like winning and losing mattered

Arid Date Fanciers,

Thinking that Dubai might not be MJ Clarke's favourite destination.
Haven't heard of or seen hide nor hair of the bloke for five months.
What has the skipper been up to in an exceptionally long break in an increasingly crowded cricket calender?
Probably been lunching well and then up on the work bench freshening up his chronic case of Shaggers Back.
If you weren't overly busy, wouldn't you live the high life if you were him?
But, obviously, he hasn't been spending enough time in the nets.
Nice work in the 1st innings, falling for the three-card trick to be caught in the leg trap for 2 off 13 balls, and then backed that up with a 2nd innings fail, simply not hitting some fairly ordinary spin bowling to find himself plumb for 3 off 9 balls.
Two fingers from the Bamford's.
Oops.
The report card would have been marked "can do better".
Oh well.
At least, in keeping with Ol' Emirates tradition, there's been no one at the ground to witness the debacle...a sea of empty blue seats.
They'd get more at a Shield match.
Just like at Mark Waugh's farewell test match, only The Man and His Dog, a handful of journo's, and the ground staff were there to see the miserable demise.
In a joint obsessed with money, no doubt the Dubai cricket authorities would have marked down the gate takings as "negligable" and you'd have to wonder if they would have sold many dry corporate boxes, with the weather reliably described as "farkin' hot".
The beer for the team probably came in through the Diplomatic Bag, let alone a bottle of Tanqueray.
Not exactly the best preparation you could imagine for an Strayan summer, without the benefit of hindsight.
We'll find out when they get home, and the day the selectors see common sense.
At least Pup had the decency and sense to take full responsiblity for the debacle - he knows well enough that the buck stops here, at the top - and refused to blame the coach or his players, saying the only difficulties appeared to be "the conditions" and a "lack of match practice".
Well, maybe, while everyone was at a loose end, they should have organised to play a couple of five-day practice matches...you know, Michael Clarke's XI v Brad Haddin's XI...Probables v Possibles...at somewhere like Alice Springs, in the desert on a rough track, that sort of thing, before they went to Arabia?
Play it like winning and losing mattered, but bend the rules for maximum time in the middle.
Did anyone think of it?
If not, why not?
At this time of year, it's all about horses for courses, isn't it?

Pakistan 454 and 2/286 dec; Australia 303 and 216.
Pakistan won by 221 runs.

that fatal air of invincibilty

Devastatees,

Having been in the back blocks of rural north-western France for the best part of the month of September, it's been rather difficult to get a handle on what's been going on at the pointy end of the season.
Even Le Monde - which is still put on the back of trucks for same day delivery to the provinces and prints pages and pages of sports results in very small typeface every day - doesn't carry the scoreboxes from the Strayan Rules or the Sydney Rugby League.
It was at least 12 hours before news that the Swans had reached the Grand Final filtered through on the bush telegraph in that part of the world.
So, in no position to comment really, but let me go on, as it can't pass without mention.
A friend of the Good Lady Wife's remarked "not a very good day to save your worst game of the year for".
Which got the Stats Guru to thinking about some eerie similarities between the Swans' first and last games of the season.
Soundly beaten, nay thrashed, by the GWS Pygmies in the opening round of the year, then whip-sawed without mercy by Hawthorn in the last, which just happened to be "the only game that matters".
Everything in between went swimmingly; far too swimmingly as it turned out.
A mate of mine, who takes only a passing interest in the caper, made judgement: "they were beaten before they got to the ground".
That's the truth alright
After an absolutely stellar second half of the season, as the Swans swept all before them to easily take the Minor Premiership, they thought they were shit hot and so did everyone else.
Then, by all accounts, they had a saloon passage into the Big One, strolling through the semi final and then winning the premlinary final in emphatic style, by which time even some Melbourne based pundits rated them as short-priced favourites to take the flag.
Only problem was, after all that, Sydney wound up imbued with that fatal air of invincibilty, and ended up playing the Grand Final over and over and over in their heads well before they even got to Melbourne in the Last Week, let alone the dreams of grandeur they had in their sleep the night before.
In finish, the Swans were completely outfoxed by a much better "big game team", who pulled off some sandbagging of their own brilliantly just when it mattered; almost falling at the last hurdle before the Grand Final, only beating Port in a cliff-hanger to qualify, calling up injured players, and stamping themselves all over as the clear underdogs.
But by then, the Hawthorn Football Department had finished pouring over the well-worked gin-soaked plans and secretly determined behind closed doors not only to beat Sydney, but annihilate them.
No one saw it coming, except the Hawks.
Never mind the ten goal football lesson to end all ten goal football lessons, the hair pulling, the gnashing of teeth, and self-flagellation that followed perhaps the Swans biggest disaster since moving from South Melbourne - "Psych War" is what it's called - and there's no doubt at all about who won it.
Found myself knocking about in Champagne the week before they started to pick the grapes on the 16th of September, which is always a very nervous time for folks around those parts.
They know all too well their livelihoods and reputations rest on it.
They were most unsure about what would happen, but they erred on the side of pessimism, given that they thought the crop was probably ruined by the howling winds and flooding rains of August, and predicted the harvest would be more or less buggered.
They doubted very much that any Vintage Champagne at all would be made in 2014.
But, with knotted eyebrows and that marvellous Gallic shrug of the shoulders with upturned hands they passed it off with whatever the French phrase is for "Oh well. There's always next year", and just got on with it.

