"go back to Mexico, ya mongrels"

Disappointees,

Did like the bloke standing next to me overlooking the 20 metre line at the Swimming Pool End, he might have been 11 years old, 12 if he was pushing it, decked out in the complete Storm kit, clenching his fists and barracking strongly whenever the Melbourne fowards took it up.
He was a mere slip of a lad, and he appeared to have a father with him who by what he was saying had seen a few rugby league matches in his time, but didn't have his heart in this one, and kept apologising for the fact that his boy had somehow inexplicably become a Melbourne supporter.
The kid was beaming at the end of the game, naturally.
A woman stood behind me holding a copy of the Sunday Telegraph up to her face to read, so she had no chance of catching even a glimpse of the game.
Thinking she might have been making a pointed statetment to the bloke she was with; something along the lines of "not interested".
Just like days of yore, when Balmain played every home game at Leichhardt, we wanded in from the Orange Grove for the second time in a fortnight, and found the Spiritual Home all but packed.
By the time we had found our standing room, they'd hung the 'full house' shingle outside the ground, with hundreds being turned away for just being too late.
So, the ground was dripping with atmosphere.
The Balmain forwards matched Melbourne man-for-man in defence, but didn't have their usual cut and thrust in attack, while the backs seemed disorganised as the halves struggled to find any rythmn, with the Great Benji and The Best Leb In The Game both having quiet games.
Marshall really only had one good moment when he threw a Hail Mary miracle pass, cutting out four players across the back and finding his right winger unmarked, allowing Be My Beau Ryan to score what turned out to be the home side's only try of the match.
When Benji limped off with what appeared to be a bit of a knee with about ten minutes left, all hope was lost.
No one remotely looked like scoring in the second half in a dead set checkmate stalemate as Melbourne strangled the living daylights out of the game with the full sanction of the referees.
Go figure.
The Storm came to play, no doubt about that, but also implemented some below the belt tactics and downright dirty play - an audacious thing to do at Leichhardt, where the crowd can get volatile - in a bid to slow down the play-the-ball to a crawl, which they did very effectively.
Some shady character by the name of Sika Manu dropped his knees in a tackle on That Pom Ellis early in piece, provoking outrage on the hill, and yet, even though it was right there in full view as plain as the light of day, the Bamfords missed it and he got away with it scott free, when he should have been sent off.
Back in the day, dropping the knees was up there with tripping, the spear tackle, the swinging arm head high tackle, biting and eye gouging as the send off offences.
Not anymore in the modern game it seems.
Late in the match, the same bloke collared the Balmain fullback in a clothesline tackle around the neck, then tips him up and violently back slams him into the turf, before sitting his broad buttocks on the bloke's chest and head!
Three infringements in one.
At least the Bamford gave him and his captain a right lecture and put him in the report book, but what then happened down at the tribunal?
No action was taken over the last tackle, and yet he was done for the kneeing, but let off with a reprimand on account he didn't have enough penalty points for even a one week suspension.
Let's be blunt here; weak as piss.
Joisus wept.
Did like Farah dropping his bundle on interview after the game when questioned about the Melbourne style of play.
''They f---ing do it all the time, they do it all the time, and they just get away with it,''
While you don't get to the top of the table being nice guys, there's no room for filth in the game for mine.
Someone should remind the Storm players that rugby league is a thug's game played by gentlemen, while rugby union is a gentleman's game played by thugs.
They should switch codes.
But, a sense of honour seems to have gone out of the thingy since it became a multi-million dollar business.
SC Sheens declined to comment on the Bamford's performance or the opposition.
Rather would have said nothing, but did mention something about the Tigers being consistently inconsistent.
While the Tigers hung onto 6th place on the ladder by the skin of their teeth, there's a log jam behind them, and the top five have opened up a huge six point gap on the rest, and will be very hard to dislodge from here.
The Club Secretary doesn't need to get the abacus out to calculate that Balmain now find the best they can hope for is to fight it out with six teams for the last three places in the top eight.
Wandered out of the ground kicking empty beer cans along the ground, and found the need to strain the potatoes in the heritage-listed Gents on the side of the hill.
Found ZZ Top in there [he's more often seen at Cambelltown].
Full-beard down to his waist, major league mullet, dressed in the full Western Suburbs Magpies gear from the 80's teamed with carved cowboy boots, smoking at the urinal with his beer perched precariously on the porcelain.
Perhaps he was the bloke with the booming voice who after the match gave the Storm players a choice send off as they made an undignified exit up the tunnel...
"Go back to Mexico, ya mongrels".

WESTS TIGERS 4. Tries: Ryan.
MELBOURNE STORM 12. Tries: Proctor, Hinchcliffe. Goals: Smith (1), Duffie (1).
At Leichhardt Oval.
Crowd: 20,486.

