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2011 ROUND 7: Bluebags -V- Ninjas

Jesbass

First Grade
Messages
5,654
Newtown Bluebags -V- Chuck Norris Texas Death Ninjas

bluebagsf7s.jpg
-V-
ChuckNorris.gif

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 (+ 2 reserves for the visiting team, + 3 reserves for the home team)
* 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 10th July 2011 (2100AEST)
Full Time: Wednesday 20th July 2011 (2100AEST)
Referee: madunit
Venue: Henson Park
ground_henson_1.jpg


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

edabomb

First Grade
Messages
7,088
Ninjas make their way off the bus.

Starting
edabomb (c)
jamesgould
joshie
gUt
CobyDelaney

Bench
paulquinn49 (c)
Raider_69
 

Willow

Assistant Moderator
Messages
108,131
The baggers have arrived, the blue bus makes its way onto the Henson Park turf for the last time in 2011.

THE NEWTOWN BLUEBAGS F7s TEAM
ROUND 7 2011



Cliffhanger (c)
Red Bear
JoeD

Willow (vc)
AlwaysGreen

Interchange:
Timmah
RHCP
Ridders


Good luck one and all. :thumn
 

Willow

Assistant Moderator
Messages
108,131
Willow | Bluebags



Jamie Soward is a wanker
2007_soward_1.jpg


"If you say something long enough and loud enough and often enough, the people will believe it."

Before I was shown the light, I believed Jamie Soward was a tremendous player. In my opinion, the St George Illawarra Dragons playmaker possessed a competitive spirit and a truckload of heart. I also had no reason to question his attitude or off field behaviour. After all, Soward has never been involved in any scandal and he has always conducted himself well in public. So I had every reason to think that Jamie was OK.

But I have since been told otherwise.

I should have seen the signs.

First it was in the forums. Soward was accused of various crimes ranging from looking suspect in defence to milking penalties. The Murdoch media, God bless their Phar Lap hearts, latched onto the public mood. Dare I say, they hacked their way in. Channel Nine followed suit with footage of Greg Inglis fending off Soward to score out wide. But Inglis's hand to the throat was not enough, another angle showed Soward's boot in the air. Suddenly we had a short five-eighth accused of kicking at the head of a lanky centre. The fact that Soward stood at five foot, 10 inches (178cm) and was falling away from the weight of Inglis who stood at six foot, five inches (195cm) meant very little. The fact that his boot was nowhere near Inglis's head meant even less. You see, Soward's boot was in the air so the intent must have been there.

Either way, the damage was done. Not only was Soward a poor defender, he was also using Kung Fu on the football field.

But I still didn't listen. I firmly believed that Soward had great potential, the fool that I am.

The media continued trying to warn me. As recently as this year, a sports writer - forgot his name - made his way into the Saints dressing room demanding an interview with Soward. Jamie was leaving the shower at the time and told the fellow to wait. The result was a report that focussed almost entirely on Soward's 'pop star' arrogance. What was Soward thinking? More than that, what was I thinking when I said the 'journalist' was a Murdoch 'hack'.

During these dark periods, I still believed in Soward. When he started defending well out wide, to the point where he began hunting out the opposition, I lifted a little. I felt my faith would be rewarded. His kicking game was close to the best in the competition and when he ran at the line he often created a line break. I also noticed how fast he was - when Soward made a break, he was rarely chased down.

I blindly followed Soward's career as he gained representative honours with the Indigenous Dreamtime team, Country NSW and the Indigenous All Stars.

Then, in 2010, I was completely sucked in when Soward was part of a premiership winning side. Perhaps I was being seduced by Soward's game play as he set up tries and kicked six goals to give the Dragons their first premiership in 31 years.

But there was another flaw that was I overlooking. Soward's goal kicking just wasn't right. Sure, he was kicking them from everywhere, but he had a funny walk and tapped his toes on the ground before each kick. Unfortunately, I was getting side tracked at the time. Soward had a fine success rate of around 75% which I wrongly believed to be reason enough for applause. Plus I was told that the tapping was so his toes could get to the front of the boot, which sounded plausible to me. So I wasn't paying attention to the critics. I am now grateful to those rugby league experts who have pointed me down the path of righteousness, particularly those who told me that his kicking style was 'gay'. I don't know why I never saw it before.

I had a brief relapse when Soward was selected for New South Wales this year. I thought he was one of the best in a losing side, so much so that I expect him to be selected to play for Australia in the near future.

But thankfully, I was pointed back in the right direction when another fellow league supporter informed me that it all means nothing.

"He's just a wanker."

With those words, I was quickly brought back down to Earth.

Was blind, but now, I see.



Words | 750
Ref | Quote: Unknown. Lyric: Amazing Grace.
 

AlwaysGreen

Immortal
Messages
47,822
AwaysGreen for the Bluebags.

