Round 7 (2008) Bluebags v Dragons

[Willow]

Forum 7s - Round 7 2008
CHOOK RAPER CUP
NEWTOWN BLUEBAGS v ST GEORGE 'BOBONGIE' DRAGONS​

-v-

​

Game Thread:
* Please note - This is a game thread only, therefore only game posts can be made here (Teams, 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:
* 5v5 (+ 2 reserves for visiting team, 3 reserves for home team)
* No 'TBA' or changing players named
* Captains must stick with original teams named​

ALL THE RULES & REGULATIONS: http://f7s.leagueunlimited.com/rules.php​

FULL TIME: Thursday 3July 2008 at 9pm (Syd time)​

REFEREE: Pistol
Venue: Henson Park​

**The Referee Blows Game On!**

CLICK HERE FOR OFFICIAL WORD COUNTER​

 

[Willow]

The Bluebags bus takes up position next to the grandstand to sign autographs. Then the players get out to sign autographs too.

Newtown Bluebags team - Round 7 2008

Black Kitty
Willow (c)
Drew-Sta
gorilla
Lossy

Res:
Timmah
Dave Q
Rexxy


Good luck one and all.

 

[_Johnsy]

The mighty Red and White V Machine enter the stadium to a rapturous applause. Even those in the Navy Blue jumpers stand, applaud, scream and watch in awe.

1. Johnsy
2. Juan
3. Ribs
4. Dragon_psa
5. DragonPunk​

6.The Preacher​

Before the dragons take the field, a technical protest has been lodged. A protest relating to the false advertising displayed by the integrity void bluebags. Please note the comment made by the illustrious skipper of the bluebags.

For the record, the Bluebags elite are undefeated since 2006 and gunning for our 14th straight win.

Sunday 27th January - Wednesday 6th February 2008
Dragons 423 defeated Bluebags 343 [-X

 

[_Johnsy]

Johnsy takes the field, bursting with pride as he leads the mighty big red V on to the cow paddock, known as Henson Park.

746 words between the stars.
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The most amazing ride of your life, but it will cost you.​

There is no doubt that the 2009 model RedV8, fom the maker, Dragon Millenia is one of the most anticipated drives of the year. The production RedV8 had been talked up to a degree only a true superstar could live up to. We were fortunate enough to get a sneak preview last week.

First impressions were going to be everything. Talk about getting off on the right foot. The test car was the seven-speed clutchless manual with a solid body colour of pure white with the Dragon Millenias trademark brilliant red V. The RedV8 doesn't need gimmickry or useless gadgets to grab a bystanders attention.

It looks the business, with slight tweaks such as automatic self illuminating LED lights. From the front airdams, to the no-nonsense stance, the RedV8 not only announces let’s to get on with it. It yells it from the rooftops. Slide into the cabin and you are in for a very pleasant surprise. There is room to spare and comfort to burn. Even the basic sports seats are nicely styled to hug a larger frame of a front row forward rather than just the pencil-thin frame of a halfback.

We were stunned at how quick the seven-speed clutchless manual flicks between gears with a flick of the thumb by steering wheel button. No auto would get anywhere near the seven-speed flick manual and better yet, it will flick down more than one gear at a time if necessary without the need to go through each gear. The seven-speed flick manual shifter is a masterful piece of art. The response is much akin to a Mark Schulman blind side raid, he’s gone even befoe you knew he was there.

Storage space is almost non existent , but by sportscar standards it is huge. If you have some spare change left after purchase you could option up to the $18,000 “Muchos comfy” leather treatment with almost orgasmic-to-the-touch hide stretched across the cabin. I can only liken this feel to watching Ben Creagh bursting onto the ball and going over untouched, it’s pure pleasure.

So much for looks, how about performance? Straight up, the performance parameters of the Red V8 are not about being a supercar. Make no mistake, 0-100km/h in 2.6 seconds and a top speed of 575km/h are nothing to be sneezed at. Ken Irvine, Steve Morris, or even Martin Offiah could match it, but nobody thinks of them as supercars. The upside of the RedV8's performance is that it has been set up as an exceptional everyday ride, but you can shake the cobwebs out with G forces any time you like. I can best describe this sensation to a Mark Gasnier shimmy, shimmy swoosh and away you go.

Fire up the 6.2-litre RedV8 and wonder where it went. The isolation from the engine, is such that the initial cabin noise is sedan-like. This in itself is an engineering Houdini act. If you wind down the window, find a tunnel and then jab the throttle. This will allow you the realisation of how good this motor sounds to anyone not sitting where you are.

One issue is this engine is a thirsty little bugger, Not unlike Craig Young after the 77 grand final replay triumph. Feather-throttle driving is not something the RedV8 encourages so be prepared to accept that the official 22litre per 100km economy rating is one from a pristine test environment, albeit at altitude.