SYDNEY: 2.3, 5.3, 8.5, 11.8 (74). Goals: Franklin 4, Goodes 2, Jack 2, Kennedy, McGlynn, Tippett
HAWTHORN: 5.5, 11.9, 16.11, 21.11 (137). Goals: Roughead 5, Breust 3, Langford 3, Gunston 2, Hodge 2, Burgoyne 2, Hale, Hill, Puopolo, Suckling
Norm Smith Medal: Hodge.
At Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 99,454.

just about as close to a perfect season as anyone could imagine

Loyalistsa,

Little wonder the hapless Tigers found themselves out like a shag on a rock on a Thursday night for a game against the Contemptible Bulldogs.
Thursday night, eh?
Brilliant way for the NRL to begin their hastily cobbled together scam aimed at World Domination, by having rugby league matches played five days a week.
But really, it was just plain embarrassing to watch.
To have not one, not two, but three tries put on you inside the first ten minutes of the match - that's not even half way though the Traditional Softening-Up Period - is simply unacceptable.
All concerned knew it.
Their hearts were obviously not in it.
As things stand, they know they are incapable of winning even a rigged chook raffle.
Said it before, say it again - probably said it right here a year ago - it'd be the same form of words: the club is in very serious need of rebuilding.
A couple of young fella's have stepped up well enough to first grade this year by necessity given the nightmarish horror of an injury run this season, and the rest of their junior ranks - by and large farkin' huge South Sea Islanders - is bristling with talent, the potentional of which is as yet unfulfilled.
The main problem is they desperately need more experienced journeymen in the forwards and the backs, but they just don't have any money to buy them, let alone retain their youngsters, with cashed up clubs always sniffing around.
You'd have to imagine Coach Potter would be on shifting sands having seen his team have nigh on 150 points scored against them in the space of just three games.
And that after The Board, under pressure to pull the sack, decided to keep him on for a few weeks to the the end of the year, because they had nowhere else to go.
Poor Harry, he's entitled to say "but, what'd I do wrong, Guv?", but that won't help him, he'll be shown the door at season end, and be shat out the poop shoot without a sausage.
Mad Monday can't come soon enough.
It'll be many many years until they come close to winning the JJ Giltinan Shield again.

CANTERBURY-BANKSTOWN BULLDOGS 30. Tries: Lafai (2), Jackson, Thompson, Ennis. Goals: Hodkinson (5).
WESTS TIGERS 10. Tries: Brooks, Woods. Goals: Paterson (1).
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 9,877.


Little wonder you can rest Sam Reid on a whim, when the Buddy-Tipsy Show kick ten goals between them!
Really, they couild have rested the entire first grade side and turned out the seconds and they still would have won.
This is really starting to sound like a broken record, but yet another leasuirely weekend stroll in the park.
The other seven sides in the top eight must be worried sick about how they are going to come close to beating the Swans, who if memory serves and chortling of the Stats Guru is anything to go by, have won 16 of their last 17 games.
If they hadn't inexplicably gone down to the Greater Western Sydney Pygmies in Round One, and 1-3 after the first month of the year, it's just about as close to a perfect season as anyone could imagine.

