Where'd she get those things?

Could go on and on and on and on about The Great Shane FIGJAM Watson copping the AB Medal.
But to spare everyone the indignity, just won't.
Of more interest is Mrs Nathan Bracken causing a stir on the red carpet.
Where'd she get those things?
Completely upstaged Our Lara, apparently, who could only manage the regulation plunging neckline and some "Chanel tattoos", whatever they are.

166 and all that

Takers of the breeze off the Derwent,

It seemed to me a touch ironic that Pup should score 166 in the company of the bloke whose job he's been plotting to thieve for at least the last six months.
A Vice-Captain's knock if there ever there was one; you only had to see MJ Clarke's reaction when Cap'n'Cockhead put on his first 50 of the 200.
Pup just sauntered through on the run and patted Punter on the top of the helmet, as if to say "well done, old man"
No idea what they did on the other milestones, as most people including me, were living their lives over the five sessions or so that it took them to to get the runs!
The Skip has to be credited for a well made double ton, if nothing else, the older person has all the shots, always has, perhaps that's why they keep picking him.
Now no one is labouring the point, as they did endlessly prior on the beckoning of Pup's people, about the dude on the wrong side of 30 losing his reaction time against quick bowling, nay his eye sight.
That said, on this occasion Ponting never really came under any serious incoming from heavy artillery, in an attack that quickly weakened to the explosive power of a pop gun as the days progressed.
Of course, as much can be said for my bloke, but Pup's cover driving, off cutting, straight hits, as good as it ever was, and what more can be said about the footwork that even Rudolf Nureyev would admire from the grave?
Pretty to watch.
Not to mention the fiendishly clever leg side play, forever rotating the srtrike, especially for The Captain, or just keeping it for himself from time to time with the effortless glance for two backward of the square leg umpire.
Wonder if the "whole of the western suburbs cried" on the kiddie making his highest test score, as they did, according to that Complete Loon Roebuck on the radio, when he made his 151 on debut in Bangalore?
Doubt it, somehow.
A rather odd way to get out, bringing the bat down in line with the pitch of the ball all the time intending to leave it, but at the last minute forgetting to offer the pads, only to see the ball sail through under his nose unattended and take out the off peg.
As simple as that.
No one was more astonished than the bowler, the batsman, and the wicket keeper.
Just a stunned silence around the bat.
After so many hundreds of minutes and so many hundreds of balls it only goes to show that the character is human, and no matter how big the ball is looking -- by that stage reaching the proportions of a huge watermelon -- it's still possible to make a fundamental, fatal mistake, made all the worse by the fact that you saw it all happen before your very eyes, and were powerless to stop it.
You could blame fatigue and a momentary lapse in concentration, but thinking the technical term for it is "brain freeze".
Never mind.
In the second innings, seems Pup had pretty much taken charge of the dressing room, refusing point blank to bat at five, or at all, for that matter.
The bloke at his imperious best by dismissively declining to appear before the masses as scheduled.
Of course no one asked why, but if they did, he would have just said "done enough"
So he sent Haddin in with that long handled bat of his that looks more like a Lance Cairns murderous Maori club; nothing in the laws that says it can't be a foot thick, as long as it's only 4" wide.
The wickie puts one onto the hill and is then run out, in comes Joke Johnno, who holes out immediately, and Ponting appears at the dressing room door, looking like one of his dogs had just lost as an odds on favourite at Devenport, signalling to the field to come in, as MJ Clarke has the feet up in the Jason Recliner while the team Entertainment Officer, Douglas "just call me Bubbles, everyone else does" Bollinger asks the Vice-Captain whether he would enjoy a high-ball of Pimms No.1 Cup from the freshly prepared drinks tray.
Mint optional.
Life's good, innit?

to lose the unloseable test

Surprisees,

Rang me mate on Tuesday night and said "not much point going to the cricket to see us being subjected to a gigantic tusk up the runter by ten Muzzies and a Hindu?".
He agreed.
Major mistake, but cricket is a funny game.
Undoubtedly the most remarkable win on home soil since the NEVER IN DOUBT test match against the Poms at the Adelaide Oval in December 2006.
Like now, just as then, Pakistan somehow, miraculously, contrived to lose the unloseable test.
Obviously the previous post was written in a fit of pique, before the final dénouement in Sydney, but the fundamentals are the same, regardless of the result.
Ponting takes another of the cat's lives on board, Pup graceously stays in the dressing room until the rendition of Beneath The Southern Cross is done and dusted, while the members trash the Members Bar while slapping each other on the back saying "test cricket is the winner".

