2011 GRAND FINAL - Bluebags -V- Ninjas

[Jesbass]

​

2011 Finals Series: GRAND FINAL​

Newtown Bluebags -V- Chuck Norris Texas Death Ninjas​

-V-

Game Thread:

* This is a game thread only. Only game posts can be made here - team lists, substitutions, and articles.
* Any other posts may result in loss of points and is at the discretion of the referee.
* Only original articles, not used in previous games, will be marked by referees.

Naming Teams:
* 5 -V- 5 (+ 3 reserves for both teams)
* No 'TBA' or changing players named
* Captains must stick with original teams named

Rules: http://f7s.leagueunlimited.com/rules.php
Official Word Counter: http://f7s.leagueunlimited.com/wordcount.php

Kick Off: Sunday 2nd October 2011 (2100AEST)
Full Time: Wednesday 12th October 2011 (2100AEST)
Referee: Jesbass
Venue: The Front Row Stadium

Previous Matchups This Season:
Ninjas 430 v Bluebags 432 (Round 2)
Blubags 174 v Ninjas 263 (Willow Cup Final)
Bluebags 425 v Ninjas 424 (Round 7)

 

[Drew-Sta]

Hi Jessbass

I have some concerns over the size of the Ninja's 'image mascot', and believe it offers an unfair advantage for them in the grand final.

As a consequence, I was hoping you can replace our 'blue ice block' with the following image, a picture taken of our outgoing and faithful compatriot Willow. Taken at the height of his playing prowess, it will evenly square up the issue and ensure no undue advantage is given.

Thanks in advance,

Drew

(The above post is indeed stirring the pot in the interest of spicing up the 'big one' )

 

[Drew-Sta]

Oh Jess, I heart you

 

[gUt]

I am lodging an official protest. The Bluebags new logo is in full colour and beautifully framed, while Chuck is in dismal black and white and looks lost on the page. This is clearly giving an advantage to our opposition.

Please colour Chuck in.

 

[edabomb]

The Ninjas have arrived at the stadium. They are keen to let their writing do the talking as they are under a media ban. Good luck all.

Starting
edabomb (c)
CobyDelaney
gUt
jamesgould
joshie

Bench
Hallatia
paulquinn49

 

[Drew-Sta]

The premier match of the F7s season. Long live the F7s!

It's an honour to be here.

The Bluebags fly in to meet the Ninja's, landing awkwardly in their rental DC-3.

With this being the final Bluebags match containing Willow, all are wearing blue armbands.

NEWTOWN BLUEBAGS
2011 GRAND FINAL SIDE



Drew-Sta (c)
Willow (c)
AlwaysGreen
muzby
Timmah

Interchange:
Red Bear
gorilla

 

[gUt]

Karma on an Island

My brothers and I played junior footy for Brothers Holy Spirit Hornets (Lawnton). It’s a small club competing for players with local powerhouses such as the Pine Rivers Bears. The grounds are built atop a rubbish dump and the fields had to be checked regularly for sharp pieces of rubbish that worked their way to the surface as the landfill compressed over time.

I was possibly the worst player to ever pull on a jersey. I was always small and skinny for my age and a late developer. I was slow, a bit gun-shy about being tackled, didn’t understand the game very well and I didn’t put in at training. But for some reason I loved playing - I think it was the adrenaline rush when the coach would call me from the bench and stick me on the wing for the last 20 minutes of a game.

Now my lack of talent did not stop me bashing my little bro when we played in the backyard. Over, under, around and through him – I had all the moves to destroy a 7 year old when we played one-on-one and I rarely showed mercy. Not much fun for him you might think but it really gave him everything I lacked on the field - courage against big kids, evasive skills and tackling technique.

Probably the best memory I have of my playing days was the away trip to Stradbroke Island to play the North Stradbroke Sharks. It seems odd to me now that we played them at all seeing as we were geographically so far apart but I’m glad we did. We caught the barge over. My youngest brother’s team was playing first.

On this day the Sharks had a kid who was pretty big for his age and I’m sure he was used to battering his way through the line and scoring tries at will every match. However, he made the mistake of running at my brother who simply dipped his body, hit the charging big unit in the stomach with his shoulder and literally drove him back 20 metres. It was incredible; I can still see it today. With his right hand behind the big fella’s left thigh holding this leg off the ground, his other leg hopping backwards as my brother steadied him and with piston legs pumping, pushed! They gathered speed as they moved up the field until my brother allowed the big guy to fall and land heavily on the flat of his back. Not a bad effort for a 7 year old.

No such glory for myself though. Against my team the Sharks again had a big, aggressive unit who really did know how to run the football. He seemed to be able to get one-on-one and steamroll any of our players he chose. Soon it was my turn to try to stop this bloke – my Karma for bashing my little brother in our backyard matches. I was on the wing and he ran a long arc across field just to confront me. As he ran his face transformed into some demonic visage, his arms and legs seemed to spawn muscles and I’m sure there were sparks flying from his boots as he surged.

