2011 ROUND 2: Panthers -V- Titans

[Jesbass]

Penrith Panthers -V- Gold Coast Titans​

-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: Jesbass
Venue: CUA Stadium

 

[Titanic]

After making the long trek to Pantherland, punctuated by a surf at Lennox, a pie (or two) at Port Macquarie, a midi (or three) in Newcastle and a sausage sizzle under the stars in the CUA carpark, here come the Titans:

1. Amadean
2. Tittoolate
6. tits&tans
7. Titan Uranus
11. Titanic

Bench
8. bgdc
13. TITs ANonymous

 

[Big Mick]

Panthers run out on the field to take on the Titans:

1. Big Mick c
2. Madunit
3. Azkatro
4. Leaguenut
5. Goleel

RES:
6. Broncoman
7. The Piper
8. RayRoxon

 

[Titanic]

Substitution: Titan Uranus out, bgdc in - opposing captain and referee informed.

 

[Titanic]

Titanic for the Titans ... jogs on to the field, looks around and there's nobody there ... no wait there they are, they're all wearing sunglasses and I just couldn't recognise them (750 OWC between the dotted lines).
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​

Confidence and the anatomy

I blame this article on Wayne Bennett. The “supercoach” managed to extract a few hard-earned from my moth-inhabited wallet as I transited Sydney’s Mascot Airport recently.

No, he hadn’t finally caught up with me for my brazen sledging when I was a loudmouthed rookie and he stepped around me to score at Davies Park. I doubt he remembers my puerile taunts of “run at me KR, ten bucks I grass you”… the KR being in reference to a brand of bacon, popular at the time and Bennett being a policeman.

Definitely not that, in this case I had bought a copy of his musings Don’t die with the music in you from the airport bookstore, although I have lived with the guilt of ‘welching’ on that bet for the past forty years. I’ll leave any critique of his book to those better qualified but he did strike a chord with the quote: confidence is all between the ears – good and bad¹.

Our sport is tough, played by tough men with little room for social niceties. Yet, in every young players career there comes a defining moment when they must cross that great divide from naïve schoolboy to hardened adult.

For me that moment came while standing at a communal urinal in the changing rooms of the old Frank Burke Stand at Lang Park, minutes before my first grade debut.

We were to face the menacing Wynnum-Manly Seagulls, a team which boasted a pack of ferocious Neanderthals renowned for chewing-up opposition backs and spitting out their splintered bones.

Notice I said "standing," and not "peeing." That's because, for this, then socially awkward juvenile male, this is the thought process that accompanied me on that fateful trip to the urinal:

*Oh, good, there's no one else here. This'll be easy. In and out.

*I settled myself in front of a urinal.

*Suddenly the door crashed open, accompanied by the sounds of heavy metal tags grating on the concrete floor. I peeked sideways and was horrified to see the battered face of the doyen of Wynnum’s team, ex-Canterbury forward Neville “Horse” Hornery, whose claim to fame was not only his well-publicised on-field thuggery but rather the legend behind his nickname.

*I felt cold.

*I prayed that my soon to be combatant opted for a stall instead, because…

*Oh, crap, he didn't.

*Okay, this is fine. Stare straight ahead and just go. Just go. I really have to go, this shouldn't be a problem.

*He started peeing. In the otherwise silent room, his proud and confident stream did nothing but highlight the fact that I clearly wasn't peeing.

*He could hear. He could hear me not peeing. He knew.

*Don't think about that, just focus on peeing.

*"How’s it hangin’, mate?"

*How have guys who talk in the toilet not been shunned from society?!

*"N, nothing." I squeaked. Just peeing, that’s all.

*"Uh, yeah. How would you like this as a wart hanging off your eye?"

*This conversation should be illegal.

*"Yes, I mean, no, I mean… crikey?"

*"Freakin’ right, just like strangling a python," he guffawed, and continued to tease, because I was the only one in the world who didn't know how to talk back, pee and stand next to an outrageously disproportionate human at the same time… I was traumatised.