News from the International Motor Show this week, the RedV8 had plucked two of the three World Car of The Year awards. Performance Car Of The Year, and Design Of The Year. This car is that good I was surprised it did not win the 3rd award, 4WD of the year. These accolades will only add to the R8's luster and mystique. I am not sure that these awards were needed. As I found out over two days of addictive driving, once you fall in love with the big RedV8 Dagon, you’ll never look back, regadless of the $110,00 price tag.

As Henry Ward BEECHER, the 19th century theological liberal clergyman once said “I never knew how to worship until I fell in love” Experience the joy of this magnificent big red V8 and you to will quickly learn to worship it, willingly or not.

Final rating​

Every ride should be as enjoyable as this one is, regardless of the price tag.
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[Drew-Sta]

Drew-Sta takes the field for the mighty Bluebags, with blue war paint on his face. The crazed loon looks read to rip right into the Saints squad.

---

Talk is cheap

A. M. Starkey | 30th of June, 2008 - 2:14pm

It's not often that the high flying Newtown Bluebags take exception to a match, but it appears as though the Chook Raper Cup has really stirred up some emotion in them.

"Yeah, look mate we preparing for this one a little more dilligently," Baggers captain Willow told us during a break in training yesterday. "We usually try and ensure that we take each game as seriously as possible, and prevent emotion from getting in the way of putting out the best material we can. This one's a little different though."

Asked if there's any particular reason why they're taking this more seriously and a steely glint moves across old man Willow's eyes, matching his silvery locks in colour.

"It's definately a personal match," he confides. "Dragons PSA didn't leave on the best of terms. Talked to much to the papers we feel. Reminded us a bit of what Mason did over at the Dogs. We don't take too kindly to betrayal at Henson Park."

It's an intimidating place on the best of occasions, but the home ground of the Bluebags is as morbid as a cemetary today. It's as if the anticipation and ill feeling between the two squads in the lead up to the game, combined with the dark storm clouds above, have seen the suburban ground take on as bleak an appearance as a Melbourne winters day.

"Look, the idea isn't to go out there and hurt the bloke," Willow reassures. "Well, not permanently anyway. We just want to ensure he realises he's not playing for us anymore. A facial massage or two and a couple of stiff arms will no doubt make him aware of that quick smart."

The warning isn't one I would believe to be empty either. As I scan the training paddock, gorilla and Rexxxy are involved in an intense sparring contest that looks to involve some sort of complicated slapping routine before both of them jump in to a steaming tub.

Not too far away from them, Everlovin' Antichrist is helping spot Drew-Sta as the weedy outside back pumps what looks to be a pool cue with doughnuts for weights on the side. The strained look on his flushed red face along with Everlovin' Antichrist shouting "No sacrifice, no victory!" as encouragement hammer home the focus the side is putting on the upcoming clash.

Off aways, Lossy prepares by throwing darts at a picture of Dragon PSA's forum avatar, shouting insults of bad grammer and boring articles as he works himself into a psycohological frenzy.

It's hard not to admire the 'Baggers regime. Undefeated since the finals of 2006, the reigning premiers have shown the passion is still there as they drive themselves to reach new and lofty heights not seen since the Roosters F7's team of the 2002-03 season. With the ultimate goal being to go back-to-back premiers, it's easy to see that such a strenuous training routine would be required.

"We daw'nt wan' ta be jus' premee'ers, we wan' ta be oon-dee-fea-tad," gorilla informs me. "Win-en's greyt, but ta win, an' be seen as tha bes' of tha bes' is what we wan'!"

It's apparent that this sentiment runs through the club like fire through an oil field, and clearly such zeal is a requirement for their recruitment policy.

"Look, my passion to win is at levels I never had when with any other side," Black Kitty, newest member of the Bluebags, confides. "Sure, it's a little bit confronting when they first get you to the team bonding sessions. I mean, I've never jumped in to a tub with a group of sweaty men before, but it was all part of the indoctrination. I even got used to Rexxxy's pet eel after a while."

"Eel?" Rexxxy askes, quizzically, before a knowing smile spreads across his face.

"At the end of the day we just want to get square the 'Big D'," Willow asserts quickly before I can question further whether the 'eel' is the teams mascot. "The guy dumped us for that useless Saints squad, and we want to ensure he realises just how big a mistake he made. A little bit of a get square, y'know what I mean? Just a bit of fun between mates."

He crinkles his face up into a devilish smile. "After all, that's what Forum 7's is all about, isn't it?"

---

Word count 737

 

[gorilla]

gorilla puffs up, and walks tall.

