at the time that we'd never see anything like it again.

Kieren Jack playing in his 250th is also a remarkable achievement, more so given the Jack name holds some special meaning in this household. K.Jack comes from another family of hard bastards and is of course the spawn of one of the greatest rugby league full-backs to ever play the game, Garry Jack. My first born would have been named Jack if she was a boy, in honour of the Great Garry, who played 244 games for Balmain in the heydays of the late 80's. Can still remember being a bit late for the game, walking through the Mary Street gates at Leichhardt Oval and seeing Jack Snr effortlessly insert himself into the Balmain back line, throw a perfect dummy, and just flick away a couple of defenders to score a trademark try under the black dot without so much as a hand being laid on him. He was also one of the dirtiest players of his era; a specialist in the Christmas Hold, the Squirrel Grip and the Clothesliner Tackle; knew every trick in the book and as a result got his block knocked off by opposition players on a regular basis. The club doctor lost count early in his long career of how many times he'd broken his nose, but he was left with a seriously disfigured face for his trouble. Garry was no oil painting to begin with and ended up looking like a Picasso. Kieran inherited his hardnuttedness from his father, but he's nearing the end of his stellar career in "that other game" at almost 32, and knows it. It's only a matter of time until the body gives out. And it seems that the Jack clan has been torn apart by an ugly irretrievable long-standing family feud. No happy endings there for anyone. Shit happens.

The less said about the game they played in the better - an absolute coach killer. The Swans are all at sea, without a rudder, and spent most of the night sailing around in circles beating themselves. My Spy at The Ground lamented "

Gently eased ajar the door to the Front Bar down at The Local on Monday morning and the Philosopher caught me peeking in. He was in his usual corner nursing this week's favoured tipple, a Harvey Wallbanger, but before any pleasantries could be exchanged he gave me a salute which looked more like a 'talk to the hand' and exclaimed "Horse!? Won't be there by the end of May".

RICHMOND 3.3, 9.5, 11.9, 13.11 (89). Goals: Martin 3, Caddy 2, Lambert 2, Balta 2, Rioli, Ellis, Baker, Castagna.
SYDNEY 2.1, 4.2, 6.3, 10.7 (67). Goals: Franklin 4, Heeney 2, Papley, Kennedy, Parker, Reid.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 40,053.

Tried to buy tickets about two weeks out for the opening match at the brand spanking new Western Sydney Stadium at Parramatta. No chance. All but sold out. Only single seats available up in the Gods. The 30,000 seater was built to replace the creaking Parramatta Stadium that had a nominal 24,000 capacity and was opened by The Queen in 1986. To be honest it was a pretty crap ground from the off, and ended up being demolished as an un-mantainted basket case 31 years later. Thinking the Parramatta Club Secretary tried to auction off a few bricks as mementos, but no-one was interested as they weren't that old.

Before the Parramatta Stadium, the ancient Cumberland Oval sat on the site. The grandstand was burnt to the ground on the night of the 1981 Grand Final, when north of 15,000 Parramatta supporters had gathered in and around the adjacent Leagues Club to get on the grog big time to celebrate the club's first ever premiership after beating Newtown in the decider. It turned into a gigantic swirling drunken riot. Late in the night, no-one can be quite sure when, the picket fence was torn down and the grandstand went up in flames - the fire brigade couldn't get through the mass of newted humanity, and not a stick was left standing. No-one claimed responsibility, but it is clear Parra fans had burnt down their own home ground; whether by accident or design is still a matter of conjecture.

The new joint by all reports has the very latest bells & whistles and is heavily raked in today's popular fashion for the "cauldron" effect, so the spectators are right on top of the players. Not a bad seat in the house. The legal maximum incline of spectator stands is apparently 34°, otherwise inebriated patrons would tumble down the seating with beers flying and arms and legs flailing knocking people out of their seats as they go, so they built it at 33.94°. They've even gone retro and installed a thousand "safe standing" slots for the diehards who prefer to scream their lungs out while standing up. You'd expect there'd be a Public Bar somewhere around there up the back of standing room. The final bill will come in at somewhere between $330-$360M, and strangely enough it's not privatised. The NSW Govt. is the landlord who lease it to the promoters. The new paddock opened with no fanfare at all - there was a scantily publicised public open day walk thru' the weekend prior, and that's it. No one cut no ribbons, it seems. Nevertheless, the Slippery Eels were involved in some trash talking of their own, proudly declaring they would make their new home ground their "fortress".