Swans, what Swans?
Never saw a frame of this game as it was played simultaneously with the time we spent at the Spiritual Home on a Sunday afternoon.
On returning home found the bush telegaph in the corner of the loungeroom had chattered into life and transmitted the scorebox from Docklands.
Tore off the tape and read the score, and so wasn't even remotely interested in viewing even the highlights reel on the crystal bucket news of the Swans being eaten alive like kippers for breakfast.
The fishwraps variously described the Sydney effort as "terrible" or "dreadful".
The bald facts show they were the best part of ten goals in arrears at three quarter time, after for the second week running, failing to kick a single goal in the Championship Quarter, and in this instance having six unanswered goals kicked on them.
That'd be something that'd have Coach Horse stratching his head.
Never going to challenge the top four with that kind of nonsense.
In fact, the StatsGuru gave me a ring on Monday morning and said all of Sydney's four losses this year have come against the teams that are currently in the top four, including being beaten by Carlton twice already, and they've got Collingwood coming off the bye this week.
He concluded his remarks by saying "fancy that?".
Yet another thing for Mr Ed to ponder as he thinks about sending the entire team down to the Room Full Of Mirrors on the Balmain Rd for a session of having a good look at themselves.
Can, and must, do better, even if they appear on the face of it to be still be travelling alright, only a win or two to make the top five.
The Pies would be a highly unlikely starting point, but everyone knows as you go into the back end of a season the game becomes a different bottle of mussels altogether, when form becomes important and class becomes paramount.
Grundy, Bird, Johnson, Kennedy, O'Keefe were listed as "Best:" in the scorebox.
Got no idea, of course.
You be the judge.

CARLTON: 4.2, 7.4, 13.8, 15.10 (100). Goals: Kreuzer 2, Murphy 2, Garlett 2, Walker 2, Ellard 2, Robinson, Henderson, Judd, Yarran, Gibbs.
SYDNEY: 3.1, 4.3, 4.4, 10.6 (66). Goals: Goodes 2, Jack 2, Bird, Malceski, Shaw, Bolton, Jetta, McGlynn.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 42,788.

ancient calderas and kippers for breakfast

Weathermen,

If you thought last week was beyond belief, think again.
It does happen, but it's not often both your football teams win under extraordinary circumstances in the same weekend, let alone for two weeks running.

The day dawned miserable.
Bitterly cold with an antarctic gale ripping through the Emerald City with heavy showers sweeping about to boot.
Nothing could coax me out of a warm lounge room equipped with a crystal bucket, a bush telegraph and an en suite wine rack.
Never mind even thinking about going to the ground.
Had a cursory look at the weather vane out the kitchen window and thought "there's a four to five goal breeze there".
But at half time realised that that was back in the day, and in the modern game is probably now called a "14 behinds wind".
Let's just look at the Bare Facts:
Swans managed to kick 14 behinds to half time, then contrived to boot 21 behinds in the game, no goals whatsoever in the Championship quarter, and still went on to win by ten points.
Lord Crikey!
Go figure.
If ever there was an undeserving win against an opposition side who struggled under the damp conditions all day - that was surely it.
Seasoned observers who actually made it to the ground described it as being 'spongey' underfoot, but the main problem was that the breeze died away a bit and then picked up to gale force again by quarter time and blew like joisus throughout to the final siren.
Under the cirumstances, they said a beanie helped, but not as much as a little OP rum in the hip flask that always proves to be a welcome panacea to ward off the shivering.
They blamed the appalling inaccuracy on the Swans complete inabilty to cope with the wicked wind.
And then forgave them, given its not something that you can generally train for.
The Haneberry Kiddie might have got in under the radar to be best on ground, and is developing into a first class footballer, by all accounts
Ever since he first stepped out onto the big boy's park last year, he's looked the goods.
All the skills, with the right attitude.
Although, you get the feeling that he'll have to go to a high profile Melbourne club on big money in couple of years when his contract runs out if he wants to become a superstar.
The Great Seabs would have picked up the three Brownlow points [Bamfords are easily impressed by big men doing good] despite not being able to make the first grade team until Mummy did himself a mischief.
As it happens, he's not played much football of any consequence for fully the last three years, and yet is a premiership winning ruckman.
A bit crocky and playing second fiddle at the Swans, he's highly likely to end his playing days on a meagre disappointing pension at the Greater Western Pygmies
Mr Ed the Talking Horse, with three wins on the trot under the belt would be thinking the Swans really need to put together a purple patch right now, by beating a couple of very good teams away and home, to propel themselves into the top four, or risk dropping out of the eight altogether.
He'd also be thinking that on the strength of that showing and the kind of yips displayed in front of goal, Sydney will be eaten alive like kippers on well-buttered brown toast with a twist of lemon for breakfast by the likes of Carlton and Collingwood in the next fortnight.
The Queen's Birthday Holiday Monday smoko down at the Magic Waters would have been a wake up call; brisk in the pool with a whistling biting southerly coming in clean over the top of Mt Kosciuszko, not easy to light the pipe, with a fair bit of pondering to do.
Tends to concentrate the mind.
Crunch time.


SYDNEY: 3.8, 5.14, 5.19, 9.21 (75). Goals: Reid 2, Jetta 2, Dennis-Lane, Malceski, Roberts-Thomson, O'Keefe, Kennedy.
RICHMOND: 2.3, 4.7, 6.7, 9.11 (65). Goals: Riewoldt 2, Vickery 2, Martin 2, Nahas, Deledio, Browne.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 23,782.


