"playing in a dinner suit"

Fellow Freakers,

Not that there was any spy at the ground, but if there was, they would have commented on the Tigers being "pedestrian, ordinary" and "never looked likely".
And yet Balmain did nothing particulary wrong, having locked it up at 6-6 after half-time after an old fashioned arm wrestle.
Found myself out on the back deck for a quick smoke during the break, only to come back in to see the Tiges have three tries put on them in nine minutes after the start of the second half and it was game over.
And all the scoring came off the pin point accuracy of kicks in play from one man, Todd "Farkin" Carney, which were clinically finished off by the Cronulla outside backs.
There is simply no coaching against that.
Reluctantly opened the Saturday morning fish wrap and read the first line of the match report:
"The Wests Tigers have conceded that they are probably at their lowest ebb since the jonit venture began".
Reading on, there was no shortage of named people gnashing their teeth, but there was no attribution for that quote.
Always did like "lowest ebb" as a form of words; it implies that you'll probably end up face down, in a place where you shouldn't, or want to be.
The blowie journo hovering about the dead carcass had obviously been talking "off the record" with The Club Secretary in some dodgy bar on the Balmain Rd to get that official dire admission.
Oh dear.
Coach Harry must be at the end of his tether trying to see a way out of the abyss, while you'd think SC Sheens would be thanking his lucky stars that he was moved on at the end of last seasonn so he can no longer be held responsible for the ignonimity, while the Club Secretary is undoubtedly apoplectic.
When you are fielding a way below full strength team covered in band-aids, with half the side too young and too inexperienced to really be playing with the big boys in first grade, what is the coach expected to do?
Where is he meant to go from there?
The most astonishing thing about the week was the fact that at a time when the Tiges can barely field a fully fit team, they let a player go, in the form of Young Jacob Miller.
Miller expressed some doubt that he'd ever be able to break into and cement a spot in first grade and the club tended to agree.
While he has all the skills in the world, he's too small, too slight, and a yard too slow to compete with the monsters going around in the NRL, so they concluded he'd be better off in the dark satanic mills of northern England, where the game is played at a more leisurely pace, so he was packed off on the mid-week flight to Hull RLFC.
Gor' Blimey.
Never mind what the fans think - they've already voted with their feet with a woeful attendance - the official number through the turnstiles surely must've been inflated even to get that many in.
On the wide shot on the telly, it looked like there was no-one there in a stadium that seats 40,000...you would have struggled to spot The Man and His Dog on the bleachers.
The Stats Guru noted that the Tiges were on a hiding to nothing after coming into the match on the back of a reverse purple patch [ie five losses in a row], so now make that six.
A seventh loss on the trot this Friday night to South Sydney, who are a mighty chance of making the Grand Final on current form, would represent the worst losing streak since 2000.
Might thave to factor in the possibilty of the lowest ebb getting lower.
No idea who ghost writes his regular column in the Sunday fishwrap, but whoever it is gives the Great Benji Marshall a nice turn of phrase.
Benji was highly critical of himself...admitting he failed to adequately lead the backs, was too timid in attack, not robust enough in defence, shied away from hard tackles, his kicking game was entirely ineffective and he was generally rubbish throughout; summing it by saying "it felt like I was playing in a dinner suit".
He might as well have added "while balancing a tray of Martini's".
Stone motherless last on the competition ladder with a third of the season already gorn.
You don't need to get the abacus out to tell you...
All hope is lost.

WESTS TIGERS 6. Tries: Utai. Goals: Sironen (1).
CRONULLA-SUTHERLAND SHARKS 30. Tries: Feki (2), Fifita, Robson, Bukuya. Goals: Gordon (5).
At Sydney Football Stadium.
Crowd: 9,858.

Swans spanked.
Simple as that.
Remind me.
From which end of the MCG does the Fat Lady sing at quarter time, when the away side has had five goals to one kicked on them?
No matter how hard the likes of In Like McGlynn, Son of Gary, Odd Head, the Mad Canadian and JP Kennedy tried, there was simply no way through that defence.
It looks like Hawthorn, after losing last year's Grand Final, have taken a leaf out of Sydney's book and put a very high premium on the value of defence.
They locked down the Swans forwards man-on-man, giving the mid-field nothing to aim at, let alone any easy targets, and routinely put a loose man or two into the Sydney backline.
The Swans beaten by a team that's pinched their blueprint without shame, and shown up by a another very good side, just as predicted after the Geelong game.
After failing the initial litmus test, SC Horse must be scratching his head and twirling his quiff thinking "how do you combat being done in by yr own game?"
A fair conundrum, that.
The Swans can ill-afford to be shuffled out of the top four at this stage of the season, which they've just been at five and two and on a fraction of a percentage, into fifth spot on the ladder.
You'd hope Longmire is sensible enough not to be sucked into the trap of being in fear of the fear of not winning, but he'd know all about the utmost importance of winning away, especially at the MCG, where as you'll remember there was a long running hoo-doo going on before the Premiership Triumph.
Winning at home is a given, which makes me wonder if the wrong rein has been pulled with my purchase last week of tickets to the cheap seats in the dinky little temporary stand in the shadow of the construction site at the SCG for the almost- sold-out game against Essendon, now known over time as Marn Grook, in a few weeks?
You can only hope not.
Nah, bugger pessimism, she'll be right Jack; the Bombers are beatable with the right approach.
Just ask Geelong, they'll tell ya.
In the meantime, they've got some work to do with the flip-chart markers.
They're fit enough, but need to be getting smarter on the training track.
Ended up not watching much of this one after the opening stanza more or less put paid to the end result, favouring the double episode finale of Lillyhammer on SBS instead.
Norwegians are funny people.
Tuned in during the ad breaks, and after the show...just in time to hear the Hawthorn team song sung...without doubt the worst in the leauge, and that's saying something in the company of some tuneless shockers.
No one needs to put up with that.
Click.

