chockablock with all time greats

Cardiac patients,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

stone motherless

Misérables,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a few more to get past the Great Jack Titus

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


Weepers,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

on the pickle juice

Screechers,

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

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

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

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

Farah on Fire

True Believers,

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seen at Penrith 28 June 2007

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

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

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

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

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

an unsolvable mistake

[England players walk to the pavilion after losing the second Test and the series to West Indies. Photo: Ricardo Mazalán/AP]


Rejoicers,

What a time to be alive. Straya at long last winning at the cricket, runtering a cracking Sri Lankan side 2-zip while at the same time the Poms were being whip-sawed, eviscerated and torn to pieces by the West Indies, and nobody's even talking about a renaissance of the mighty Windies teams of yore. On that form, looks like that Stoopid Little Urn will be winging its way back to the Wide Brown Land later this year. At a minimum, it's a change from being disappointed, and that's all that matters. Never mind that two of the front line bowlers in Starkers and Bowling Garry are now approaching or beyond the age of 30, and the stocks of genuine test match players in the lower order being at a premium at the present minute. Minor issues. Trust in Alfie to sort that by the time the Ashes roll around. Good luck with that, son.

Starkers looked a bit flaky all season, for mine, and then took a double Michelle Pfeiffer for a TenFa in the second game to regain his national hero status, and Uzzie was out of sorts for most of the summer looking like his mind was elsewhere [and ending up saying on interview after the series that the sins of the brother had indeed been messing with his head]. Khawaja, just in time to save his bacon, then got out of jail with a crisp second innings hundred at the denouement, featuring some smart smacking of the rubbish and the best cover driving of the season. My Spy at The Ground remarked that the TM Head century - a long time coming - was the first instance of a South Australian tonking up a ton since Jason "#dizzy201" Gillespie's double hundred against one of the greatest ever Bangladesh sides thirteen years ago. No doubt they'll be casting the bronze as we speak for Travis's bust to be erected at the gates of the South Gawler Cricket Club.

The poor ol' Ceylonese had jolly bad luck being forced to play their 2nd pick bowlers in the second test, after an outright laughable Pink Stink at the Gabba that was all over in 2 and ⅔ days. No matter how hard they try, the good stitcher-upperers at Kookaburra still can't prevent that damnable pinkie from doing some crazy batshit stuff at night - the batsmen, let alone the spectators, can't even see the thing as the bowlers rub their hands in glee. And a new tactical issue comes into play here, as you want to do a lot of swing bowling and as little batting as possible under lights. They've already rooterised 'tradition' to buggery, so why not play with a red pill during the day and switch to a used white nut in the twilight? You know it makes sense, otherwise why not just abandon the Pink Stink altogether as an unsolvable mistake.

It was pleasing to see Manuka Oval reach the dizzying heights of a new Test cricket venue. Been there for a couple of AFL matches in the past, and even attended a Prime Minister's X! match in a bygone era [and got to shake the hand of RJL Hawke] when someone said to me "did you know the dimensions of the playing arena here are an exact replica of the MCG?" Cant argue with that. Wide open spaces. It's a real cricket ground with a lovely park-like feel to it - a hill, terraces, plenty of shady plane trees and low-slung stands. And of course the old re-cycled MCG steam-punk scoreboard that's got all the bells and whistles, that unlike modern videoboards, tells the tale of the tape at a single glace. What's the score, Jimmy? is a question never asked in Canberra..

The most baffling thing about the high summer test series against Ceylon, was the need of the Powers That Be to again appoint, not one, but two vice captains after the previous Vice's, MR Marsh got himself dropped and JR Hazelwood did himself a mischief. What next, Fawlty? Are they going to go the whole hog and bring in Captaincy by Committee, Pommy style? Not a great move. Engerland in the not too distant past has featured a Captain and two former Captains in the same side all jibbering at each other all day, so there's never been any shortage of Vice's in the Heart of the Empire, and a fat lot of good it's done them. The Australian Vice-Captaincy has always been a poisoned chalice, and while no-one's got anything against Jobsy or Cummo, who says you need two to carry it? The Stats Guru went down some dark wormholes and dusted off some really old li'l history books only to find no trace of another time that Straya has had two deputy dogs. In fact, there is no extant comprehensive list at all of Australian Vice-Captain's through the years. Just Google It. All anyone knows is that the Vice-Captaincy has never been a reliable pathway to the top, because there's no terrific need for one, let alone two. The never-defined role of the Vice-Captain...forget "leadership groups"... does not rate a single mention in the Laws of Cricket, insofar as there must be a Captain of the fielding side on the field at all times. But that's it As far as the Laws go, that can be any old Tom Dick or Harry, just as long as there is a Captain, Acting, or otherwise, it doesn't matter. On interview before the series, Head and Cummins were asked who would Captain in the event of Paine being forced to leave the field and who would keep wickets? Both gave themselves a puzzled look and professed to having absolutely no idea at all. None. When Smiffy comes back for the Ashes as he inevitably will, he's still banned from holding "leadership positions" for a further two years, by which time he'll be getting on a bit. So he can't even be Vice Captain, let alone be seen to be advising the skipper. Leaders of men are born, not made, so what would Pup do?

saved by gloom

[Australia's next Great White Hope. Will Pucowski, 20, on scoring his first first-class century. Photo/AAP.]