It was a touch ironic that the Mighty Tiges found themselves playing in an old volcano in Auckland, when they very nearly didn't get there due to the volcanic ash thingy drifting in from Chile.
Auckland is dotted with ancient dormant calderas, and they sunk Mt Smart Stadium into one of them on account of it's a near perfect natural amphitheatre; Kiwis - nothing if not practical.
Let's just look at the Bare Facts:
Balmain came back from being 4-22 down early in the second half, to win the match 26-22.
Lord Crikey!
Go figure.
The return from injury of That Pom Ellis over the last couple of weeks tells you how much extra starch he adds to the Balmain pack.
Tough and uncompromising are two words that come to mind.
Worth his weight in gold, which come to think of it, is probably more or less exactly what he would be paid over the course of his recently re-negotiated three-year contract.
Brilliant!
It did look like the Tiges might outlast the Worriers in match fitness at the denoument; history show those big bastard Brown Brothers in the pack might be able to bust you wide open in the early stages but are easily pooped once you put the work into them.
It was the forwards who manned up after Balmain appeared utterly gorn for all money early in the second half and won the field position that enabled the backs to just over-run the Worriers with three unexpected tries in the last ten minutes to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
The Marshall/Lui/Farah show had touches of brilliance - enough for two tries to the main man - but that bludnut Keith 'Keefy' Galloway was close to best on field for mine, with some damaging runs through the mid field to make critical attacking yards and create the all important room for the halves and three quarters to dance their way to the try line.
Never did bother to look up what SC Sheens had to say about it in the Monday morning fishwraps on account of it would have been very little.
He probably would have left it at "pretty good effort at the end".
Did like the very finish of the match with only a few seconds on the clock.
The Great Benji found himself in possession on the last tackle, and instead of booting it deep with a downtowner over the heads of the Worriers players, he instead gave it to himself with a little tap kick, then promptly turned around on his heels and ran backwards for 40 metres, carrying the ball over the Worriers dead ball line like some kind of demented chook just as the final siren sounded, then threw the ball high in the air in triumph.
Certainly, an unsual way to end a match, but the Kiwis saw it as akin to underarm bowling and rushed in from everywhere and tried to put on an all-in stink; threw a few punches only to be met with don't argues, before the Bamfords stepped in and reminded them that there was nothing wrong with it and they had in fact lost the match.
Game over.

NEW ZEALAND WARRIORS 22. Tries: Vatuvei (2), Inu, Locke, Johnson. Goals: Maloney (1).
WESTS TIGERS 26. Tries: Marshall (2), McKinnon, Ryan, Ayshford. Goals: Marshall (3).
At Mt Smart Stadium.
Crowd: 15,889.

beyond belief

Frequented the Front Bar at The Local on Saturday afteroon for a quick snifter and to see who was betting on what and why, and so on and so forth.
The Brown Brothers were in, in force, boisterously warming up for the NZ Worriers early evening game in the league.
They needn't have bothered, and would have been upset at the end of the day that they had wasted their time.
Stumbled across The Philosopher in his usual corner looking a touch melancholy and nursing this week's favoured tipple, a double brandy, lime & soda.
He wasn't much in the mood for conversation, witty banter or small talk, as usual.
Until the idea was put to him that the away game at the Gabba was a tip top opportunity for the Swans to at last put away a lowly ranked team early in proceedings, unlike some other heart-stopping affairs this year.
The Philosopher just said "if they don't, I'm going to have a coronary".
And left it at that.
And lets face it, who could have even remotely forseen the Swans leading by eleven, yes, that's right, eleven freaking goals at half-time?!
Or that the Unliest Man In Football [who is currently affecting some kind of primitive caveman look with the full beard], would be pushed forward by Mr Ed from the off and end up being the leading goal kicker out of 12, with three maximums.
The various bookmakers who offer the now apparently shunned and distasteful exotic odds would have been quite happy that the absolute long shot got up.
It seems Roberts-Thomson, who's played his entire career at full back, didn't mind being sent forward for a change, and showed just why he is a very good all around footballer, who adds considerable starch to the line-up.
Never mind the looks; has all the skills.
Few theories have been advanced as to why teams, from time to time, don't turn up to play at home.
The Brisbane Bears being a prime example in this instance.
Most coaches consider it inexplicable.
It's difficult to fathom why a side that's been travelling reasonably well in recent weeks, suddenly finds itself being absolutely monstered at the hands of the visitors.
Swans never led by less than ten goals at any stage after half time.
While the win might have been overwhelmingly convincing, it's one of those games that not much can be learnt from; no moral victory or anything remotely like it - just a ten goal football lesson, "a clinic".
You would have thought supporters of both sides would have left the ground shaking their heads and ascribing it to "just one of those things".
Coach Horse at least could have had a bex and a cup of tea at half time, then a good lie down, knowing the thing was already in the dilly bag, opting as he did to just leave it up to the players to sort it out amongst themselves from there on in.
The 'Best:' line in the scorebox in the Sunday morning fishwraps for the Swans should have just read "All played well".
Bolton, J. is performing his way into Brownlow contention of late, while Odd Head McVeigh had an oustanding game, for mine.
The Hannebery Kiddie had his best outing in weeks, while that old Crows discard Marty Mattner appeared to close down the Brisbane forward line almost single handedly, and then kick some goals at the other end on a whim!
Could have been best on ground.
Dennis-Lane proved to be the serious young insect who did really well roving the ball on the ground, while The Bird flew the coop - never marked/manned up by the opposition all night - and was prominent among the Swans 'loose men everywhere'.
The Goodes Train decided under the circumstances that he didn't need to do anyting more than put in a tradesman like performance and save his aging legs, and did rather well at that.
The season reaches the half way point this weekend, and 5th is not a bad place to be, given the top two are runaways.
The Stats Guru points out that a cursory glance at the run to the flag reveals the Swans [with a perfect away record so far] play five teams also in the current top 8, seven teams outside the 8, plus another bye.
He reckons, on paper, that's a bit better than half a chance of finishing in the top four.
But they really need to string together a purple patch in the next few weeks to be considered genuine contenders.