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Big Men

Rugby league is the only football code that really gives a big bloke a fair chance of doing something worthwhile on the field. I know, I’m a large man, was a big youth and a huge child. I played Rules, Soccer, Union and League, so I’m qualified to have an opinion.

The first conclusion to which most people stumble is that Rules is a big man’s game. I understand that misconception. Rules peddle a lot of misconceptions. It’s well-known that Aussie Rules is just a winter fertility rite, full of little ova being booted amongst waving pubic streamers though upright legs, err, posts. It’s also well known that Rules players don’t have the same diversity of kicking game as League players – they don’t know how to place-kick or up-and-under, the drop-kick is almost gone, and it’s all just stab and punt kicks.

I played for the Tallangatta Grasshoppers (“we jump higher”) reserve grade one winter in the mid-1980s and I was put straight into the ruck (more like a bouquet), because I was big! What I got to do was senselessly run from stoppage (out of bounds) or start (bounce-up) and knock the ball down for some smaller bastard to run or kick. This was very disappointing and led me to start stiff-arming and shoulder charging opposition ruckmen. No wonder they wouldn’t let me train with 1st grade…..

As for Soccer, well, we all know where the big bloke plays – in the goals. I got so dispirited one game, I let through 8 goals. I did get a reasonable trot one season, but more of that later in the union context.

People prattle on about code prototypes and Union puts itself forward as the code for all sizes. This has some truth in that there are positions for most sizes – stumpy frontrower, tall secondrower, wiry and fast break-aways and locks.

The catch here is that whilst you might be able to play in a position if you’re big, or fat, or whatever, the big bloke just gets to jump up in the line-out, push the scrum or maul and ruck about the field. Shades of Rules ! Any big bloke that has trundled from ruck to maul, joined scrum and line-out, only to see the ball being kicked somewhere else knows what a pointless exercise the game of Union can be for the big bloke.

When that young Englishman (probably really Irish) Ellis from Rugby School changed the face of football codes in 1823, he picked up the bloody ball and … ran with it ! He didn’t knock it down for a smaller bastard, nor immediately maul about with it. He grabbed it, either tucked it under one arm, or, if gifted with my ball sense, held it in front and he probably screamed: “Get out of the way !”.

League allows, even promotes every single player to do something with the ball. No other code gives everyone, including the big bloke this chance.

The only time I ever got to play a fine season (well, half) of Soccer was when I was busy playing both League and Union which I did for years. I was playing juniors and loved League. You got the ball and ran with it ! I was also a secondrower in a Union team but wanted to play inside centre.

I wanted to run with the ball, pass and set up players. I figured anyone could hop around or bury themselves in the rucks and mauls. The backs were scabby little bastards and I could wreak havoc.

The Union coach wouldn’t let me play in the backs (so what if he later coached Australia) and so I quit Union and took up Soccer with the school team. No goal-keeping for me as some other poor unco was already slotted in there. I played midfield, scything up field, wind in my hair and the ball at my feet, until some little quicker talented bastard took it from me and ran away too fast for me to catch.

Rules and Union promote themselves pretty well. Everyone knows about Soccer. Rules has the biggest con-job for the big bloke, and despite the new-aged proto-type hype, Union is just “head in, bum out”.

The only football code that gives a big bloke a chance to actually do something akin to the central idea of that fateful act in 1823 is Rugby League.

A big game, for a big man, in a big country!

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750 words between the stars

 

[Black Kitty]

Black Kitty fights off her addoring fan, "sorry mum. Yes my laces are done up. I'll call you later", and runs out onto the field for the Bags...

Too many cooks and not enough Indians?

My dear sweet mummy is always spouting these little sayings at me. Little cliché’s like ‘too many chiefs, not enough Indians’ and ‘too many cooks spoil the broth’. I think of this sometimes when I’m watching a game. There are so many different people trying to tell the players and the coaches what they should and should not be doing. Although in this case I think the cliché I’m looking for might be closer to ‘Those who can’t do, Teach’, or in this case Referee.

Listening to the Monday night football on Triple M while slaving away at work, I noticed just how many times the ref was giving the players ‘advice’ on how to form their scrums. One of the commentators made a comment on how the referee’s were over trained and the game over refereed. It got me thinking on how true that seemed to be. Now I know I’m only relatively new at watching, and loving, said game. But in my few short seasons I have noticed just how many times referees seem to take it upon themselves to coach the players on the field. Now this may be overly naïve of me, but isn’t it the coaches job to coach?

I have also noticed though that the referees have a tendency to over referee in one 5 seconds worth of the game, but 5 heartbeats later they are under refereeing to the point of letting some entirely all to noticeable, and possibly critical, mistake go completely unchecked. Now I do realise just how incredibly difficult being a referee for such a fast moving game must be, but do they really have to make things harder on themselves by telling the birds how to sing?

