can you spell u-n-a-c-c-e-p-t-a-b-l-e?

Fellow flabberghastee's,

The following did not turn up to play on the hallowed turf...

FF 9.W.Hayward 20.S.Reid 41.T.Papley
HF 29.G.Hewitt 23.L.Franklin 16.G.Rohan
C 5.I.Heeney 12. J.P.Kennedy 44. J.Lloyd
HB 14.C.Mills 43.L.Melican 11.J.Laidler
FB 40.N.Smith 39.H.Grundy 10.Z.Jones
FOL 8.K.Tippet* 26.L.Parker 4.D.Hannebery
BENCH 7.H.Cunningham 33.B.Jack 28.N.Newman 18.C.Sinclair
COACH J.Longmire
(*Did not turn up at all. Phoned in sick. Replaced by 1.J.Rose.)



Surely the End of Days is nigh?
At quarter time the Good Lady Wife was heard to remark "that mob are as useless as we are, so there must be some chance".
After the miserable exhibition was all over and the Fat Lady had sung long & loud, My Spy at the Ground limited his comment[s] on the Swans (non)performance at the 'G against the hapless Ol' Carlton Blues to one succinct word..."hopeless".
Amid much wailing, wringing of hands, and gnashing of teeth, the Stats Guru, after senslessly wrestling his abacus into submission, declared that the Swans are now the holders of the highly dubious honour of being the first team in HISTORY...that's right...ever, in the entire lifespan of any AFL/VFL side in the annals of all mankind, to lose their first six matches of a season on the trot, after appearing in the previous year's Grand Final.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Voila! 0-6
Only five more defeats to go to equal the all-time club record for worst season start from the depths of the Dark Ages back in '93.
SC Horse was clearly aghast and perplexed, saying the whole shooting match as it now stands is "unacceptable".
Can you spell u-n-a-c-c-e-p-t-a-b-l-e?
Mr Longmire - where the buck stops - also said he had his theories about what the trouble is, where the blame lies, but was not prepared to share his speculations with the long-suffering general public, as yet another fast asleep word cloud from his post-match spoutings for the fish-wraps indicates:

Worth repeating...
What would Barassi do?

CARLTON: 1.3, 5.4, 10.7, 15.7 (97). Goals: Wright 4, Casboult 2, Kreuzer 2, Weitering, Petrevski-Seton, Simpson, C. Curnow, E. Curnow, Cripps, Smedts.
SYDNEY: 3.2, 6.6, 8.10, 11.12 (78). Goals. Papley 2, Hayward 2, Franklin, Heeney, Hannebery, Kennedy, Jones, Sinclair, Parker.
At Melbourne Cricket Ground.
Crowd: 32,678.

the worst possible football nightmare

Victims of cruel and unusual punishment,

So, the worst possible football nightmare has come to pass.
The Crows on top of the table at 5-0, and the Swans at the bottom of the ladder, stone-motherless last, at 0-5 with the remarkable percentage of 75.8.
Horrific.
Done like a dinner at the Spititual Home by "cross town rivals" the Greater Western Pygmies in a seven goal football lesson.
There is no need to bang on about it, except to say it's enough to drive a man to drink.
Had some difficulty in interpreting exactly what Mr Longmire was getting at on interview after the game, except that Super Coach Horse appears to be working on the "she'll be right, mate" principal, and all the Swans need to do to right the sinking ship is "play footy":

what would Barassi do?