The less said about the opening game at the third incarnation of the ground the better, but Parra made good on their promise and thrashed the Mighty Tiges absolutely fookin' senseless. Balmain must have been over-awed and over-whelmed by the glittering occasion of a full house. There is just no other explanation for the shocking scoreline, after a strong win over Brisbane the previous week. It was made worse by the fact that Tigers turncoat and allround badass, Mitchell Moses, not only scored the first try and kicked the first goal at the new venue, he then in a shameful display of high cheek, gave the visitors the bird and potted a field goal for the meaningless extra point in the final seconds of the game just so his name could go in the record books for all time. There's a name for jokers like that. The Balmain boys who never cry could not do any worse this year even if they tried.

PARRAMATTA EELS 51. Tries: Jennings (2), Moses, Takairangi, Salmon, Kaufusi, Mahoney, Sivo, Lane. Goals: Moses (7). Field Goals: Moses (1).
WESTS TIGERS 6. Tries: Matulino. Goals: Marsters (1).
At Western Sydney Stadium, Parramatta.
Crowd: 29,049. (ground record).

View from the Gods. Western Sydney Stadium inaugural NRL match. Easter Monday 2019. Photo: Gregg Porteous/NRL.

on the pickle juice

Screechers,

If ever there was a team that needed a couple of days in the Room Full of Mirrors down there on the Balmain Road, it was the mob who lost the unloseable game against the Chocolate Soldiers at the foot of the mountains Friday. last
The new Super Coach Madge Maguire would have got the lot of them to take a good hard look at themselves in every reflection available.
In a game that was always going to be a tight defensive affair, E.Marsters leaving his kicking boots home at Mum's was the last thing the Mighty Tiges needed.
Both sets for forwards meant business, and no one had come close to going over the line in the first 30 minutes until Balmain scored two superb unanswered tries, but Esan missed both conversions by a width of a cigarette paper.
Then to fluff and spray a potential match winning second-half penalty goal that was waved away by the touch judges left them very vulnerable indeed
If ever there's a cardinal sin in rugby league it's gotta be caught napping [nay, fast asleep] and letting in a very soft try in the corner in the final minute of the game.
Never mind that it was the Panthers only try of the game or that it was converted by the pest Nathan Cleary to level the damnable thing.
And so to extra time, which had the Stats Guru diving for the record sheets to reveal Balmain's horrific loss rate in sudden-death.
Oh no. The faithful were shaking their heads in dismay.
In the denouement, it was like a self-fulfilling prophesy, as not one, but two easy shots at field goal - either could have won the game for the Tiges - were sprayed wide.
By now, the true die-hards were holding their heads with their hands, screaming at their television sets.
Travelling tragics who'd got on the Balmain Member's Bus to the ground would have been going entirely apeshit having paroxysms.
And to rub salt into a raw wound, it was none other than that poncy Cleary, N., again, who potted the field goal to get the single point on offer, and the victory, as the Tiges lost ground, and the match.
There is nothing quite as bad as scoring more tries than your opponents, and still losing - by "a bloody point".
Joisus.
After all the trash talking that went on during the week....sadly it was Balmain who ended up with egg on their faces, when by rights they should have got the cigar.
That said, it was one of the best games in the caper seen this early in the season, and the signs look good, despite letting that one get away.
Josh Reynolds, who spent almost the entirety of last season in Sick Bay in stead of being the Great White Hope, had a corker.
The forwards, in their second season together, are the real deal and the Best Leb in the Game toiled away manfully at dummy-half all day.
The Great Robbie got on with it, knows the set plays like the back of his hand as usual, knows other clever ways too; thinking, thinking, all the time with that enormous football brain of his.
The Great Benji hurt his leg early in the second half and went straight off and got into his monogrammed fur-lined dressing gown draped on the bench and had a cup of tea, taking no further part in the game, as is his rightat his age.
Unavailable this week.
That hard-man Russell Packer had a great game too, ripping into them after he'd called out last year's Balmain coach Ivan Cleary for telling the team he was pissing off to Penrith, when he always said he didn't
really want to coach his son, when in reality that's all the dupe wanted to do. Two-faced arsehole is an expression that comes to mind.
As far as Packer was concerned, it wasn't on; the bloke could not just walk away like that and leave them in the lurch, and he told him so to his face after Cleary, I. had just delivered the news.
Unimpressed with the turncoat to say the least, and for the first time, Packer admitted that he had called Cleary Snr names.
The general rancour and crankiness got a good run in the Meeja as you'd expect - there was more chit-chat on the mobile telephones - and then it was see you at the game for some special treatment, boys.
Expect the worst. No prisoners taken.
It's all still very tribal in the small world that is rugby league.
Not that the Balmain Club Secretary is all that worried, given he squeezed $590K compo out of the Panthers for pinching Cleary, which now pays for more than the first year contract fee of the new man-in-charge.
What goes around, comes around.