I’d like to tell you that I repeated my brother’s feat and dropped this bloke but it didn’t quite happen like that. I was rooted to the spot, frozen with fear. It was “lucky” that this monster wanted to run over me and not around me. As he charged I allowed him to push me backwards - not that I could have stopped him. I got a good grip on his ankles as he trampled me and I was able to hang on and bring him down. We were both surprised that I was able to tackle him. I suppose he did make it easy for me.

We lost the game and it was a long journey back home. However one thing took the edge off the loss. All throughout the day there were half a dozen cars parked on the hill overlooking the ground. Every time a Straddie player did something good these idiots were hanging off their car horns – “BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP!!” It was annoying to say the least – it was even bothering the Sharks players. Anyway after we’d gotten changed into our civvies we saw that these cars were still there and unable to start – they’d flattened their batteries with all that horn blowing!

Karma, it’s a beautiful thing.

 

[joshie]

I run out on to the grand final field full of nerves, i call for the ball from gUt and he offloads!

this article is dedicated to Big Mick and Edabomb, without both your guidance i would not be here.

Never give up

When people see us, they think we are normal. When people see us they assume we are all the same, until they catch that insightful glimpse into whom we are. We are not a cult, we are not a church, and we are not teenage girls. No, we are epileptics. No one has heard our story, kept out of the spot light with no help forthcoming from anybody; we have to suffer in silence.

As an eight year old, I was in my second year of playing Rugby League for the mighty Springfield Panthers, charging the ball up into opposition lines, having the time of my life! Until one day, I catch the ball, and then wake up on the sideline with urine all over my pants. They blamed it on the heat, I did not return to the field that day, nor for the next four years.

Fast forward a week and after soiling myself, mum took me to the hospital. I was screaming because I was going to miss my game, but she knew what was best for me. I won’t go into what the doctors said or thought that day, suffice to say it ended up with me having CT scans on my brain. They eventually found epilepsy, the worst of all the forms.

Watching more NRL matches as I grew up continued to feed my desire to play rugby league and play like my favorite player of the time; Matt King, the big, afro haired former Melbourne Storm Centre. I still remember one of his tries against the Sydney Roosters at Olympic Park where he beat four defenders to a kick that was headed for the sideline, before he snapped it back with his ankle, scoring the try.

In 2005, I was aged twelve, and I begged mum to let me play rugby league again. She took me to the doctor and he told us to get special head gear made, and I would be able to play again. $1000 headgear later and I was running out for the Springfield Panthers Rugby League Club Under Twelve team against Ipswich Norths. We got absolutely belted 68-0, but I had the time of my life. That season was long and we only won one match, against West End; 17-16. It hurt a little bit that we could only win once, and it was frustrating, but there was little I could do. After all, I was still readjusting to the new intensity of play, and playing prop.

During the next pre-season, I copped a heavy knock to the head during a game of touch, ending my season in February. That hurt. It appeared that my playing days could very well be over, along with my desires and dreams. The doctor would not clear me, no matter how hard I tried, and I tried hard. 2007 came by, and so did the same answer. But in 2008, things changed!

My mate Mitchell asked me early 2008 if I wanted to play again, I said yes and he said let's go. We literally jumped in the car and drove to the club house that day and signed up for West Inala Panthers Under Fifteens side. I went to the doctor and got the clearance a day later. But no matter what I did, the season ended horribly for me; snapping my left ring finger in half in a match against Edens Landing. This caused incredible pain and the bone itself was in two, a clean split. A week later, I went under the knife with the possibility of losing my finger; but it remained attached. With that, another season was ended and I just could not get any momentum going. We missed the finals by two points.

2009 was unplayable so I simply joined the training squad for my school. We trained hard and in 2010 played in the Titans Cup. This was a great year for me, I played most of the matches and we took out the Grand Final. This was true redemption for me; I had battled hard to finally make it back on the field, and won a title. Due to study commitments, I decided to take a year away from the game to redevelop my body for season 2012 and now that I am back, and an adult, I can play full time. I am currently in the process of moving from prop to five eighth; my next hurdle.

 

[jamesgould]

Round 16, 2005

2005 was a bad year. I was studying in my final year at Teacher’s College, and my associate teacher had for some reason decided that she would like to have some sort of personnel vendetta against me. In the end, I was failed and would have to repeat the year to complete my degree. I was so demoralised that I gave up and got a BA instead.

There was another reason the year was so bad though. My beloved Newcastle Knights were really on struggle street. Lacking even a major sponsor, they slumped to 13 consecutive losses. But on a freezing cold late June night in Dunedin, I sat alone in my bedroom, huddled around my tiny heater, unaware of what was about to transpire on my 14 inch television.

-

Catherine was 84 and hadn’t been to a game in over a year. Her health just hadn’t allowed it. But here she was, back at last. She pulled her jacket a little further up around her neck, as the winter cold bit. She didn’t care though. She watched intently and let out a joyous yelp as her team added another four points to the scoreline.