Just as the season well and truly reaches the pointy end, it seems that this bloggy blog blog is about to fall off the radar, and go into premature abeyance.
That's it as far as commentary goes here.
Will find myself spending the entire month of September in north-western France, where, as far as can be gathered, the local population couldn't give a blue root about The Rules, that's our Rules, not theirs.
People keep asking me "why are you going to miss the entire finals series, Craves?", which is a good question, to which the obvious answer is "they say it's nice over there this time of year".
Little does anyone know that my jet bird will be touching back down at KSA on the morning of Grand Final Day.
Cheer, Cheer, The Red & The White...
Onward to Vic-Tor-Ree!

WESTERN BULLDOGS: 1.2, 5.5, 7.10, 9.13 (67). Stringer 2, Boyd, Cooney, Liberatore, Bontempelli, Hrovat, Johannisen, Griffen.
SYDNEY: 7.3, 11.5, 17.7, 20.10 (130). Goals: Franklin 6, Tippett 4, Lloyd 2, Goodes 2, Malceski 2, Jetta, Towers, Hannebery, Parker.
At Docklands Stadium.
Crowd: 22,430.

a tale of two cities

Mudlarks,

Buddy kicks nine.
Now that's penetration for you.
The Saints didn't have a hope, no way of stopping him going in through the front and back doors whenever he wanted at will.
It was only a matter of time until Franklin did something mad.
Before he came to the Swans, he had a reputation as a big game player, and he delivered in spades in his 200th, and found himself being chaired off the ground after the final siren.
Just getting his act together for September?
You'd have to hope so.
The sandbagging continued when JP Kennedy was subbed off during the 2nd quarter at the slightest hint of a niggle, which the commentators, to their credit, tried to talk up as a full-blown hammy.
They're obviously on the Sydney payroll.
Coach Horse must be confident JP already has the Chas Brownlow in the dilly bag - he could bench him for the rest of the season and he'd still win the thing.
After last week's stroll in the park that is finals time HQ - the MCG - they made light work of an undermanned St Kilda, who just didn't have the strength or height to match them.
Swans threw a few youngsters into the game, as My Spy and The Ground remarked "to shark the pack" to see if they cut the mustard, if they're required at the pointy end.
You'd think they'd go top on that showing, especially with Geelong and Hawthorn playing each other this weekend in a Promoter's Dream.
The late season run is being timed perfectly, and Coach Horse knows a thing or two about orchestrating the games that matter - just look at the genius moves that went into the back end of 2012, and we all know what happened then.
Excellent to see the Ugliest Man in Football given a lap of honour of the SCG to mark his retirement from the caper; he just took the accolades like the dignified man that he is.
Unique in every way, you have to wonder if there ever has been a finer ornament to the game?
Who can ever forget Lewis Roberts-Thompson's exploits in the 2005 Grand Final?
Robbed of the Norm Smith, for mine, what's more to say?
And here's a bloke who "honestly, I never thought I would play AFL football", and after a chequered career dogged by injury, was asked what it was like to reach the 100 game milestone, to which he replied "I am astonished. No one told me that I'd played 99. I had no idea. I'm gobsmacked".
When he did play, there was rarely a player as good as him across the half back line, gangly as hell, all arms & legs, hands everywhere, and could run, yessiree, and had a deceptive amount of height about him so could take those high marking stops at goal, and kick the ball back to the forwards, who's already turned on their heels when they saw who was coming.
And there's been few braver men in the melee, worked the stacks-on-the-mill brilliantly, perhaps the hallmark of his career.
And could kick a goal to boot, if he was asked to.
Gave more to the game and got more out of it than he ever imagined, despite the pain and suffering that took him there and in the end bought the curtain down on an illustrious career.
Vale L-R-T.
You will be sorely missed.

SYDNEY SWANS: 6.3, 8.8, 15.9, 19.13 (127). Goals: Franklin 9, Tippett 3, Cunningham, Malceski, Jetta, Lloyd, McVeigh, Towers, Parker.
ST KILDA: 1.1, 2.4, 5.7, 8.8 (56). Goals: Riewoldt 3, Stanley 2, Gwilt, Armitage, Steven. At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 31,361.


