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.

"over the moon"

Lawbreakers,

We were hounded out of the top deck of the Brewongle Stand by the fun police at half time for the crime of minding our own business and not bothering anyone while smoking right next to the large "Thank You For Not Smoking" sign on the fire escape steps out the back of the stand in clear uncovered air overlooking Moore Park.
Wanted to say to the officious official that it never occured to me that any thanks would be coming my way, but then thought better of it.
Instead, we put our hands up and pleaded guilty.
We were then put in the hands of a nice female security guard who told us "you are in the wrong area for smoking".
After we readily agreed with her, she very politely herded us through a crowded bar to the service/cripples lift to go to ground level where the 'designated smoking area' is.
Ditched the cigarette as soon as we were busted, but still astonished that me mate ponced his way through the whole process with a lit scoob in his hand, having a sneaky toke here and there, or that it was still going when we got out of the lift on the ground floor.
Crikey!
After catching our breath, imagine our surprise then to find none other than SC Roos getting into the lift as we made our way back to our seats.
The conversation went something like this.
Us: "Oh. Hello, Coach. How ya goin'? Waddaya reckon about the game?"
SC Roos: " It's tight. I've got to get out. How do you get to the top deck? What level is it on?"
We shrugged our shoulders and looked at the lift buttons.
Us: "Looks like it might be level 5, boss, as level 6 appears to be occupied by Club SCG".
SC Roos pushed the five button and said "What is Club SCG?".
We shrugged our shoulders again.
After seeing three goals soccered off the ground in the first quarter, we had discussed the merits of putting in a goal keeper in the prevailing slippery and slightly boggy conditions, i.e. anchor the full back in the goal square and tell him to use his head, arms, and feet, as well as his hands, to deflect the incoming ball away from the big sticks at any cost.
We put the concept to him, but Roosey dismissed it out of hand:
SC Roos "Nah. They'll just pick it up and kick it over his head".
The lift doors opened on the next level and a flunkie of Indian extraction in a bow tie got in.
SC Roos repeated his question:
"What is Club SCG?"
Flunky: "It's a function room, sir, that's run by the Trustees".
Us: "So, it's something like the Chairman's Dining Room, is it?
Flunky: "Oh, no,no, no, sir! That's different room altogether!".
You wouldn't believe it unless you were there.
Here's a bloke who coached Sydney for how many years, who didn't know how to get to the top of the Brewongle Stand and was blissfuly unaware of the existence of Club SCG.
SC Roos got out of the lift and went and sat by himself, perched on a spare seat a few rows down from us, for the whole Championship Quarter, occasionally tapping text on his phone, looking nervous and intense.
He slumped further into his seat as the final quarter progessed and disappeared with about 15 minutes to go.
Didn't see him leave, as if he went up in a puff of smoke.
Through all that time, no-one spoke to him apart from us and the flunky, no-one asked for his autograph or to have a photo taken with him.
Suppose that once you have given the main game away, you pretty quickly go from rooster to feather duster.
Here's a living legend who, by and large, went unrecognised, forgotten, discarded.
Somebody to nobody.
He seemed fairly unperturbed that everyone's moved on.
The match itself wasn't of much consequence.
Dour wet weather football.
No goals at all kicked in the second quarter tells you what it was like.
In the end, it turned into The Eddie Betts Show, in a clever reply to In Like McGlynn's bag of goals.
Such a shame that the match was won and lost on the back of an entirely stupid dumb bastard idiot ridiculous decision on the part on the mongs purportedly running the game.
Lord, save us.
Swans pinged for an interchange infringement, with the Bamfords accusing them of having too many players on the ground, even though the Sydney bench staff were screaming at the Bamfords telling them they were actually one bloke short on the field and and had too many blokes on the bench!
Lord, save us.
The upshot being a 50m penalty for the Double Blues from the centre bounce, which at SCG means being gifted a goal, after it took the Bamford's an eon to make up their minds, killing any momentum the home side might have had.
Lord, save us.
Never mind that the Umpires were proved dead wrong on careful analysis; never mind the glib half hearted "apology" from the AFL for the "mistake"; it doesn't change the scoreboard, does it??
Lord, save us.
Could go on about it but won't.
Still, it's pretty hard to put up with culpable incompetance on the part of officialdom.
A pity that the Swans gave up after that, reasonably thinking they were shot birds under the circumstances.
Disappointing that they put their hands in the air in surrender, but who can blame them after that entirely unwarranted cruel and unusual punishment for something they never did.
Lord, save us.
After five inches of rain in a week and with heavy showers still about, little wonder the official crowd figure was, once again, well inflated.
A cursory glace around the ground, which now holds a 42,000 capacity at absolute maximum after the re-build, revealed the place to be barely half full.
As someone close to us who overheard us said, "they're all in the bars".
The whole damned thing was summed up well by a woman in a red and white cardigan on the event bus back to Central after the game who announced to anyone listening "I've been looking forward to this wedding all year, and to think, I gave it up for this".
Tickets are in hand for the Menzies Terrace at Manuka Oval for this weekend's early Saturday afternoon game, on the principle that you can't be considered to be a real fan unless you go to at least one away game a season.
Doesn't matter if you win or lose, you will have done the hard yards either way.