-

There were close losses along the way. But with 98 points racked up against them in the last two weeks, a win seemed further away than ever. Penrith were the opponents – away, which wouldn’t help.

It was business as usual in the first half. Three soft tries to Penrith, as the Knights defence completely fell apart. 14-0 ... another long night ahead ...

-

Ben watched carefully as the penalty sailed between the uprights. He dashed across the hill, desperate to get to the ball first, but was beaten to the punch by a few slightly older boys. He admitted defeat and raced back to his parents, a smile beaming towards them. “Did you see how close I got that time!?” he yelled out.

-

But something was stirring at the foot of the blue mountains. Some Andrew Johns brilliance and a fortuitous try off a dropped ball - 16 minutes into the second half, the Knights had the lead! One of the few times in the season they had actually lead a game.

A brilliant 50 metre team try to Milton Thaiday followed, and the Novocastrians were ahead. I dared to dream; I paced the room; I texted my brother with the amazing news that we looked like winning!

-

Allan snapped awake as he heard the referees whistle signal time on. He’d just made it in time from the bakery, after starting work 4am that morning. Wide awake all of a sudden, he yelled out “Get ‘em onside ref!” after the first tackle of the game.

-

Ten minutes remained when Luke Priddis dived over from dummy-half to put Penrith in front. I kicked out in frustration, my heater taking a bit of a battering. Not again!!! In a season like this, I should have been used to it. But to lead going into the final ten and go down ... it wasn’t fair.

I straightened the heater up and leant a bit closer to the television. Maybe this one had a bit more in it. It’s not like the boys weren’t due a bit of luck ...

-

Stacey sat, somewhat bored next to her boyfriend. Once again he’d dragged her to the footy. Suddenly, the crowd roared as a player’s jersey was ripped in half. Stacey suddenly showed a little more interest, as he swapped tops on the sideline. “Not bad ...” she thought to herself, as the boyfriend watched the other action.

-

“Yeah!!!” I screamed out as Luke Quigley passed to Clint Newton who struggled over the line! Four minutes left and Newcastle had regained the lead! My phone vibrated as my formerly-sleeping flatmate told me to pipe down.

Almost shaking with excitement I stared at the screen like my life depended on it. The next four minutes would seem more like four hours. But there was no further scoring, and Newcastle had their inaugural victory of 2005. My grin was impossible to remove, and could have almost stretched from Dunedin to Penrith.

There was no thought of my problems, only of how great things were. At last, two points ... and how great it felt.

That’s what rugby league does to the lucky people who follow it. From a debutant making his first hit-up to a retiree making his final tackle, and everything in between - every game, every moment, means everything to somebody.

I hope it never ends.

 

[AlwaysGreen]

AlwaysGreen for the boys and girls in dark blue.

739 words (OWC)
#############################################################################################
The Fool on the Hill.
After watching the Manly V Warriors Grand Final I began to think about the time that had passed since the Canberra Raiders last triumph. It has been seventeen years; literally half a lifetime ago since a sweat soaked Mal Meninga hoisted the trophy high. This revelation left me faint and in need of fresh air. Sombrely, if not soberly, I climbed a tall hill and pondered in solitude the meaning of life and rugby league.

In 1994 I had a lot more hair and a lot less girth. I was at school, on weekends I snuck into nightclubs and failed miserably at picking up chicks. I smoked half a pack of coffin nails a day and wondered why I was always crook. Black jeans and flannos were my chosen attire and Nirvana and Soundgarden were staples on my walkman. My mates and I went to the footy and watched the Raiders crush all before them and believed success would never end.

There was no Al Qaeda then, no Bali bombings. War and hate were around but only in places far away. Bushfires or tsunamis that destroyed communities were things you read in history books, not events you saw live and exclusive on wide screen televisions or the internet.

I took rolls of film to the chemist to get processed; I bought CDs and taped them so I could listen to them in my car. An iPod was something a pea came out of, an iPad a frog’s house. A mobile phone was the size of a brick and without 6 metres of cables immobile.

Australia has our fourth Prime Minister since 1994. China is a capitalist juggernaut. Don Bradman has died, as has a Pope, a Princess named Diana, a saint called Mother Theresa, a villain called Saddam and a flawed genius called Michael. Even worse than the tragedy of death, Seinfeld ended.

Since 1994 I’ve met the girl I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with twice. Wondered why anyone in their right mind would want to have kids and then found the answer. Lost my Mother and thought I’d never recover. Changed careers twice and laboured through too many years of university. Wasted more money than I care to remember and changed my perceptions on what is important and what is not.

In 1994 rugby League was about to step into a brave new world of Warriors, Cowboys and Reds. Super League was a rumour without a name; my Dad and I laughed and said “Why would anyone want to pay for TV?” Andrew Johns and Darren Lockyer were kids with potential and a jersey and a ticket to a game were not something you had to take out a personal loan for.