Words 750 OWC
**********************************************************************************
Radical, dude

Anyone who knows a little bit about league will know that the mighty St George side of the fifties and sixties won a whopping 11 titles in a row, producing a raft of champions. The achievements of this incredible side also led to the biggest rule change in the game – the move from the unlimited tackles to limited tackles (four initially, then six). St George perfected the art of continuous possession and the league acted, possibly to wrestle the premiership from the Dragons but also to challenge them to adapt to the new circumstances.

The decision to move away from unlimited tackles changed the way the game was played fundamentally and closed the gap between powerhouse and minnow. The enormity of this is often lost to history. Imagine if a rule change of this magnitude happened today. Which official or media pundit would have the intestinal fortitude to suggest it? Which clubs would accept the decision?

The need to promote attacking play saw another significant rule change in the late eighties. Warren Ryan and his disciples mastered defence in the five metre rule era. Grand Finals were decided by the side with the best defensive structure and most reliable goal kicker. The game was gritty, tough and enjoyable to the purists but not as easy on the television eye.

Although an enormous departure from tradition, the move to a 10 metre rule was tempered somewhat by the unofficial move by referees to widen the gap between attack and defensive lines. Again, the decision to do so still took guts and innovation by those in charge.

The game in 2011 may also need a change as radical as those mentioned. The modern day NRL player is an athletic goliath. Skill and fitness levels have never been better. Players are introduced to strength training, conditioning and nutritional excellence in their early teens.

Medical science and sporting innovation measures and perfects the player’s body so as to survive the rigours of an explosive collision-based sport. Players across the board are bigger, taller, heavier and more muscular and dynamic than ever before. Moreover, they will continue to get bigger, taller and faster.

The downside of the rugby league production line is that all players have a generic quality about them. Wingers, centres and backrowers all fit a standardised build and skill set. Props are allowed a little more body fat but their days seem numbered. Halves and hookers are interchangeable. Fullback is the domain for the smaller man who may struggle in the defensive line.

A generic player produces generic play. The big props rumble it up the ruck targeting the little men. The little men scamper out of dummy half targeting the big men. Wingers, centres and backrowers come in to take pressure off their little and big men. Then on the fifth a kick is put in.

Everyone is evenly matched physically. Defensive lines are becoming more and more unbreachable as they man up across the field and attacking play more predictable. Attrition and exhaustion no longer plays a part as interchange allows those less aerobic than the norm to recharge and be replaced.

So what to do? Decrease the interchange is the standard answer. Make it so that the big man can no longer have a rest, therefore allowing the little man more chance to shine. But coaches are crafty. Rather than risk picking a big man that may tire they will select more of the generic winger/centre/backrower breed. The prop forward battering ram will become extinct. The physical parity will increase as will the predictability of play.

So what to do? Maybe it's time for a move as radical as that made in 1967. The nature of modern stadiums means that the field can’t be universally increased but a reduction in the number of players from 13 to 12 may open up more space across the paddock. The purists will detest the suggestion, like they no doubt did in 1967 or in the early years of the game when the game dropped from a 15 man a side game to 13. A further reduction will not cause the Earth to stop turning.

League, as far as on-field policies are concerned, has always prided itself on its ability to adapt, innovate and make big decisions. The time will come when the game will need to tweak to remain the greatest game of all, hopefully officialdom will be as brave now as they have been in the past.


 
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joshie

Live Update Team
Messages
3,115
Return

2044 years ago; Jesus of Nazareth was born. 13 years ago; Storm of Melbourne was born.

History has told us that the existence of two great figures, Jesus and Storm, are not so different from each other. In the early years of Jesus the bible depicts to us that Jesus was visited by the three wise men, guided by a shining light in the sky, to the stable where Mary and Joseph had given the world its savior. They showered him with gifts as they knew what he was going to accomplish for the world.

Then again it repeated, just under very different circumstances. Storm, known as the mavericks back then to the world, was born in an era of war and was also born in tough circumstances. Fighting between two sides raged on, as the Mavericks, were visited by two wise men, instead of three, this story needs variety, Murdoch and SuperLeaguious. They showered him with money, changed his name to Storm, as they also knew what this being would accomplish for the world in thirteen years’ time.

Fast forward, and Mary and Joseph had lost Jesus. They endlessly walked around for miles, looking and hoping that he was fine. They came across a church, and there was a crowd gathered of priests and high servants, with Jesus preaching about ‘his’ father; God. They were all amazed and in awe of this child’s miraculous deliverance of the word which were second to absolutely none. Storm of Melbourne also did some similar deeds in his early life. He travelled to and fro beating other foes such as Buck the Bronco of Brisbane, the great Warriors of Auckland and even the infamous bandits, the Reds. His blinding pace and the deliverance of defence was second to none and just like Jesus of Nazareth, they accomplished the highest of highs, the grand final win, extremely early in their lives.

