2011 ROUND 2: Dragons -V- Rabbitohs

[Jesbass]

St George Dragons -V- South Sydney Rabbitohs
​

-V-

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

Naming Teams:
* 5 -V- 5 (+ 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://forumsevens.com.au/rules.php
Official Word Counter: http://forumsevens.com.au/wordcount.php

Kick Off: Sunday 27th March 2011 (2100AEST)
Full Time: Wednesday 6th April 2011 (2100AEST)
Referee: Titanic
Venue: WIN Jubilee Stadium

 

[dubopov]

The Dragons line-up for their first home game of the season is -

Dubopov (c)
Murphyscreek (vc)
St Linnane
Dragonzrule
Hornbyslilhottie

reserves

Jason Maher
Dragon Punk
Dragon PSA

 

[murphyscreek]

murphyscreek for the Dragons, slightly taken aback by the photo above of a soccer match being played on holy Rugby League turf!

742 words according to my word processor, so hopefully passes muster with the OWC (I can't get it to work). Edit: OWC now working and says 744 words.

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

So Long...And Thanks For All The Bling

Maybe bling isn’t the correct term.

I’m not really sure that there is a collective term to describe the trophies and shields that are currently crowded into the St George Illawarra display cases. An ANZAC Day trophy, a Charity Shield, a J J Giltinan Shield, a World Club Challenge trophy, and...ummm...was there something else? Oh yeah – a Winfield Cup (or whatever it’s called now).

Wayne Bennett may be departing the Dragons, but he will take his place in the Club’s history as one of the all time greats. And when talking of a Club with as rich a history as St George, the term “great” shouldn’t be used lightly. But when a group of fans have been waiting thirty-one years for their team to prevail, it’s hard not to bestow the highest accolades upon the man that delivered for them. Many of those fans had been waiting a lifetime. And for the older ones, it’s just seemed like a lifetime.

He came to the Club just a little over two years ago. But due to the magnitude and dramatic change of the way the Dragons now play the game, it seems like an age. Wayne Bennett made it clear that he would stay with the Club “until the job’s done” (or words to that effect), and now having attained the Premiership, it would be hard to argue that the job wasn’t done. It’s a shame for the Dragons, but their loss is someone else’s (Broncos? Knights?) gain.

He will take to that club his three simple sounding principles that he once stated in an interview haven’t changed in all the years he has coached. Those three things that a team must have to excel are;

1) Trust in the team. Each player must believe in his team-mate.
2) Ball control.
3) Good defence.

Prior to Bennett’s arrival the Dragons had the nucleus of a good team in terms of talent. But even the most ardent fan would have to concede the playing group were deficient in all three of those areas. In a very short time Bennett has turned the squad into a tight knit unit, that wears opponents down with disciplined ball control and unyielding defence. Some critics like to call this style of play “boring”. I’ve heard it asked (it may have been Bennett himself) - “Since when has winning become boring?”

Of course, it’s one thing identifying what needs to be done to form a winning culture. It’s another thing to do it. It all comes natural for Wayne, and that’s what makes him great.

The seventeen players sat in a semi-circle, the dressing room as quiet as a church as they waited for the coach to speak. It was a comfortable silence, as the mere presence of the great man was enough to fill them with confidence. That confidence had grown as the coach had nurtured and mentored his charges to get them to this point, the Grand Final. He had developed a special relationship with each and every one of them.

And then he spoke. The words flowed freely in a tone that was by now familiar, but of which they never tired. He spoke of the hard work they had done, and of what they were about to achieve. Of not letting your mates down, or yourself. He spoke of history and destiny, and of just enjoying the moment. For ten minutes straight the seventeen players hung off his every word and it wasn’t just the words he used, but the way he spoke. Like a father who grabs the car keys and tosses them to his teenage boy for the very first time saying;

“Here you go son. I trust you.”

Lastly he spoke of the ultimate prize that lay ahead of them if they put their entire heart and soul into the next eighty minutes. And their bodies. That prize was no longer some esoteric and imaginary object. The boys could see it, touch it and hold it, thanks to the coach. And as they ran down the race and onto the playing arena to the deafening roar of the crowd, not one of the seventeen had the slightest doubt that they would prevail. They were going to win back to back Premierships.

So Mr Bennett, we thank you and salute you. And wish you all the best for the future. Well, maybe not all the best.