Aghastee's,

Breaking news! Shock! Horror! Marsh Bros. dropped! The bemused nation cries as one: "about bloody time!" Off they go. To the wilderness. When the Chairmen of the Three Wise Men, TV Hohns, says of the Marshes "the door is certainly not closed" it's code for the thing being well and truly slammed shut, and out the back door you go without so much as a sausage. The Stats Guru has been complaining long and loud about their continued presence in the team. We know that. But he was quick with the abacus to prove his point. SE Marsh has washed up with 38 matches under his Baggy at a very poor batting average of 34.41, while the "all-rounder" MR Marsh has a worse average at 25.39, while his bowling was all but useless, taking a grand total of 35 wickets in 31 games conceding 44 runs per wicket. The only question now is who is going to get the compromising photographs of the selectors that the Marsh Bros. were given by Shane "Figjam" Watson? Who, by the way, still holds the world's record for the most number of times out in the 40's and 90's. Australia hasn't had a genuine all-rounder since Keith Miller. And they sure could use Smiffy at No.3, just quietly.

The new face of the batting lineup, Will Pucovski is an interesting sort of character; the Good Lady Wife says he'll be popular with the Ladies, he suffered a nervous breakdown while scoring 243 for Vic v WA in the Shield, then took a break to deal with his demons, and he's also had a habit of being donged on the bonce by fast bowling too many times and being ruled out with concussion on more than one occasion. He's now reportedly been heavily reminded of the No.1 coaching tip for young batsmen..."watch the ball". And "Pucks" is not yet 21. Good luck to the kid, he'll need it.

You'll remember Perth as a low, slow [match average run-rate? 2.69] quirky aberration in the uncharted territory of a new ground where the curator could do little more than put the pitch out of its misery with the heavy roller, while the Boxing Day Test was just plain baffling. Only two wickets had fallen by lunch on the second grinding day, then 15 bit the dust on the third. My Spy at The Ground shot through a telegraph message at stumps that day in Melbourne "Can someone please tell me WTF happened today?" Nup.

Did note that during the Sydney test, MJ Clarke said on Indian television that Cheteshwar Pujara reminded him of Brian Lara and Sachin Tendulkar. Hello? Has the great man gone mad? Has he been looking at an entirely different player than me? What kind of drugs are you on Pup? What ever they are - don't want them. Or is he just pandering to his teeming legions of newfound TV fans? More likely. Mr Grand Poobah Sir is not even remotely in the same league as those two legends of the game, not by a very long shot - you never hear anything about his style & grace at the crease, because he's got none. He's known as the New Wall for a reason - in reference to his predecessor Rahul "The Wall" Dravid. Ian Chappelli was quoted as saying after Pujabs had tonked up his big ton in Sydney, "he is the best blunter of any bowling attack in the world today". Chetters is just about the most mind-numbing player to watch, and he encapsulated his view of the game on interview after his SCG hundred saying "my job is to score runs, and that's all that matters to me". If only DJ Trump! knew about the New Wall as a cost effective solution to his current difficulties. Purajra could stand on the Mexican border with bat in hand, and there would be no way in the world he'd let any Mexicans, let alone Chinamen, through his defences, he'd just flick 'em all away to the leg side and roll 'em over the boundary.

A personal note of contrition here; all good intentions and genuine attempts to see Test cricket at HQ this year were yet again thwarted at every turn.

The fifth day of the game dawned bleak here in Sydney's Armpit and stayed that way all day. There was a wash of an all pervading grey, as a low cloud cover hung over the megalopolis, and first thing the GLW said to me was "mmm...the light's not looking good". A summer sea fog had drifted in from the coast, meeting moist air rolling off the mountains, and the really bloody annoying result was a fine 'mizzle' - the air misty and the ground damp - but it's not actually raining. Not much cricket had been played anyway since a memorable third day [weatherwise, only], as Straya's batting collapsed in the extreme 38 degree heat...then a swarm of small powerful thunderstorms swept over town, the mercury dropped 15 degrees as a Southerly Buster blew thru', and some parts got two inches in the rain gauge. Prior to that, the care factor in watching the most boring batsman in the known world poke and scratch around for the first two days was less than zero, plus the ground would have been swarming with flies it was so fookin' hot. Call me weak if you like, a "fair-weather fan" [like all Sydneysiders], but that was that.

Called off after tea on "moving day" with India's 600+ on a belter a no shit winning score as thunderbolts and lightning very very frightening boomed and flashed all over the Emerald City as if we were in the wet season tropics. Hardly any play was possible on the fourth day due in most part to the poor light, and not a ball was bowed on the mizzly fifth. A "weather-ruined" test match as far as the Swami Army goes - they wuz dead-set robbed blind of certain victory in the dead rubber - but they went absolutely apeshit on Royal Antler anyway, in the knowledge that the coveted Border-Gavaskar Trophy was already in the dilly bag at 2-1; the first time these Indian gentlemen [with the notable exception of their Captain Kunting King Kohli, to whom the honorific does not apply] had ever won a series, ever, in the Wide Brown Land in 70 odd years of trying. And in the final paralysis, all it took to do it was the suspension of the Strayan top order.

As for the Australian "B" side, well, after being asked to follow on for the first time in Sydney in 31 years, they were miraculously saved by gloom. Nuff said.

An unsatisfactory end to an unsatisfactory start to the first double-header test season in yonks. Simply can't remember the last time a Test match was scheduled for the third day to be played on Australia Day [not in Adelaide tho', that "tradition" is so long gone now it might as well be back in the Dark Ages], let alone a Test in February. Cripes! Who knows what The Lankan Filling Station will dish up at the Gabba and at Manuka? In the current climate of doom, only The Shadow knows.