SYDNEY: 5.2, 5.8, 8.8, 10.11 (71). Goals: McGlynn 4, McVeigh 2, Mumford 2, Moore, Jack.
CARLTON: 3.1, 3.6, 8.9, 12.15 (87). Goals: Betts 4, Walker 2, Garlett 2, Joseph, Waite, O'hAilpin, S.White.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 28,081.

Found myself in an unfamiliar unusual Front Bar on one of those sparkling days in the Emerald City.
Maroubra Seals Club, of all places.
A run down dump now, but has the advantage of the magnificent view of the huge rolling surf and the cheap cold beer.
It appeared no Brown Brothers were allowed.
It's a a strictly White Bread sort of place.
And 100% men too, most of whom were about my vintage or older; no women.
Cocked half an eyebrow, before realising that that's just the way it's done there.
It doesn't pretend to be cosmopolitan.
Only took to round 8 for the Tigers to hit their straps; fair enough given what's been going on down in Sick Bay.
What impressed most was the brilliance of the kicking game, with Benji, Louie Lui, and The Best Leb In The Game all putting it on the toe in no end of clever set plays.
Eight tries to two tells you they are doing something right out back!
Balmain forwards outclassed the Raiders pack, simple as that, with Heighington leading the way as the "Defensive Captain", as the new Assistant Coach Peter Gentle described him on interview after the match.
Pleasing to note a couple of days before the game that SC Sheens had a meeting with The Club Secretary Stephen "Son of Kevin" Humphreys, probably in some cafe in Chiswick, and agreed to new terms to extend his contract by a further three years.
Despite what SC Sheens called "a flattering offer" from Penrith, he eschewed the extra lard that the Chocolate Soldiers were offering on the bottom line, and took the three years, as the Panthers were only prepared to go to two years, and besides, he says that he still has things to do with the team he's got.
An oblique reference to another Premiership, perhaps?
The Club Secretary admitted openly that there would be a faction in the club that would not be entirely happy with the re-signing, but The Board signed off on the decision, and "the vast majority of fans would be delighted with the re-appointment".
Got that right.
On hearing the news, Benji Marshall said he was "over the moon".
That's got to be enough for anyone.
Sheens is nothing if not clever.
At age 60, you'd want a three year deal to take you through to the "time to give it away, son" end game after a full 30 years in the coaching caper, then take up the pipe and slippers, but only then.
He'd be happy enough to take this week off from Leichhardt after that, and go and coach the Strayan Kangaroos for a few days for a one-off test match up on the Gold Coast.
Reckons he might enjoy having the "best team in the world" on his hands and plotting against the second best player in the Balmain side, who just happens to be the New Zealand captain.
All power to his oars.

CANBERRA RAIDERS 12: Tries: Dugan (2). Goals: Croker (2).
WESTS TIGERS 49: Tries: McKinnon (2), Utai, Fulton, Heighington, Marshall, Dwyer, Fifita. Goals: Marshall (7), Moltzen (1). Field Goals: Marshall (1).
At Canberra Stadium.
Crowd: 13,425.