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

 

[St. Linnane]

St. Linnane, returns to the position of second hit up after Murphyscreek had done the hard work and bent the Rabbitohs line backwards.....

750 words OWC

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A wee little problem

I normally like to write anecdotes from my footy observations. I’m not a creative person; nor do I have much time for current affairs or media speculation. This week however, well I’m a little p!ssed, figuratively at least.

See I’m a red blooded Australian male. Now there have been times when I have not been able to locate appropriate bathroom facilities, and as a result I have located a tree, a bush, or a quiet alleyway. Doing so was much better than the alternative. Somewhat luckily, during my adventures I have never come across a copper. Now I don’t condone my behaviour; but placed in the same situation again, I will repeat it.

Earlier this week two rugby league players found themselves in my situation. Being rugby league players a shop front was the chosen location. Unfortunately for the two, the police witnessed the event. These two players found themselves fined a week’s wage and stood down from their next match. Their names were splashed all over the news. There is no doubt some legal proceedings that both will have to attend to. What most reports don’t say is that another seven people were also caught, but we don’t know the names or employment status of these seven. I point out that I do not condone the actions of any of the nine.

This week the team for whom the players play takes on probably its staunchest rival. Regardless of where the teams are placed on the ladder the clash is a fierce and brutal encounter. Now one team is without two of its key players. I wonder if the other seven people have been stood down from a project they are working on; perhaps banned from taking calls in a call centre; maybe forced onto the fry cooker as opposed to cooking hamburgers. In fact, do you think their bosses even know about their little indiscretion? I doubt it.

There is a lot of crime that goes unreported in Australia. Crime that actually hurts people. Yet because we have two NRL ‘stars’ involved, the media feel the need to report on it. Paul Kent, a News Limited journalist summed up the reporting aspect well during Triple M’s Footy Fan Forum when he said “we write it because people want to read it, and it sells papers. I mean look at society today, what is Paris Hilton actually famous for other than being famous?”

It is a novel concept, the media writing stuff that people want to read about. Whatever happened to journalism and writing the news, not making it. Anyway, it got me thinking. The NRL competition this year is far too close to have players stood down from work for things that other people’s employers don’t know anything about. Currently there are 8 teams with a 50% win/loss record. Every competition point is vital. Every game point is vital because, come September, you just know that eighth spot is going to be determined by for and against. What if the team these players play for loses this week, and misses the eight by either two points; or by the margin of the loss? How is that fair on the club, the coach, the other 20-odd players who have slogged it out since 1 November in search of the holy grail, the premiership cup?

As a result of my thinking I have decided to make the following declaration, and I encourage each of you to do the same.

I, St. Linnane, a staunch rugby league supporter, hereby solemnly declare that:

· I will no longer read any publication that relies on gossip for subscriptions or sales;
· I will not watch television shows which focus on gossip, or the fortunes of others for whom I do not know personally;
· I will avoid conversations in relation to gossip;
· I will only discuss information for which there is a factual basis;
· I will not take an interest in events of people’s personal lives that I do not know personally.

I make this declaration in the name of Dally Messenger, the reason for why we are watching league as opposed to union.

Now I know that this is going to be tough. It appears that I need to close my Twitter account, my Facebook account, hell it even looks like this may be my last post on League Unlimited. Society really is to blame!

But one man can’t do it all on his own. So who’s with me?

----------

 

[hornbyslilhottie24]

Hornbyslilhottie24 runs reluctantly on to the field afer asking for the week off due to a niggling injury

731 words

Living The Dream

For as long as he could remember, all Johnny wanted to do was to play footy. It was in his blood – his grandfather and uncle had both been First Graders and he was hopeful of following in their footsteps.

Since he was a little kid he would go to watch his favourite team, the Dragons. He and his Father travelled everywhere to go to the matches, rarely missing a game. That is, until the week after his seventh birthday when he was diagnosed with a congenital heart disorder and given less than five years to live.

From time to time he had to undergo extensive treatment at St George Hospital and it was here that he met two of his heroes - Ben Hornby and Michael Weyman who were visiting on behalf of a Dragon's charity initiative. Johnny took a shine to Weyman in particular and was dubbed "Little Horse" in an article in the Red V magazine.

As a result, a lot of the fans and indeed, most players knew "Little Horse" and would always acknowledge him at fan days, training sessions and matches. Johnny knew he was different. He knew people were thinking that when he led the team on to the field on a few lucky occasions. But he didn’t care. He was there to love and support his team. Little did he know that he would soon achieve his dream.