BRISBANE: 1.0, 2.2, 5.8, 7.9 (51). Goals: Retzlaff 2, Banfield 2, Brown, Clark, Black.
SYDNEY: 6.7, 13.8, 15.9, 17.14 (116). Goals: Roberts-Thomson 3, Goodes 2, McGlynn 2, Mattner 2, Johnson, Bird, Kennedy, McVeigh, Seaby, O’Keefe, Reid, Dennis-Lane.
At Brisbane Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 22,150.

Dropped into the old Orange Grove Hotel on my way to the Spiritual Home on a crystal clear, crisp, Monday evening in the Emerald City just to confirm that they really had ruined it with one of those McPub makeovers/cheap 'renovations' that publicans can buy off the plan.
Such a shame that the fireplace in the original front bar that used to burn top quality old growth forest hardwood for the comfort of patrons in winter has been boarded up.
The Grove used to be a you beaut pit-stop when we walked to the ground from our place in Rozelle all those years ago, but it's not the same, even though the barmaids were wearing cute little Tiger's ears.
Oh well, at least it's not a block of flats...for now.
Found a good standing room only spot in front the grand stand at the swimming pool end, with a perfect view of the Tigers running that way in the second half.
However, it all ended up being rather disappointing in almost every aspect -- the long and the short of it was that Balmain played poorly.
Marshall and Farah did nothing and were missing in action, depriving the side of any attacking spark, while the engine room failed to get going at any stage; hampered by the most spastic refereeing seen at the ground in a long time [and that's saying something].
The filthy Knights played offside all night, continually infringing the 10 metre rule at the play-the-ball, and were then guilty of lying all over the tackled player, so the Tigers forwards couldn't get any go-forward momentum to speak of.
The Bamfords eventually, very late in the game, warned the Newcastle captain that the next player to break either rule would be sent to the sin bin; of course they then stopped doing it, but the damage had already been well and truly done by then.
Why the Bamfords didn't issue the warning from the outset and get control of the game is beyond belief
A case in point of the Bamfords being hell bent on robbing the home side blind was the Knight's second 'try' to level up the half-time score at 10-10.
It must go down in the record books as the joke try of the year.
Saw it with my own eyes as it happpened right in front of me.
The ball clearly went out after landing on the dead ball line - everyone in that corner of the ground obviously thought so, as did the the players, who stopped playing - the pill then miraculously somehow boomeranged back into the in-goal and the Knights player who was scrambling back to try to have a dab at it managed to get one finger on the ball, but at no stage whatsoever was any downward pressure exerted on the pigskin.
All as plain as day viewed in real time in 3D with the naked eye, and yet the mongs in the video referee's box ruled it as a try.
The TV bamfords were fooled by the phenomenon known as parallax error and the fact that television lies - all the time.
Could go on about it, but won't.
As you might have guessed, it's something that gives me, and everyone else for that matter, the complete shits.
The crowd went absolutely ballistic and punters were throwing their hats to the ground in disgust, but realised there was no point in arguing with them as Bamfords only very rarely change their decisions; abuse is much better.
Little wonder the umpires quickly scuttled off the ground like some kind of vermin at full time, under police escort.
Bad luck didn't help either.
Lote "Wot'd I do, Guv?" Tuqiri lasted all of six minutes in his first game back after seven weeks on the sidelines with a broken arm before being taken off after doing an ankle and never returned.
A season cursed.
Then late in the game, the Knights filthiest player, Uate, upended some Tigers youngster in a blatant spear tackle, and wasn't sent off by the Bamfords, as he should have been.
Then he gets a weak-as reprimand down at the judiciary, when he should have been rubbed out for two weeks by rights, on account of his 'good record'.
Go on, tickle my arse with a feather.
Lord, help us
After all that, SC Sheens would have pulled the last tuft of hair out of his head and presented it in a very small glass case to the club museum.
A collective sigh of relief went through the crowd as the full-time hooter blew at 16-16, but just found myself regretting the bad mistake of leaving the heart pills at home.
All was forgiven as extra time turned into an elaborate game of chess, and The Best Leb In The Game potted the field goal early in the tackle count when the Knights were not expecting it, with two minutes left on the clock.
No other football ground in the world makes that kind of noise with a full house in, when the match-winner sails over the black dot.
The Touch Judges put their flags up, and Bob's yr uncle.
The Good Lady Wife got a little carried away and was high-fiving complete strangers, so had no choice but to join in.
Gawd crikey.
Not a good look.

WESTS TIGERS 17. Tries: Fulton, Brown, Lui. Goals: Marshall (2). Field Goals: Farah (1).
NEWCASTLE KNIGHTS 16. Tries: McManus, Costigan, Kaufus. Goals: Gidley (2).
At Leichhardt Oval.
Crowd: 18,021.

Cardiac Kids at it again

Art Critics,

Just returned from a few days in Hobart taking in the Museum of Old and New Art [which, by the way, is an incredible mind-fooking knock-yr-socks off blown away experience, with tens of millions of bucks in bells and whistles. Absolutely extraordinary. Never seen anything like it. Something everyone should make an effort to have a gander at once in their lives.]
Over the weekend, it was clear Hobartians don't give a rat's about the Swans, let alone the rugby league, so nothing more to offer than you have already read in the fishwraps.
Scoreboxes posted for the record:

Tigers cruelled by a slow start, but gallant in defeat against clearly the best team in the comp, by all accounts.