I have been told by some few referee sympathisers that I have my argument all wrong. That these men are doing a fantastic job and are just a little harder on the players than I would deem worthy. Perhaps I am a little hard on some of the referees, after all, I did just tar and feather them all with the same brush. In retrospect I guess it is much the same as giving anyone a position of some level of power over someone or something. Eventually the God complex sinks in and they become all to sure of their own worth. Usually though this is when they start shooting themselves in the foot, because their narcissistic tendency’s evoke just the kind of reactions you are reading here. And so a few bad apples spoil the whole barrel.

Are we really supposed to believe that these men are as wonderful as they themselves think they are? I have not seen as many games as my NRL born and bred friends. I don’t know the rules and the players inside out and upside down. But I know enough to see that at times some referees seem to be being downright fools. They waste time by picking on minute details, going to video referees when they were that close the action that it could have jumped up and bit them on the proverbial, and at times I even feel as though they are playing favourites. Though, of course, they would be to professional to do that. Wouldn’t they? I think not. You look at it this way. These men have obviously been fans of the game since Noah was a boy. They kicked the football around as a kid, had dreams of being a player, and the realised that they just don’t quite measure up to those standards for whatever reason. So, they become referees. Then they can still be part of the game they have always loved. And what happened to all of those years of supporting a team? It doesn’t just go away. There must be some little inkling of favouritism in there somewhere. A blind man on a galloping horse can see it. However the favouritism of referees is a story for another day.

So are our referee’s a walking cliché? Well it really depends on the cliché now doesn’t it? If you are asking me if they are as dull as dishwater, then yes, for the most part, they are. But there is always going to be one sharp tool in the shed. Let's just hope that the NRL don’t throw him out with the bathwater and leave the game a few stubbies short of six-pack.



**743 words including title according to the official word counter**

 

[DragonPunk]

Dragon Punk runs onto the field ready for war and takes his first hit up. 750 words between the lines.

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Can lightning strike twice?
Earlier today I was looking through some of the old Big League’s from 1996. This particular issue was from September 18th-24th. Now this was a very interesting time for the NRL as they were in the midst of the Super League war but that’s a subject for another time. This week’s edition focuses on the grand final qualifiers between Cronulla and Manly and St George and North Sydney. For this article though, I’ll be focusing on one team, the St George Dragons. In 1996 to be honest, the Dragons were a mess before the start of the year; their coach quit and the guy they wanted to take over Rod Reddy disappeared off the radar completely but to make it even worse, the players had informed the club they had started training with other clubs and long term sponsor, Penfolds withdrew support.Basically no one expected St George to do anything that year and probably fold. The Dragons team was full of nobodies and could have given up on that year before they started but they didn’t.

Firstly, the dragons solved the problem of having no head coach by appointing former Newcastle coach, David Waite to the position. The turnaround wasn’t immediate though, Waite’s first training session had a dismal turnout with only a few turning up including Mark Coyne & Wayne Bartrim. Player disputes still raged on as Gordon Tallis sat out his contract with the Dragons to go to Super League protagonist Brisbane Broncos. The season finally started with a forfeit win over the Western Reds then a loss against arch rivals and Super League bound Cronulla. The Dragons persevered and went through the whole season with a record of 15 wins, 8 Losses and 1 Draw from 24 games.

For a team that was in such turmoil at the start of the year, this was like a fairytale. Their first final’s game was against the Canberra Raiders who were favourites to end the Cinderella story that was the Dragons season but it was the Dragons who beat the Raiders 16-14. Next up was, one of the NRL glamour clubs, The Sydney City Roosters who boosted then national captain, Brad Fittler who limped off with a groin injury 15 minutes into the game when the scores were 4 all. While Fittler was off the field the Dragons piled on the points and built their game on some brutal defense as they downed the Roosters 26-16 and were onto the grand final qualifiers against North Sydney. Now North Sydney are one of the biggest chokers in the then Optus Cup as they hadn’t won a grand final in over 70 years but they were favourites against the unfancied Dragons who really had no real superstars in the team besides Mundine and Coyne. To everyone’s surprise though, this team of “nobody” Dragons defeated North Sydney 29-12 and were onto the Grand Final against the competition front runners, Manly.