When Jesus, at more of a mature age in his life, went to a church in a city, he noticed that people had been selling items and fruit outside the church for greed and profit. He was upset and overturned all of the stalls and shops telling the people it’s wrong and evil to exploit the poor. He made his point and came back stronger than ever, much like Storm. He was at the lowest of his lifespan, people exploiting him. He did not like this and stood up for what he believed in and in 2003 finally made it back to the September Valley under Holy Craigous Bellyacheterrior.

Now we get to the good parts of our journey, Jesus was arrested and condemned to death for being an imposter, a man who claimed to be God himself. His own people, a jury of his peers, chose him to die over a murderer. He went through a painful experience, being whipped and tortured by society itself. The perpetrator was the devil, he was inside the minds of all in that time and he was the one pushing for this to happen. The film The Passion of the Christ portrays it well, when he appears in Jesus’ head holding his son, saying how he would look after his child and not let this happen. But it did. Jesus was taken atop the famous hill, and crucified.

When the wise men, Murdoch and Superleagious, showered Storm with gifts, he was never informed that his caretaker of sorts, Rat. Brianigaous Waldous, would use these gifts for selfish greed and gain. Storm was just doing what he did best when Waldous and the people condemned Storm. They put him through much pain, taking away his dignity and what he worked so hard for, the evil Gallopinatous was the leader of this charge. Storm was taken atop a hill also and crucified.

But 3-days later, Jesus of Nazareth rose from the dead ascended into heaven, announcing he will be like a thief in the night and return to save all those needing to be saved. He made this promise and it will be upheld. And Storm, in 2010, announcing he would be back, was laid to rest. But history has repeated, Storm is back and is well on his way to winning back what is HIS! And there you have it, proof, MELBOURNE STORM IS GOD!
 

gUt

Coach
Messages
16,876
Match Day

It never gets old. The feeling of being a bull at a gate, like there’s an urgent problem that needs solving and you’re the only man for the job. Like our soldiers must feel when they have to protect a comrade in the battlefield. Or feeling like Superman flying through the air to catch a baby that’s been thrown off a roof by a villain - Christ, this adrenaline! I’ve been lying here since 5am playing last week’s game over and over in my mind and daydreaming about Superman catching falling babies for f*#k’s sake…

Match day! It never gets old.

The missus laughs at my game day superstitions. I point out that tying a double knot in your laces isn’t a superstition; it’s good, common sense. She snorts that religiously putting on my left sock, then my left boot, while sitting on the left side of the bed, then standing up and doing likewise for my right sock and right boot on the right side of the bed definitely qualifies as some kind of superstitious idiocy. Whenever we have this conversation I end up wordlessly pointing at an imaginary scoreboard as if to say, “the results are there to see”. She rolls her eyes, secure in her victory.

Showered, shaved, breakfasted, phone calls made, match-day kit gathered, cheek kissed by the still-sceptical missus (“Which cheek is the good luck cheek again?”), I hit the road. We’re away this week – thankfully only across town - and I have to meet the boys at the club and grab a good seat on our bus. So seated, I look around. The lads are doing their thing: some are chatting about last week’s performance, some are snoozing already, some have the headphones in, either listening to fire-up or chill-out tunes. You can tell who is listening to what – chill-out tunes equals heads nodding; fire-up tunes equals air drums.

My thing is to look out of the window as we pass the lines of fans snaking their way to the ground. The colour and movement always appeals to me. This isn’t just my day, this belongs to everyone inside and outside this bus, and we’re going to have a good one.

We disembark and file into the ground. We get looks and muttered comments from the home fans; a kind of friendly hostility is building. Wearing our team kit looks great but is an invitation for whatever they want to throw at us. Hopefully not literally throw at us. In my first away match I was hit in the back of the head by a half-eaten apple. The boys’ only reaction was to praise the accuracy of the missile. Sympathetic lot they are.

I’ve stretched, hydrated, gone over last minute changes in today’s game plan and now, finally I’m in my usual position on the twenty-metre line. To my left and right are the familiar faces and jersey numbers I’ve come to rely on – my comrades. The tension is building in the crowd; they just want that ball to be kicked. I agree – a week’s worth of interrupted sleep, dreams about the game, planning, talking, eating, breathing football, this match – a mere 80 minutes of my life that has consumed my entire existence for a week, as it does every week – a week’s worth of build up is set to burst with the trill of a whistle, the thump of a ball and the roar of a crowd. Why would I want to be anywhere else?

Match day! It never gets old.

There it goes! The ball is smashed downfield by the opposition and I crane my neck to watch its passage through the air. It slams into the waiting embrace of our winger and suddenly all thoughts of the week are washed away by a new surge of adrenaline. Conscious thought subsides and my body takes over. I lean back in my seat and accept a cold beer from Norm, seated next to me.