HAWTHORN: 5.3, 11.3, 14.6, 18.11 (119). Goals: Roughead 4, Hale 3, Gunston 3, Franklin 3, Breust, Hodge, Bailey, Osborne, Burgoyne.
SYDNEY: 1.4, 4.5, 7.7, 12.10 (82). Goals: McGlynn 2, Kennedy 2, O'Keefe 2, Goodes, Bolton, Lamb, White, Parker, Pyke.
At Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 54,725.

the scoreboard never lies

Bacardi Breezers,

After having a look at the official Tuesday team lists for the weekend round and seeing blokes no-one has ever heard of on the bench for the Wests Tigers, with Sick Bay full, decided to eschew the Friday night game against Canterbury-Bankstown in favour of Adrian Edmonson, ex The Young Ones, singing and playing punk classics on folk instruments with his trio.
Adrian on vocals & mandolins, a fabulous fiddle player who used a violin and a viola, and the other bloke on two kinds of fife and a set of Irish bagpipes.
Strange but true, and an absolute sensation...you had to be there...
So never saw a frame of the match and in no position to comment, but the scoreboard never lies, does it?
Opened the Saturday morning fishwrap and started reading the match report headlined "Bulldogs Destroy Tigers", but closed the paper after coming to the line that said something about "woefully inadequate".
The Stats Guru found it his melancholy duty to report the worst result ever; the biggest thrashing handed out by Canterbury to the Mighty Tiges since the Balmain-Western Suburbs joint-venture started in 2000.
No one has any idea why they pulled The Great Benji Marshall out of rehab to play, given that his bung toe reportedly led to him having "no impact on the game"; apparently he just managed to hobble about looking disgruntled.
Even looking at the still photographs of the game, and you can see team morale is a problem...a lot of heads down, looking at the turf, knowing full well that something's up and it's coming to get them.
Coach Harry, through no real fault of his own in his debut season as a parachuted-in senior coach, now finds himself in a bit of a pickle, with a buggered roster and a Club Secretary breathing down his neck after getting the back-office abacus out and shuffling the beads this way and that only to reveal his worst nightmare - the projected gate reciepts falling well short of budget, as the notoriously fickle fans fade away.
How else is he expected to pay for the hospital-strength brandy?
The crowd for this one was only as good as it was on account of the Bulldogs Marketing Dept - who found themselves in a similar situation on the ladder - decided, not out of the goodness of their own hearts but rather economic pragmatism, to give away ridiculously cheap family tickets to boost the numbers through the gate.
As a result, it was one of the rare occasions when the league game just shaded the Swans game in attendance, this time to the tune of just 138 punters.
The Balmain Marketing Dept should take their lead and think of something smart to sell tickets with a string of Friday night games coming up; people will be reluctant to go to see the Tiges play at full-price in their current predicament, when you can put your feet up on the pouf in front of the winter fire in the comfort of yr own home and watch the game, if you could be bothered, live on the free-to-air telly.
Joisus.
They're in more trouble than the early settlers.

CANTERBURY-BANKSTOWN BULLDOGS 40. Tries: Perrett (2), Brown, Ennis, Lafai, Reynolds, Williams. Goals: Hodkinson (6).
WESTS TIGERS 4. Tries: Tedesco.
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 23,453.

Another sparkling day in the Emerald City for a leisurely Sunday afternoon stroll in the park.
Giving Brisvegas a ten goal football lesson while yr at it will do nicely.
It's not often that the Fat Lady starts singing from the Paddington End at quarter time, and from then on in it was just a matter of holding station and making sure that nothing got away from you.
The Bamfords, in "Umpires Appreciation Week" had the good sense to keep a very low profile in the game, and would have shovelled all the Brownlow points on the Swans mid-field.
Take yr pick.
The Hanneberry Kiddie, Rhino Keefe, Son of Gary, The New Train Jetta, Smiffy, Parker...all played well.
Pleasing to see The Goodes Train and his apprentice back on song - the team'll need that over the next little while - the backs had little to do, there's nothing wrong in the ruck, and while the sight of Sam Reid, living with the spectre of Tipsy, desperately trying to find form with three goals might not be edifying - who can blame him?
Goals is goals, aint they?
Nice to see Odd Head McVeigh chaired off the ground after playing in his 200th.
A scholar and a gentleman and an ornament to the game.
Apparently the only regret he has is never being able to play with his brother, who's appeared in more games than he has in senior football, over all that time.
At the other end of the scale, did like the huge smile on the Kid Lamb's dial when he came off at the end of the match having been made the substitute, and subbed on in the last quarter in his first AFL appearance.
Just ecstatic that he'd actually made the grade.
It's hard to reconcile the annual Bamford's appreciation nonsense, after teaching yr children the three mantra's of good barracking; always support and encourage yr own players, never unduly criticise the opposition players for no good reason, and bag the umpires without mercy.
Both the girls have inherited fine booming voices, and have turned out to be exemplary Bleachermen when they choose to be at the match.
SC Horse at Smoko on Monday morning would have been happy enough with the look of the curl of smoke from his cigarello, but would have been casting a glance down south to Mexico way, with a nod to the Wild West, in full knowledge that the next month is a crucial litmus test before mid-season when you look at the four games to come in terms of current ladder positions and home ground advantage: 4th.Sydney v 5th.Hawthorn (a), 6th.Fremantle (h), 7th.Collingwood (a), 1st.Essendon (h), and the following week is the start of the utterly insane double road trip to Adelbrain.
Good thing it's not enough to do SC Longmire's head in, because it certainly does mine.