hit in the Jatz

One of the more unusual highlights of the test summer has been MJ Clarke getting hit in the Jatz for the second year running at the Sydney Cricket Ground.
Copped one in the golden bollocks from The Mighty Gul, after being touched up by Jacques Kallis in a similar fashion this time last year!
As Skull was moved to comment on the radio "there'll be no hoisting the spinnaker in Bondi tonight"
Blame it on the pitch, the ball, the weather conditions, unsuitable bat, sub-standard protector, whatever you like; everyone else is making all kinds of excuses for all manner of things under the sun.
It's been a very interesting summer for Clarkey given that he has been intensely involved with the philosophical question of the importance of being Micheal Clarke, while plotting to pinch the captaincy.
Easy to forget that Pup was topping the averages after the West Indies series, when no one could make a ton.
He can't make a ton.
Just intent on doing the Vice-Captain thing; a measured innings, build a knock, be responsible in the match context.
Perhaps that's just not his go - perghaps he should return to his swashbuckling ways?
After all, the cracking cover drive, the pinging off cut, and the classic leg side play to work the ones and twos and rotate the strike, are all as good as ever.
When was the last time the bloke hit a six?
Still, he's been a busy boy off the field, given that he has been consulting lawyers, arranging for someone to "borrow" the Aston, and generally sorting out the Bride to Be.
On the field, and in the dressing shed, his move on the skippership has been subtle.
Sensibly, Pup didn't talk to the press at all from the start of the Perth test clean through to Sydney, and his only public leadership move was to send Uncle Horrie in as nightwatchman in Melbourne.
A masterstroke that went a long way to winning the match, after it allowed for an unusual early declaration.
The first time he appeared in the media in a long time was before the toss was made at the SCG, when he was asked on radio interview what he might do if he were captain, and if there was any thought in the rooms about the possiblity of inserting the Paki's under leaden skies on a Sydney greentop.
Reply?
"to be honest, I haven't spoken with Ricky"
The failure of Cricket Australia to institute a Royal Commission to make a wide ranging inquiry into the Ashes loss has come home to roost in Sydney, with Pakistan completing the jihad and vapourising the odd Australian test career into the bargain [Which Way's North springs to mind].
The blindness of those who should know better continues to astound [the awarding of the mickey-mouse McGilvray medal to cry-baby Johnson for single-handedly losing the Ashes during some kind of argument with his mother over a girl, will take some beating as the best joke of 2010].
The miserable failure of the selectors to accept any culpability, and the point blank refusal of the captain to take any responsibility for the Ashes fiasco [the real reason why PJ Hughes was shamefully dropped in England was simply that Punter had a role as a tour selector, and Ponting just can't stand the young kiddie -- unlike the skipper, Hughes twitters, he's got a Facebook page etc etc -- and as we all know, the sun shines out of Watson's arse 24 hours a day], all means MJ Clarke need do nothing more than bide his time.
Ponting has lost form & confidence after Kemar Roach bought home the stark reality that his ageing eyes and reflexes can no longer adequately pick up the really fast short ball, he's always suffered from poor judgement [you only have to go back to Edgbaston, for gawd's sake] and making rubbish decisions in the field [you only have to go back to letting India off a very sharp hook in Nagpur].
Ponting says he wants to lead the side on the 2013 Ashes tour, well, let's be frank, he's got more chance of making the 2012 London Olympics.
A loss at Bellerive, and he'll be lucky to get out of Hobart alive.