After all the pomp and circumstance of the pre game show the game was on and the Dragons hung in there against their more fancied rivals until a controversial call from referee David Mason told a held Matthew Ridge he could play on and this lead to a try and gave Manly an 14-2 lead going into the second half. which the Dragons never came back from apart from a Nick Zisti try but even though they lost the Dragons could hold their head up high. They played with spirit, courage and pride in the big red V in a year Mark Coyne called “his favourite as a Dragon” although you’re probably asking how this relates to lightning striking twice. Just like the Dragons of 1996, the Dragons of 2008 had some turmoil to start the year. They played crap in their opening match against the West Tigers with simple errors and stupid last tackle options. After the game people were calling for Nathan Brown’s head and even he ripped into his own team which worked for the short term as they beat the Titans in round 2, 30-12 before losing 4 straight games including a heartbreaker against Cronulla until a breakthrough win against the Roosters on ANZAC day 26-6 has lead to the Dragons to lose one more game then embark onto a 6 game winning streak with a team people we’re predicting for the lower end of the table this year. There is a feeling within a fan that this year could replicate 1996, let’s just hope.
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[Ribs]

Ribs after a solid rub down, takes the field for the Dragons. 744 words below the line.

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The Contradiction of Character

With the tearing up of Big Willy's Ritalin subscription, Mark Geyer's metamorphosis from common street thug to moral crusader and the South Sydney club finally checking criminal records before signing players, the Rugby League world is well short of your average "character". You often hear a few of the older fans whine about today’s game's lack of true characters, but what defines a palatable character these days? Thanks to the efforts of some sections of the media, society seems to have taken a somewhat uncompromising view to them all. The obvious example of this is the wholesale condemnation of Anthony Mundine.

The deep hatred shared by many Australians towards Anthony Mundine has always been a source of great disappointment for me. That such a large percentage of the public were so united in their condemnation of a man who's only wrongdoing was the odd tongue in cheek comment is something that I still cannot comprehend. Surely this guy was a perfect example of the "character" so many fans want to see?

Anthony Mundine was talented, marketable and drug and alcohol free. He was a potential role model for so many kids in the southern Sydney area and a potential gold mine for both St George and the game itself, for no other reason than people wanted to pay to see him play or equally to see him cop a hiding.

Even at a time when the media's role changed from reporting the game to owning the game, the potential was there to market and profit from Anthony Mundine. Instead they crucified him with completely unfounded stories on a lack of respect for Melbourne following the 1999 grand final and an equally unfounded story on his apparent disrespect for the Johns brothers. Both were lies and both had a detrimental impact to his rugby league career. Selectors didn’t want a bar of him and fans wanted him lynched. All this because Anthony, apparently, broke Australia's secret code of humility. He stepped outside of the common ground response of:

"yeah the forwards were great and laid a good platform for us backs and we had some space........"

You know the rest.

Instead we got:

"Im killin' it out there, man, nobody can touch me!", or

"Im what the fans come to see, man, Im an entertainer!"

But isn’t that what a so-called character is supposed to do? Surely the rye smile and wink that went with his comments weren’t that subtle that so many missed them. So what is the problem? How do words like these tear at the anger strings of so many people? The simplest answer was always that nobody likes a brash confident Aboriginal, but I have always refused to accept that on the grounds that if this is true, then we as a society are in serious trouble. I can accept that opposition fans were angered by comments aimed at their club's players but the players themselves were never bothered. I spoke to Laurie Daley personally about the 'running on old legs' comment and he laughed it off, saying that he thought Anthony was a top bloke and great for the game. So why does everyone else keep the fires stoked for the guy?

Like all NSW fans, I hated Wally Lewis at Origin time, but loved the whole Wally Lewis show when he was in the green and gold. However, even eight years after Anthony left rugby league to pursue a career in boxing, so many people want to see him knocked out. The general response from the Australian public following his loss to Sven Ottke was the saddest thing I’ve experienced as a supporter of Australian sport.

Kids that see that talent and that confidence want to grow up and do the same thing, but adults who have all the life experience cant see past petty sport grudges. Anthony Mundine's efforts in 1998 for St George made me walk down to my local team and play two more years and those teammates are still my core mates now. Luckily for me I was one of the adults that didn’t fall for the media's crucifixion.

So, now we're back to hearing the same old fans complaining because there aren’t as many true characters in the game. Sadly, many of these same fans are silently waiting to cut the head off the first one we get.

Keep your head down, your mouth shut and thank the forwards son.

 

[Lossy]

Lossy for the Baggers. 749 words between the lines.
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Life Though a Concave Lens

"Open up, make room for me!", shrilled John Lydon while fronting for Leftfield in their 1993 release. The same statement can be made by any number of players waiting to make their NRL debut.

The Toyota Cup has been a marked success in many ways. By all accounts Pay TV has been relishing the extra attention its viewers have lavished upon it. The chance for the couch-riden to view the cream of the crop from the comfort of living rooms across Australia and New Zealand has proven a palpable hit. How many people can now say that they've seen the next big thing? The reality of who will really wear that crown is a different matter altogether, but the excitement is still there. Who would begrudge them that? The clubs, actually.