ruined by the whistle

Bar Fly's,

You only have to look at the penalty count to confirm it was a game ruined by the whistle.
16 of 'em in all, 9 to Brisbane and 7 to Balmain.
The Bamfords made a rod for their own backs and then ended up looking like fools to themselves and a burden on the community.
Lord, spare me.
Little wonder the trigger happy refs had to have a police escort to get them off the ground unscathed at full time.
A fool called Suttor was the most heavily guarded.
That said, the Tigers had played the game too many times in their heads before they even got to the ground.
One of the rare occasions that SC Sheens was guilty of overcoaching a team - dressing room shot on the crystal bucket before the game with the coach in a huddle with his strike weapons pouring over the charts and the gin-soaked plans was enough to set the players involved off to yawning, and looking away at the bare walls.
To be fair, on interview after the game, SC Sheens admitted that he only had himself to blame.
Spent far too much time on trying to break the Brisbane brick wall with some tricksy set plays that only worked once in a while, while neglecting to deal with the Broncos fairly potent attack in its own right; not to metion the distinct possibilty of being cruelled by Lockyer's kicking game.
They'll learn from their losses, you'd only hope.
There's now no doubt that the boffins down in the Rehab Dept have been putting in their overtime chits.
Everyone loved the television images of Robert "Louie" Lui's appearance at the ground, having already been relieved of his bag by an attendant, going into the changing rooms showing the thumbs up and a big smile on his face with his boots strung over his shoulder by their laces as if he was saying he was ready to play after getting himself an early discharge from Sick Bay, despite not being on the radar at all in the named team on Tuesday, .
SC Sheens promptly picked him at half-back in the run-on side playing in jumper No.18 in the final team sheet that has to be submitted to referee's an hour before kick off.
Did well, good hands, some nice work through the backline, scored a try.
Getting Fulton back on the bench and "Be My Beau" Ryan back on the paddock well before the the HabBoys thought they would were projects well done.
Pity the poor chap Ryan found himself well short of a run and way out of practice, and had a dead set shocker on return; coughing the ball up cold to gift the Broncos the springboard to victory didn't help things that much.
The Room Full of Mirrors beckons.
You'd have to think something is wrong if the Mighty Tiges can't beat last placed Canberra away this weekend and then enjoy the bye to keep things on an even keel?
At this stage, it appears at first glance that the season, as they say in the classics, is 'delicately poised'.
With Balmain at 8th, it looks like it could be a run away top four, with a log jam in five to nine.
The rest in ten to sixteen will just please themselves and carry on regardless.
The Club Secretary will tell you the aim is not to be among them.

WESTS TIGERS 18. Tries: Moltzen (2), Lui. Goals: Marshall (3).
BRISBANE BRONCOS 31. Tries: Glenn, Lockyer, Thaiday, Wallace, Yow-Yeh. Goals: Parker (5). Field Goals: Lockyer (1).
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 19,494.

You'd have to wonder if Coach Horse continues the tradition that SC Roos had over many years of hosting a slap-up BBQ with full bar at his place for the team on the Saturday of the bye weekend?
It may have fallen into disuse now that there are two byes a season.
Or perhaps, St Paul contines the tradition himself, even though he's now coaching the Under 9's?
A few well placed words from the Super Coach in some appropriate shell-likes probably wouldn't go astray at this juncture.
But, who knows?

SYDNEY: Bye.

sold a pram full of dummies

Revengists,

There's only one bloke who can mix his metaphors better than me, and that's Tim Sheens.
He really did say on interview after the game "we are brain dead because we shot ourselves in the foot time and time again".
Mid afternoon Friday, wandered into the Front Bar at The Local and found The Philosopher enscounced in his usual possie under the mirror in the dimly lit corner of the room contemplating this week's favoured tipple.
A large vodka and tonic with two slices of lemon.
Now, as we know, The Philospher is loathe to venture an opinion or make make an informed comment on anything, let alone something as insignificant as football.
But when pressed on his thoughts about the evening's game, he did manage five words as if it was a throw away line: "Prince could get murdered tonight".
And so it came to pass.
Prince was hammered in every tackle, and hit late and put on his backside after every kick.
Copped a clothesline around the chops that the Bamford's missed, not to mention the odd squirrel grip going on here and there, and then there was the Christmas Hold option.
Clearly, Prince was getting "special treatment".
Balmain people don't forgive easily and never forget.
Prince taking the truckload of cash from the Gold Coast in '06 whilst trading on the fact that he was a Premiership Ring wearer from just the year before is still viewed as a bastard act of treachery among the Leichhardt faithful.
Never mind that the idiot Balmain board let him go in what SC Sheens described as "the worst decision made by any football club in my entire rugby league career".
Getting the scoundrel was among just a few personal vendettas going on, which for mine, distracted the Miracle of '05 veterans from the game at hand.
They were 14-0 up after 11 minutes then rested on their laurels, for gawd's sake, while going around bashing a few blokes up and putting on some cheap shots.
While they were busy doing that, none of the set plays worked, they were seriously harrassed in defence, and just failed to grasp the nettle in the second half.
It always looked like it would come to nought, then Prince had the last throw of the dice.
Sold the Tigers defence a pram full of dummies to stroll in untouched for the softest match winning try of the season, as they stood around and looked at each other while shaking their heads.
Didn't help that The Refrigerator made two inexplicable mistakes, to wit, knocking on in the play the ball late in the piece to serve the game up to the Titans on a silver platter.
To make matters worse, The Fridge is down to Sick bay for at least a fortnight with an ankle.
Nurse!
You can only hope the boffins down in the Rehab Dept are putting in their overtime chits.
With plenty of time on his hands, Toddy'll be the first one this season to be sent down to the Room Full Of Mirrors on the Balmain Road, to have a good look at himself.
Could not believe the news that Mr Chris Heighington became the subject of a joke charge for a 'careless' high tackle on that serial pest Greg Bird -- without doubt the most annoying person in the entire game.
Heighington decided in a split second that he'd have to take that one up to the judiciary, thank you very much.
Slip on his best suit and tie and take a good QC with him, who no doubt would have advised him not to appear before the Panel of His Eminences and say in his defence "it wasn't careless, guvna. I wanted to flatten the bloke, y'know, give him a real good clock around the ears and nose, y'know, teach the low bastard a lesson. I could carry on like a pork chop, but, like, you know what he's like, just disappointed that I didn't give him a better one, a real good shot, y'know, guvna".
Lord, spare me.
At the very least, our lad deserves natural justice.
SC Sheens also remarked on interview "no wonder coaches lose hair and go grey".
Like something straight out of the Picture of Dorian Gray.
You can just the see the coach pulling his hair out over dinner, and then watching it as it continues to go grey while it lies there on the kitchen table.
The Club Secretary might be scrabbling about in the back of the football office looking for the abacus as there is a bit to ponder.
3-3 after six is enough to put you thereabouts, but with the best part of a quarter of the season gone, will have to do better to threaten the top four.
Needless to say, it doesn't get any easier this week against the in-form Brisbane outfit at home.