Long-suffering Club Loyalists,

Can someone please tell me just what on earth is happening with the bloody football?
Open the back page of any Melbourne newspaper and you will see that the journo's are smelling blood and circling like sharks on the fact that it has been 24 years since the Sydney/South Melbourne Swans have gone 0-4 at the start of a season.
Worse still, they are rubbing their hands together with glee when they explain to their readers that there are 10 [that's right, ten] players on the Swans current roster who have appeared in at least one game in the seniors who were not even born in 1993.
Wassup?
Suddenly the Swans go from being last year's Grand Finalists [no need to mention "beaten"] to feather dusters in the space of a month?
Something's going on.
If you ask any club loyalist they will talk you up and down the street about what is going wrong.
The Good Lady Wife is very good at lip reading, an art she has finely honed since her yoof, and saw she the television camera spotting Super Coach Horse just before three-quarter time at Sooby in the box leaning back in his chair after something appalling had happened with the Swans [this was after Horse had already thrown down his pen and papers in a desultory fashion] on field and she translated accurately the movements of Longmire's lips which went unrecorded "ABSOLUTELY FUCKED!"
A fair assessment from the coach of the situation, you would have thought?
On interview after the game he said he was very disappointed to be at 0-4 at the start of the season, but it is, what it is.
What is it?
See above.
You will never win a game of football trying to soil the opposition out of the game.
They'll have you all grasping at straws.
Go forward and kick long!
As it was Maundy Thursday and the Messiah was going to be pretty much had it by tomorrow, at one point found myself crying out in exasperation "what would Barassi do?"
Cranked up the old Bush Telegraph in the corner of the loungroom and pushed the message down the wire and across the Nullabor Plain to my Spy at The Ground.
The thing soon clattered back with a reply from the terminal at Subiaco Oval..."Barassi would tear the earlobes off the lot of them and then move Chanders into the ruck, Kennedy behind the ball, Dan into the forwards, and Jack to murder someone every five minutes"...
The Stats Guru slooped over his abacus in discontent and pronounced that any chance of making the top four, if still mathematically possible, is now long gorn.
The Swans went top last year on percentage with just five losses so only a dead-set fully-certified Miracle could see them win the Minor Premiership two years in a row.
Making the Top Eight at least, having the missing-in-action mid-field firing, sorting out the ruck properly, protecting Buddy and Reid so they can star, Plugger training W.Hayward "the goal-kicker from North Adelaide" solely as a goal sneak, and getting the former Captain Jack to simply play better and fight better, are just some of the other problems the Swans face.
Add to that a Sick Bay that's full to overflowing with the barely walking wounded, doctors and nurses working hard, plus a jaw-dropping bottom-scraping shallow depth in the playing roster.
It's all very well and good to "blood young players" but you usually only get one in four who is really any good and becomes a long-term keeper.
That can take years.
The Swans have done precious little buying of experienced journeyman players on the open market to plug the gaps for a quite a while now, which only begs the question, why?
Surely they can't be short of a bob, even given the major league losses on potential merch sales last year?
Beaten Grand Finalists, by their very nature, are not invincible.
Don't get any lover of The Red and The White all riled up by talk of Umpires or you'll get an almighty spray about the iniquity of it all and just the plain & simple denial of natural justice.
It's difficult to see the predicament after such a long string of success [with strings attached, of course, like, they lost the Grand Final last year'n'stuff], or to read any direction, if there is one, into the grand scheme of things.
Sydney hates losers, though.
Joisus, who can forget '92-'93?
Wasn't in town at that juncture, cleared out; it was that bad.
The nadir to end all nadir's.
Staring into the chasm, they were.
The Swans lost their last 15 games straight in '92 - what an absolute shocker - and started '93 with another 11 straight losses and then managed to chalk up their single win of the season to end the losing streak at 21 games, and finish up the year dead set Wooden Spooners at 1-19.
Thanks for that football lesson, Guru.
And the crowds at the SCG were truly and utterly abysmal - the club nearly disappeared altogether, written off as a stupid mistake and a bad loss, and were about to go down the financial suck hole via the gurglar to oblivion, if they didn't sign a contract with Barassi on the back of beer coaster to come out of retirement and go through the joint throwing the weight of his bargerase around and using his very peculiar stentorian voice to full effect, and most fortituously, they had Carroll and Kelly on contract who became marquee players and genuine superstars.
South Melbourne crowds at "away games" were bigger, but they still amounted to only a few thousand.
Nobody likes to be seen with losers in this town, oh no siree.
So the situation at the present minute could be worse, alot worse, it could get worse, alot worse, actually, statistically.
The Dark Ages will take some beating.
But, yup, it is 24 years since the Swans went zip-4 at the start of any stoopid VFL/AFL season.
It was reported on Good Friday that someone had had a Road to Emmaus experience on Facebook, recognised the Messiah, and uttered "I have complete faith in Horse and the boys".
Ahhh...faith, don't get me started...football teams, for God's Sake.
What would Jesus do?
He would point out that Sydney were only beaten by Port by a "bloody point" the week prior, and battled on gamely all day in a hard-fought hand-to-hand combat style match to only go down by three goals in the denoument in the Golden West, and there's absolutely nothing to worry about, wouldn't he?
Nothing for it now but for SC Horse to have spent some time over Easter down at the Magic Waters puffing on his pipe and staring out to sea before thrashing them on the training track; just get things right.
Otherwise, the faint and distant sounds of the song of the Fat Lady start getting louder.
Sweet weepin' Jesus upon The Cross, they've got the Pygmies at home this week in what used to be called "The Battle of the Bridge" but has now been re-branded to the all-inclusive peace & love style "Sydney Derby XII".
Everybody knows GWS would love nothing more than to make Sydney toast, very early in the season.
If they win, they will.