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon at Jubilee Oval. Johnny’s beloved Dragons were playing in a pre-season Charity Fundraiser against the Cronulla Sharks. Unlike most of his fellow fans, Johnny did not despise the Sharks. In fact, he did not dislike any rival team. Although he followed his Saints with all his heart, he always cheered on the opposition when they scored a try or made a good play. That was the sort of kid he was.

It was an easy game. At half time the Dragons were up 30-6 and a win looked imminent.

“Do you reckon we can get to fifty, Dad ?” Johnny asked during the break.

.“What do you think?”

“I think we can score more than that.”

The second half started slowly and the Dragons let a few easy tries in when Wayne Bennett gave most of the extended bench a run. Johnny didn’t give up hope that his team would be victorious ..... he never did. He always had faith.

The Dragons increased their lead and with about ten minutes to go they were leading 48-22. All of a sudden, the referee blew the whistle and play was halted. There was no infringement. The crowd was silent.

“What happened?” Johnny questioned.

Almost instantaneously the ground announcer came on.
“And now the moment you've been waiting for, the lucky 18th Man prize. And the winner is LITTLE JOHNNY ROBERTSON !! Little Johnny Robertson, where are you?”

Everyone started buzzing.

“Is that me, Dad?”

“Do you think any other Dragons’ supporters have that name, Son?”

Captain Ben Hornby walked over to Johnny, accompanied by Trent Merrin. After a short spiel, he invited Johnny on to the field to have a kick with the boys.

“I, I, I’m not a Dragons player, I’m just a kid.”

“We know you can do it, Johnny. What do you say?”

The crowd broke into applause and Hornby held his hand out to Johnny. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Merrin gave Johnny a pair of boots and a jersey. “These are for you mate; you’re replacing me on the field. You can partner Big Horse in the front row. Go get em.”

Johnny couldn't believe what he was hearing. To play footy had always been his dream. But he was too sick to do so. But to play with the Dragons, in a real game, in front of a packed stadium? It didn’t feel real. But it was. He settled in quickly and made a run and helped tackle.

In the last play of the game. Ben Creagh played the ball to Nathan Fein, who passed it to Weyman. He went for a little run and threw a soft pass into Johnny’s arms. He paused for a while, realised what was happening and dived over the try line.

The crowd went wild. Many cried tears of joy. Even Beau Scott's eyes welled up.

Sadly, Johnny took a turn for the worst a fortnight after the memorable day. He passed away within weeks.

 

[Non Terminator]

Souths...

Griffo346
Non Terminator
Bubbles
Marshall_Magic
Monk

byrne_rovelli_fan82
Matt23

 

[Bubbles]

Bubbles on for Souths
_____________________

Singing the Blues

Ever since Martin Kennedy had a blinder against the Tigers, the Daily Telegraph has been on a single-minded mission to bring the Origin argument to the forefront of ‘cooler’ discussions and predictably, they’ve gone straight to the usual suspects for their quotes. Don’t get me wrong, I love the passion someone like Elias has for our game and the Blues in particular, however the last thing I want to see, three months out from Origin, is anyone from this State of mine having a sook about Queensland’s underhanded tactics.

I am so sick of the loser mentality that has pervaded New South Wales over the last five years. Despite the woeful results and the fact that we probably should be wearing the dunce cap while standing shame-facedly in the corner of the room, the last thing we need is to be pencilling in the excuses, the reasons behind yet another failed campaign and this, before the series has even kicked off!

Queensland has always enjoyed, shall we say, bending the rules to suit their own purposes. My personal favourite was when they ‘tweaked’ the system to allow Alfie Langer to return for Game Three of the 2001 series. I mean, Alf wasn’t even a registered NRL player at the time their cunning plan was conjured, but hey, as if that was ever going to stop Queensland from getting exactly what Queensland wanted.

So, why is it that the Sunshine State gets their way so often? Well, have you seen their eyes when they bellow their war cry – Queeeenslaaander! They’ve got the crazy eyes and I’m telling you, you don’t mess with the crazy eyes. There is something slightly psychotic about the hatred they feel for those wearing the sky blue and it comes through their every pore, every gesture and the truth is, this depth of feeling goes unreciprocated.