SYDNEY: 7.4, 10.8, 13.11, 17.13 (115). Goals: Reid 3, Bolton 2, Pyke 2, Goodes 2, Jetta 2, McGlynn, Parker, O'Keefe, McVeigh, Kennedy, Hannebery.
BRISBANE: 1.0, 4.2, 5.5, 8.7 (55). Goals: Green 2, Brown, Zorko, Leuenberger, Hanley, Redden, Lester.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 23,315.

you can't gild the lily

Sculptors,

Who knows what the Ol' Wellingtonians would have thought of that.
Especially the first half when both sides were trying to cope with the greasy ball in the unusual New Zealand dew.
It was as if the pill was smeared with Nut Brown Kiwi Boot Polish.
Someone would have tried to explain to them the phrase "stacks on the mill" but it would probably have been lost in translation, and gone straight through to the 'keeper.
Still, being born as they are into the rugby union religion, in a land where rugby league is almost unknown, except in far northern parts, and Australian Football entirely foreign, they would be well acquainted with the scrimmage [of which there were plenty], the ruck work reminicent of the line-out, the goal-kicking, and the general carry on, but there would have been far too many offsides and knock-on's for their liking and they would have been perplexed by the seeming complete absence of any discernable rules, and laughed at the sight of the Bamford's running around in circles and blowing their whistles willy-nilly with no apparent ryhmn or reason.
The boundary umpires running backwards like raw prawns would have amused the Kiwi's no end.
Typically Strayan, those on the bleachers would have mused.
And what about the last quarter when the Swans were quite content to sit on the football and run down the clock, and just win by enough?
How is the concept of "sitting on the football" explained to all but keen students of the game?
No doubt any Wellingtonians, who were prepared to listen, would have been instructed in the utmost importance of the Championship Quarter, but they may have had trouble understanding "ah well, it all comes down to The Champo, as usual".
What's usual, they would have asked?
Looking at the scoreboard would have been no help.
Not exactly a grand exhibition of the skills of the Australian game by any measure in the inuagral international for serious points.
While the Hannebery Kiddie was rightly gonged with the What's His Name Again? Medal; in the shadow of the Tipsy brouhaha, special mention should be made of that other Adelaide Crows turncoat - The Childe Armstrong.
Put up a sterling show and did everything right throughout, for mine.
Most likely Best on Ground, even if no one agrees with me.
And with his mop-top hair-do he's obviously going to a better barber than Mummy, who now looks like a 70's porn star with spectacular mutton chops, or The Great Malceski, whose hair appears to have ungergone Electro-Convulsive Shock Therapy.
Teddy Richards, JPK, In Like McGlynn et al were just very good, as usual, and yet they go unsung for the most part.
Interesting that the Jetta Kiddie was made subsitute and only came on in the last quarter in case they needed fresh legs, and The Train hasn't exactly been on fire since the start of the season.
Is something wrong there?
No idea.
At Friday morning smoko at some private thermal blow-hole in Wellington, SC Horse would have cast his gaze back across the Tasman in the opposite direction and thought to himself "Aw well, what more do they want? Won ugly in a pretty little city. Take that anyday".
Doubt that the locals would have cottoned on to St Kilda's glaringly obviously problem - three superstar players in a weak side - fielding five players with less than five senior games each and "missing a whole age group" - screams of a major rebuilding project.
The Swans, of course, have no such problem, playing a team of Premiership players, bar two or three.
But they will have to be a bit more careful and a bit more wily to win against the really good sides to come, on that showing.
You have to like the trophy they played for - a small bronze of Simpson on his donkey - known as The Dodgy Donk.
That's after Simpson was recently exposed as a fraud; never happened, no heroics, figment of the collective imagination.
Obviously of little interest to the trophy makers, who would've cast the thing months ago, and weren't to know, then.
Is it The Perpetual Donk?
Who knows?
Yet another mystery.

ST KILDA: 3.1, 5.3, 6.6, 9.9 (63). Goals: Riewoldt 2, Montagna 2, Koschitzke, Ross, Dennis-Lane, Geary, Steven.
SYDNEY: 3.3, 6.7, 9.13, 11.13 (79). Goals: McGlynn 2, Parker 2, Kennedy, Richards, McVeigh, Bolton, Goodes, Jack, Mumford.
At Wellington Regional Stadium, New Zealand.
Crowd: 22,546.