Ninetyish minutes from now, we’ll either be singing or sighing on our way back to the charter bus and on to the club to either celebrate or slink away home to sceptical wives. But for now, I will be screaming my head off at every turn this match takes, giving 100% for my team.

717 OWC
 

Cliffhanger

Coach
Messages
15,228
Cliffy for the Bluebags

jersey_bluebags_1a.gif

746


Our Season is Still Alive
IT'S that point of the season, the point, when even the most optimistic fans are forced to start thinking about next year.

Those brief five or six rounds towards the end of the season where those sides who are an outside chance for the top eight become front runners for the wooden spoon.

Let’s get one thing out of the way before we get started, I hate those rounds! There are few things which frustrate me more than my fellow Roosters’ supporters going on about our ‘mathematical chances;’ of making the finals; especially this season.


Now I am the first to admit I'm no mathematical genius, but I am pretty sure my side's finals hopes died nearly 10 rounds ago. Hell I mourned our season way back in Round 10 when we lost to the Sharks. While my fellow Chooks fans took out their calculators, I had already lit my candle; frankly I do not see the point in exploring mathematical possibilities when common sense provides a much better indication of what is achievable.


Okay, you are probably thinking I am doing it wrong. Isn’t believing your team is capable of anything part of being a supporter? Seriously what is the point of torturing yourself so early in a season by believing it is all over when anything is still ‘possible?’ I mean if the Eels run towards the end of 2009 taught us anything about our competition, it is that being ‘mathematical chance’ late in the season is not completely meaningless.

Well frankly, after seasons of mediocrity from my side, that little part of my soul which forced me to believe it was not over till the end, slowly died.

The lobotomy of my soul was a slow process, it began way back in round 19 2005, the Roosters were playing the Warriors and I just watched my side blow a 16-point lead in the final ten minutes of the match to lose by two points. It was heartbreaking and for the first time in my years as a Roosters’ fan I had genuine concerns about my side missing the finals. Every round for the remainder of the regular season I would work out exactly what needed to happen to ensure we would make the eight. It was an exhausting process – especially given the fact we were often losing tight matches after a few odd referee decisions.

In the end we missed the eight by one competition point and all signs pointed to things going downhill for the chooks, but none the less I kept the faith, I mean we still had a good side. Unfortunately 2006 was worse than 2005, the Roosters narrowly avoided the spoon and I was beginning to understand what it felt like to support an unsuccessful side.

In 2007 things got off to a disastrous start, we lost to our rivals South Sydney in the opening round and did not notch up our first win till round seven. Things kept getting worse from there, after round 17 we sat 15th on the competition ladder and were trounced 56-0 by the Sea Eagle, but things got better after Brad Fittler was appointed head. We only lost two of our remaining eight matches and my faith was being rewarded.

Then came 2008, we did not leave the top eight the entire season and finished fourth on the competition ladder. Even though we did not win either of our two finals matches, it was a fairly successful and 2009 looked promising. But as supporters often are when it comes to their side’s chances, I was wrong, we finished dead last.

Season 2010 was a funny one, there was no doubt we overachieved but it was beautiful to watch and by round 1 2011 I was hopeful. But it started going downhill from there. Every week we were blowing leads, shooting our own feet and failing to capitalise on great opportunities and basically I just could not believe like I used to. We went 12 rounds without scoring more than two tries in a match, our attack was atrocious. When we finally rediscovered the art of try scoring in round 17 the word from most fans was that we were back in it. However, I could not bring myself to believe there was hope; I mean, we were only two points ahead of the team coming last for God’s sake.

Sadly being right is not much of a consolation.
 
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TooheysNew

Coach
Messages
1,047
CobyDelaney for the Ninjas
Elite vs “Elite”

Every man is a superstar in his own mind.

It’s true, it takes a certain amount of courage and bravado for anyone to step out onto a football field, but for some men, it’s all in their head. They think they’re playing in the most elite competition the world has to offer, but the reality is much different. We call these men park footballers.

From the first training session to the post-game press conference, the differences are obvious – to most people.

Elite training (NRL):

9am – High Intensity Gym Session
11am – Video Session
3pm – Three hours of ball-work


“Elite” training (Park Footy):
It’s 6.03pm, blokes are still putting their socks on, getting changed out of their hi-vis workwear, and dragging old, faded football jumpers down over their well insulated six packs. Out on the field, rusty legs are attempting shots at goal from the sideline, with the poor witches hat ‘corner post’ getting absolutely sprayed with the ones that “came off the side of me boot”. Eventually training starts, punctuated by stories of the weekend’s activities, and reminiscence of bus trips of old.


Elite coaching:
Head Trainer, Mick Smith: Four games for Australia in the 90s, 200 first grade games, a Bachelor of Sports Science from Sydney University, and a Diploma of Fitness from FIA.