I used to think all this Queenslander passion was a myth created at the birth of the Origin concept; however I now know that it was always there, festering like a pus-filled bedsore, since colonial days. The Origin contest simply provided a lawful outlet in which to beat the living crap out of New South Welshmen and they grabbed this chance with eager, knuckle-dragging hands, gleeful smiles and a murderous glint in their eyes.

What changed my mind about this ‘myth’ was a stint that my husband and I put in living and working in Queensland. We moved up there with no real preconceptions about what it would be like, picturing long sunny days, friendly people and pleasant smiles all round. Instead we landed in a place whose nicknames include “Heroin Bay”, “Desperation Bay” and “Bogan Bay”. I knew we had made a bad move when, within the first two weeks of being there, I had been mistakenly identified as my son’s grandmother, the average age of a mother in that area being sixteen.

However, dodgy area aside, it was the disdain in which New South Wales and by extension, anyone from New South Wales was held by the general populace that surprised us. This is a State that seems to be suffering from small-man syndrome, the need to pump oneself up with menace and bite to compensate for one’s perceived shortfalls.

That stage in our life is now a distant memory, however, that’s not to say that the experience did not leave its mark. I tell you, I have renewed venom and hatred for the Queenslanders in the Origin context. I don’t just want to see them beaten. I want to see them humiliated, to have their smug smiles wiped from their faces in big, bone-crunching hits; I want to see them hurt and bleeding.

And this is the answer, of course. We need players who have the same blood lust in them when they take the field. Seriously, forget talent, finesse, reputation, the answer to the Blues problem is to pick the side based on hate-level alone.

Take the bunch of them, drop them in the middle of ‘Bogan Bay’ for a while and then send them directly out onto the field of battle. Given the fact that I’m pretty sure my own, personal, hatred would make me a better candidate than most we’ve seen donning the sky blue in recent years, then this should raise the current stock of players to the level of Goliaths. It is this, rather than the current loser mentality, that we need to knock these bloody Cane Toads off!
________________________
Word count: 749

 

[dubopov]

Dubopov carved up the brittle Souths defence ...


STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

In most respects, my mum's brother Patrick Day was a regular Aussie bloke: he loved his tucker, his beer and his footy. He was also a died-in-the-wool Communist.

'Paddy' worked on the wharves in the 1960s and the majority of his mates supported Newtown because they were born and bred there. Patrick decided to support St George after having a few beers with 'Poppa' Clay, ironically a former Newtown player.

Like most footy supporters during winter, 'Paddy' couldn't wait for the weekend to come so he could barrack for his team and vent his spleen at refs and opponents. He usually had a big Friday night on the turps before sobering up and heading to the footy on Saturday arvo.

One Friday night when winding his way through the bars in the City and the Cross he ran into a tall, bespectacled bloke dressed in a Nazi uniform handing out newspapers.

"Shove the paper up ya arse ya f**kin' piece of sh*t", Paddy bellowed when the Nazi rag was waved in front of him. He instantaneously burst into song as he kept walking ..

"So raise the scarlet standard high,
Within its shade we'll live and die,
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer,
We'll keep the red flag flying here."

The 'piece of sh*t' muttered something about Commo merkin before going about his business.

Co-incidentally, the two political antagonists met up at the SCG the next day, both gleefully watching their beloved Saints blitz the hapless Canterbury-Bankstown Berries 46-2.

Paddy's mate 'Poppa' scored a hat-trick which inspired an impromptu, beer-fueled chorus ...

"Oh 'Poppa' Clay, Oh 'Poppa' Clay
He killed the Ber-ries today."

And then with a few thousand others, including the Nazi whose name apparently was Skull ...

"Oh when the Saints, go marching in"... ad infinitum.

The two supporters regularly saw each other over the years but despite acknowledging each other with simple nods and headshakes they never spoke. There seemed to be a co-existence of mutual hate and mutual respect; and that, coupled with pride, made them unlikely to ever communicate.

That likelihood became even less remote when Skull was banned from attending games at the beloved Kogarah and Paddy didn't see him at the footy again for over a decade.

But, one Saturday arvo there he was, outside of Jubilee Oval standing on a milk-crate peering over the fence. Paddy nodded to him through the fence as he went to get a beer for himself and his 'ladyfriend' Desiree, before settling down on the hill.

Not long after the main game started, Paddy forgot that he was trying to impress a lady and bellowed to the Ref.

"Get that f**kin' El Masri onside Harrigant ya prick."

