Drew-Sta hits it up for the mighty Blues!
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THE RECIPE FOR SUCCES
The New South Wales selectors filed into their chambers. They weren’t entirely sure what was going on, but Laurie seemed desperate for their attendance.
“Err, what’s this?” Bob McCarthy said. In front of them was a set dinner table, and what appeared to be a score card.
“Quick, sit, sit,” Laurie urged, almost bubbling with excitement. He was almost like a child in a toy store such was the twinkle in his eye.
Bob Fulton and Geoff Gerard took a seat either side of Bob McCarthy. None of them knew exactly what was going on.
“Right, with the final game of the series coming up, I’ve been thinking –” as Laurie was talking Bob Fulton groaned and put his hands in his face “ – that we need to adopt some new techniques to coaching.”
“Laurie, we don’ pay you to think,” Geoff said patiently. “We pay you to coach the team. Y’know, train them in ball skills and the like.”
“YES! I know, I do that already,” Laurie whined, impatient at their lack of understanding for his brilliance. “But most of the issue we have is mental.”
“Mental?” Bob asked.
“More like he’s mental,” Bozo grumbled.
“Yes! It’s mental! Our players have lost the understanding of what we need to do to win,” Laurie continued, behaving as if he’s just struck gold. “We need to show them what it is to win!”
“How are you going to do that, Laurie?” Gerard quizzed, slightly puzzled. The selectors glanced at each other worriedly, agitated that this was taking them away from vital work.
“Cooking.” The look on Laurie’s face was priceless. He looked like the man who’d just discovered the meaning of life.
Bozo’s jaw set, and his face got red. “Cooking?”
“Yes! It’s brilliant, I know! I knew you’d understand Bozo!” Laurie pranced over and gave Bozo a big bear hug. “I’m going to train them in how to cook.”
“… why? I’m sorry, I don’t see the relevance,” Bob said.
“What they need to find is their own recipe for success! Watch!” Laurie whistled, and the lights went dim before a spot light highlighted the centre of the room.
Matt Moran ran in, a trolley following. He set up in the spotlight and immediately he set to work.
“Evening gents! What we’re cooking tonight is cane toad soup, and I’m going to show you how we’re going to whip your boys into mental shape!”
Geoff threw up a little in his mouth as Matt pulled a live cane toad out and sent a knife through its head while Bob stared on in disbelief.
Matt Moran went to work, quickly detailing how he would cook the cane toad.
“Spice, my friends. Spices make anything taste good! And onion; just like the French enjoy their frogs legs.”
Moran’s hands moved with lightning speed, filleting the cane toad before boiling it right up.
“The key with cane toads is making sure you remove the poison sack –” he flicked his knife and an ugly purple piece of flesh flopped onto the floor “– to ensure you don’t poison your clientele. Cane toads are best served with fresh veggies, but we’ll be instructing your team to serve them a cold dish of revenge.” Moran gave a steely smile.
Bozo groaned again.
Moran moved quickly, and without too much hesitation served up three dishes.
“Cane toad soup!” Moran beamed with pride at the… delicacy.
“See, the players need to remove the fear they have of our opposition,” Laurie continued, more seriously now. “We need to show them that Queenslanders are simply mortal beings too. By making them cook cane toads, we’re getting them to visualise their actions next Wednesday night. It will drill into them a sense of competitive edge; every time they hit up the ball, instead of seeing Sam Thaiday bearing down on them, they’ll see two little legs and think to themselves ‘I’ll triumph here just like I triumphed in the kitchen!”
There was silence in the room.
“It’s the best we got,” Bob said in a resigned voice. “After the Merritt experiment, it’s not like we're flush with options.”
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