In 1994 when you streaked across the field you’d be called a larrikin and not be $5000 out of pocket. Players could have a drink or twenty seven and it would be a laugh rather than a scandal. I cursed Frillingos rather than Rothfield and idolised Noa Nadruka rather than my kids.

1994, so far away. It seems like only yesterday that I saw Martin Bella knock on from the kickoff, Paul Osborne claim his day in the sun and big Mal finish his glorious career in style. Heroes have come and gone, hundreds of players have worn the lime green in a quest to once more lift the cup. Careers have started and ended in that time, teenage whiz kids now grizzled veterans.

It could be worse of course, the passage of time between triumphs greater. The last time Souths won the comp a space shuttle wasn’t even something you’d only see in Star Wars because Star Wars hadn’t even been released. Hark back to 1972; the twenty year old Souths supporter with big dreams in their eyes and their whole future laid before them is now contemplating retirement and spending time with the grandkids. Yet hope remains, such is the passion of the rugby league fan.

I came away from my hill top philosophising excited rather than lamenting. My world had changed in many ways but still I remain. When Canberra wins the premiership again I will celebrate it as if it was 1989 or 1990 or 1994 all over again. And hopefully not too much time has passed and I’ll be still be able enough to walk up that hill and contemplate life again.

 

[TooheysNew]

CobyDelaney for the Ninjas

Ignorance is Bliss?

Stiff. Outstretched. Unmoving.

Suddenly, he’s woken by his own snoring.

Like every morning, Norm swings his legs over the side of the bed, and then forces himself out of bed. He lumbers slowly into the bathroom – every joint creaking, every muscle groaning in protest. He stands in front of the mirror to brush his teeth, the cold porcelain of the sink pushing against his ample stomach. As he brushes, he listens to the 7am sports report on the radio, stories about Lyon and Watmough. He puffs out his chest, sucks his stomach in, and raises his shoulders – secretly thinking to himself “Yeah, I’ve still got it”, all the while ignoring the real sight in front of him. Ignoring the fact that he looks like mashed potato squeezed in a plastic bag.

On his way out of the house to head to work he grabs the full bag of rubbish from the kitchen. He sidesteps the basket of washing on the floor, shoulder charges the front door out of the way, palms off a low hanging tree branch, and drops the bag into the bin. He then drops to his haunches for a moment, attempting to draw a breath through burning lungs, beads of sweat forming on his reddened face. After a few minutes he feels slightly better, so he trudges across the lawn to his car, and drives to work.

It’s lunchtime. Norm sits at his desk, mouse in one hand, pie in the other – two more waiting for him in the paper bag. As he eats, he flicks through Youtube, watching highlights of the weekend’s Rugby League action. He hears voices behind him, and turns to see two of his younger, more athletic looking colleagues looking over his shoulder. He wipes the crumbs off his moustache, and begins to give them the spiel about his footballing prowess in his younger days.

Both his colleagues laugh, the disbelief in their minds painted obviously across their faces. They invite him to “show them how it’s done”, and to join their C-grade team for a few matches this season. Norm lifts himself out of his chair, re-tucks the front of his shirt under his gut, and accepts their challenge.

On his way home that afternoon, as he did most afternoons, Norm stopped at McDonalds for dinner. Standing in the queue he glances through the menu board, his eyes passing over the salads, past the Healthy Choices menu, before settling on his old favourite, a large Double Quarter Pounder Meal. He justifies his decision by telling himself all the training he’ll be doing in the next few weeks will burn it off. Besides, he’ll get the salad next time he stops in on his way home. Next time.
But the next time, it’s another large Double Quarter Pounder meal that gets passed across the counter. And the next time. More than three weeks later, not a single salad green had passed Norm’s greasy lips, not a single training session had been attended, and barely a calorie had been burnt.

Before he knew it, the first game of the season came around. Norm lied to himself about his fitness level, procrastinating from training using a variety of excuses. Thirty minutes into the game, the coach decides to use Norm – to see if he could back up all the talk he had been doing.

Norm lines himself up just outside the halfback, just as he did when he last played Rugby League, ten years, 50 kilograms, and a thousand hamburgers ago. He gets the ball, and makes a hit-up, crashing his massive frame headlong into the defence. He props himself up on the ball, using it to push himself to his feet. He puts one foot on the ball, and rolls it backwards, his head spinning from the impact. His breath catches in his throat, unable to make its way into his lungs, his chest tighter than he remembered. He supposes these boys must just tackle harder than he was used to, especially with the prevalence of gym time these days.

He takes his hands off his knees, forces his body upright, and jogs slowly after the play. The dizziness is encroaching further on his vision now, his balance beginning to suffer, his chest continuing to squeeze. His upper body tumbles sidewards, his legs flailing out from underneath himself. He clutches his chest as he falls to the ground.

Stiff. Outstretched. Unmoving.

Only this time, there’s no snoring to wake him.