Never did see a frame of this game.
And a good thing too, by all reports.
They say the highlights reel wasn't really worth watching.
Had much better things to do on a pearler of a day in the Emerald City, being blinded by the sparkle off the superlative water views from the beer garden of the Newport Arms Hotel.
Got home just in time to hear the radio summary of the day's play with the two commentators chatting idly amongst themselves running the program up to the top of the clock.
Said something about the first half being "riddled with errors and penalties", a "penaltyathon" was mentioned, and the second half was best described as "let's face it, very shabby football from both sides" before they came to the conclusion "well, you can't gild the lily - a terrible game of football".
That's enough for me.
Not to mention the horror injury toll Balmain had; Young Timmy Moltzen - perhaps the best utility back in the team - hobbled off with a season-ending knee that'll require a full ACL reconstruction, the Ayshford Kiddie gorn with just minutes left on the clock with a suspected broken leg, just above the ankle - anyone would struggle to come back from that; just ask Taniela Tuiaki, he'll tell you.
And then there's Chris "The Try Scoring Freak" Lawrence unable to complete the match after picking up a hammy of indeterminate severity, but it doesn't look good.
Of course Anasta has a groin, won't play for a while, The Great Benji's toe doesn't get any better, and Tuqiri might as well resign himself to retiring from a glittering career cruelled by injury.
In the end, Wests played the back half of the last half a man down on the bench, and in the end contrived to clear the bench and then some, and could only field 12 players for the last six minutes of the game.
Joisus.
Good luck, Coach Harry, in trying to find 13 fit players required to fill a rugby league team, let alone another four reserves, for next week.
There's not much happening in Reserve Grade by all accounts, with the exception of Jacob Miller, that would mandate a step-up to First Grade under normal circumstances, and anyone in the U21's are still just children, who'd be like lambs to the slaughter in the big league.
So where to now?
There is no doubt the Mighty Tiges have lost their way - it's as plain as day for all to see - but you'd have to fear the Coach doesn't have a Plan B.
Never mind that the nurses in Sick Bay will soon be telling anyone else who requests admission: "fark off! we're full!"
Coach has to factor that possibilty into the roster and try to take out catastrophic injury insurance if you can, which Balmain clearly hasn't.
The premiums can't be all that exorbidant, surely?
When it's all said and done, someone has to say it in the current state of affairs...
Season Over.
Oh, the horror!
The Philosopher was right.
For the legion of Wests Tigers fans - and, believe me, we are everywhere - It's going to be a very, very long season.

WESTS TIGERS 10. Tries: Spence, Utai. Goals: Sironen (1).
BRISBANE BRONCOS 20. Tries: Gillett (2), Hodges, Norman. Goals: Parker (1), Prince (1).
At Campbelltown Sports Ground.
Crowd: 11,547.

"they be crazy"

Perplexees,

Eschewed the free ticket on offer and decided against attending the ground on a bitterly cold night with the teeth of a sou'westerly gale biting deep into the top-deck of the gods in the Brewongle stand, where the freebies were located.
Known as "the shivering seats".
Would have caught me death.
Sent my youngest child instead.
Others who did manage to attend noted, what with a rugby union match also being played simultaneously next door at the SFS, getting to and from the ground was a "complete and utter nightmare".
They also noted that the on-ground services were in a "schemozzle", with beer queues as long as 20 minutes.
Forget it if you wanted a pie.
And why did the game start, they ask, at the very silly time of 7.50pm, and so didn't finish much before 11?
Have the barking mad schedulers ever tried to get out of the Sydney CBD at that time of a regular Friday night, let alone when you add an extra 45 thousand or so footy fans into the mix?
Seems they do everything to deter even potential freeloaders from going to the game, in the hope that you stay home glued to the crystal bucket with Son of Robbie continually barking out at you from the TV screen telling you to put a bet on.
"Crazy" seemed to be the common word of choice to describe the whole experience.
After the first quarter, which featured no less than 15 goals, one of my spies at the ground sent through a telegraph message reading: "a goal from every centre ball up! they be crazy!".
Another pushed through "1st qtr: Crazier than Crazy Craves!"
Crazy is the word.
You'd see any number of games where that many goals wouldn't be scored in the entire match.
The Swans were asking for trouble playing that way; defence didn't come into it as Geelong in their trademark fashion had loose men everywhere.
The Cats knew they had them sucked in, and had all the answers if Sydney wanted to play the game their way.
No one, it appears, could hear the coach screaming "man up! man up!" from the home bench.
Crazy.
After all that, the half time consensus among the onlookers seemed to be that the team who had the most legs that lastest the longest would win.
And so it came to pass.
Sydney were simply outplayed and outclassed in the Champo getting seven goals kicked on them, and despite a good finish in the last, there was to be no brilliant comeback, with the fat lady singing early and loud from the top of the Paddington End construction site.
In the denoument, they didn't get beaten by much, but of course the scoreboard doesn't lie, nor care by how many; a point will do.
SC Horse singled out, unfairly for mine, Sam Reid for special attention in the Sunday fishwraps, saying his poor form is "a major worry".
There's no doubt Sam is suffering from a lack of confidence, but maybe the coach has forgotten that they were telling the bean-pole all last season, if he would only listen to them, that he could make a really good full-forward, but then eventually gave up, and signed Tippett instead.
Crazy.
The Crows turn-coat who's been characterised as a dirty rotten scoundrel in Adelaide is eligible to play in Round 14 v Carlton at home - having just missed, by a fortuitous scheduling quirk, both crazy road trips to Adelaide, a fortnight apart.
Little wonder Reid is somewhat downcast, just from feeling the hot breath of Tipsy Tippett down his neck, which is no fault of his own.
Fancy having that on yr back.
At Saturday morning smoko down at the magic waters at Bronte, they would all have been gazing out over the Tasman Sea, as Longmire tugged at his forelock, given that they'll have to cross The Ditch sometime this week to play on Thursday afternoon in Wellington.
In the full knowledge that they can't afford to come back from there empty-handed, without the inaugral Cake Tin Cup sitting next to the Club Chairman on the flight home, in a first class seat.