Magic abounds in the lower grades. Players run with carefree abandon. Like so many raincoat wearing old men, they flash their skills for all to see, and some are not so far from enjoying a decent lollipop. Still, precious few will make enjoy a taste of the high life. Clubs will be derided even more for ignoring the treasures everyone has seen, and fans will whip themselves up into even more of a frenzy over the prodigious talent than in the past. They'll be let down in the process, possibly even more than the players.

The Warriors are good case in point. The average joker on the street believes that most of the Junior Warriors can't be any worse than those on a decent dollar currently under-performing. One name is on the tips of man: Kevin Locke. At nineteen, he's been hailed as a Billy Slater play-alike by some commentators and he certainly has talent to burn, but at what stage do you blood someone? Listed at 1.75m and 79kgs he's a lightweight boy in a mans game without physical maturity and conditioned strength. He could be anything, or he could be broken in half playing against hardened professionals. People bring up Brad Fittler as a comparison, but that's hardly fair as he was a concrete outhouse. Likewise, Matt Bowen is used but the overlooked fact is that he took a while to get where he is today, and had a number of pre-seasons under his belt. A genius first-grade pinball, sure, but he had time to learn his trade. Few master craftsmen are such from inception and neither are most footballers. Not everyone can be Greg Inglis.

Benji Marshall is more apt. Glass shoulders and a dodgy knee, but talented as they come. Would this have happened anyway? Lightening quick, skilled, but seventeen and frail, was it too early to introduce him to first grade? I think so, and now he's derided as a crock and considered overrated. How harsh and mean spirited. Would we risk someone's career for the sake of our need to shove someone, anyone, with perceived strengths into the limelight? Apparently, and Tim Sheens should have known better.

There's been significant progress made in blooding Sonny Fai, Russell Packer and Ben Matulino from our local pool. Fridges all, they have their pride of place in our plans and all will struggle at some stage. Packer has been nominated for some time now as the heir apparent to Steve Price, but even he had a shock with the pace of the NRL proper. A great deal of that has to be put down to simply not knowing his place and so not being able to stake his claim among the current top XIII who demand the ball when they are in a position to. Fai has had issues on defence and can only pass one way but, like Packer, simply has to force his skill on the game and not sit back and wait. Matulino hasn't really skipped a beat. This is good enough, surely?

Most of the Junior Warriors class of 2008 will be also-rans with memories of how good they could have been if only someone had have given them a break. They could have been a contender, to paraphrase a fairly good actor in a fairly good film. Some will be initiated into the rugby league cauldron and melt after showing glimmer of talent, like Steve Mavin once did for Souths. A few of these players will become truly professional. One may even become a "great". Possibly even Kevin Locke.

As Lydon says, "Go the whole hog, be bigger than God." Well, maybe Sonny-Bill Williams anyway.

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[Willow]

Willow | Bluebags

The Working Class Game

"Do you reckon they know what they're missing out on?"

"They wouldn't have a clue by the look of 'em!"

That Four'N Twenty TV commercial has no doubt done wonders for the meat pie industry, although I suspect the joke went a little over the heads of company excecutives responsible for bringing the advertisement to air.

But first, I have a confession to make.

There was a time when I aspired to the executive ranks and looked forward to a life of meetings and workaholism. I used to think going to lots of meetings would be the road to success. But thankfully, I managed to step back from the brink.

In fact, just last weekend I tried to convince myself that I had a meeting with some work colleagues. Actually, they weren’t colleagues, I met with a few mates… and it wasn’t at work, we were at the Grand Hotel. All right, all right… it was a piss up and we were watching the football on the big screen! But it was a meeting... sort of.

Don't get me wrong, I do put in the hours and step up to the crease every day. But I've got into the habit of ignoring corporate box invitations when they present themselves. They are indeed generous and I'm immensely grateful to those in the rugby league media who offer me free entry and a choice of gourmet finger food and dips. But it requires me to maintain a level-head throughout the match. Instead, I choose to buy my tickets, don the jersey, and go with my rowdy family and friends.

Alas, I'll never make a million while enjoying stretch limos, corporate boxes and crates of Bollinger.

I touched on this while chatting with my good mate Juan at the brand-new Gold Coast Titans home ground last Saturday. I suppose you could have called it a meeting! There we were, wearing our St George jerseys and having a slight whinge about the admission prices. I had just hiked over two kilometres because there was no parking nearby, and I noticed the stretch limos that were entitled to park illegally within close range of the ground and in the 'restricted zone'.

Nevertheless, it was a great night. We were close enough to the game to catch the ball, and see and hear every tackle. The throng around us resembled a swirling mass and we couldn't wait for kick off.