A full time physiotherapist, a sports psychologist, eight coaches and five trainers.


“Elite” coaching:
Wokka: Once ran a half marathon in the 70s, now gone
slightly to seed. Can skull a beer in 1.2 seconds, and was known to drink a carton in two hours on an end of season trip. He’s watched a few videos on Youtube for training drills, and gets a weekly email from FootyCoaching.com with tips. He also fills water bottles, sets up the field, and runs the raffle at the pub on Friday nights.


Elite pre-game:
Gatorade, supplied by the sponsor. A pre-game massage, and ankles and knees properly taped by the team physiotherapist. Final instructions from the coach, delivered in comfort of the climate controlled, custom built, state of the art warm up rooms. A long walk down the tunnel, surrounded by TV cameras, and lastly, the jog out on to the field in front of 20 thousand screaming fans.


“Elite” pre-game:
Water, supplied by Wokka, who filled the stolen Gatorade cooler from the shower head, because the tap in the change room runs to bloody slow. Ankles taped, probably incorrectly, based on a poster that came with the roll of strapping tape. Final instructions from the coach, delivered in the ‘comfort’ of the freezing cold, concrete floored change room, which the opposition kindly hosed out an hour prior to the game. A long jog across the carpark, surrounded by random kids, people walking their dogs, and fifteen disgruntled wives with screaming children in tow.



Elite game time:
Two full-time referees, paid by the NRL to ensure they are as effective as they can possibly be. 80 minutes of solid, physical contact, miracle passes, and bone-crushing defence. Set plays executed as smoothly as they were on the training paddock, 17 men on each side knowing their job, and performing their roles to the best of their ability.



“Elite” game time:
34 half-fit, overweight men, who are full of talk but lacking on walk, attempting with every play to just hurt each other. The score seems inconsequential, teamwork mostly out the window. Each bloke just wants the glory for himself, and messy plays, missed tackles, and a high scoring game is often the result.



Elite warm down:
A cold ice baths and a warm shower. The coach debriefing his team, while they consume copious amounts of Gatorade (thankyou sponsor), and stretch gently to aid their aching muscles. Each player supportive of their team mates, despite the result.


“Elite” warm down:
A cold beer and a warm pie. The coach screaming at his team because they “played like a bunch of busted arseholes”. The only stretching is sight is the prop’s jersey over his beer gut. That one bloke in the centre of the room who’s tune is always the same - “Boys, get to training for f**k’s sake!”


Elite press conference:
Reporter: “So, tell us about that try you scored in the second half. How did it feel knowing thousands saw it?”


“Elite” press conference:
Player: “Did you see that try I scored in the second half? I must have run at least a thousand metres.”



You decide. Which one is the real superstar?
749 words
 

JoeD

First Grade
Messages
7,056
jersey_bluebags_1a.gif


JoeD strolls out for the Bluebags, slightly worried he may have made a tactical blunder . . .

The Big Brag - with thanks to Dr Seuss

The Rabbitoh felt mighty important that day
On top of the hill in the sun where he lay
He felt so important up there on that hill
That he started to to brag as fans often will
And he boasted out loud, as he threw out his chest,
"Of all of the teams in the league, we are the best!
With Taylor and Sandow and our leader Russ
No team in the league is better than us!"

"Whats that? growled a voice that was terribly gruff.
"Now why do you say such ridiculous stuff?"
The Rabbitoh looked across and he saw a large Rooster.
The c**k said "We are the best of the best,
No one yet has put us to the test!

"Yeah right" snapped the Rabbitoh. "We're better than you!
"Pooh!" the Rooster snorted "Again I say pooh!
You talk mighty big Rabbitoh that much is true
But how can you prove it? Just what can your team do?

"Hmmm . . . " thought the Rabbitoh,
"Now what can we do?"
He thought and he thought (it took him some time)
And finally, he came up with a line,
Mr Rooster, see our two props on the field?
With the strength and the stamina they consistently wield
No opposition yet have forced them to yield!"

The Rooster, for a moment, just sulked in his chair
For he knew that his props weren't better than theirs.
"This Rabbitoh," he thought, "he seems to know his stuff.
Now I have prove that my boys are more tough!
"Humpf!" the Rooster grunted. He looked at each prop.
"You say they are good, "said the skeptical c**k,
"But are they as good as my magnificent lock?


"Of course!" said the Rabbitoh trying to look mean.
"My props are the best the league has ever seen.
They run and they tackle and carry the ball.
They fend and they off load and never do fall!"

The rooster decided that was enough
So he stood up tall to make himself tough.
"My one lock does the work of your lazy two,
There isn't a team in the league he hasn't run through!"

The chook and the bunny continued a bit
And just when it looked like it would end in a fit
Something caught their eye, a small flash of light
It was a man wearing a jersey of black and of white.