SYDNEY: 8.1, 10.3, 11.6, 16.7 (103). Goals: McVeigh 3, Malceski 2, Goodes 2, Bolton 2, Hannebery 2, Reid, Roberts-Thompson, Pyke, McGlynn, Kennedy.
GEELONG: 7.2, 9.4, 16.7, 19.10 (124). Goals: Motlop 3, Hawkins 3, Chapman 2, Taylor 2, Stokes 2, Horlin-Smith, Podsiadly, Smedts, Johnson, Selwood, Hunt, Christensen.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 31,060.


Shuffled into the Front Bar at The Local on Monday morning, just to check the word on the street.
The small-time drug dealers & hucksters were lamenting the well known phenomenon in their trade - no one seems to want to buy on a cold, wet weekend.
Ah well.
Too bad.
The Brown Bros, knowing they would be in for a fair ribbing when they got around to fixing a few footpaths for the council, were rather sheepish after NZ went down 32-12 to AUS in the rugby league "Anzac Test Match".
So, being at my magnanimous best, slapped them on their hugely broad shoulders with commiserations, and was promptly offered a draft from their jug, with a "ah yep, no worry bru, always next time, eh, bru?"
Never one to be afraid of or shy away from selling my soul for a free beer.
Found The Philosopher in his usual corner; well aware that the Swans had fallen at the first hurdle in their opening encounter against a half-way decent side, he poked his bony finger at that day's yarn on the back page of the fishwrap that suggested The Great Benji Marshall's bung toe does not look like getting any better any time soon and he may be out of the Balmain line up for longer than the expected six weeks, which could well be a season-killer.
He grunted, and mumbled "I worry about my pessimism, and the fact that maybe I'm administering the last rites too early..." before his voice trailed away and he nodded for another glass of this week's favoured tipple.
As the barmaid fixed him a Manhattan, she said "Aaww...don't worry about it Prof. Pessimism is good. You are vindicated if it all goes to shit and you are proved right, but unlike optimism, you can also be downright delighted if you are proved wrong".

WESTS TIGERS: Bye.[Representative Weekend].

struggling for superlatives

Seafarers,

Some people get spooked by Hobart.
There have been yachtsmen of my acquaintance who do it year after year, in the full knowledge that the place generally gives them the creeps.
Some people have even been known to suffer from Paris Syndrome.
Especially during The Quiet Little Drink.
The symptoms usually include throwing yrself on the ground, then twirling about like a Whirling Dervish, and banging yr head into walls while loudly uttering gibberish - completely unable to attend to any task at hand.
Not the Swans, or me, but North Melbourne were prime candidates for a positive diagnosis.
After a customary slow start, the Championship Quarter was just about the best quarter of football you could possibly pay to see.
With North suffering from utter helplessness, it was as if Sydney had the Midas Touch on everything.
The Stats Guru was delighted to send in a telegraph message saying it's been 18 years since The Bluds have kicked eleven goals between half and three-quarter time.
And added "that should tell you something".
The fishwraps were struggling for superlatives and could only come up with "astonishing" "stunning" "blistering".
Best described, for mine, as a total destruction of a demoralised, deranged enemy's front lines with heavy artillery.
No survivors.
After going completely missing in the opening stanza, Odd Head went on to play Best on Ground up front for the second time in as many matches to pick up some kind of medal named after an obscure Tasmanian who no one has ever heard of who played a few games for North back in the day, sometime then.
Mr Malceski came in a close second down back, followed by the entire attacking mid-field, collecting one Brownlow vote - each.
You couldn't possibly out flank that and the full-on remorseless assault was as close to perfect as anyone could imagine.
What ever else happened didn't really matter.
It would have made more than a few rival coaches sit up in their straight-jackets and take notice.
On interview after the game, SC Horse was asked about the Champo and just said "we've got a pretty hardened bunch of blokes here".
Thinking that he was saying match fitness is now up to scratch, they put in the hard yards on the training track, and are playing rather well.
And it's all done through orthodox methods.
Fancy.
No need to inject snakey substances into the eyes of the players, there doesn't appear to be any elephant juice designed to make horses go faster floating around in the back room, and the medical staff are well aware that's it's all gone downhill since Cuz won a Brownlow on ice.
Besides, everyone's happy with the old fashioned way.
The players know they get their reward after the game - a couple of ice cold schooners and a hot pie & sauce in a brown paper bag.
And...Bob's your uncle...