Over at Tigerland, the fun & games and unmitigated trouble and strife continues unabated - the least of which is going through three coaches in six weeks.
Jason "Squeak" Taylor quite rightly was punted for being a hopeless joke and a mean spirited vindictive bastard, then the assistant coach in Andrew Webster takes over the reins for a couple of weeks and appeared to do little else than coach from the sidelines while constantly yabbering on into a walkie-talkie to God only knows who - was he tyring to get Jesus on the line?
Then the Board in their eternal wisdom appointed another sacked coach in the form of the [not so Great] Ivan Cleary, who's been sitting on his fat arse for a whole year doing nothing after he was let go by Penrith for not doing a very good job.
Clearly Cleary came to the role with the expressed intention of keeping the "Big Four" intact and on the books - never mind that he won his first game in charge, his side ran out of legs in a comedy of errors on Easter Monday - and failed at the first hurdle with Moses, casting down the tablets from the Mount, deciding to up stumps and go to Parramatta on a "lucrative" two year deal.
Balmain of course said no way, José, you must play out the rest of yr contract to the end of the year, but of course money does the talkin', and an accomodation will be reached where Moses can move to the Eels before the end of the new contract window, because you don't want a turn-coat at the club who couldn't give a blue root about Balmain's fortunes, despite what he might say about it.
See you 'round, Mose.
As far as the other three go, Tedesco is the best full-back in the world and can write his own ticket - good luck to him; it's highly likely to be more than the Tiges can afford.
C'est la vie.
The half-back in Brooks is a very good one and, being a Balamin boy born and brred, and the good sense to sign on for two more years - he's well worth keeping, good half backs are hard to find, while Captain Woodsy, despite his comedian impersonations and happy-go-lucky nature, knows full well that he is earmarked as the next New South Wales State-of-Origin skipper and is looking to secure his long term future and will go anywhere they're prepared to seriously entertain his asking price of $850K+ per season as well as a genuine chance of a Premiership.
Just please, let it not be the Bulldogs.
And the hyper-dysfunctional Balmain Board complains that their hands are tied because the powers-that-be are yet to decide whether next year's salary cap will be increased to ten million dollars.
You heard me right.
You need $10,000,000 to buy enough players for an at least half-way decent competitive team that might see semi-final action.
Ten million bucks to pay a rugby league team and maintain the big load of baggage?
It's come a long way from the working man's game.
Said it before, say it again, the Tiges look a million bucks on paper, and have for years, but for one reason if not another haven't been able to fire, also, for years now.
A lot of water has been passed since 2005.
They've always have been a difficult team to follow.
Now, at 2-5 after the longest long weekend for losers, their finals chances are already getting well away from them.
The best you can hope for is the unlikely event of a purple patch at some point to renew hope, as the underpinning slips away.
Or at least a couple of weekends a year when both yr football teams win.
Think about that when next you cry "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"
Chin up.


Craves.