*I gathered the last vestiges of my self-esteem, shook away non-existent urine droplets, managed to mumble "good luck," and hurriedly made my exit. It was the toilet equivalent of faking an orgasm.

The only thing worse than not being able to pee in front of someone is knowing that they know. You know they're thinking about it, because there's very little else to do in public restrooms other than evaluate your surroundings. It's already weird, but to those lacking the confidence that experience brings, there's something extra bizarre about two opponents standing eight inches apart with their penises in their hands.

I am sure you’re all wondering how this turned out. With twenty minutes to go I got my call and as I stood deep ready to take it up, I heard a now familiar voice shout, “Look at that softc0ck, I think he’s going to piss himself.” I took a deep breath, raced straight at the green-red wall, called for the ball and… dropped it cold.

So Wayne, I am sure that you are firm in your belief, however, out in Brisbane’s western suburbs we believe that confidence is between the legs – big and small.
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¹ Don’t die with the music in you – Wayne Bennett (updated 2007, ABC Books), p.75 .
Pic. A young Nev Hornery in his Canterbury (Sydney) days.

 

[Goleel]

Gol for the Panthers.

--

Three Prong



June 22nd, 2001. Round 17. In front of 23,097 fans Luke Burt scored a hat-trick as Parramatta destroyed Newcastle 40-0. On that night I fell in love with the long haired surfie winger, who last weekend broke the all time record for tries scored by an Eel.

It was in the debaucherous days of the Parramatta North Hill, where some school friends and I staked a claim on a small piece of grass between a young family and some old women in those pesky short chairs that took up too much precious hill space. We had just turned 18 and drinking at the football (legally) was a brand new thing for us, so by the time Burty crossed for his third, we were in a pretty merry mood. After the standard celebration of an Eels try, a massive 'stacks on', usually with me, the biggest of the guys, stuck at the bottom, one particularly 'merry' friend in our group yelled his appreciation to Luke Burt in a way that I can't repeat in this family format but resulted in Burt being nicknamed 'Three Prong' by our group to this very day.
Being the shy type, at least around people of fame, I had never met one of my favourite Eels until a chance encounter a couple of years ago, around a poker table of all things. I was sat between Burty and an 'in town for a night' Brad Drew, who was unusually insistent about how nice a girl his sister was. We struck up conversation with Burty after my friend put a particularly 'bad beat' on Mark Riddell with the 6-9 of spades, which Burty remarked was his 'favourite poker hand'.

Being in a merry mood, I professed to Burty that I had loved him ever since that day back in 2001. He remembered it fondly, one of his career highlights (it was his first of three hat-tricks in the Blue and Gold) and particularly because he had a strong dislike for Newcastle. I refrained from mentioning to him the nickname and its origins, but did enjoy his company for a few hours as we gushed about how much we loved him, and he shared with us some of his fondest memories playing for the Eels. What was clearest from our night with Luke Burt was that he is a top bloke, something that his teammates will regularly attest to whenever they are asked about Burty, usually as he quietly reaches another pointscoring milestone.

From his debut as 17 year old with long blonde hair, playing in the opening game of Stadium Australia in front of over 100,000 fans, you knew Luke Burt was special. Sure, he hasn't played for his state or his country, but as a one club man he has earned the respect of Eels fans and looks like he will break just about every point scoring record we have. Over 224 first grade games he has developed from a speedy winger with questionable defence to a reliable positional player who is always where he needs to be and one of the best support players out there. He's a clutch goalkicker who you never expect to miss, and it was fitting that he slotted a game winning conversion from the sideline after scoring the try that broke Brett Kenny's Eels record.

It is the little things that I remember most about Luke Burt. Chiming into the halves to boot a crucial 40/20, chasing down a long kick then stripping Jarrod Sammut of the ball in goal to score in 2009, defusing countless bombs and always being there to score those 'wingers tries' as he dives into the corner. While he has a few more years left in him, when he does eventually retire it will hurt just as much as when Nathan Cayless went last year.