"What’s up?" called a voice from out on the street
The Rooster and Rabbitoh looked across at the sound
And they saw an old Warrior limping into the ground

"Now boys," said the Warrior, "you've been bragging a lot,
You both think you're great. But I think you're not.
Now I'm here to prove to you big boasting guys
that your lock and your props are just wasting their time.

Our boys work as a team and they couldn't be better
"Their skills are so good the wings pass to the centres
The fullback loves to run, the halves like to kick
The hooker has a pass that doesn't fail to stick!

Your clubs are proud with tradition and past glory
Bu what is your future, what’s the end of your story?
Your young juniors are very thin on the ground.
Soon to find one might require a hound.
You guys don’t want to end up as a mass transit lounge?

So forget about Inglis and big Nate Myles
Forget about Wesser and poor Jason Ryles
Forget about Asotasi and Count Minichiello
Old age is catching up with these fellows.
These players will never deliver the dream
Of being the leagues most successful team.

Follow the Warriors, the club that knows best
And puts its juniors ahead of the rest
Promoting the young guys can be chancy I know
But once its done
You’ll soon be basking in the glow
Of premiership wins - maybe two in a row.
So stop your bragging and get on with the show!”



668 words including title
 

edabomb

First Grade
Messages
7,088
edabomb for the Ninjas
----------------------------------------------
Sign Of The Times

At the mid point of the 2011 National Rugby League there is only one certainty for the remainder of the year - the use of clichés aren’t going anywhere this season. It seems every interview a player gives includes a checklist of statements – thank the opponent, teammates, sponsors and single one teammate out for a bit of extra praise. If the interviewee has just suffered a loss then nine times out of ten they will deflect any actual explanation by unleashing this gem – “we didn’t turn up to play”. It can all get a bit repetitive given the host of NRL television shows around.

With all the media drama that surrounds the game these days you can hardly blame the players for being very cautious with how they portray themselves. It seems extra media attention is an off-field incident waiting to happen – whether this attention is a result of their playing abilities or prominent personalities. You only have to look at the incidents involving the ‘faces of the NRL’ in two recent season launches. While the players involved were hardly blameless, it seems to have bred a sense of paranoia in the NRL. Players are reluctant to put themselves in any situation with the public that is unpredictable, which also means fans rarely get to see the players talking openly in a relaxed environment. This is in stark contrast with 1980s and 1990s when players openly discussed on and off field experiences, with many great stories being rehashed (and elaborated on) through the years.

With all the structure involved in NRL players lives these days they make Pete Sampras and Tim Duncan look like Greg Matthews. It was once said that Dennis Rodman increased his earning capacity ten million dollars a season by dying his hair bizarre colours and wearing dresses. The incentives simply aren’t there for NRL players to embrace their individuality, as the limited NRL salary cap is used entirely to try and bring results on the field. Plenty of international sports stars are willing to be themselves and reap the benefits, while NRL players are better off being as conservative as possible.

Unfortunately this conservative stance from players seems to have flowed over onto the playing field. Games are so structured now they leave little room for the individual brilliance of players like Laurie Daley, Brad Fittler and Andrew Johns (three larrikins in their own right). Creativity seems to be a dying art in the NRL, with the only example of it seeming to be players flashing signs after tries that they have picked up from American hip-hop music videos. Even ten years ago we had a bit of fun with grandiose post-try celebrations, but they would probably be seen as taunting by the current generation and result in more problems than they’re worth.

Of course the on-field style of play can’t entirely be put down to the fact there are less personalities in our game today, coaches prepare such a structured game plan that there often aren’t the opportunities for players to simply read what’s in front of them. I cannot imagine a past great like Greg Alexander being half the player he was in today’s game under the shackles of a conservative game plan.

For those of us who still miss a good old fashioned footy story, we can thank our lucky stars that The Sunday Roast is back this season. Stories like how Phil Gould - in an attempt to rev this team up - broke his toe while kicking an ice container he wasn’t aware contained four dozen beers are what the game is based on. Some of the interplay on the show between Gould and Mark Geyer is priceless, and illustrates the hilarious instances that happen behind the scenes of our game.

While this may seem like an overly critical opinion of the current state of the NRL, I actually believe the status quo to be a necessary evil. While the game may not be as exciting and open as in the mid 1990s, it is still a very entertaining product. Fans may miss the outspoken characters in the games past, but this simply isn’t realistic in the fish bowl existence current players live. Not until the game can go twenty-four months without a major off-field incident should we expect players to open themselves up to the media. Until that point we can expect to be met with cliché after cliché whenever an open question is asked.

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747 words in OWC
 

jamesgould

Juniors
Messages
1,466
For the Ninjas:

The Best Night Ever

The year was 2008, and it almost didn’t happen. I needed a holiday desperately, and a few months before the tournament started, randomly decided to take a trip to the Rugby League World Cup semi-finals and final.