GOLD COAST TITANS 20. Tries: Zillman (2), Minichiello, Prince. Goals: Prince (2).
WESTS TIGERS 14. Tries: Dwyer, Heighington. Goals: Marshall (3).
At Robina Park.
Crowd: 17,221.

Awoke in the very small hours of Saturday morning to the sound of torrential, flooding rain on the tin roof.
Immediately thought "ooh, it'll be a wet track at HQ".
Not surprised to find 48mm [that's two inches in the old money] in the backyard rain gauge and my rocket and swiss chard seedlings washed away.
Good thing that the GLW eschewed the chance of getting a cheap ticket to the Doncaster Day/Swans Game double.
Given that it rained all day and night, no one really fancied the prospect of the inevitable punters nightmare on a bog track at Randwick, then arriving at the G without your shirt, only to watch pigs rootin' in mud and your side go down in a mudbath.
In a match where tactics pretty much went out the window and structure was the baby thrown out with the bathwater, Geelong just found a better fit on the head for their wet weather thinking caps.
Cats valued patience at a premium.
Nothing much to it.
Swans didn't win the lottery.
Oh well.
What's news?
No heroics.
No Nick Davis Come To Save Us this time [Davis, of course, played the best quarter of Rules football ever seen at the SCG the last time the two teams engaged each other on the ground five and half years ago -- it messed with his head; after being consistently dropped, he was unceremoniously shuffled out the back door with an attitude/weight/injury/drink/drugs/problem three years later, and never played again. Probably sleeping under the old Glebe Island bridge, for all we know].
While the Swans quite rightly pin their hopes on the veterans and journeymen to provide the backbone with their skills in the air and in the wrestle, the weather exposed most of them as having lost a couple of yards in pace and finding it difficult to compete with the ball running on the ground.
That could be a problem.
Seasoned observers at the ground noted that it's interesting to see how the young fellas are going; the Jetta Kiddie and Spida Jnr being a case in point.
Going from creditable performances, including the goal of the year, last week, to a patchy showing at best from both of them against serious opposition players this week.
Guess it can be put down to the inexperience and inconsistency of the Yoof of Today.
In normal circumstances you'd send 'em for a stint in reserves to get them up to standard, but who else is there to play?
The hard truth for anyone under 21 in this caper is that Rules, among all the football codes, is probably the hardest to learn how to play well.
Coach Longmire would have been happy enough to get to Sunday morning smoko by the magic waters at Bronte, take up his position on the much vaunted and prized flat rock, recently vacated by SC Roos, and gaze out over the Tasman Sea to the horizon, and have a good think about things.
Happy enough, too, to have the bye this week.
At least then nothing can go wrong over Easter.

SYDNEY: 4.3 4.5 6.9 7.12 (54). Goals: Bevan 2 Mumford 2 Goodes Kennedy O'Keefe.
GEELONG: 3.2 6.6 8.10 11.15 (81). Goals: Wojcinski 3 Chapman 2 Enright Ling Menzel Podsiadly Johnson Varcoe.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 25,300.