The heavy rain set in just before kick off.
The Spiritual Home is uncomfortable at the best of times, but is plain miserable in the wet with next to no cover except under the mighty Port Jackson fig trees that really only convert the precipitation into large bucket like drips that will soak a hat in one hit.
Only foolhardy die-hards would have made the supreme effort of getting to Leichhardt Oval, in the almost certain knowledge that all they'd be going see would be Balmain's season nadir.
Needless to say, didn't find myself among them, never mind me following the team for a quarter of a century, still regarded as a fair-weather fan.
Donned the Driza-Bone in the howling winds and flooding rains of a classic East Coast Low, to trick up the aeriel on the short wave radio, only to find the wireless dominated by a call of some rugby union game between the Wobblies and All Blicks that no one in Dad's Shed cared about.
So, shut down the crystal set, turned off the light and retreated from the severe weather to the house to get in a hot tub, on the grounds that "you can always read about it in the papers" in the morning.
By all accounts, the game itself was by no means pretty.
That'd be more than 100 points scored against the hapless Tigers in the space of just two matches - believe.
Much to his chagrin, the Stats Guru has been burrowing deep into the archive to try to find another instance, and is struggling to come up with one within living memory.
Surely you'd have to call for the mercy rule and just excuse them from the rest of the season, no point turning up fellas, just go on post-season holidays as usual via the Room Full of Mirrors and contemplate your navels.
Nothing for it.
Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
The best thing to come out of the whole schemozzle was the long-awaited retirement of Braith Anasta before the game.
The bloke has spent half a season in sick bay, where he remains, and at long last decided that he simply can't go on.
Probably one of the worst buys in club history.
Braith had a stellar career at the Bulldogs and the Roosters, playing more than 250 games, won a Premiership, appeared in four test matches for Australia, and turned out ten times for NSW in State-of-Origin.
Now, that's good, very very good.
But as he reached his twilight years, Easts could see the writing on the wall and could no longer keep him under their salary cap so they sold him on a short-term deal to Balmain, who were fool enough to buy him.
He was the incumbent club captain at the Roosters when they punted him, no less.
Played just 31 games in two years for the Tigers, and did absolutely nothing.
Anasta never did fit into the Balmain culture, no one ever really liked him, and in the end it was a bitterly disappointing, costly denoument to an otherwise glittering career.
But he only had himself to blame.
So sad to see great players - as shadows of their former selves - play well beyond their use by dates, purely for money - Balmain supporters will only ever remember that, not what he did for someone else at the height of playing days.
He came to Leichhardt on a contract that said "I'll play anywhere, except at lock".
Where did he end up playing his last year?
Lock.

WESTS TIGERS 4. Tries: Hitchcox. Goals: Paterson (1).
SYDNEY ROOSTERS 48. Tries: Minichiello (2), Jennings, Moa, Waerea-Hargreaves, Kenny-Dowall, Tupou, Pearce. Goals: Maloney (8).
At Leichhardt Oval.
Crowd: 5,297.

for the sake of completeness

Due to unforseen circumstances, the bloggy blog blog will not appear this week.
Back next week.
The scoreboxes are included for your consideration, and for the sake of completeness.

PORT ADELAIDE: 2.3, 3.7, 5.12, 7.16 (58). Goals: Boak 2, Neade 2, Wingard, Lobbe, Westhoff.
SYDNEY: 2.2, 5.6, 8.9, 12.12 (84). Goals: Cunningham 3, McGlynn 3, Franklin 2, Tippett 2, Rohan.
At Adelaide Oval.
Crowd: 50,087.

NORTH QUEENSLAND COWBOYS 64. Tries: Wright (3), Taumalolo (2), Winterstein (2), Moga (2), Morgan, Sims. Goals: Thurston (8).
WESTS TIGERS 6. Tries: Woods. Goals: Paterson (1).
At Townsville Football Stadium.
Crowd: 12, 317.