 

[Timmah]

Grand Final Day eh? What the hell am I doing here?

Timmah for the mighty Bluebags.


*****

This Is OUR House

When Bon Jovi was revealed as the National Rugby League’s big advertising coup at the start of the 2011 season, it turned heads. Although dividing opinions of existing fans, it caught the attention of the general public more than any recent campaign, at least since the Tina Turner era. The simple reach of Mr. Jovi’s existing fan-base alone spoke volumes to what the NRL wanted to achieve.

What was mentioned (but not focussed on) was the message within the theme. The tribalism behind it, not only between clubs within the game, but also the NRL itself galvanising its stakeholders in the face of the ongoing insurgence of the AFL into its territory, as well as other competing codes. In the minds of some, the song and promotional video almost stood as a war-cry against those in other camps that rugby league was still thriving and would never die.

At a practical level, the AFL took the lead with membership strategies and driving attendances as far back as the 1980’s and 1990’s, while the NRL only recently began focussing efforts on following their example. And after just a few short years, it’s working.

In 2011, the NRL stood to lose a lot. Melbourne was back in the competition proper after playing for nothing in 2010. Following the biggest salary cap rort in rugby league history, it was the price they had to pay. However, their renewed success this season would go a long way to determining the code’s future in the windy city and indeed across Australia. In taking out the minor premiership this season, they cemented their place in the Melbourne sporting landscape.

The strangest thing about 2011 is that while there were global trends outlining decreases in expenditure across retail, hospitality and most major industries, the NRL went a long way to bucking these trends. TV ratings were as strong as ever, with records falling multiple times on both Free-to-Air and Subscription television.

Most significantly, the NRL was the best-performed code when it came to attendances. While the AFL’s overall attendances are still larger than what the NRL draws, the general percentage decreases in the AFL, A-League Soccer and Super Rugby were huge in comparison to the NRL’s relatively small dip of just under 1%. The “bottom-out” level of club home attendances for each club lifted yet again, with no team averaging less than 12,000 per game. Five years ago, some clubs averaged less than 10,000 per game.

With the figures above it is clear the NRL is heading in the right direction with generating a culture of membership and regular attendance – and in turn creating brand loyalty that was likely destroyed during the Super League v ARL war era.

One of our game's biggest selling points is Grand Final Day. Yes, I was disappointed that Bon Jovi wouldn't be at the Grand Final. Personally Kelly Clarkson isn't my favourite, and the announcement of her as our headline act also disappointed me - but again from a marketing perspective - it had the right ingredients.

Come Grand Final day, I arrived early, took my seat and got ready for League's biggest stage. Everything about it impressed me. The day before, I took the time (against my better judgement) to watch AFL's decider. The difference was alarming. Everything about the NRL's Grand Final day was infinitely more thrilling, exciting and professional.

As the AFL's "spectacular" stumbled through poor logistics, a sparse out-field with a giant inflatable trophy and droning voiceover, to arguably a giant inflatable impersonation of Meat Loaf, it paled in contrast. The following day, the NRL trotted out a professional, well-rehearsed and choreographed entertainment package which involved not only the whole field, but the crowd on the western side, gave recognition to our retiring players, and, while heavy on cross-promotion with NRL major partners Telstra and Toyota, also managed to nab another big band in Eskimo Joe to please the crowd.

And it's not just about the entertainment. The day itself offers three high quality games – the NSW Cup and Toyota Cup Grand Finals before the big one, with presentations and fan engagement right throughout. Head to the MCG on AFL's day of days... and you get one game.

At a time when the AFL threatens Western Sydney, the NRL has stood up and said to them:

‘This is our house
These are my people,
Mister this is my town,
This is our house
Ain't nobody nowhere gonna knock it down…’

****

747 words on the OWC

 

[muzby]

muzby struts onto the grand final pitch for the bluebags. after realising he's facing the wrong way, he turns around and sends forth his best attempt...

750 words (OWC) title to end..

Cheeky Boned


Anthony Griffin was frantically preparing his team list for the semi final against Manly. The injury to his star player in the game against the Dragons was a tragedy. The broken cheekbone would end Lockyer’s career and Brisbane’s 2011 season.

As he was tearing out his left sideburn (the right one went earlier in the day) his secretary appeared at his office door.

“Mr Griffin, you have a visitor. It's Wally Lewis”

Anthony Griffin stopped and looked up. He wondered why his hero, the King, was coming to see him. “Send him in” he said.

Wally Lewis strode confidently into Griffin’s office.

“G’day Anthony, what’s the go with the one sideburn? Is that a new look or something?”

Griffin put his hands over his sideburns like a shy little schoolgirl. “Sorry Wally, I’m a little perplexed about what to do this week without Locky”

“That’s why I’m here Anthony, I heard in the papers that Locky was out. But for the sake of Queensland we need him in the side. Locky will play”

Griffin looked as Lewis with a puzzled look. “How can he play? His cheekbone is smashed.”