ST GEORGE ILLAWARRA DRAGONS 24. Tries: Cooper, Gasnier, Morris, Nightingale, Merrin. Goals: Soward (2).
WESTS TIGERS 18. Tries: Utai, Moltzen, Fifita. Goals: Marshall (3).
At Jubilee Oval, Kogarah.
Crowd: 19,892.

Looks like the Cardiac Kids were up to their usual tricks.

NORTH MELBOURNE: 3.4, 5.10, 7.13, 9.17 (71). Goals: Petrie 3, Thompson 2, Edwards 2, Macmillan, Wells.
SYDNEY: 1.4, 5.8, 8.11, 10.12 (72). Goals: McGlynn 3, Goodes 2, McVeigh, Reid, Roberts-Thomson, Johnston, Seaby.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 24,267.

"grow up, and wake up"

Long sufferers,

The day did not begin well.
No sooner than we had settled into our free seats [courtesy of the Twisted Darkie, thanks Christopher] in the MA Noble Stand concourse, than the Good Lady Wife offered me a half eaten pie to finish off.
Only succeeded in squeezing the remaining contents out of the Four'n'Twenty directly into my freshly poured cold beer that hadn't had a sip taken out of it, so the bits of texturised protein sank to the bottom of the cup, adding a unique gravy flavour to an already rather ordinary ale.
It all went downhill from there
The first half was dire; about as dire as a game of modern day Rules can get.
Four goals each to the long break, with the Swans entirely goaless in the second quarter.
Joisus.
With stacks on the mill de rigueur and the ball on the ground most of the time, Mr Nallatamby likened it to a giant game of Twister with 36 contestants involved.
It was that interesting and absorbing that punters in the bleachers resorted to reading their Sunday newspapers, chatting to each other about what they had for breakfast, and where, and talking loudly about the brilliant new 'small bar' in the eastern suburbs they discovered this week.
That sort of batshit boring display that will no doubt attract devotees of the other football codes across to the great Australian game in droves - not.
Wouldn't want to be the bloke in charge of selling that to the Great Unwashed of Greater Western Sydney as an example of what they will be getting for their money next year.
It only got worse.
When you can't even get close to kicking ten goals in a match on your home ground, something has to be seriously wrong you would have thought.
Never mind that Buddy Franklin ran rings around them and kicked six goals to single handedly win the game and was a loose man more often than not, for gawd's sake, or that the Swans suffered a complete reversal on last week and had seven goals kicked on them in the Championship Quarter this week.
Crikey.
Swans backs looked like headless chooks, while the forwards did nothing.
The ruck was inneffective, and the mid-field clueless as they were pinned down by simple manning up by the Hawks to a positional play plan.
Two free kicks right in front of us towards the end of the third quarter gifted the Hawks easy gimmee goals; the second of which had the crowd going absolutely apeshit all around us as The Goodes Train was penalised for doing absolutely nothing at all.
The vehmency suprised me; something rarely witnessed at a Swans game, where the barracking is usually polite and reserved in comparison to what goes on down Mexico way.
Needless to say, all in our party needed no persausion to join in - on my feet screaming and gesticulating like some kind of Whirling Dervish.
Some mong Bamford by the name of Jacob Mollison, who looked like a prancing weed, was responsible for awarding both joke frees, and didn't he cop a bollocking?
The home crowd just thankful that "Be Kind to Umpires" week, was last week.
So, the Swans robbed blind in the back half of the Championship Quarter, never mind that they were being comprehensively outplayed and were simply outclassed at the time, it still ruined any slim chance they might have had of getting back into the game.
The Miracle Man Malceski in his first game back 74 days after radical controversial knee surgery, when he should have been out for the season, was probably the best of a bad bunch, but you'd have to wonder what the likes of him and other tough nuts like the Great Irishman, Bolton, J. et al were thinking while they were winning the hard ball, only to see any opportunity frittered away by inexperienced children who found themselves out of their depth.
The game was done and dusted by the three quarter time siren, and patrons went back to reading their newspapers in the break before flocking in large numbers to the bars to drown their sorrows, with many, many thousands of others simply streaming out of the ground altogther as fast as they could.
At least this time they didn't have to cook the turnstile books as the place was fairly full from the off
But, by the final hooter the ground only held the long suffering faithful few to see the Swans make a hurried hanging-their-heads disappearance from the playing arena.
Hawthorn had a big cheer squad and a well populated supporters bay, and of course, they delighted in rubbing it in.
Swear blind after the debacle was all over and we made our dejected way out the Member's Gate to the event bus station in Moore Park that we saw a man with a guide dog in the queue for the Circular Quay bus.
Why on earth would a blind man want to go to the football, unless, as the GLW remarked, he was a member of the Bamfords Appreciation Society, or it was some kind of sick publicity stunt on behalf of the umpire's sponsors, OPSM?
Coach Horse would have had a lot of steam coming out of his ears down by the Magic Waters at Bronte at Monday morning smoko, finding himself with plenty running through his mind as he ponders the mid-season crossroads.