sandbagging started before the game even began

Beach lovers,

Been a denizen of the East Coast of the island for nigh on 30 years now, the most part of it in the Emerald City, and cannot remember a worse season for the "August winds", a well-know phenomenon in these parts.
This year they turned up six weeks early, and have been howling on and off ever since.
The biting gale seems more freezing than in years past - bone rattling - as it sweeps in from the south-west over the vast expanses of suburbia affectionately known as "Sydney's armpit", routinely gusting to 70-80kph, after being funneled in off the Great Dividing Range and onto the wide open Cumberland Plains.
Everone's saying they are the worst in living memory, and who's to argue?
Not me.
There's no denying something's going on with the weather.
You can only throw a rug over yr shoulders and pop a tea cosie on yr head, and cup a small glass of brandy to warm in your hands to ward off the shivers.
Why has any of this any relevance to the question at hand, you might ask?
Well, anyone from Melbun, on hearing the winter weather sob story from the Emerald City would say "Perfect weather for football! What are you on about? Hard'en up!"
Certainly, the punters scattered about the stands looked utterly miserable on the telly in their ice-suits and woolly hoodies as they sipped hot drinks and guzzled smuggled booze from their Thermos flasks.
The only thing my Spy at the Ground could offer was a desultory "cheer, cheer".
And all they came to look at was the Swans having another routine, albiet rather brisk, Saturday evening stroll in the park doing just enough to win, never mind that the Bombers put in a good effort in the Champo and came within ten points at some stage, it was never in doubt from the first bounce.
And that, after the sandbagging started before the game even began.
The officials were told an hour and a half before the opening hooter that L.Franklin would not be playing, and T.Membrey would step into the breech in his absence.
It's all by the book as long as you offer a good excuse for a last minute injury; "knee soreness", "general soreness", "complete rootedness" will all do just fine.
So long as the umpires have something to sign on off in the scorebook.
Marvellous.
And there will be a few more with creaking bones who'll take unscheduled "rests" between now and then, mark my words.
The Goodes Train would be a prime candidate.
He knows what September is all about, and it's truly remarkable how he manages on one leg at his age, only a yard or two slower than he used to be, hasn't lost any of all those skills, and can kick goals.
What money to have the Strayan of the Year on your side?
Checked the boards at my bookmaker's the other day and found the Swans posted a clear shoe-in to win the Premiership, and JP Kennedy a very short priced favourite in a field chock full of runners to win the Brownlow Medal.
For the most part unbackable.
The most astonishing thing about the season so far, after their really atrocious start, is that the wheels have never looked like falling off, movie-style.

SYDNEY: 5.3, 7.8, 9.8, 11.13 (79). Goals: Tippett 2, Goodes 2, McGlynn 2, McVeigh, Rohan, Pyke, Kennedy, Reid.
ESSENDON: 1.1, 3.4, 6.6, 8.9 (57). Goals: Ryder 2, Myers, Ambrose, Howlett, Carlisle, Hurley, Heppell.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 36,804.


What a strange week in Tigertown.
The skipper Robbie Farah on "stress leave" on account of he's "very upset", but what exactly he's upset about has never been clearly explained, except that some buffoon north of the border called Gordon Tallis has been putting words into his mouth.
Tallis, of course, has never played for Balmain and has no right to be meddling in their affairs, so why would you worry about anything the bloke says?
Who cares if he is badmouthing you behind your back?
Especially as the buffoon is well known for untruths and hyperbole.
The Club Secretary says if he's done anything to offend The Best Leb in The Game, then he'd like to talk it over with him and sort it out, without actually articulating what needs to be sorted out.
And then Coach Potter found it necessary to hold a rare Sunday press conference ahead of the Monday game to explain himself, and defend himself against criticism from faceless men who should know better.
Can anyone tell me exactly what's going on here??
With all the palaver of the last fortnight or so, it's easy to lose sight of the fact that there are football matches to be played every week.
So it wasn't surprising that the Westen Suburbs Magies faithful failed to turn up in their droves to Campbelltown "wouldn't go that far on me holidays" Sports Ground.
The blokes on the comedy radio commentary got a tweet asking if the crowd was dead in the fx mics, to which they said "no, it's just that there's no one here".
The match itself went to script, at a predictable 6-12 down at half time, it was only a matter of time until the floodgates opened.
Balmain went in with the early try and it was all down hill from there as they were out-foxed by a team of seasoned professionals on their game.
By all accounts, the Tigers played like they were unsettled.
They're no show like that for September.
It'd be much better if they failed to make the eight at all, rather than get eaten for breakfast in the first week of the finals, and shat out the other end.
Good to see Simon Dwyer was at the ground.
Now there's a bloke who's had shocking luck.
A promising career cut short when he snapped a few tendons off his spinal cord attempting an innocuous tackle in some nothing game, and now has no use at all of his right arm at age 25, three years on.
Seems some influential people in the Injured Players Benevolent Fund noticed that Simon had fallen on hard times, but was reluctant to ask for help.
They didn't owe him anything, but they promptly organised a very large testimonial dinner for him at a ballroom at some 5-star in town and raised more than $300,000.
Then at the ground through sponsorship, donations, raffles etc they raised another $70,000.
At least the poor bastard won't end up sleeping under a bridge that way.
Now there's a club looking after its own...