“That’s because his cheekbone is as good as new. Come in Darren”.

In walked a fit and healthy Darren Lockyer, with his cheekbone completely fixed. Griffin prodded the bone and the eye socket to check. Lockyer muttered something in a rather strange guttural tone (it sounded like “Stop that, coach!”) and walked out.

“How. How. How did he heal so fast?” stammered Griffin.

“That’s because he’s a clone.” Beamed Lewis.

Griffin sat down, shocked. “Lockyer is a clone? Of who?”

“A clone of himself, Darren Lockyer”. Said Lewis. “Let me explain. Back in 2001, the original Lockyer caught a bad case of pneumonia. It was State of Origin time and we needed him healthy. The QRL paid the doctors to experiment with stem cell research to try and help him heal quicker. Unfortunately the pneumonia killed him.”

“He’s dead?”

“Well, the original Lockyer is. And the next two had to be disposed of too. We’ve gone through three different Lockyer clones to date. That Lockyer you just met was actually Darren Lockyer the fifth.”

“And where’s the bloke who smashed his face on Saturday night?”

Wally Lewis just whistled whilst casually closing Griffin’s door as two men in black suits were carrying a body bag up the hall.

“That doesn’t matter Griffin. Bennett found out what happens to the clones and that’s why he left. We can’t risk losing you after that Henjak disaster. But yes, there have been a few incarnations of the great player. There was one that only lasted for three days, back in early 2004. It had a faulty humour unit, so we had to get rid of him. Do you remember the incident where he told the inappropriate rape joke at the official NRL function?”.

Griffin was still standing there, perplexed.

“Don’t you realise it?“ Said Lewis, “The reason critics say that Lockyer is an ageless player is because it's true. He’s been in the comp for 17 seasons and he’s still just as good as he was in 2001. Because he’s still essentially the same player he was 10 years ago. But cloning isn’t perfect. We have trouble replicating the larynx, and it causes rapid onset of male pattern baldness.”

“The larynx?” Asked Griffin

“The voice box. We can’t replicate it in the cloning process so it just gets worse and worse with each version. The fact that he is now the 5th Lockyer was the reason you could barely understand him just then.”

Just then one of the suited men came running through the door.

"Wally, we've got a problem" he says, breathlessly "Someone spilt the jar of stem cells onto the eggs".

Lewis walks out of Griffin's office to see at least 20 Lockyers walking up the corridor and knew that he had to act quickly.

"Right, the game is up. Get everyone out of the building, lock the doors and exterminate the clones."

On the way out, Lewis grabbed one of the clones and said to the secretary "Schedule a press conference to announce Lockyer is out for the week"

"But Wally.." said Griffin, "The clones don't have a broken cheekbone. The media won't buy it."

Lewis knew how to fix this.

"Oh Darren" said Wally, "Come here would you. I think I've got something on my knee. Could you bend down and have a look at it for me?"

 

[Willow]

Subbie news

On advice of the (c) Drew-sta, we have a substitution to announce.

Drew-sta is out getting munchies.
Gorilla makes a triumphant return to the F7s pitch.

 

[gorilla]

*Gorilla takes Willow's hand, kisses him on both cheeks and together they walk onto the filed for the last. Gorilla stops suddenly, jerking Willow off-balance, to ruffle the hair of a ball-girl*

Last one for the 'Bags - started coming off the bench very first match 2002, and finish coming off the bench last match 2012 ....

**********

Hair and Thair

I was in the bathroom, about to pull a hash cone when my son knocked on the door. “It’s yer mother” – I’d heard the phone ring, so he didn’t need to shout.

We talked about my back problem and the need for synthetic opiate pain relief and I had, naturally, to wait until our conversation had finished before I ducked into the bathroom and pulled the cone.

As I wandered back down the hallway, I started to think about my mother's hair - she has that weird orange koori-malnutritionalised orange hair, like George’s mother’s hair in ‘Seinfeld’.

My son also has it and as I passed by him the other day I began to think:

• Red hair;
• Rangers;
• Keefy; and then ...
• Phillip Ronald Gould !

There has been a lot of highlights and incredible streaks in the NRL 2011 season, but one thing above all totally intrigued me:

What has been goin’ on with Phil Gould’s hair ?!


Somewhere about May and with autumn coming, Phil’s hair started to change.

Colour.

The change was noticed, well-documented with websites ablaze and news columns making oblique references.

Phil started as a ‘ranga-playa’

Phil went mahogany for decades, like this:

Suddenly, within weeks, he went stark white, almost worthy of a “KFC moe and patch set” – I wondered what’s the value of a real Col’n Sanders in Western Sydney - at the Panthers ?

It had to be Channel Nine’s media and image managers who suggested he ‘stage the change’ over the second to third quarters of the season. They must have figured if he had to do it, then make it so that he could lead into the money end of the season, wise and white, Gandalf-like !

I swear that from one TV appearance to the next a week later, his handsome mahogany hue started to show cracks and almost appeared to be melting. The next week there were very discernable patches of hair colour and yellowy-white.

