on their day

 

Denizens of the Bleachers,

Went to the footy again the other week. Unheard of for an ol' crip to visit what was formerly the worst ground in all Sydney for disabled access, but is now as smooth as a baby's arse cheek. The SCG Trust were compelled to make it right in the end. Worse still though, it must be a minimum of eight years since a football ground has been graced with my presence twice in the same season. Lawdy me. How much has been missed?

It was the Pride Round, so the entry on Driver Avenue was marked by a gargantuan festooned inflatable archway that you walked through to get to the turnstiles. On approach, the first thing anyone said to me was "would you like some free toothpaste, Sir?" Before managing to dream up some witty reply, my companion at the game - My Spy At The Ground - retorted "don't think he'd be interested, mate, look, he's got no teeth". A flash of a  smile bought an effusion of apologies and much bowing and scraping. Respect. The next thing anyone said to me after going through the Members Gate came from some officious Greencoat who unexpectedly accosted me. Fearing he would say "you've been smoking far too many powerful pharmaceuticals to be in here, son, the stoned go to General Admission", the  goon instead straight-up popped that hoary old chestnut "excuse me Sir, but do you have a collared short?" Well aware of the arcane rules and in no position to make a fuss, began digging around in the layers of wool under my Ice Suit to find one which had a withered old zip up collar. That was enough to satisfy officialdom, and never once imagined afterwards what might have been in the event of being short of said shirt. Unlike back-in-the-day, instead of facing precipitous stairs or risking a rickety old lift, there's now an expansive set of escalators to take you up to the first level of the MA Noble Stand. There we spotted little pairs of isolated seats with wheelchair spaces next to them at the top of the ground floor of bleachers, under cover - even though the night was as clear as a bell. Always quick on his feet, My Spy approached a Greencoat, pointed at my walking stick, and said "look at him! he's really crippled. sad, isn't it? is he allowed to sit in those seats?" After getting an affirmative response he remarked "Good! I'm his carer, so I'll have to sit next to him, then". No problem. So there we were with a magnificent  view of the game from the Paddington End separated from the seething disease riddled masses below us, with a bar, a pissoir and a pie stand directly behind. There should be waiters. We thought our cock's had been kissed.

Talk about laugh, until we then witnessed without doubt the most lacklustre first half of football seen all season, with a total of six goals kicked to the long break...Sydney 4 to St Kilda 2. It took more than ten minutes to find someone to kick the opening six pointer. There wasn't exactly a lot of screeching and chortling action in the crowd as the Swans played that kind of game they've become known for; the one that relies on the 'McCartin Sandwich' to stop the opposition from scoring at all costs - any goals the Swans might kick come as a bonus. Coach Horse would have given them a rocket at half time for letting two goals in and the crowd was restless, so thankfully things got going after half time. Tom "The Pearl" Papley - who was recently officially branded as a "serial pest" on account of he will not shut up - slotted a couple of big ones to boot his 200th goal, so you can imagine the antics. Simian, they were. There is nobody else in football who likes kicking goals more than the Pearl. It's in his contract. Then, the floodgates opened. Heeney the Cardiff Zucchini had his usual blinder, while Will "The Goal Kicker from North Adelaide" Hayward booted what could have been the decider that early on, as the Swans kicked five goals to zip, nothing, bugger all to the Saints in the Champo. It all worked, comfortably. The faint strains of the Fat Lady singing could be heard well before three-quarter time. Under the circumstances, there'd been a fair bit of drinking going on as you'd expect, and latecomers kept piling into the stand behind us and watching the rest of the match on their feet. At one stage some Irish brogue could be heard among the barracking - absolutely no idea what they were on about - not the faintest, but it was abundantly clear they supported The Red & The White and detested umpires.

My only glimmer of regret on leaving the time honoured ground was a vague feeling of sympathy for Ian "Molly" Meldrum, whose long harboured fantasies of a St Kilda premiership were once again verging, nay teetering, on being so cruelly dashed as they have been, year after year after year after fucking year since '66. Coach Horse was circumspect on interview and apart from the usual "we take our wins, and learn from our losses" mantra, he did make it clear he's a true believer in winning ugly. Only the ruthless operate that way. And you can see why, as there's always that chance of there being just one point in it in the denouement.

You can imagine the shock then of the Swans playing their worst game of the year in the very next away game, getting toweled up by the lowly Bombers, who are something of a hoodoo team for the Swans at HQ. A match they should have won handsomely if only they'd kicked straight and a golden opportunity to ram home a chance at the top four, missed, spectacularly. Sydney hardly ever play at the MCG during the season, so they always have next to no current experience of the wide open spaces, but it's no excuse. They may well come to rue the day. Inconsistency is a morale wrecker.

So, it was pleasing to see a return to form this last weekend, when, the Swans turned everything around and flogged, then whipsawed, the hapless Bulldogs, who were made to look very ordinary. Let's face it, there's simply no coming back from having seven goals kicked on you in the first quarter in the modern game. Lucky for Sydney it's an unchallenging run home largely against lower ranked teams, but with 75% of the season gone, anyone in the current top eight could beat any other - on their day - as they say in the classics. Watch this space. At the moment, it's still perfectly fine to fly under the radar.

SYDNEY: 7.8, 9.11, 15.15, 17.18 (120). Goals: Heeney 4, Amartey 2, Franklin 2, Papley 2,
Warner 2, Clarke, Hayward, Mills, Rowbottom, Stephens.
WESTERN BULLDOGS:  2.1, 5.6,  8.8,  9.13 (67). Goals: Naughton 2, Weightman 2,
Bontempelli, English, Johannisen, Schache, Ugle-Hagan.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 26,226.

There's yet more trouble in Tigerland, as the Rocky Horror Show continues unabated with the Mighty Balmain Tigers, for the first time this season, officially ranked Stone Motherless Last on the table. Three wins in 16 games in a season of 25 + a bye. No one has done worse. Punting coach Mr Magoo and plucking Brett "Noddy" Kimmorley from obscurity to be "caretaker coach" hasn't gone as well as had been hoped, as Nods is yet to notch up a magnificent victory for the Tiges. It's not as if the boys aren't trying; but plenty of them know they'd struggle to make first grade elsewhere. A deficiency in class is the problem. In any case, everyone is down on form and who can blame the super consistent losers? 22 years of internal club machinations hasn't exactly done much in the way of accumulating a star-studded line up, let alone premiership points. It's always been a long time between drinks. Coach Noddy's remarks on interview after the game were taciturn, and perhaps the most encouraging thing he said viz-a-viz 'the playing group' was "I think they're getting better". A win, any win, would certainly warm the cockles temporarily. And don't we all need that? But few things are more certain than the current state of affairs dooming Balmain to being beyond all hope for another a year yet. And the death fight for the Wooden Spoon is yet to come. Lord, save us.  

WESTS TIGERS 20. Tries: Nofoaluma (2), Brown, Laurie. Goals: Doueihi (2).
PARRAMATTA EELS 28. Tries: Campbell-Gillard, Sivo, Mahoney, Moses,  Papali'i. Goals: Moses (4).
At Leichhardt Oval.
Crowd: 13, 212.