NORTH MELBOURNE: 4.2, 7.8, 8.11, 13.14 (92). Goals: J Bolton 4, McGlynn 3, Hannebery 3, Goodes 2, McVeigh 2, Parker 2, Everitt, Kennedy, Jetta, O’Keefe.
SYDNEY: 3.4, 5.6, 16.10, 20.11 (131). Goals: Thomas 3, Cunnington 2, Hansen 2, Tarrant 2, Wells, MacMillan, Wright, Goldstein.
At Bellerive Oval, Hobart.
Crowd: 13,221.


The SCG is an anachronistic ground to be playing rugby league at it in this day and age, which is probably why they schedule only one game there a year.
It's the worst viewing ground for the code in all of Sydney, with the stands set so far back from the playing rectangle; spectators are a mile away.
But it was the Heritage Round nonsense; Balmain played in Western Suburbs colours to mark the 50th anniversary of the 1963 Grand Final between St George and Western Suburbsb which was played on the hallowed turf [Wests lost in the knee deep mud, by the way].
But, last Sunday's match never came anywhere near close to greatness, and was in fact a tawdry affair from start to finish.
Tigers robbed blind in the early part, with the opening try disallowed due to a non-existent obstruction, and the second try disallowed due to a non a existent shoulder charge.
And then the Bamfords missed a blatant forward pass from the Dragons, and in they went.
What the?
Should have been up 12-0 after ten minutes but it was still 0-0 after half an hour.
Despite officialdom conspiring against them, the truth is the Tigers had too many passengers and made too many mistakes.
A gallant comeback in second half was undone by three dropped balls in the denoument and a bloody one-point field goal with two minues left on the clock by that prick Soward.
Turns out harsh words were spoken between Farah and Soward in a shirt pulling incident just before half-time
Seems Soward put in a particularly offensive sledge on Farah, who thought about clocking the bloke until Soward realised in a second that he had said was wrong, and instantly apologised.
Neither was saying after the game what it was all about, insisting "we've both agreed to leave that on the field".
But you could imagine it might have something to do with Farah's life long mate, a Sydney Airport baggage handler and major league drug importer who's facing a long stretch at The Bay for stacks of kilo's, who Farah gave a character reference for at the sentencing hearing last week, you know "he's a good kid, known him all my life, quiet as a mouse, respectful of his elders, loves his Mum...", that sort of thing.
Little wonder Soward is widely detested for being a serial pest, no one likes a loudmouth who looks like some kind of weird deformed weazel.
Even though Soward is probably the best exponent of kicks-in-play in the caper and is the premier field goal marksman, and won the game off his own bat, he commands no respect, from anyone of any stripe.
Coach Harry would have less hair on his head than he had at the start of the game as he pulled it out in great tufts.
In his first year coaching a first grade side, he's be miffed that he had no honeymoon period to speak of and presided over a team that's 2 & 4 after six and 13th on a ladder of 16.
The Club Secretary has shown the new boy how to work the antique abacus in the office, but however much they whirr the beads, it doesn't changes the numbers.
No Marshall, no cigar, in short and simple terms for the next little bit.
With the Great Benji out for a minimum of six weeks with a toe mischief [Club Doctor: "A shocker. Worst toe I've ever seen. Blew up to the size of salami, and was as black as the ace of spades with purple edges. Dead set."], the season teeters on a knife edge.
Mr Potter would be happy enough to have the week off with a round of representative games on this weekend and club football in abeyance.
He might even slot in a personal, private, first-ever visit to the Room Full of Mirrors down on the Balmain Road, just to see what it's like.

WESTS TIGERS 12. Tries: Moltzen, Murdoch-Masila. Goals: Anasta (2).
ST GEORGE-ILLAWARRA DRAGONS 13. Tries: Cooper, Morris, Vidot. Field Goals: Soward (1).
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 21,844.

the floodgates

Umbrellarists,

It was a fairly typical autumn weather week in the Emerald City, before the advent of climate change.
Completely normal.
Coastal showers followed by more heavy coastal showers, with the diurnal range starting to bite.
About 80mm in the gague at Camp Campsie over five days, so it was always bound to be a heavy track at HQ.
In the end, the players destroyed the centre square, and the SCG groundsmen would have been after both teams muddy guernsey's and shorts to put through the copper to wash out the priceless black Bulli soil to re-cycle as top-dressing in the summer.
You could see why the Goodes Train had his cranky head on, as it's hard to say whether he ever had a clean take of the soap-cake ball in the entire match, and spent most of his time clocking opposition players and knocking them over, and pointing and glaring at his own blokes.
Forgot a few times that he's given up the captaincy.
Never mind.
The current two skippers were Best on Ground, for mine.
3 votes Odd Head for being the most mud covered player on the ground.
2 votes Son of Garry for sitting on and shutting down Son of God.
1 vote for the Haneberry Kiddie just for being a top bloke.
Special mention should also be made of Spida Jnr and The Crazy Canadian.
Just for throwing their weight around in the bog.
After the Champo, the result, of course, was never in doubt.
With Gold Coast tired and pretty much in disarray, the floodgates were always going to open after three-quarter time, and with six goals in the denoument, so it came to pass.
A game that never looked like achieving great heights.
SC Horse would take very little from it, apart from the improvement in match fitness and being a good training run in the wet.
And they're bound to encounter some of that in the completely insane road trip they are about to embark on.
Pop down to Hobart to play North at 'home', then back to HQ for the trifling matter of a game against Geelong, on a rarely scheduled Friday night in Sydney, before rowing across The Ditch to take on the out-of-sorts and under-manned Saints on Anzac Day at The Cake Tin in Wellington, of all gawd forsaken places.
Still, after unfurling The Flag - which actually looks more like a pennant, as it should - at home for the first time as defending premiers, might as well take The Champions of the World on an international overseas tour to spread the love.
Whoever the bright spark was who dreamt that up was a dead-set genius.