No-one said anything on TV- not the Sunday Roast guys, not even Sterlo who you think would want payback...

I thought of him as a badger during his early ‘stages of changes’.

Presciently Phil went from Badger to albino-white before Gordon Ramsey’s dwarf-double was found. Imagine the bad press - being caught “mid-change” and temporarily nicknamed: ‘the Badger’, when a dwarf was found half eaten in a badger’s sett.

Phil fronted up each and every day during his month or two’s “change” from mahogany to white. This means it had to be contrived. No way could anyone, after the first week of weird hair melanin loss, let him continue without a plan to “Go White – A Change !”

But it’s the easy way out for us; to think it was just a marketeer’s confection. We don’t really know anything, except Phil’s and our shits both stink. Maybe Phil has got thyroid deficiencies, Waardenburg syndrome or a deficiency of B12. – all of which can cause white hair.

Maybe Phil has vitiligo ! Michael Jackson started wearing a glove to cover his skin vitiligo on his hand, so how brave is Phil to openly face his vitiligo hair condition ?

One thing has me really scared though – how dark Peter Peter’s hair colour has got while Phil’s has gone white.

From this:

to

this:

I’m starting to wonder if there is a parasitic or symbiotic relationship between the hair colour of Phil Gould and Peter Peters ....... the colour is almost one draining into the other.

I hope it’s just a coincidence and it’s not a case of Peter Peters being a hair colour vampire.

Part of me sees a man who is suffering the effects of a vitiligo sickness, part sees hair-colour vampire.

Part of me sees a cynical, a largely botched image replacement process that has to adapt - like going bald or getting fat.

Part of me wants to see Phil as a man who realised his time was up and he was entering a new phase of head. People look at him, he knows that, so he’s decided to grow old on TV, the best way he could.

************************
750 words (including the bloody url addresses for the pictures) between the stars

 

[edabomb]

edabomb for the Ninjas
-------------------------------

Grand Final Day, 2011

In the build up to the 1961 NSWRFL Grand Final renowned science fiction writer and avid St George fan Roger Kenworthy imagines what the spectacle will look like in fifty years.

On the weekend my beloved St George Dragons will be aspiring to win their sixth consecutive Grand Final - an achievement thought to be nigh on impossible only a few short seasons ago. How will things in the game of rugby league have changed by the time of the 2011 decider? Will the mighty Dragons be aspiring to claim their fifty-sixth consecutive title?

Technological advances will have completely changed the way rugby league appears to us in five decades time, even down to how we arrive and depart from the match. Forget the spacecrafts you’ve recently seen in Teenagers From Outer Space though, the players and fans will be far more likely to arrive at the match in hovercrafts, powered on water. This type of technology is within our grasp, and will have been fine tuned to operate on nothing but rain water within twenty years. Not only will the methods of getting to a match changed - the crowd numbers will have increased dramatically.

As three hundred thousand viewers pile into the ground to watch the game nobody will bat an eyelid. Those in the farthest seats will have the advantage of sitting behind a glass shield that magnifies the action on the field - creating the illusion of sitting in the front row from any seat in the ground! Crowds will sit quietly in awe of the skills on display - much as tennis and golf crowds do in our present day.

If you think this passive style of watching the game is going to lead to a bland audience experience then you’d be wrong. Did I forget to mention that rugby league has expanded beyond the narrow band of Sydney in the year 2011? Teams and fans have come from far ashore - with this particular match pitting a local side against a foreign foe. Everything about this visiting side is different - you can pick their fans out in the crowd a mile away. They have their own customs and are all fitted out in their team colours - they’ll be wildly vocal prior to kick-off, before assuming the expected gentlemanly conduct as the match commences.

Upon watching the first ten minutes of action it would be obvious to viewers that the game has undergone substantial change. Rugby league will have become a full time professional sport by the late 1960s – and as such we will be watching finely tuned athletes perform to their maximum capabilities. The players fitness will be off the charts, and they’ll have an almost supernatural ability when working with teammates. In fact, if you were to watch a game in 2011 today you’d be highly suspicious of telekinesis activity, however, I can assure you this will be an optical illusion.

Perhaps the biggest change with the games professionalism will be seen in the kicking department - both when kicking for goal and in general play. Kicking is the most scientific aspect of rugby league – with the player being in complete control of the skill. Teams will have specialist kickers who dedicate the majority of their training to this one discipline. Practising endlessly it will be a spectacular anomaly when a poor kick is made. In fact this is the one area where the crowd will voice their opinion – “that kick has flown horribly afoul!”

While the players battle they continue to shake hands after any major impact is seen. The machismo of our current day has been left behind in the future – with players happier to help each other up rather than stand over one another. The crowd applauds this act – as it shows the peaceful nature our world has taken on in the wake of our two great wars. Fans from both sides also adapt the hand shaking gesture shown by the players – and even allow for some gentle banter while this break in the action arises.