a quiet early snifter

Spectators,

"No sooner had the muddied oafs vacated the playing fields, than the flanelled fools appeared, as if from nowhere...."
Popped my head into the Sydney Cricket Ground this morning in the hope of seeing MJ Clarke make his ton, while all the time thinking don't do this! you'll just jinx him and put the mock on the poor bloke.
Settled myself into the garden seats in front of the Ladies Stand just in time to see Pup play a lovely cut shot, beating the man at a dead-set point, off the hapless TP Macdonald for three, to bring up what must have been his first first class century outside the test matches in many a long year now, much to the raptuous applause of the smattering of members having a quiet early snifter in the Members Pavilion Bar, The Man & his Dog, and the 73 patrons seated in the MA Noble stand for the occasion [yes, with nothing else to do, counted them all, just before lunch].
Although, in truth, The Dog didn't really join in.
Perhaps he's just not a fan of the Captain-in-Waiting?
Then again, the ground canine has never been one to show much in the way of emotion, and has never been known to speak.
Of course missed all the action on day one, with Clarkey on 92 not out overnight, but seasoned observers at the ground did remark over a cuppa out of the Thermos that he smote the ball as well as he ever has done, although "looked a little ginger" in the back region from time to time while running between the wickets.
In any case, reckon Pup got himself out deliberately just before 11:30, having had a good hit for 106 in centre wicket practice, dollying a lollie from BG Drew to give GJ Bailey the easiest catch he'll take all summer at cover.
Probably called out as he it the thing "yours! George!" before trudging his way back to the dressing room to have his back walked up and down on by a four and a half foot Asian woman, before getting in the sauna, then the ice bath, while being beaten with birch sticks.
This, of course, was all in stark contrast to Sunday, finding myself having a look from under the Ol' Fig Tree at North Sydney Oval, at MJC's first one-day game for the Mighty Bleeeews in almost exactly three years.
Appeared to be all at sea for a well made 7, before being called for a run that wasn't there, and unable to stretch out fully, failed to make his ground by about half a bat.
Looked for all the world like a bloke well short of a good net, and obviously not fully fit, as he stretched his back with both hands on the coxyx while waiting to be interviewed by some Foxtel bimbo on the sideline during the game, and then described his back on the live telly as "good, strong".
Yeah, right.
Losing a touch of sleep at night worrying about Shaggers Back -- just about the worst injury you can possibly get -- generally chronic and incurable, and the pain usually doesn't respond to anything short of morphine.
Deeply concerning that the team physio is deeply concerned, not to mention the coach, as confirmed by this quote:
“He’s not an old man, so we’ve got to be very careful that we don’t flog him to death as a 27- or 28-year-old as he is now,” coach Tim Nielsen told AAP news agency.
SPD Smith provided some entertainment, launching the heavy artillery onto the roof of the O'Reilly Stand and hitting five boundaries in a row, and having a very good dip at a sixth to just miss out.
Undoubtedly the hightlight of the day was being present to witness The Great B Lee's last ever spell, before he did his elbow in again.
It was clear to all and sundry that he had lost a yard or two during his enforced lay off since before the Ashes began, and never looked like threatening to get anyone out on a slow, low, early season pitch, resulting in a test comeback looking more like having two chances; none and snowflakes
Did like his quasi-retirement press conference the next day where he carried himself very well indeed and admitted that if he never rolled his arm over again he would "be happy with what I've done."
There is no doubt, Binger is one of the very few genuine ornaments to the game, and had a good innings given his family history to go as long as he did, while belting them down at full pace for his entire career for hundreds of good wickets [although, and sorry to bring this up again, probably chucking his very quick ball, for mine.]
Certainly lasted longer than his rather less well credentialled, but rather more photogenic brother Shane, who you'll recall had a career cruelled by injury, and was forced to give the game away at the age of 28.
Despite the beaut aspect with the oval framed by the huge ancient low bough of the fig tree and a refreshing sou'easterly blowing in off the harbour and wafting in over the Doug Walters Stand, the joint had completely run out of food of any description by the change of innings!
The North Sydney CC's rightly famous steak sandwich stand had sold out and packed up and was gorn by half-time, while every pie in the ground had been bought and gobbled, and people were left wondering if any hot dogs, hamburgers or hot chips had actually made it to the ground in the first place.
Could have been food riots.
Compelled to join the famished, who with ten overs to go, and NSW looking well beaten on account of the openers didn't score quickly enough from the off, made a steady bee-line to the welcome bars of the North Sydney Hotel directly across Miller St.
The hotelier had been given the word from the ground and had the decency and sense to call the cook and open the hotel kitchen early.
Always noice when there's someone there to save you.

ponder fruitlessly

Loyalists,

Having lived in the heart of the Canterbury-Bankstown district for the best part of the last 12 years, there really is nothing more pleasing in rugby league than to see the Canterbury-Bankstown Bulldogs go down in a screaming heap, whip-sawed by the Mighty Tigers, and robbed of what was rightfully theirs – to wit, the JJ Giltinan Shield, aka the Minor Premiership.
Sweet!
Not even the Roosters collecting the wooden spoon can better that.
Strange that once the pressure if off as you know you are gorn for all money in the race for the finals, the Tigers thrash a team with pretensions to lift the Winfield Cup.
Still, the best way to finish off a season in which the boys from down on the Balmain Road were perhaps the toughest team to follow.
So near and yet so far.
Balmain is undoubtedly the best team, in any code for that matter, not to make the top eight – just one point or half a win shy.
The likes of Newcastle etc etc will soon be shown up for the pretenders they are, while the Tiges could have given September a real shake, even without the Human Wrecking Ball.
Indeed, it’s the first time Wests has not made the finals since the Miracle Year of 2005.
But, there is no use in speculating, as all loyal fans can do is shake their heads, ponder fruitlessly on “what might have been”, and down another hospital strength brandy.
All well, it’s only a game.
On Mad Monday, SC Sheens made sure that he personally shouted a beer for every single player in the squad on the grounds that “most of ‘em tried their best”.
All a coach could ask for, really.