Cricket and the Law - "The Cake Code"

Bush Lawyers,

Cricket and the Law.
Got a few lazy hours up yr sleeve and a horsehair wig?
Maybe five years for a law degree?
Keep up.
After 17 years, the MCC has had a go at a new lot...piffle and poppycock it is mostly...and mucking about with the numbering system for no good purpose, while still leaving the answer to life, the universe and everything at 42.


https://www.lords.org/assets/2017-Law-Changes-Summary-Paper.pdf

Red and yellow cards disguised as really weird arm and hand movements?
Flapping about like a chook with its head cut off.
Who's kidding who?
Law 42 becomes an insane jumble tumble of a Mad Woman's Breakfast.
Most unruly players would be more than happy to call a cunt-a-cunt at the risk of a warning and a five run penalty, no?
Strengthening the "Mankad" Law?
The sad demise of the Lost Ball?
Where's it gone; outer space?
Outlawing super-duper thumper bats, but they are still four and a quarter inches wide?
Tethering the bails to the stumps with brightly coloured ribbons to avoid eye injuries?
Could go on and on and on without end.
What would MJ Clarke do?
Folk who have difficulty with the Queen's English now eligible, in theory, to officiate?
My arse.
Reckon you'll need to be a QC before you can become an Umpire.
Of course, in legal circles, the new legislation will quickly become known as "The Cake Code".