But we looked up at the corporate and media boxes and saw a less animated scene.

"Do you reckon they know what they're missing out on?"

"They wouldn't have a clue by the look of 'em!"

Unfortunately, this simple life with easy-going expectations may become a thing of the past.

There exists a growing conservatism in conflict with those fans that often travel great distances and pay through the nose to support their team. Its a fact that fans put up with all sorts of inconvenience just to be allowed to enter these state-of-the-art stadiums.

Sadly, there are increasing incidents of ticket sellers breaking up supporter groups rather than 'risk' having them cheer together. They are then denied the right to wave flags and in some incidents, standing up and cheering.

As some fans put it: “we may as well sit at home!” Perhaps therein lies the intentions of the footy police. Less rowdiness equates to less work? But it seems to me this attitude would also lead to less bums on seats and falling revenue.

Meanwhile, the corporate boxes are sold-out but appearing to be half empty, thereby serving as an investment and mere status symbol to those who purchased these prime pieces of real estate. That's business.

Of course, 'rowdy' fans are simply engaging in freedom of expression. Going to the football is one of the few areas where people can let their hair down, forget about work, forget about going to meetings, and give their lungs an almighty workout. For this, they don't mind travelling long distances and emptying their wallets on arrival.

But fans will draw the line at being told to sit down and 'behave'. After all, they are mostly law-abiding adults simply trying to have a good time.

Perhaps there will come a day when fans of the 'working class game' will stay at home, and the administrators will have reached a level of being at the beckon-and-call of broadcasters and corporate sponsors.... and they have the best interests of the game at heart, don't they?


| 750 words |

 

[juanfarkall]

******************************
A Great Day.

Juan and the boys waited eagerly on the platform for the train to arrive.

It was to be their first visit to the Titans’ new stadium at Robina. It would also be their first NRL match for the season. Whilst Juan’s son followed Saint George, his schoolmate was not committed to any particular club.

Neither of Mitchell’s parents had a great deal of interest in any sport let alone Rugby League. Juan’s mission was to entice the boy into the fold of the devout, to help him to realize the potential greatness that he could achieve as a follower of the world’s greatest Rugby League club, the club known simply as Saint George.

Juan’s mind drifted back to the heady days of the late 70’s when he wore the Red Vee with pride at the temple to excellence also known as Kogarah Jubilee Oval. Whilst he would be the first to admit that he was never a great player, he did possess a few of the qualities required to make it in sport. Dedication, determination, loyalty in addition to a strong sense of community and the greater good.

The only things missing were sufficient ability, a little luck and maybe 6 inches in height and 7 pounds in weight. Whilst physical size was not an excuse that Juan was comfortable with, he was prepared to accept albeit grudgingly that he was just a tad short for a forward particularly with legends like Robert Stone setting the standard for all others to aspire to.

Stoney.

A gentleman among men.

Perhaps even a man above other men if truth be known. Stoney set standards as a player and later as an official that are unlikely to be equalled and the world is much poorer for his departure.

One day when Juan junior and his mate Mitchell were a little older, Juan would educate them in the history of the great club and tell them all about the statesmen of the club, men like Stoney whose efforts will never be forgotten.

“It’s here,” said Juan junior excitedly as the sleek electric train approached the platform coming to a halt quietly and smoothly.

A far cry from Juan’s formative years where many weekends involved a noisy journey to and from the station at Carlton and a jovial wander down to Kogarah. The pre-game journey was always one full of expectation, excitement and hope, whilst occasionally the return was one of disappointment and kicking gravel.

Luckily in those times, days of disappointment were few and far between as the club was quite competitive through the 70’s.

People often say that schooldays are the best days of your life, but Juan knew otherwise.

He knew, like most who have played Rugby League that the greatest days of your life were the times you spent at the ground and with your mates getting to and from the match. Whether training, playing or just watching, those days were the greatest of Juan’s life aside of course from the birth of Juan junior and the day he was married.

Juan was a lucky man. He had a son who was growing up to be a fine young man and he had a beautiful wife. Whilst never hitting the high spots as a player he had been fortunate enough and content enough to have only ever been involved with one club. And although he had received offers, which might have seen him play at a higher level at other clubs, he never seriously considered changing loyalties.

An hour or so later when a gimp with a whistle blew time on, he was reminded of the greatness of his club as he felt the roar of the Mighty Dragon Army as play started.

He glanced to his left and enjoyed the expression on the boys’ faces as they too felt the passion, energy and power of the Red Vee. All talk of Playstations, guitars and food vanished as the 14 year olds fell victim to the raw desire of the team and it’s fans’ pursuit of victory.