PENRITH PANTHERS 9. Tries: Edwards. Goals: Cleary (2). Field Goals: Cleary (1).
WESTS TIGERS 8. Tries: Thompson, Matterson.
At Penrith Stadium.
Crowd: 14,002.
In extra time. Full time. 8-8.

It's pleasing to see Isaac Heeney the Cardiff Zucchini come on in leaps and bounds this season.
Always thought the kiddie was the goods - got all the skills - from the moment he strutted onto a senior football paddock as an 18 year old, after the Swans pulled a clever swifty to grab him in the 2014 draft for a song.
Injury apart, he's never been out of the team since. Now he's one of the first picked. And in this game would have easily picked up the three Brownlow votes.
A good New South Wales boy born and bred; initially he had "mid-fielder" written all over him, but SC Horse has wisely decided to push him a bit further forward with outstanding results.
He's one of those slow developers that Sydney are famous for, who would now be worth a poultice on the open market, and his footy smarts are only now coming to the fore as he pops up everywhere to put the ball on the end of a string.
Everyone knows the lad's ability to climb on bloke's backs and pull down mark-of-the-season screamers, but he also seems to have been on the pickle juice over the summer as he's bulked up considerably,after finding himself targeted and bashed from pillar to post.
It's just a pity the Zuke is now missing his fetching original "sea anemone" style hair-do, after getting a pretty ordinary barber to have a go at it last year.
Of course if he played for any good Melbourne club he'd be a household name in Victoria and would be pointed out in the streets, but here in the Emerald City he'd be lucky to get a second look.
Even if he was ever very vaguely recognized, someone might say to their friend "isn't he a musician?'
Keeping a low profile has always been inflicted on Sydney, and is now embraced as part of the renowned Sydney System.At lest it keeps the boys off the front page of the papers.
The team's more or less anonymous in their own town; the players are more well known in South Melbourne, even after 37 years harbourside.
The same can be said for one of my faves, the Papley Pearl, who's really found his niche as a classic rover taking full advantage of this year's rule changes.
Never mind that he's as tough as teak, has a great kick on him, and can pivot on a sixpence.
His classic one-two with Franklin tapping it down near the goal square and not even taking a step before his boot was on the ball punting the pill through the big sticks was poetry in motion.
Pappers comes from South Melbourne football royalty [he changed into his grandfather's No.11 last year] - he would always find a bed in those parts being the pretty boy that he is - and you have to suppose his habit of jibbering away constantly and slagging opponents and bagging umpires will stay with him, and he'll forvere be regarded by other teams as a serial pest who will just not shut up. It used to annoy me too, but so be it.
The dire predictions of the proverbial Eternal Pessimist residing in the Temple of Doom about another 0-6 start to the season has mercifully failed to materialise - as My Spy at the Ground was moved to comment "that's four Premiership Points in the dilly bag for a start off".
But the way ahead is hard and the road is long, what with The Goal Kicker from North Adelaide in Will Hayward having surgery on a busted jawbone, and old man Odd Head McVeigh doing himself a mischief.
Both will spend at least a month in Sick Bay, and the depth of the Swans roster will be sorely tested, not for the first and only time this season, you'd expect, with the new rules producing a harder than usual fast running game that old blokes will struggle with come the pointy end of the season.
Even if they had to work very hard for it, a win is a win is a win, and you'll take them any day of the week.