SYDNEY: 4.1, 4.4, 6.8, 8.12 (60). Goals: McGlynn 3, Everitt, McVeigh, Jetta, Malceski, Shaw.
HAWTHORN: 3.2, 4.8, 11.14, 15.16 (106). Goals: Franklin 6, Hodge 2, Bateman, Rioli, Roughead, Breust, Shiels, Osborne, Burgoyne.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 33,136.

Tigers fans were happy enough to take the get out of jail free card and the two points in one of the worst matches played by any two teams this year.
Both sides made unforced error after unforced error and at times you could be forgiven for thinking you were watching a game of under-12's.
Ball skills had the appearance of players who had spent the week at the pub.
Didn't help that the Bamford's were whistle-happy - giving away penalties with gay abandon.
It was only a freak touch of Marshall magic at the denoument that got them home by the skin of their very teeth.
The Best Leb In The Game single handedly kept the whole shebang together with not much help from anyone, in a game Balmain richly deserved to lose.
For a coach who is usually of unflappable demeanour, SC Sheens reportedly gave the team an almighty post match dressing room spray, after commanding them all to stand to attention and listen very carefully to what he had to say.
He then gave them both barrels on interview on his way to the car park, describing his charges as "stupid" and "embarrassing", and you could tell by the tenor of his voice that he dearly wanted to call someone, anyone, an "idiot".
Sensibly, he left it at the throw away line "they've got to grow up, and wake up, and that starts this week".
"If we play like that again, St George will lap us by 100".
Enuff said.

WESTS TIGERS 20. Tries: Ayshford, Brown, Dwyer, Marshall. Goals: Marshall (2).
PENRITH PANTHERS 18. Tries: Coote, Iosefa, Simmons. Goals: Walsh (3).
At Campbelltown Sports Ground.
Crowd: 16,172.

Footnote.
Does anyone else in the known universe hold a Pie Floater Party on the opening night of State of Origin?
No idea how a very odd South Australian institution was carried with me and transplanted smack bang in the middle of uncouth rugby league territory, and came to be cooked anuually to mark the start of the centrepiece of the heathen caper.
It's a tradition in my household that dates back at least 20 years; certainly to the time when King Wally Lewis reigned supreme and Balmain players of the ilk of Sirro, Blocker, Back Door Benny, and the indefatigable Wayne Junior Pearce were regularly picked for New South Wales.
My children have known nothing else around about the last Wednesday in May, and they now insist that the floater must be prepared for the state-on-state mate-on-mate pipe opener, while acknowleging, as they do, that Dad has willingly made a rod for his own back.
Two days of laborious work is involved in making the proper pea soup; the endless boiling and skimming of the smoked ham hocks with a poultice of onions, some garlic and celery stalks, perhaps a carrot for sweetness, a few bay leaves with a large bunch of parsley from the garden, and a goodly dose of freshly pounded black pepper and 'secret spices', before the fatty skin is stripped from the hocks, the bones removed, and the split peas are added on the second day to boil away to a mush, then the whole being put through the blender to make a homogenous mix, before being boiled and cooked some more, then seasoned to taste.
The simmering soup is ladled steaming into shallow bowls, and topped i.e. "floated" with a piping hot meat pie out of the oven, [no need for gourmet here, frozen Four'n'Twenty's from the supermarket will do], then dressed in the best white wine vinegar, or for the effete, the finest Spanish sherry, along with lashings of Rosella, and it must be Rosella brand tomato sauce.
Nothing else is required.
However gruesome it looks, the result is a very tasty bolt indeed that lines the stomach nicely for an evening of convivial drinking while watching Good v Evil play out the contest to the death.
The traditional drinking accompaniment to the floater is Coopers Sparkling Ale, although in recent years, as the nostalgaista begin to grow old, a full-bodied meaty Cab Sav Shiraz has become an acceptable tipple.
A once a year novelty that's yet to wear off.

paper tigers

Denizens of The Outer,

The general consensus of opinion in the Front Bar down at The Local last Friday afternoon was that Sydney would give Port Adelaide a ten goal football lesson, given how good the Power have been going lately [one win out of eight, including the first ever loss to the Gold Coast] and therefore, by definition, wasn't worth watching.
Felt inclined to take a different view; watching your team hand out a rare right thrashing to any side can be the source of some satisfaction for a loyalist.
And so, the lesson was duly delivered.
Coach Horse should mull over and pay particular attention to the seven goal championship quarter.
If they could do that every week they'd be hoisting the flag at the end of the season!
In reality tho', it's was a hard, grinding, ugly kind of game, with few opportunities.
No less than 12 goal scorers shows the Swans haven't had a genuine full forward since BBB Hall was banished....
Pleasing to see the Ugliest Man In Football, Lewis Roberts-Thomson, back in the fray.
After being wracked with injury, LRT hasn't played for quite a while, but is still all arms and legs, and remains capable of frightening small children without doing anything at all.
For the second week in a row there was a clear Best On Ground, J.Bolton just dominated his patch, and dictated terms - not that he had much opposition to deal with.
Rhino and the Goodes Train continue to play very well indeed, and Coach Horse would be well aware of the need to have those two continuing to produce in a winning team.
Reg Grundy and Rick Shaw are developing as hard men, capable of a bit of flair when required.
But in the grand scheme of things, not much can be learnt from a match of little, or no consequence.
Perhaps the blokes in the Front Bar were right after all.