I went with my best friend Bill. On the day of the final we checked out the Blackcaps, being dispatched to several different parts of the Gabba by an Australian side that was a class above. Being heckled by Australian supporter in the crowd, we had a feeling that this was an echo of what was to come.

The Kiwis had last beaten Australia in 2005, were coming off a disasterous 2007 season, and were thumped 30-6 in the round robin encounter. However as we took our seats at Suncorp, Bill suddenly announced he had a feeling we were going to win.

As I wrote this off as the deluded mutterings of a madman, the haka took place. No doubt about it, the Kiwis were up for that. The crowd erupted as Australia marched forward – I’d never heard anything like it. The air was electric as the Kangaroos eye-balled the Kiwis. It was a balmy night, and I was already wearing my Kiwis t-shirt proudly.

The start of the match went according to plan though. The Kiwis bungled a try with Benji Marshall knocking on when trying to force a grubber. Two tries to Australia and we were down 10-0. Bill and I began to look for a quick exit.

But seemingly within seconds, the Kiwis suddenly hit the lead! First Jeremy Smith, then Jerome Ropati crossed and things seemed a bit ... weird. Deep down I knew it would be short lived though, and sure enough we dropped a kick off, Lockyer scored, and we were behind at the break.

We were both pretty happy though, the Kiwis were being competitive, and had actually led! It still seemed inconceivable that they’d win, but we were being far from disgraced.

The teams switched sides, and with our seats in the corner, we had a perfect view of the Kiwis on attack in the second half. A few minutes in, right in front of us, Lance Hohaia scored and we were in front again!

Amazing stuff ... I think now it finally hit us that the unthinkable could actually happen. Half an hour to go. It was probably the slowest 30 minutes of my life. I repeatedly glanced up at the clock after what seemed like an age had passed, to see only another 30 seconds had ticked by.

With 20 to go Slater made his monumental gaffe, and Marshall scored, again right in front of us. A six point lead. You could still sense Australia would come back though, and with 15 to go Inglis scored in the corner. We sat back ... Australia would come back to win, I was sure of it!

Then came the penalty try. I didn’t even see it, but Bill called for it straight away. “A player got taken out, it’s gotta be a penalty try!”. As we watched the replay it confirmed it ... an eight point lead with ten minutes left! Still we didn’t quite think it was going to happen. A desperate ankle-tap by Jeremy Smith snuffed out Australia’s last real attacking raid though, and with a late try to Adam Blair, New Zealand had done it by 14 points. A carve up!!!

We were both in disbelief. I just looked up at the sky and woohooed! Sometimes you know you’ll remember something forever, and this was one such time for me. We stayed for the presentation (shaking our heads as Australia somehow won all the awards) and to watch the lap of honour. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy. I was grinning from ear to ear with no way of stopping, not that I wanted to.

As we moved outside the stadium, it seemed like everybody was a Kiwi. Considering we stayed around for ages after the game, they probably were! People who didn’t know each other from a bar of soap were high fiving and embracing.

You’d probably expect us to get on the drink at a time like this, but we just slowly walked back to and through the city, watching bits and pieces of a replay in shop windows.

Funny how a game of rugby league can do that to you. But that win, emphatic, dramatic and unexpected as it was, was the best night of my life.
 

Red Bear

Referee
Messages
20,882
Charging onto the ball, red bear trips, fallsand generally embarrasses himself
jersey_bluebags_1a.gif

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Partying like it's 1999

Ahh, the nineties. The era where grunge gave way to pop punk which gave way to nu-metal, which everyone has since tried to forget. The era where The Simpsons defined a generation, and everyone my age looks fondly back to afternoons of Round the Twist and The Ferals.

It’s natural that you look back on your first era of life with somewhat rose-coloured glasses. It’s the era that you first became interested in the world around you, where you can really shape what sort of person you mature into.

So I guess it’s no surprise that I’ve always looked back on rugby league from the nineties somewhat fondly. This was the time I first became interested in the greatest game of all. I still distinctly remember the first game I watched, the Winfield Cup grand final of 1994. My dad had trekked out of the snow the week before to find somewhere to go through the classic ritual of watching the Bears steal defeat from the jaws of victory in a preliminary final.

As I approach my 22nd birthday in a couple of months I guess I’ve been reflecting on this era a bit. In part it’s due to the strange feeling I never really anticipated, that is being older than people playing first grade. Despite my personal rugby league dreams being long dead, from realising that a sport where everyone is half a foot and 30 kgs bigger than you was never going to be my forte. It’s the confirmation that the game has passed you by that I guess closes a chapter on childhood dreams.