It seemed like Desiree was waiting for this moment. "You're a wanker El Masri", she wailed. Wailing which continued as an empty Bourbon flask crashed into her cheekbone.

"Get that inta ya, ya Skippy bitch", echoed some teenage Bulldog supporters.

Paddy was furious but his anger was quelled by Desiree.

"Don't worry luv", she squeaked, "I've had worse. Leave 'em be."

Paddy calmly focused on the game whilst simultaneously keeping an eye on the bottle thrower. Just before half-time, Paddy noticed Bourbon Boy making his way to the toilets.

"Wait here Dessy. Gotta water the horses", he instructed as he followed the assailant to the toilets and waited for the only other horse-waterer to leave.

Paddy quickly moved behind the Dog and knifed him before shoving him in a cubicle. He raced out, looked around and saw Skull still perched on his plastic pulpit outside the fence.

"Oi. Skull. Get in here. I need a hand."

"Not f**kin' likely mate."

"Quick. We need to get rid of a Bulldog."

Skull seemed to like the idea of 'getting rid' of someone and with the aid of a couple of mates, launched himself over the fence.

"In the dunnies".

Paddy led Skull to the cubicle and showed him the lifeless corpse.

"f**k .. you done him good." Skull opined.

"Yeah .. ex-Army. I can handle meself... Swap jerseys with him. I'm too big to fit into his."
'
Paddy planted the Dog's beanie on Skull's chrome dome and the two propped up the body like a hooker in a scrum and headed to the gate where a Security guard intercepted them.

"He's a bit pissed mate. We rang a cab, we just have to take him out."

"No worries fellas."

"Oh Paddy Day, Oh Paddy Day
You killed a Bull-dog today".

*********************************************************************************************************************
Acknowledgements...

1. "The Red Flag" - composed by Irishman Jim Connell in 1889 to the tune of German folk song "Oh Tannenbaum" ..
2. "Oh Poppa/Paddy" = composed by Pierre Dubopov in 2011 to the same tune
3. Saints March In - Traditional

 

[DRAGONZ_RULE]

With wonderful sleight of hand, Dubopov pops an offload up to DRAGONZ_RULE, who charges onto the ball, bursts through flimsy Rabbitohs defence and charges down the field ...

DRAGONZ_RULE draws the Souths fullback with a 747 word offering between the stars (OWC), and goes in to score what should be the match-winning try!!

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Anzac Day Madness

From the nadir of what is arguably a rugby league fan’s worst nightmare comes a tale of deep woe and despair. A tale of two people who should never have entertained the possibilities. A tale of two people who should have known better.

Welcome to that tale.

A tale otherwise known as The Story of my Life …

I think of myself as a proud Australian. I vehemently believe in downing meat pies, booing politicians at public events, honouring war veterans on specially designated remembrance days, and enjoying the intimate company of a partner when lying in bed late at night.

A while back – perhaps it was 2004? – I determined that I could combine all these Aussie-isms by doing something quintessentially Australian: namely, watching a game of footy on Anzac Day! I figured I could honour our fallen ancestors before kick-off, scoff down an overpriced meat pie at half-time, jeer the Presentation Party at full-time, and head home to show my girlfriend how much I ‘love’ her, thus truly fulfilling the Great Australian Dream.

“Where is this tale of despair,” you interject. “That sounds bloody awesome to me!”

I must admit: it did sound good. But here’s where it gets problematic:

I am a Dragons fan.

My girlfriend isn’t.

She supports another team. Not just any old team, though: she supports them.

The Roosters.

“No,” you exclaim. “Surely you jest!”

Alas, I jest not. I merely relay this tale to you in the hope that you may learn a valuable lesson …

Things started going downhill in 2008. Our first Anzac Day match together. To be fair, it went great for the most part. I stood through the Minute’s Silence, thinking of my late grandfather. I devoured my half-time pie; booed during the presentation. That night, though, my girlfriend shut up shop. Said she was ‘tired’ and ‘had a headache.’

The first sign of trouble. I was unhappy, but my love was too deep to give up.

It would get worse in 2009. Again, a mystery ‘headache’ prevented nocturnal frivolity; I was told in no uncertain terms that, should I wish to ‘get my rocks off’, I should watch replays of Jamie Soward ‘streaking’ downfield.

This time, however, daylight gambolling was also curbed – apparently booing the Prime Minister was ‘disrespectful’ and ‘downright despicable.’