SYDNEY: 3.5, 5.6, 12.11, 18.13 (121). Goals: Reid 3, Everitt 2, Goodes 2, Hannebery 2, Kennedy 2, McGlynn, Bird, Bolton, McVeigh, Jetta, Roberts-Thomson, Smith.
PORT ADELAIDE: 3.2, 4.3, 8.5, 9.5 (59). Goals: Motlop 2, Schulz 2, Thomas, Phillips, Boak, Chaplin, Logan.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd 20,719.


Didn't see a frame of the Tigers match as it was played simultaneously with the Swans game - and a good thing too.
At 27-0 down at half time, probably would have done an Elvis, got out the Glock, and started shooting up the television.
Inexplicable that they just didn't turn up to play; defies reasonable explanation.
Although he wasn't particularly to blame, The Great Heighington took the fall on behalf of the team and made the public apology, describing the first half as worst defensive display that he'd been involved in in his entire nine years at the club, and then said sorry.
Everyone else was too shy to appear in public after that dismal effort.
Deary, deary me.
SC Sheens, at least, concurred with Heighington's assessment in these terms "for a team that has aspirations of actually doing something this season, that was pretty poor" and then, for good measure, went on to state the obvious "if you don't go in and you don't hit with your shoulder, and you don't knock your opponents down in the ruck, you're going to get rolled by their speed in the middle".
My friend the StatsGuru has made an interesting observation.
He reckons that the Paper Tigers haven't beaten anyone of note this year.
Quite right too.
Approaching the half way mark in the season, as Balmain cling for dear life onto No.8 spot on the ladder only on percentage with a log jam of teams in front and behind them, they've only beaten one team above them on the table this year, and that's the Worriers, who are currently in 6th.
And the draw just gets more difficult as the season wears on.
Yet to play four out of the current top five, including St George-Illawarra, twice.
Crikey!
No shadow of a doubt that a large part of training this week would have been a couple of long sessions in the Room Full Of Mirrors down on the Balmain Road so they could have a good hard look at themselves, with the words from the people in the bleachers "can, and must, do better" ringing in their ears.
On the sunny side, there are some good milestones at Leichhardt this year with the Best Leb In The Game having just played his 150th for the club, and the Great Benji about to do so, and then there's the news that the Great Liam Fulton will turn out for his 100th appearance for the Tigers this weekend, having debuted in 1993.
Spent a lot of time in Sick Bay over the years, a year in exile in the dark satanic mills of northern England through no fault of his own, Fulton is among the last of the classic forwards who is picked week in, week out on the "never played a bad game" principle.
Just gets on with the job of making the hard yards and clocking blokes, left, right and centre.
He's a member of the Sensational Six - the remaining survivors from the Miracle of '05 who are still going around - thus earning the honorific "Great".
An unspectacular player by any measure but is a picture of tough reliable dependability, who has been known to score tries from set plays off the back of the ruck.
Despite having perhaps the most serious expression on his face of anyone on the field, he's also a supremely popular clubman off the field, being the team jester that he is.
By all reports, does a brilliant routine in impersonations, relishes ringing people up on the phone and pretending to be someone else, and loves nothing more than a well thought out perfectly executed practical joke.
Talk about larf!
A master of the jolly jape.
All power to his oars.

SOUTH SYDNEY RABBITOHS 29. Tries: Farrell, Merritt, Talanoa, Wesser. Goals: Sandow (6). Field Goals: Sandow (1).
WESTS TIGERS 18. Tries: Farah, Marshall, Utai. Goals: Marshall (3).
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 18,245.

a Bex, a cup of tea, and a good lie down.