The other big thing, however, is the players. That first generation of players you watch running around are the ones that stick with you for your life. They’re the generation you really look up to. Dad still talks to me fondly about players like Ron Coote and Eric Simms. For me, Rod Wishart, Greg Florimo, Billy Moore, Brad Fittler, Tim Brasher, they were the players that inspired me.

I know there is debate after every rugby league player indiscretion as to whether the players should be seen as role models or not, but there is no doubt that in that impressionable 5-10 year old age range these players are immensely important to you.

By the time these players have moved on and the next generation of players comes through you are an older, possibly wiser, sometimes more mature person. You’ve reached the age where you no longer seek out role models based on the simple ability to play good football. You tend to look at people closer to you (teachers, lecturers, friends, relatives) for the sort of person you want to be.

So whilst you continue to watch the game you love, the era of living and dying by certain players is gone. And I guess it has me wondering who will be the last from what was a fairly tumultuous era of the game. With only 21 players left on the books of NRL clubs who debuted before the year 2000 the door is rapidly closing. At least five of these players have already confirmed this will be their last season, with many others uncontracted and uncertain as to future plans. Significantly, with Lockyer and MacDougall retiring only Preston Campbell will be left from the Super League era, probably the biggest turmoil the game has faced since the split from rugby union.

From the remaining bunch, Civoniceva, Hindmarsh, Burt, Prince, Campbell, Guluvao, Tahu, Best and Tuqiri are the ones under contract for next season. Just nine left from the nineties. It’s a matter of time before we farewell this period of the game. If you’re a gambling man I guess Luke Burt, who only just turned thirty this year and is playing better than ever, would be the smart bet for the longest serving player. Scott Prince is also under contract until 2014, but with age fast catching up with his on field performances it would not surprise many if he pulled the plug before then.

The demise of North Sydney has probably made me somewhat more nostalgic to this period than if my club was still in existence. In reality it was an era of greed, distrust and bastardisation of the jerseys we knew and loved (see the aqua Broncos incident). But it will always be the time that got me into this game, and always have a spot in my heart.
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745 words between the lines
 
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madunit

Super Moderator
Staff member
Messages
62,358
Newtown 425

Willow – Jamie Soward is a wanker – 745 words - 88
I really enjoyed this piece, magnificent use of sarcasm. Having come from the same nursery as Soward, I too laugh at his haters, much to the chagrin of most people who dislike the Dragons. If he’s a wanker, then by God, I hope I’m one too!

AlwaysGreen – Radical, dude – 750 words – 83
An interesting idea on how to possibly move the game forward. Great lead up, but I felt that you lacked a more thorough reason as to why the change is required, given your reason for change was due to a tactic employed since the game’s birth. Very well written and inclined to create good vigorous debate nonetheless.

Cliffhanger – Our Season Is Still Alive – 746 words – 83
A fans insight into their clubs poor form. A few small errors, but nevertheless a well written piece. I would have liked the article to have remained as it began, a very personal insight, but it became a brief summation before returning to the same style as it began. Definitely a good angle.

JoeD – The Big Brag with thanks to Dr Seuss – 664 words – 85
An amusing piece of poetry in a Dr Seuss-esque style. As someone who has written a poetry piece before in this competition I know just how hard it is, so kudos for pulling it off. There were a few grammatical errors, but overall, it read and flowed very nicely. Very nicely written.

Red Bear – Partying Like It’s 1999 – 745 words – 86
A reflective piece. Looking back on a time when the writer was first drawn to Rugby League and readying himself for the future without the players he watched in his childhood. Awesome article.

Ninjas 425

joshie – Return – 719 words – 83
An article about the Storm history following the life of Jesus. Firstly, great idea, but a very complicated one to make work. I personally thought some of your links between Jesus and the Storm were a little forced to try and make the article work. I think if you had’ve opted for an all-out comical piece you would’ve made it work much better. Big wraps though joshie, you’re ideas and writing has improved immensely in a very short time, please keep at it, you are getting better every week!

gUt – Match Day – 716 words – 87
Magnificent article showing just how closely a fans life on match day mirrors that of a league player. Brilliantly written and oh so true. Loved it!

CobyDelaney – Elite vs “Elite” – 746 words – 87
The differences between the Elite and the not-quite-so-elite. Very amusing yet honest piece that really does tell it like it is. Very well done indeed.

edabomb – Sign Of The Times – 747 words – 85
A look into the lack of personalities in the NRL. An honest well thought out piece which shows the more restricted ways of today’s game and its players compare to those in the past.

jamesgould – The Best Night Ever – 750 words – 83
A fans recount of their experience at the 2008 World Cup final. A summary of the key moments of the 2008 World Cup Final with brief interludes of the fans emotions and feelings throughout.

Match is drawn 425 all
POTM - Willow
 
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joshie

Live Update Team
Messages
3,115
Thanks for the fast marking and Good work baggers, could have gone either way!
 
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