SYDNEY: 2.1, 6.4, 11.10, 17.12 (114). Goals: McVeigh 4, Everitt 2, Parker 2, Pyke 2, O'Keefe 2, McGlynn, Bolton, Kennedy, Jack, Jetta
GOLD COAST: 2.2, 3.4, 8.6, 11.7 (73). Goals: Dixon 3, Hall 2, Matera, Hutchins, Shaw, Day, May, Smith.
At Sydney Cricket Ground.
Crowd 20,372.

What a silly game of football.
Tigers cruelly caned in the penalty count to the ridiculous tune of 14-7!
The Umpires certainly liked the sound of the little birdie singing in their whistles.
Never mind that Balmain came to play smart and dirty, and were officially warned no less than three times about pinning the player down in the tackle to slow down the play-the-ball, and were threatened with the skipper being sent to the sin bin in the end, while the Best Leb in the Game consistently held that line with the Bamfords', "but it wasn't us, yr honour, we never done it, honest".
As Joey Johns said on the wacky MMM radio commentary in Dad's Shed "giving the referee a bit of lip is like talking to yr wife or girlfiend, it doesn't matter if she's right or wrong, there is absolutely no point in going on with it".
Trying something different by playing Robbie out of position a bit, effectively giving him a roving brief through the back line and the Great Benji handing over the goal kicking duties to Braith Anasta; a job he had at the Roosters - he's a better sharp-shooter at the black dot, anyway - were both smart moves.
With the forward pack putting in some very solid work, it worked a treat for the first 60 minutes, but then, all of a sudden, without warning, the Bamfords went off their tits, and Melbourne ran in three unanswered tries off penalties to put the thing in the dilly bag as the fat lady started singing.
Fancy leading 12-6 at half time, and getting done 26-12 through no real fault of your own [sort of]?
Rules are made to be broken, but still, robbed blind.
Captain Farah, on interview after the game understated the matter: "I am sure some of the penalties were warranted...there were some that were frustrating and my view was different on them to the refs view."
Coach Harry would probably be perplexed, as he can see that even if the refs are on your side, the truth is the Mighty Tiges will struggle to be competetive with the really good sides this season, and in a comp with no real also-rans - anyone can win anything on their day - they'll have to continue to win at home and snag a few away to have any hope at all of making the top eight.
But that should go without saying.
Mildly comforting that Balmain have played the two most likely Grand Finalists this season in the last two weeks, so handy to get them out of the way this early on.
However, Mr Potter will have to put his thinking cap on, followed by his wizard's hat, to get them out of the bottom eight on the table, even in the near term.
To make matters worse, Marshall has done a mischief to his toe, of all things, and could be out for any number of weeks you might nominate - there's been no word from Sick Bay, on the fear that it looks bad.
If that's the case; season over.
And two Balmain players, including Anasta, have been rubbed out for a week on hastily cobbled-together trumped-up "dangerous contact" charges.
What next, Fawlty?

MELBOURNE STORM 26. Tries: Cronk, Fonua, Vave, Waqa. Goals: Smith (4), Widdop (1).
WESTS TIGERS 12. Tries: Marshall, Tedesco. Goals: Anasta (2).
At Melbourne Rectangular Stadium.
Crowd: 18, 866.