Tourists,

As the Good Lady Wife cranked up the motor to tackle The Deadly Hume, had a bad feeling in my water that proceeding to Canberra was 'a long way to go to lose'.
Still had the feeling right up to the final siren, and then experienced wonderful relief.
Now there's a good feeling.
Manuka Oval is little more than a suburban cricket/football ground with it's collection of higgeldy-piggeldly little stands; the Robert Menzies, the Don Bradman, and the Bob Hawke, teamed with the Jack Fingleton Scoreboard [relocated from the MCG in 1982].
The board wasn't exactly a hive of information, showing the score only on its vast expanse of possibilities.
Welcome to historic Makuka Oval, the sign said.
Not much historic about it that could be seen at first glance, apart from the fact that they first put a picket fence around the joint in 1929.
Marked out on Burley Griffen's gin-soaked plans.
The place is not without charm, to be sure.
Principally it's trees.
The place was planted with English Oaks, Elms and Cypress all around the wide outer perminter behind the stands and terraces from the moment the place was begun to be built, so in the summer at the cricket, people could circulate around the ground in comfort under generous shade.
They are very large specimens now, and in the winter the modern day OH&S people would be having a fit, with patrons a'slippin' and a'slidin' on the masses of dropped acorns that have been ineffectively broomed off the asphalt paths onto the massive roots of the 90 year old trees.
There wouldn't be many grounds in this country where flurries of autumn leaves in all those shades from red to yellow drift and float across the oval in a gentle breeze while the game is being played.
A few moments of surrealism could be had if you were that way inclined.
Had the feel of this strange game being set down in the English countryside.
They intend to spend millions on re-development in the short term to welcome the Western Sydney Pygmies next year; but you can't see that team pulling massive crowds, so why fix it if it's not broke?
The catering arrangements reminded me very much of Leichhardt Oval; another of the last civilised football grounds in the world.
The $5.50 Carlton Draught came in ice cold tins with no need for the useless silliness of a plastic cup.
No pouring means no queues, which is very much appreciated by the drinkers, as they don't have to miss much of the game standing in a beer line.
The full gamut of baked goods was on offer; sausage rolls, pasties, plain pies plus the added luxury of Meat & Mushroom pies, all out of the thermo-nuclear industrial-style pie warmer.
Add in the hot chips and you have all the food groups.
Brilliant!
Having a smoke was unneccesarily complicated in that you were supposed to get a pass out and exit the ground to a degrading penned off area on the footpath just outside.
The only problem with that was that you weren't allowed to take a drink out with you, and lets face it there is no point in having a ciggy at the footy unless you have your favoured tipple to hand.
So, the regulations were largely and sensibly ignorned as people just had a smoke underneath the oaks out the back of the stands, not bothering anyone or making a nuisance of themselves.
No one cared, least of all the security guards who were for the most part asleep in their deck chairs.
Being pushed around and told what to do in the name of officialdom while trying to have a good day out does tend to get on people's goat.
A line should be drawn in the sand of common sense, but oh, don't make me carry on like a pork chop.
One of the more interesting features at Manuka are the dressing rooms under the Menzies Stand with glass walls on two sides, affording the paying public a clear view of what's going on inside.
The 'Dogs taped up tarps around theirs, so they couldn't be seen, but the Swans didn't bother.
A large mob of female fans of footballing flesh gathered around the windows peering in [the GLW had pushed her way in to front and centre, needless to say]; there was much giggling and comments like: "oh my god, isn't he gorgeous?", "oooh, he's just so pretty", "aaw, he's always been my favourite"; you know the sort of thing.
However, on surveying the scene, one girl of about 10 y-o had a different, more prosaic view..."gee, Dad, they look like caged animals in there".
Perched ourselves in the 'cheap' seats in the little concourse in front of the Menzies Stand so the sun began to set behind our backs, two bays along from the Sydney bench.
Couldn't believe that the field glasses had been left at home or that it was my fault.
Manuka Oval is a huge ground - the playing arena at 179m x 150m being slightly bigger than the dimensions of the MCG!
With failing eyesight it's difficult from a low-raked elevation to make out the player's numbers plates on the other wing at well over a hundred yards away.
After the US Ambassador tossed the coin, things didn't auger well from the off, with the visitors making a litany of unforced errors as they adjusted to the paddock; caught short and overunning the ball - if you miss the pill on the ground here you will be punished.
Letting four goals to zip in, in the early part, wasn't what you'd call a promising start in what was always going to be a low scoring game, and they were lucky to get out of it just a goal behind at the first break.
My water wasn't feeling any better.
Nothing much at all happened in the second quarter as the game looked more and more like park football on a Saturday afternoon.
Sydney brained the homeside in the Championship Quarter and, it was, for all intents and purposes, game over on the wide open spaces - or should have been.
A strong Footscray comeback saw the fingernails bitten back to the cuticles, yet again, and the fat lady didn't sing until the final minutes.
The general consensus of opinion on the terraces after the last hooter viz-a-viz the Brownlow votes was 3. Rhino, 2. Train, 1. Teddy.
Rhino had a corker of a game after last week having a shocker being ground into the dust by Judd, and Teddy was as solid as a brick wall at full back, and even got away with a very heavy shirt front at the tribunal.
It was one of those days when The Goodes Train was on song, making the hardest ball game of all look like it was so easy.
Fleet of foot, as if his old legs had left him and didn't bother him anymore, dodged most tackles with a jink and a step, as would be tacklers were shrugged off or flicked away like annoying insects; took a couple of big hits but just got up and dusted himself off, kicked long, marked strong, booted a timely goal - but most impressively, had the ball on a string - all day.
Mummy might have got the last Brownlow point with a bustling display doing what he does best - throwing his weight aound, but made one too many mistakes for mine.
The odds before the game on Spida Jnr and the Canadian Mountie being the leading goal scorers would have been astronomical, surely?
Little surprise that innacuracy in front of the big sticks in the form of 13 behinds would be enough to bring home the bacon in the final paralysis.
As we left the ground found myself bursting into song among a group of Bulldogs supporters, bellowing out the old English soccer hymn...
"what's it like? what's it like? what's-it-like-to-lose-at home? What's it li-ie-ike to-oo loo-se at-home?"
Don't know what came over me.
Bulldogs people looked unimpressed, while a scattering of Swans fans were mildly bemused.
Although the Swans very rarely get thrashed, their inability to put sides away has been a problem since the Miracle Year of '05.
Sydney does know how to put unwarranted pressure on the aortic valve of long suffering supporters, for no good reason.
Mid-way through the final stanza, had this irresistable urge to rush down to the Swans merch van and grab a handful of them specially marked powerful heart pills with the Swans logo on them, but then thought there would be a long queue with the Cardiac Kids up to their usual tricks.
After it was all over, we were glad we'd booked a room in the Lakeside Hotel for a Bex, a cup of tea, and a good lie down.

WESTERN BULLDOGS: 4.1, 5.1, 6.3, 10.5 (65). Goals: Moles 2, Giansiracusa 2, Grant 2, Morris, Jones, Griffen, Murphy.
SYDNEY: 3.3, 5.6, 9.11, 10.13 (73). Goals: Everitt 2, Pyke 2, O'Keefe 2, Goodes, McVeigh, Gordon, Mumford.
At Manuka Oval, Canberra.
Crowd: 10,184.

WESTS TIGERS: Bye.