WESTS TIGERS 6. Tries: Akauola. Goals: Richards: (1).
MELBOURNE STORM 28. Tries: Koroibete (2), C.Smith, Chambers, Waga. Goals: C.Smith (4).
At Campbelltown Sports Ground.
Crowd; 7,782.

a turn up for the books

Eternal Optimists,

Well, there's a turn up for the books.
As My Spy at the Ground remarked "just goes to show Balmain can still win against good sides, and win well".
Never mind that Canterbury simply didn't turn up to play, uncharacteristically out of sorts for a top three side.
Tigers played it simple, because it's a simple game; the forwards went forward and gave the backs room to move at will, but the secret was all of their well worked set plays paid off and resulted in points on the board.
To wit, just before half time from about 15-20 yards out - The Best Leb in The Game worked the ball out of dummy half and it sailed clean across the whole backline, six or seven sets of hands, the ball carriers were jinking and weaving and throwing dummy passes left right and centre, no less than three decoy runners were deployed to confuse the defence and the pill ended up with the winger, running at full pace, on the right touchline, who found himself essentially unmarked, with his opposite number off balance, and cruised through to plant the ball on a hankerchief next to the corner post, then took out the post all arms & legs style as bodies piled up on top of him as he slid into the advertisting hoardings.
Gold.
Show me a better set play this year, from any team.
Said it before, say it again: no finer sight in world sport than running Rugby League.
You could kinda feel a thumping coming on.
Keefy Lulia - now there's a name to conjure with - equalled the joint venture club record for scoring the most the tries in a match.
Only two other blokes have scored four in a game, don't ask me to name them, the Stats Guru knows.
Keefy, eh?
Another one that Coach Harry rescued from the Dark Satantic Mills of English rugby league, and brought him back to Leichhardt.
Lulia knows the caper...busted out of reserve grade purely on sheer form, and sat on the firsts bench for a few games before being named in the run-on side, and thought to himself that given he'd been given the chance, he might as well have his finest hour.
How it used to be done back in the day.
Bravo.
And all this was after a week when Coach Potter was told that there was a high level whisper from the board that if he didn't change his attitude and win on the weekend, then his name and position would become an agenda item at this week's board meeting.
He told 'em to get lost.
It was all kept in house, hush hush, but there is no doubt that the boss came close to getting the tap on the shoulder.
A couple of journo's sniffed the smell of dead meat, but didn't have more than mere speculation to publish on, no one was talking, only a little bird singing.
At least Harry now knows that he's skating on thin ice and who is paying his not inconsiderable salary.
It's very harsh to blame the coach for mine, given the horror injury toll in the first half of the season, a bit of argy bargy in the selection process, and other shit out of his control have all contributed to a fairly ordinary season, thus far.
Still, he'd be well aware where the buck stops.
And there's no easy run home for the Tigers.
Propped my walking stick up againt the front door at the Front Bar at The Local on Monday morning, and with the aid of a typically Sydney wild & wicked westerly gale [known in these parts as "The August Winds". In July? Something's going on] it flew open to reveal the Philosopher in his usual corner leafing through the morning's fishwrap.
The Barmaid had thoughtfully fetched some cubes of cheese and cabanossi on little sticks from the pokie lounge to nibble on as he savoured this week's favoured tipple - a vodka on shaved ice, topped with orange and mango juice out of a two litre bottle that's handily kept under the bar, garnished with a twist of lemon - he calls it an 'Ogo Driver', or just an 'Ogo' for short.
The Philosopher reached for his biro, circled the scorebox on the back of the paper, peered over the rims of his glasses, poked his bony finger at it and said "well, that was a close run thing, eh?"
PS. Don't get me started on The Great Benji Marshall. He'll keep.

WESTS TIGERS 46. Tries: Lulia (4), B.Thompson, Sironen, Brooks, Woods, Gavet. Goals: Moses (2), Richards (3).
CANTERBURY-BANKSTOWN BULLDOGS 18. Tries: Inu, Lafai, C.Thompson. Goals: Hodkinson (3).
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 22,225.

No word from Swans HQ in ten days - not a squeak, not an inch of newsprint - as if everthing and everyone has been in lock down, with nothing to do.
Hope they've all got a good book to read.

SYDNEY: Split-round bye.