There we have the 2011 Grand Final. The Sydney locals won on the day - proving that the home of rugby league is still alive and kicking. As the crowd disperses they can be heard using the vernacular of the day to describe their experience. In the background a generic farewell is heard – “thank you for attending the 2011 Universal Rugby League Grand Final. We wish you a safe hover home - good evening ladies, gentlemen, and Martians.”

-------------------------------
750 words in OWC

 

[Willow]

Willow | Bluebags


Schadenfreude

Schadenfreude i/ˈʃɑːdənfrɔɪdə/ (German: [ˈʃaːdənˌfʁɔʏdə]). The pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others.

When the Melbourne Storm were eliminated from the 2011 competition, there was an outpouring of joy across the rugby league landscape. Fans everywhere were celebrating, all save those Storm supporters in the depths of despair.

Afterwards, discussion forums were experiencing traffic gridlock and workmates were laughing into the next day.

So what brought on this abundance of pleasure?

One theory is people like to see underdogs win. This is true, although it doesn't explain why so many take joy in the woes of the perennial battlers such as the Rabbitohs or the Sharks.

In the case of Melbourne, there was much more to it.

Salary cap cheats from 2006-2010, the Storm were found to be more than $3.17 million beyond the level playing field. They were stripped of premierships, fined, made to pay back prize money and forced to play out the 2010 season for zero points. The National Rugby League, opposition clubs and the majority of supporters felt the punishment was appropriate. In fact, even the Melbourne Storm officials at the time were apologising... at least at first. For a brief time, a few of us opposition fans felt a little sorry for the players, their coach and their fans. But that soon changed.

The disgraced Melbourne officials did a backflip, looking for ways to take the NRL to court. It didn't get far but there was a collective WTF? These guys cheated, right? How can you cheat and then complain about it? They had some media backing as well with Phil Gould leading the charge against the NRL, in particular CEO David Gallop. The Channel Nine coverage tried to create the illusion that the Storm were playing like the Harlem Globetrotters, or some such crap.

Soonafter, Storm playmaker Brett Finch came out in the media doing his best river in Egypt act by declaring Melbourne as legitimate contenders... and worthy premiers. WTF? again.

"Even now I still can't believe the NRL has let us play the whole season for nothing... we still truly believe we're the best team in the comp."
- Brett Finch (August 2010)

Lucky to be in the competition, the Storm were actually attempting to take the high moral ground.

In 2011, the whinging continued, alongside questionable onfield tactics of grapple, chicken wings etc. Once considered the best players in the world, Billy Slater and captain Cameron Smith often resorted to cheap shots, particularly in the ruck. Truth is, they were really good at the niggle, perhaps the best in the League. Part of the game, sure, but it's not what I would call an honourable trait.

As the Storm charged towards the 2011 finals, they won the minor premiership and were ultimately awarded the JJ Giltinan Shield, a proud piece of silverware with a long history in the New South Wales Rugby League. Did the Melbourne fans celebrate? No, they booed NRL boss Gallop at the shield presentation. Afterwards Gallop called them some nasty names, something about terrorists which was promptly taken out of context... and again, they whinged. Of course they missed the point. For many opposition fans, it was not about Gallop, it was about these upstarts booing while holding a prize that some clubs can only dream of receiving.

Still desperate to appease the Storm franchise, the News Limited backed Dally M Awards saw Melbourne scoop the pool. Alas, they couldn't help themselves. After being controversially named Coach of the Year, Craig Bellamy used the event to have another whinge.

"We believe that we won those premierships and we will always think that way."
- Craig Bellamy (September 2011)

Well... by now, most reasonable fans had seen enough.

Unfortunately, Melbourne were firm favourites to take out the premiership. They only had to win one more game to qualify for the grand final, and with that, darkness was descending upon the competition.

But enter the New Zealand Warriors...

In one of the upsets of the decade, the Warriors knocked over the Storm in the preliminary final. Playing straight-up-the-middle football, the lads from Auckland overcame the odds, winning 20-12 and qualifying for the 2011 grand final.

The Storm cried. I felt a twinge of empathy. But this was soon pushed aside by an overwhelming sense of pleasure... or perhaps relief?

I'll take the Schadenfreude.

Words | 750

Ref | http://forums.leagueunlimited.com/showthread.php?t=367922
Ref | http://forums.leagueunlimited.com/showthread.php?t=390961
Ref | http://forums.leagueunlimited.com/showthread.php?t=391994

 

[Jesbass]

And that's it, folks. The last club match of season 2011 has reached full time.

Pencils down and mouthguards out, people. Both teams have earned time in the hot tub for a recovery session!

 

[Willow]

Thank you time keeper.

Well played and good luck one and all.

Drinks all round. :thumn

 

[muzby]

right.. forming a chair to help chair off goz & willow...

need at least one more or i'll topple over..



in the interim, thanks all for a good 5 v 5 game... some quality reads there