welcome to the long weekend

Long Sufferer's,

Robbed blind, in the rain, in Gosford, to nil.
Welcome to the long weekend.
Whoever the bright spark was who scheduled a match in Gosford on Maundy Thursday obviously had rocks in his head, what with the home side effectively "away", the opposition on the other side of the Bridge, and the F3 Freeway - the only way to drive there - choked with Easter traffic, makes it just brilliant for the travelling fan.
You'd imagine most of the people in the stands and on the bleachers at Singo Stadium would have been white-bread refugees from Sydney, driven out by the ever more madding crowd and the ridiculous property prices, who are now permanent residents of the Central Coast, who took their allegiances with them.
It was unusually hot for an alleged autumn day, but then the southerly with patchy rain swept in just in time for the game, and the players had trouble with the greasy ball.
But then the Bamfords stepped in and gave the game to the home side on a silver platter.
The Manly try off a blatant forward pass just set the tone, with the other tries all a matter of conjecture, with arms and legs going everywhere over the touchline as the try scorer knocked out the corner post.
What use are touch judges in this day and age, with dodgy TV replays right, left and centre??
And the only time the Tiges went over, the try was disallowed on account of a faint hint of sheparding from the Try Scoring Freak, and ruled as obstruction.
What the?
Have they changed the rules?
The Balmain skipper on interview after the game said he now has trouble reading the rule book on that interpretation, and might as well give up the "second man play" if that's going to be the case.
An utter shocker from the rude bastard referees.
But, in truth, Balmain had only themselves to blame.
It's the first time they have been held to SFA in almost four years.
Oh, dear.
After six consecutive possessions and forcing Manly into their own in-goal five times, they couldn't convert that pressure into any points, and it all went down the toilet from there against a side that could well be described as pretty handy, an early Premiership favourite you would have thought on that defence, even though you have to wonder how they can afford that many representative players under the salary cap rules, let alone pay the umpires.
Nothing to worry about when there's plenty of money in the back office, where the accounts are only kept haphazardly.
Things tend to go more smoothly when you live on the right side of the tracks.
The scoreboard doesn't lie, so that's all the more reason to hate Manly.
The animosity goes back to the 50's and 60's when Manly were well known for poaching their best players - all unprincipled men who were widely disparaged as traitors and mercenaries - from poor working class clubs on the other side of the Harbour, with the lure of a bright future.
They've never been forgiven, even though generations have passed since the Fibro's v Silvertails detestment began and specific incidents of bastardry are now lost in the mists of time, it's got through in the genes.
As if you were born to hate Manly.
Back in the day, the black and orange t-shirt with white lettering "I support Balmain, and anyone playing Manly" was a common sight at Leichhardt Oval.
In 1990, when Steve "Blocker" Roach was sent off for patting the referee on the head in my one, only, and last attendance at Brookvale Oval - with my life only saved by running for a Palm Beach bus - the loathing of Manly fans lodged in my backbone, unable to be removed.
To make matters even worse, the two times the Tigers have played north of the Hawkesbury River in four games this season, they've been flogged, twice.
And they've still got Gold Coast, Brisbane, and North Queensland to come.
Let alone down Mexico way v Melbourne and Auckland.
The only saving grace was to see the Great SC Simmons return from the Dark Satanic Mills of England to be back in the coaches box with Coach Harry.
The Idiot Savant has returned to his old job as the club Welfare Officer/Assistant Coach, where he belongs.
Who knows what they pay him, but the bloke is priceless.
Royce is absolutely inscrutable, and he makes it his business to know about everything that is going on, is a master troubleshooter, and is the reason why the Tigers players are never in the papers.
Keeps a keen eye on his players' social life - they know he has spies everywhere - and they also know he knows a thing or two about rugby league to boot.
Royce doesn't talk much, but when he speaks, people listen, and listen good.
On the bus home from Gosford, the players could only guess what he was thinking.

MANLY-WARRINGAH SEA EAGLES 26. Tries: Williams (2), Cherry-Evans, Matai, Symonds. Goals: Lyon (3)
WESTS TIGERS 0.
At Central Coast Stadium, Gosford.
Crowd: 11,758.

The Premiership Shrine in the corner of the loungeroom next to the Bush Telegraph was dismantled on the morning of the match, no trace now remains, as the Swans transition from reigning Premiers to defending Premiers.
A place of reassuring comfort, and a talking point among visitors, for a 25 week off-season...but now it's gorn to mark the start of the traditional toughening-up period.
Very little to be learnt, and certainly nothing to be gained from the pipe opener, except that a win is a win is a win.
Still, the opening game of the season is always a fairly good time to brush off the cobwebs and shake the dust off the legs.
Beating the Pygmies by five goals in a canter would have been just about the best most anyone hope for.
In the rooms after, the players would have been reaching for the cans of WD40 to spray on the rusty bits, in the hope that they'll come good and work again next week.
Super Coach John "Horse" Longmire would do well to pay attention to getting his team up to match fitness.
It'll probably take a month, with the team clearly short of a run.
Any longer and they could struggle against half-way decent sides.
The Pygs have no doubt improved on last year as the boys they have grow up, acquitted themselves rather well, and could trouble other poor-to-middling sides through the year, but they certainly won't kick five unanswered goals against anyone again this season.
Caught me, and the Swans, having a late afternoon nap after quarter-time.
You could go through the roster, but suffice to say it was very pleasing to see Captain Jack win the Brett Kirk Medal just for playing good.
Mummy and Mr Pyke did some sterling work early - you have to like big blokes throwing their weight around - with the Childe Hannabery, Keefey and Rick Shaw prominent across the middle.
The Ugliest Man In Football stamped his authority on the back line late, but didn't get enough game time for mine.
The Reid Kiddie did nothing all day except take the Mark of the Year [so far]; an absolute screamer.
Tipsy Tippett would be scratching his head.
The third leg is looking good on the Goodes Train.

GREATER WESTERN SYDNEY: 0.4, 5.4, 7.8, 11.10 (76). Goals: Patton 3, Sumner 2, Treloar, Shiel, Smith, Cameron, Giles, Greene.
SYDNEY: 4.5, 9.7,12.9, 16.10 (106). Goals: Jack 3, Goodes 2, McGlynn 2, Bolton 2, Pyke 2, Reid 2, Kennedy, McVeigh, Mumford.
At Olympic Stadium, Homebush.
Crowd: 23,690.