CARLTON: 5.4, 6.5, 8.9, 10.14 (74). Goals: E.Curnow 4, Cripps, Murphy, Walsh, McGovern, McKay, Fisher.
SYDNEY: 6.1, 9.5, 11.9, 14.9 (93). Goals: Heeney 4, Franklin 2, Hayward 2, Papley 2, Parker, Blakey, Kennedy, Sinclair.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 39,290.

Farah on Fire

True Believers,

It warms the cockles of the heart of an ancient Balmain die-hard to hear the Best Leb in The Game put in an outstanding man-of-the match performance to take the Mighty Tiges top after two rounds. Woot!

The Great Robbie Farah [above, last Sunday, aged 35] is at his best in years, throwing finely-weighted cut-out final passes - both of them pearlers - to nail two tries, and then burrows through from dummy-half to score himself; planting the ball under the black dot for some fruit for the sideboard. How is this possible? What is he on? What did he have for breakfast? Isn't he meant to be an old crock? Nah. The man is a freak. At his age his football brain isn't the size of a watermelon, it's a big as a blimp. All those footy smarts will beat the Yoof of Today every day of the week. And if that wasn't enough, The Great Benji Marshal's kicking game was on song - and it was singin' a happy toon - as the 34-year-old put on a couple of superbly judged kicks that caught the defence napping and were eagerly gobbled up some quick Balmain backs and taken over the try line, thank you very much. The Stats Guru was quick to point out that all this came after a very solid win over the Evil Silvertails, Manly-Warringah, in the pouring rain at the Spiritual Home, in the season pipe-opener. You can't get a more perfect start. Strike me lucky. "The Entertainers" are back.

The commentariat on the wireless [it was again necessary to hook the arial up on Dad's Shed for the winter, in order to tune in the live short-wave call properly all the way from the Campbelltown Sports Ground] were using a very old cliché along the lines of the Warriors being worried out of it. Yeah, right, but Balmain don't have to be asked twice if they want to sail through some pretty weak defence, while the Tiges forwards, as per tradition, took it up relentlessly and bashed the shit out of them all day, allowing their running backs to be the pretty boys that they are. That's hard.

The story of both immortals is insane by any measure anyway. Both players left for other clubs - Robbie being shamefully hounded out by a jerk of a coach and Benj in a terrible misunderstanding over money - for what they thought would be tidy career-end pensions. Then the heart strings began to tug, and all was forgiven, and they were warmly accepted back in the fold, after appearing to be all washed up and struggling to get first grade games elsewhere. And how could they not be, after long ago being installed in the Balmain Pantheon, having played 491 games for the Tiges between them? This year marks the 14th anniversary of the Miracle Year of 2005 - when the Balmain last won the Premiership - and both Robbie and Benji played in that glorious Grand Final, for gawd's sake. There is no point following a football team if you don't believe there's always a chance of a triumphant return to the Glory Days. You have to have faith. Never mind if you are getting way ahead of yourself this early in the season. You already know how to handle years and years of bitter disappointment.
https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7910878659038594883#editor/target=post;postID=8589833171491767288;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=0;src=link
Surely the new Boss Cocky in Supercoach Michael Maguire - inexplicably known to his mates as "Madge" - has had something to do with it, bringing in some nice set plays with his repertoire. At long last, SC Madge is a Balmain coach who's actually got winning form; eight years ago he coached the Wigan Warriors to the Challenge Cup, if you don't mind. He was bought back from the Dark Satanic Mills by South Sydney for a reason, with the Rabbitoh's winning the 2014 Premiership under his tutelage. A coach who's been around the block a time or two and knows his onions. It's a fairytale; a Promoter's Dream. The Club Secretary would be rubbing his hands in the glee as the Tiges' fair weather fans begin flocking back through the turnstiles.