The second, more serious, sign of trouble. I was angry, but still my love remained too deep to give up.

Unsurprisingly, the crisis deepened in 2010. Not only did I miss my midnight madness and pass-up ‘praising’ the presentation party, but I was also denied my half-time cuisine. This time I learned it would not be becoming of a Roosters supporter to be seen in public with a ‘gentleman dining on vile pabulum.’

The third, now deadly serious, sign of trouble. Many would now think (and quite rightfully, too!) that we had hit dire straits. Denying a red-blooded Aussie bloke a meat pie during half-time at the footy is tantamount to being un-Australian. Naturally, my partner’s behaviour on this most recent occasion had made me apoplectic.

But STILL my love was too deep to give up.

And now, dear friend, should this tale allow me to impart but one lesson upon you, let it be this:

I would, and in fact I will, gladly experience it all again in 2011. Even if it means no meat pie. Even if it means no post-match booing of David Gallop when that smug smirk of his is plastered across the big screen. Even if it means no night-time hanky-panky.

“But why,” you ponder. “Is this another one of those lame ‘true love’ stories?”

Well … yes, it is. If you hadn’t already figured it out by now, I’m afraid to say this has indeed been about love; I sincerely apologise if that verity disappoints you.

Mine is a profound, true and endlessly burning love.

Mine is a love that has me eagerly anticipating the impending attendance of both my girlfriend and I at the 2011 Anzac Day clash between the Dragons and Roosters.

After all, since 2008, when we first started going to the match together, the mighty Dragons – for whom my love will always be too great to ever give up on – have a perfect winning record!

Your writer’s girlfriend, a loyal Roosters fan, finished reading this tale earlier. She seemed to think I had chronicled a love for her, right up unto the last. Apparently, your writer won’t be getting any night-time hanky-panky tonight either …

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

 

[Jesbass]

Time's up!

 

[dubopov]

Thanks for the game Bubbles ...

Well done Dragons .. 5 good articles again !!

 

[Bubbles]

I'm going for the F7's first score of 450 to take out the game LOL!!! Congrats Dragons on five quality articles, as usual!!!

 

[DRAGONZ_RULE]

Bubbles, what happened to the team? Where did they all disappear to?

 

[Bubbles]

No idea mate; I tell you, it's a bit bloody intimidating running out onto the field to take on the Dragons only to find your team mates are still sitting in the sheds lol!!!

 

[St. Linnane]

Are you sure they even got on the bus Bubbles?

 

[Bubbles]

Haha, good point, St. Linnane, I thought it was a bit quiet when I was limbering up!!

 

[Non Terminator]

Apologises for everyone. I just couldn't see the point, but I'm not out of it yet.

 

[Titanic]

Crikey chaps ... my apologies, until the captain of the Dragons pointed this out in the another thread, I didn't know I was up. Back to you shortly.

Again apologies.

 

[St. Linnane]

A minute too late...

 

[Titanic]

I apologise to both teams and NT for my tardiness.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Dragons

So Long...And Thanks For All The Bling – Murphy’s Creek (744 OWC)
A fans balanced view focusing on the impact of Wayne Bennett’s arrival and imminent departure from the St. George club. Well presented. 87

A wee little problem – St. Linnane (750 OWC)
An impassioned plea for support to alter the media’s mindset in the face of the imbalance of news that sports stars attract. Liked the declaration. 88

Living The Dream – Hornbyslilhottie24 (734 OWC)
An endearing story featuring a fan, the often unsung efforts that players put-in to ease the lot of their disadvantaged fans and the inevitable tragedy that life imposes. Good effort. 87

Strange Bedfellows – Dubopov (751 OWC)
Rough justice indeed. This was a thought-invoking piece built around 20th Century passions and set to a backdrop of rugby league. 86 (2 points deducted for word count error)

Anzac Day Madness – Dragonz Rule (747 OWC)
You lost me to the perennial Saints/Roosters debate but won me back with the humility of humanity. I trust the sacrifice was worth it … she’ll forgive you, at least until the next time. 89

Souths

Singing the Blues – Bubbles (749 OWC)
State of Origin always manages to extract just that little more passion from each and every one of us. Bubbles has rekindled her hate of everything Queensland and taken aim at the Blues community in an effort to galvanise their next campaign. 88

Dragons 437 defeated Souths 88

POTM: Dragonz Rule 89 - well done.