they said it was impossible

Fervent Patriots,

They said it was impossible, and so it was.
Before the whole shebang started, my bookie was offering 100/1 about Straya to win the series 4-0, and if you were fool enough to have a punt, yr eyes would have lit up like Xmas trees after Poona.
Yr money was already well gone before they were finally ambushed more than a month later in the 2nd innings at Dharamsala by a better bowling attack complete with a Mystery Chinaman [who must have quietly slipped across the border] on a dirt road with potholes of dusty dried mud in the shadows of the sunny Himalayas.
So, we lost the cricket...somewhere up in them there darn hills.
The impressive Border/Gavaskar Trophy, no less - lent to India for the interim.
Great parcels of old growth forest have been spent on newsprint about it, but in the end, it all came down to the Captains.
Said it before, say it again: The Viral Rat, V Kohli, is an absolute disgrace to himself who brings shame and dishonour down upon the game and the head of his nation in his ruthless disregard for anything that gets in his way.
As a Captain, he is probably among worst type seen in living memory; a snarling, nasty, ugly peice of rabid work.
HIs intolerable on-field arrogance is childlike [ever seen a spoilt five-year-old chuck a tanty? And that's not the half of it], and his final press conference was simply laughable.
Doesn't Kohli know that no-one gives a blue root as to whether he is friends with Australians anymore or not?
Has he got any friends?
Doesn't he realise that the General Public in the Wide Brown Land will never ever ever like him?
Needs his head read.
Not the sort of person you'd exactly want to spend a pleasant evening with in convivial company, you'd expect.
Excuse me, your Honour, but the nutjob is nothing more than dickwad, and that's the truth.
Kohli showed throughout every minute of the series a complete and utter disregard for Law 42[1]. "The responsibilty lies with the Captains to ensure that play is conducted within the spirit and traditions of the game, as well as within the Laws".
And the mad dog constantly and deliberately put the Umpires in an unacceptable, invidious, and impossible position under Law 42 [2] "The Umpires shall be the sole judges of fair and unfair play".
Having smashed the most important Law in cricket to smithereens, Kohli was more than willing to bend and break every other Law in the book, if he saw even a glint of the slightest advantage in it for him.
What is the difference between "sharp practice", which is an accepted part of the game, and "downright cheating", which is not?
Where do you draw a line in the sand?
The authorities were as weak as gnat's piss on that, with no fines or suspensions handed out after the spitefulness of Bangalore.
The powers that be seemed to let it get away from them in Ranchi; sledging is perfectly fine, it's OK, been part and parcel of the game since the dawn of time, but name-calling steps over the line for mine.
The fact that Kohli didn't play in Dharamsala is beside the point - he ran the team from the stands and personally curated the pitch that strangely turned into a dustbowl after picking the hitherto unknown Chinaman in his place to bugger things up nice and proper for the unsuspecting Strayans.
That is very very sneaky in anyone's language, but it is also legal, as the Laws are silent about foolin' around, getting some jiggery-pokery going and playing ducks and drakes with the pitch, before the start of play.
Remember seeing some footage once, a long time ago now, of groundsmen in the West Indies, somewhere, setting fire to the test pitch with jerry-cans of kerosene after someone forgot to cover the strip in a thunderstorm.
India has a very long history of doctoring pitches - they're world class at it, we know that - ever since they graduated from playing Test matches on hessian matting, and started picking batsmen but more particularly bowlers to suit the featherbeds, roads, irrigation channels, dirt tracks, six-lane highways, and right-angle turners from Day One, served up as wickets to play on.
So, how can you ever beat the Munchers at their own game at home?
They will trick and cheat you out of it every time.
What would MJ Clarke do?
If he was still skipper, he would have lost his shit, gone off his tits ballistic-style, and fisticuffs and attempted strangulations would have been a certainty.
But he was up in the television commentary box looking after a horse called Self Interest.
The rupee does the talkin' in that part of the world.
Pup would have issued orders for no quarter to be given, and no prisoners taken, but to Smiffy's great credit, he now knows when to call a fookin' cheat a farkin' cheat.
Knowingly claiming a fake fair catch when you think no one is looking is downright cheating, right there, and one of the worst offences against the spirit of the game there is, to boot.
What did the Umpires think about that?
Smiffy came to the first class game with the looks and reputation of a Baby Faced Killer, and as a batsman he's on the next planet and could be by far the best of his generation.
All class with the willow; in a world of his own.
Just like Pup was.
But Steve's mind sometimes wanders in the field, and he still has a thing or two learn about the fact that the game is all about conflict and the way it's resolved - he already knows well enough that the scoreboard never lies.
There is no need to publicy apologise for anything, Smiffy, let alone do it twice.
Never take a backward step.
The Stats Guru has been through the score sheets, and blames the bats fair and square.
if it wasn't for Smiffy's outstanding 499 runs on tour and his tremendous form as a slipper, Straya most likely would have gone home 0-4 by his calculations.
Even though Nice Garry and Keefey toiled manfully enough at crucial moments and went large with some good bags to keep Straya in the game, it was deadly when Starkers was sent home injured; that really was a pivotal point most of the commentariat missed.
Starc should be considered the "all-rounder" in this team, the way he gets his wickets and doesn't leak runs, and boy, does he know how to tonk 'em clean outta da park, if and when required.
Hazo and Cummo will tough it out to see who's first change on Strayan wickets.
The Marsh Experiment was clearly a spectacular, bright shining failure, at last, full stop.
To leave Uzzie The Token Muzzie on the bench for the entire tour when SE Marsh couldn't bat to save himself was a very serious tactical blunder by the selectors.
How many times does it have to be said - The Chairman and the Three Wise Men continue to bother themselves with the seemingly never-ending fruitless quest for an freaking "all rounder" as if it's some kind of Holy Grail.
The guernsey was given to MR Marsh who made a handful of runs and hardly bowled an over in two games, ahead of GJ Maxwell, who has trouble getting into the playing XI because he once complained that he should play above the wicketkeeper in the batting order.
The fact that Sir Burbs Warner could not even buy a run didn't help, but who can blame the two newbies in Reno and HandyComb who were dropped in the deep end of the cauldron to be boiled alive by savages?
They did well those two under the trying circumstances, and are batsmen who are about as orthodox as a Greek cross thown off the end of a jetty; they're good sized fish - keepers - and if they play their cards right, have glittering careers ahead of them.
It has the makings of a very good cricket team if only the selectors would just pick the best six bats, four bowlers and a wicky; forget the myths and remember that Straya really hasn't had a "genuine all-rounder" since Keith Miller, for gawd's sake.
No point in stewing in their juices or crying over spilt milk [it could have been scotch]; what happened in India, stays in India.
The boys will be mightily relieved to come home now [apart from those picking up a lazy crore or two in the IPL] and go straight to the bar, take the winter off, and then start thinking about their next Test match assignment...Thursday 23 November 2017 v the old foe Engerland, that's right, The Poms! The Ashes! at the 'Gabba, in Brisvegas.
Giddy Up.
5-nil.
Again!