WESTS TIGERS 34. Tries: Ayshford, Lawrence, Moltzen, Galea, Marshall, Halatau. Goals: Marshall (5).
CANTERBURY-BANKSTOWN BULLDOGS 12. Tries: Patten, Morris. Goals: El Masri (2).
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 17,375.

So there ends the Winter Game wire for another year.
Thanks for all your kind and constructive comments and suggestions, vile invective, unintelligible ravings and drunken ratings throughout the season.
It’s been a lot of fun.
Now, bring on the first class cricket season!

weeping uncontrollably

Old Age Pensioners,

To see on the unblinking eye the images of Michael O’Loughlin weeping uncontrollably as he walked off the hallowed turf of the Sydney Cricket Ground for the very last time as he vainly tried to hide his tears in the collar of his guernsey got me to thinking that there are actually people to which football matters.
It was achingly sad, and yet strangely reassuring that such an ornament to the game had decided to put himself up onto the gilt-edged mantelpiece to be admired forever.
No-one, and that means no-one in the last ten years or more has been more deserving than Magic of admittance to that very exclusive club of SCG Life Members, on the basis of his performances on the ground.
Here’s trusting that the trustees can see their way clear, or perhaps the honour is not bestowed on a black man?
Oh well. Go well ol’ boy; there will never be another Micky O.
Let’s just hope that he meets with brilliant success in his stated retirement aim of extending a helping hand to underprivileged aboriginal kiddies and encouraging more of the really destitute ones to give the game a go in the belief that the stellar heights are indeed attainable.
Did like the interview Magic gave to one of the Sunday fishwraps on the occasion of his 300th, in the ten questions your time starts now format.
Asked “what was the worst thing a coach has ever said to you?”
The great man replied “I had a coach in Adelaide once who once said to me ‘you will never play top grade league football in South Australia’. Funnily enough, I never did. I went straight to the AFL”.
Vale The Great Magic.
All power to his oars.
Jared Crouch looked as he always does, like some kind of muscled up short little tough guy who would not have looked out of place in a small ill-fitting dark suit with Hawaii Five-O sunglasses to match, and a Glock in the footy sock.
Played a heap of games simply on the strength of being Mr Reliable with the added advantage, despite his stature, of being able to scare the living shit out of opposition players as he was running at them full pelt with the aim of delivering a well timed rabbit punch to the nuts.
Will probably go into real estate.
And the sight of Leo Barry, the most unlikely of footballers ever to grace a playing field; not a single rippling muscle on his frame, pecs entirely missing in action, all gangly arms and legs, would give hope to even the most downtrodden.
He’s had the extraordinary luck of being able to ride the gravy train to innumerable free luncheons, trading on his miracle last-second leap to save the 2005 Grand Final.
Good luck to him, and may the toot! toot! continue ever onwards.
Perhaps a campaign should be mounted to rename the curiously titled Kippax-Carroll Dining Room in the Bradman Stand at the SCG the McLoughlin-Barry-Crouch Room.
The trustee’s have a track record in re-naming things at the ground, just ask Pat Hills and Doug Walters MBE.
SC Roos, after that season, would have taken a very low, almost underground, profile at Mad Monday.
Happy to leave all the having fun to BBB Hall.


SYDNEY: 3.4, 6.6, 11.7, 14.8 (92). Goals: O'Loughlin 4, White 3, Goodes 3, Thornton, Ablett, Kirk, Jack
BRISBANE: 3.5, 10.8, 13.9, 15.10 (100). Goals: Brown 3, Sherman 3, McGrath 2, Clark, Harding, Brennan, Austin, Stiller, Black, Polkinghorne
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 27,933.

SC Sheens will go to his grave wondering how on earth it was that Balmain let Scotty Prince go to the Gold Coast a season after the 2005 Grand Final.
At the time, he described the Prince defection, for not that much more money, mind you, as “the worst decision I’ve ever seen in all my time in football. They’ve just ripped the heart out of my backline”.
And doesn’t Prince just love to come back to haunt the Tigers?
Especially when he must rate himself as a half way decent chance of adding a second Premiership Ring to the collection.
Seasoned observers left the ground mulling over the question, and shaking their heads muttering amongst themselves “Our Benji, spectacular try, Best Leb in The Game, two tries, and we still lost the match?????”
The game was a microcosm of all the lost matches through this season.
In it from the outset, well placed throughout, and then opened up like a can of beans in the last ten minutes.
Not hard to see where the coach’s ledger will finish up after he has scratched the final result into the two columns marked “well take our wins” and “well learn from our losses”.

GOLD COAST TITANS 36. Tries: Prince (2), Campbell, O'Dwyer, Rogers, Tagataese. Goals: Prince (6).
WESTS TIGERS 24. Tries: Farah (2), Hanbury (2), Marshall. Goals: Marshall (2).
At Robina Park, Qld.
Crowd: 20,102.