Just under 2 hours later, Juan’s efforts were rewarded as the siren sounded with Saint George the victors and Mitchell leading the applause as if he had followed the mighties all of his life.

A great day indeed, a victory to the good guys and a new fan to continue the journey.

*************************************

731 words between the stars

 

[Dragon_psa]

Dragon_psa runs on for his first match against his former team. He takes the ball up and makes a beeline for Drew-Sta's head.




Am I a traitor?

G’day. My name is Dragon_psa, otherwise known as the “Big D”. I’m a player who is renowned for crunching defence and devastating attacking prowess. A footy player without fear. One who loves pulverising opposition players and bringing them the pain of defeat.

I’ve been called things in my life. Some good, others not so good, and even some names downright unmentionable. I don’t see a need to mention the unmentionable, but there is one thing I have been dubbed lately that for some obscure reason strikes a previously unknown nerve. Something that strikes to the very core of my being unlike any moniker I have had bestowed on me in previous times; that of a traitor. Let me give you some background.

The year was 2005, and as a fresh faced rookie centre I had been searching for a chance at first grade in that Mecca of footy competitions; The Forum Sevens. As I surveyed the available teams, I was a little concerned that there was a lack of a big red vee. I had been a devout Saints fan since I was twelve, and from that time had harboured a strong desire to don the famous jersey. I had almost completely given up hope, when the Newtown Bluebags picked me up. I may have not being wearing the red vee I had craved for so long, but here I was being selected from the flotsam and jetsam of Forum Sevens hopefuls to represent the defending premiers!

There are many fond memories of exploits both on and off the field with the mighty ‘Bags. I felt part of a very tight unit, a team who would bleed for each other and weren’t afraid to do the dirty work and hard yards. Singing the victory song in the hot tub after a hard fought victory was especially good:

Newtown is coming,
Hear the Bluebags humming,
Newtown - Newtown
Newtown is flying - there'll be no denying
Newtown - Newtown


My debut season with the Bluebags was a baptism of fire. I played six out of eleven matches (Missing some due to suspension. I didn’t mean to decapitate that winger, though. Honest!), and I was particularly crushed when we missed the finals by a solitary point. I made myself a promise that we were going to regain our rightful place as champions the following season.

The Bluebags came agonisingly close to lifting the trophy in 2006, going down valiantly to a rampaging Eels outfit in the big one. Having torn my ACL in round 7 I missed that epic encounter, and had noticed by this time that the hot tub sessions were not quite as jovial as they had been previously. The guys seemed to be a little distant, as if the horrific knee injury I had sustained had somehow given me a case of a highly contagious social disease as well. I put it down to the painkillers I was on giving me some sort of psychological delusion, and told myself that 2007 was going to be our year.

2007 was indeed our year, but alas I made my comeback in round four against the Panthers only to sustain a season ending neck injury! Newtown went on to win the premiership, but for me it was a somewhat hollow victory. New talent had swept into the Bluebags camp. Talent such as Polar Bob, a former Warrior who exhibited a sublime sidestep, and heavy hitter Everlovin’ Antichrist, a former Lion who delighted in rending asunder opposition defensive lines. I came to the realisation that perhaps I was surplus to the club’s requirements. I was in a dark place.

Roll on to 2008, and I couldn’t believe my luck! The mighty red v which I had idolised all those years had been re-admitted to the competition, and I was finally going to get a shot at donning the most magnificent playing strip ever. I saw an opportunity to impart some of the knowledge I had gained with Newtown, and also a chance to emulate (to a certain degree, anyway) one of my all time idols, Johnny “Chook” Raper. It was an offer simply too good to refuse.

I sit here now in the sheds about to run out and face my old team mates. It will be a torrid match, but I stand to clear my name. And I am going to show the F7’s world that “Big D” is here to stay. Bring ‘em on!

747 words.

 

[Willow]

 

[Willow]

Well done both teams. Great 5v5 effort.

 

[_Johnsy]

Great game, thanks Bluebags, and thanks to those mighty Red V's. This game more than met the anticipated hype.

Top effort.

PS Worst effort from the bench ever Dave.

 

[Drew-Sta]

Big D, I'm disgusted that you didn't have a better swipe at me, you traitor!

:lol:

All in jest, well done Saints! This was a game I've been looking forward to all year.

 

[Black Kitty]

Good Luck all... may the best (bluest) team win

 

[DragonPunk]

Good luck all but go the Dragons.

 

[Dragon_psa]

Big D, I'm disgusted that you didn't have a better swipe at me, you traitor!

:lol:

I thought about it, but a) I only had 750 words to work with, and b) I didn't want to traumatise you too much. I'm not a TOTAL bastard ;-)

Good luck all, and go Saints!