Dharamsala is nice at this time of year

Canine fanciers,

Looks like MJ Clarke is having a whale of a time on the sub-continent.
First he was caught driving a tuk-tuk around the streets of Bangalore at pace, not like a Ferrari or anything, but still:
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dk6is5PRroo]
In between Bangalore and Ranchi he was posting photographs of himself on Instagram doing normal touristy things with legions of adoring fans in front of historic monuments just to say on Facebook "been there, got the t-shirt!", he dropped by to say hi to a group of poor suffering children, who of course asked him to show them his batting style and he was promptly trapped plumb in front LBW second ball by a 17-year-old girl [shock! horror!], then he was taking selfies in a white kaftan-like arrangement with unknown beautiful European women covered in pigments of all colours during Holi [the free love festival], in what looked like some kind of very well-stocked Hospitality Tent.
And that's only what he's been doing in public.
It's exhausting.
He's having so much fun it may well have gone to his head to the point where he appears to be edging towards...[dramatic pause]...going over to the other side.
Found myself very much taken aback by a headline in The Times of India that read in bold print "Michael Clarke praises a resilient Vira Kojli for Ranchi heroics".
Heroics? What heroics?
If you don't believe it, here is yr actual ridgey-dige quote: “I think it’s [shoulder injury] actually a lot worse than people know or that Virat is leading on,” Clarke said. “I think he’s trying to do everything he can to get out onto the park because he knows how important it is as captain to lead from the front. He certainly deserves credit for doing that.”
A Medicine Man and Mind Reader.
Always good to have on the business card.
The sun must have got to him; mad dogs and Englishmen and all that.
Going on to read the editorial, it claimed, "It is welcome to see someone from the Australian camp, albeit a former cricketer, praising Kohli for his efforts at Ranchi."
Which suggests Pup just might be in the pay of someone or another, on drugs, or is about to go stark raving bonkers.
Leaving that aside, at 1-1, after a memorable, fighting rearguard action to draw in Ranchi, Straya just needs to make damned sure they don't get rolled in the series decider.
God only knows what kind of pitch they will serve up after rolling out three dead-set shockers in a row, so let's just hope there's some divine intervention as the Dalai Lama lives up the road, and if he's at home and not busy, he's sure to drop in at the ground for a day [which he did during an IPL match].
The Dalai is a massive sports fan, although footy is more his go, he's been to the G and has a complete collection of AFL jerseys given to him on his many visists Down Under in a bid to get him to barrack for the right side.
Back in the Raj, they used to say that Dharamsala is nice at this time of year, a top picnic spot and it should remind all Strayans of being back home among the verdant fields and rolling hills of Old England, and one can still get a decent gin'n'tonic there, just like in the Heart of The Empire.