There's even more rumours that the famous Balmain Leagues Club down on the Victoria Road there in Rozelle will rise Phoenix-like from the ashes, after being so shamefully abandoned to wrack and ruin in 2010, with all the windows now smashed, graffiti everywhere and the interiors long gone. So, you'd hope against hope that you'd live to see the day when there's somewhere to go again for a drink after the game at Leichhardt Oval in Lilyfield. Just like back in the day. That prospect alone is enough to make the most ardent fan mist over.

WESTS TIGERS 34. Tries: Thompson (2), Jennings, Fonua, Farah, Chee-Kam. Goals: Marsters (5).
NEW ZEALAND WARRIORS 6. Tries: Maumalo. Goal: Keighran (1).
At Campbelltown Sports Ground.
Crowd: 9,981.

Seen at Penrith 28 June 2007

On departing the AFL heartland after the F1 GP, picked up a copy of the Sunday Age at Tullamarine, and of course with the football season starting the following weekend, there was the usual double page centre-spread detailing the pro's and con's of your side's chances in 2019, written by the rag's chief Football Guru. Eventually got down to the entry for the Sydney Swans and was shocked and dismayed to find this so-called expert's predicted ladder position at 10th. A random poll of the paper's back-page readers forecast that the Red & the White would finish 11th. WTF? Are these people naturally biased against the Emerald City? No, it seems, they're just pragmatists. If the opening round is any portent of the future, My Spy at The Ground reported the general consensus of opinion is that the Swans superstars look too old and too slow. Being held to a single goal at half time by those damnable Bulldogs gives you some idea.

This year's changes to the rules aren't kind to blokes who are getting on either, and playing catch-up football is more impossible that usual. With the new rules requiring there to be a full-forward and a full-back the goal square at the time of every centre bounce [they are even talking about enlarging the goal square], a half-way decent set play would be a clean tap to a rover with a good boot on him - say, the Papley Pearl - who then jinks, takes two or three steps and punts the pill high wide and handsome 50 yards into the arms of a strong running lead. It would be a crying shame to see Buddy left behind. A few of the veterans who are north of, or nudging, 30 are clearly two or three yards off the pace, and are prone to getting sacked cold. The Bamfords are not afraid of awarding holding the ball frees. The Blakey kiddie looks the goods as a teen, but who else is there? Clarke seems to be a common or garden journeyman and how many tall forwards do you really need if yr being beaten for the ball on the ground? The Ronke can't even get a game at the minute.

By all reports, the Bush Telegraph is alive with the hashtag #longseason. And by the look of him in the box, SC Horse may come to rue the day he decided to hang on a year too long, and go out with his perfect record of making the finals in eight consecutive years, in tatters. Only time will tell. But after this long, Longmire has certainly pulled all the tufts of hair out of his bonce.

So, in the league caper you've got old blokes out-foxing and out-muscling inexperienced youngsters still coming to terms with the complexity of the game, while in the Rules it's fading hard bastards having rings run around them by some finely tuned atheltes who are essentially still children. Go figure.

WESTERN BULLDOGS 4.5, 6.8, 9.14, 11.16 (82). Goals: Naughton 3, Gowers 2, Lloyd 2, Richards, Duryea, Schache, Bontempelli.
SYDNEY 1.2, 1.5, 5.6, 9.11 (65). Goals: Reid 2, Heeney 2, Blakey, Hayward, Mills, Papley, Franklin.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 32,303.