"karma's a bitch" & so long

Long Suffering Club Loyalists,

"About time".
That's all that can be said, really.
The Philosopher was right.
The weekend 6-46 scoreline against Canberra was simply the straw that broke the morbidly obese camel's back.
Where were you when the Balmain coach Jason "Squeak" Taylor was sacked, boned, and punted?
The Good Lady Wife was heard breaking the news with a rebel yell from her home office, crying out in jubilation for all the neighbourhood to hear "THERE IS JUSTICE AFTER ALL!!"
It's a minor miracle that the hopelessly dysfunctional club board got its act together just for once to make the long, long awaited call.
Much leaping about and high-fiving was done, thought long and hard about jumping off the wagon right there and then and popping the corks on some Champagne, but left it at smug smiles of satisfaction.
In the sad couple of weeks where one of the club's best players, Tim Simona, openly admitted that he was a very bad dude indeed [why didn't anyone notice or realise? - but that's another story] and was suspended indefinitely from any grade of rugby league - warned-off football grounds world wide - for alleged unlawful gambling, Taylor would probably be hoping the scandal overshadows the shame and indignity he has also brought on the club.
No such luck.
Said it before, say it again, the whole long drawn out Jason Taylor v The Great Robbie Farah imbroglio was an act of sheer bastardry, plain and simple.
Everybody knows.
That ended eight months ago - eight months - after going on for what seemed like an eternity.
Probably the thing folk in general liked least about Taylor was his reputation as a gutless back-stabber, not to mention his unpleasant general demeanour.
Even Blind Freddy could see Taylor liked to think of the club as his own personal fiefdom, he did not brook disagreement, formed and held grudges easily, and had no regard or respect whatsoever for history and tradition.
Just ask The Best Leb in the Game, a dead-set Genuine Certified Club Legend who was cruelly and disgracefully hounded out of Leichhardt through absolutely no fault of his own.
He'll tell you.
Robbie Farah was admitted a long time ago to the Balmain Pantheon - the doorstep of which will never be darkened by Taylor.
Don't ask die-hard long-suffering supporters; they'll just start calling Squeak names and 18C might come into play and they'll be guaranteed to bang on about it forever, that's for sure.
Crikey, for how long have the rumblings of disquiet been going on after two winters of discontent?
This bloggy blog-blog thingy first rabidly called for Taylor's sacking almost a year ago:
[http://crazycraves.blogspot.com.au/2016/04/i-am-unbearably-ashamed.html]
Sorry, Jase, no future then, now, never.
Having gained the distinction of being kaa-boooted from two clubs, South Sydney and now Balmain, Taylor's dance card has been marked: "never to coach again".
Just ask Mick Potter.
He'll tell you.
In 30 years of following the Mighty Tiges, Jason would have to be said to be among the worst - but maybe not the worst - coach in all that time - and, let's face it, there's been only one Super Coach.
The Stats Guru has whirred the abacus and reckons Squeak's been given a saloon passage by The Board from start to finish.
After sacking Potter as coach, "JT" took the reins at the start of the 2015 season.
He has a win:loss ration of 20:31, which equates to a 61% losing record - the numbers speak for themselves - simply not good enough, and everybody knows where the buck stops on that one.
Of course there's been no finals apperances for ages, with Jaso's ego presiding over the last two in a long line.
The Club Secretary aka CEO must fall on his sword, as his position also becomes untenable.
To add insult to injury and after all is said and done, the Guru has calculated that the Club Secretary is now paying about $1.2 million for players and coaches who are no longer at the club, all because of Taylor.
And the club's four best players are all coming off contract in the same year, this year - how was that allowed to happen?
WTF!?
Must resign.
Who can believe now that it was way back in 2009 that Taylor was sacked by South Sydney after getting into a punch up with one of his own players David Fa'alogo, who won the stoush hands down leaving Taylor still "visibly shaken" a day later?
People who were there at the time and witnessed events didn't hide their opinion that Taylor had it coming to him and deserved every smack in the chops he got.
The Rabbitohs board agreed, and got rid of him forthwith.
Why he ever got the top job at the Tigers after hiding in disgrace for six years remains an utter mystery.
The Great Paul Sironen, on hearing of Squeak's demise, was quoted in the fishwraps as saying "Karma's a bitch" [never knew he could be so mystical for a second rower].
The way another Club Legend was treated by Taylor was a continuing example of just plain rude tawditry in the extreme.
Why?
At least Balmain's major sponsors are a law firm, who are in full agreement with the decision to end the relationship with the coach, adding, by-the-by in perfect legalise "the suggestion is there were entrails indicative of difficulties that may continue to be encountered, which was a fair enough assessment".
Stuck my head through a crack in the front door of the Front Bar down at The Local after the news broke early on Monday afternoon and the Brown Bros. [who are no strangers to supporting a losing side, oh no, don't ask] were in, complaining that 20 straight days of rain had been interfering with the council footpath laying something shocking, while enjoying jugs of foaming frosties.
They spotted me for a jape and joked "that Taylor bru, he's munted now, eh bru?!" Explosive laughter and cheers all 'round.
The Philospher, sitting in his usual corner looking unusually un-perplexed, briefly looked over the rim of his reading glasses while nursing this week's favoured tipple, a Harvey Wallbanger, and simply added "about time".
Gorn, and forgotten.
In the words of The Great Sirro "good riddance & don't let the door hit you on the way out!"