Parramatta haven't always treated their juniors and their one club men as well as they should have. There is a lot of bitterness from our heroes and legends of the 1980's, and I hope those are mistakes the club has learned from, because I couldn't bear it if they didn't keep Burty around in some way. Luke Burt has been a major part of my life as an Eels fan, one of my favourite players, and one of the nicest guys in rugby league. He may never go down as a legend of rugby league, but he damn sure is a legend of Parramatta.

---

749 by the official counter.

 

[bgdc]

bgdc for the Titans - taking it up the middle, hard and straight in pink (749 bloody officially including banner)

*****

Upset, upset … too bloody right.

Now that the real rugby league season is under way, I can come out from under my rock and throw a few stones myself.

Yes, that right you troglodytes, it’s me, Bobby “Bloody” Fulltime - ready, willing and too bloody able to stick it to just about anybody who thinks they have the mortgage on sports psychiatry. Take my old patient “Pus Guts” Gold as a living example.

Yeah, yeah, I know there are probably better deceased examples, case in point, the forgotten BeeGee and Mrs. Gibb’s son Jack, the legendary super-coach. Smackwater “Jack” Gibbsboy will always be held in the highest esteem by those of our profession for his contributions to understanding the inner working of a rugby league players mind and his dictionary of League Speak. It brings tears to my aging eyes when I think of old Gibberer, his big hairy coat and those pearls of wisdom “There is nothing in the contract that says a football coach has to be sane or a good loser.” So true, master, so true.

Back to Mr. Gold who now makes a very tidy living handing out free advice, unless you have the idiot box on mute, weekend in weekend out. His tirades of drivel as he debates everything mundane with his partner in silliness Ray “Hares” Burrow. You would think in the frenetic pace of today’s modern game that there wouldn’t be time for “no, no, no, no, no” let alone “gee, Hares, don’t you think that little Toddy Carnivore should ink his other arm? He looks rather unbalanced?”

Of course, back in my day at the Manfully Club we would never have let such a buffoon even through the gates. When Pus Guts was strutting his stuff for the Blue Mountain Pussies in the second row – second row of the grandstand some may recall, I was dazzling everybody who could afford to watch me with my virtuoso style, boyishly tussled hair and cute pug nose.

And if that wasn’t enough, what about the living dead? Oh Moose, where art thou, mine Moose? For those of you who may have tuned into the greatest game of all late, this is a reference to one of the most cantankerous critters ever to grace my couch. Ah the memories, my vacuous ex-wife always panted to be the Moose when we were having our little role plays after a few medicinal Tequilas. I can still hear her whispering throatily, "I've got nothing against men's genitals, I just don't want them shoved down my throat". Enough of Rex Mousetrap, I’m getting all "genitimental" - oops, a minor Freudian slip.

Yes, yes, yes, its football season again. The smell of liniment, sweat soaked, skid-marked designer underwear, Bvlgari Aqva and I’m bloody upset. I know that as a renowned shrink I should have more control but there is a limit to what any human mind can endure. After years of sorting out young and old players delusional disorders, putting their lives back into perspective with profoundly sound advice whilst personally weathering an invidious divorce – it’s all come down to this – rejection.

It’s true that I was shortlisted for GARLIC (Great Australian Rugby League Independent Commission) and that recently I had my huge coming-out celebration. You’ll remember, it was on the front page of all the papers, ex-Rugby League champion and nice person (Psychiatrists of Origin Fame) comes out of hospital after having surgery to remove a saucepan from his scone. My disappointment is tantamount to Benny the Mediterranean Descendant’s when he put a drop kick into the woodwork for the Balmain Bugs in their grand final loss to the National Capital Lower Cases.

What, you may ask, has driven me to put pen to beer coaster? The shame, the gut wrenching feeling of loss - the loss of focus and motivation – the withdrawal of my gonads to the nether regions never interrupted since they were last parted while I was still in short pants – uh? I am still in short pants? Shut up, you know what I mean.

Yes Fulltime fans, I’m sad to inform you that the rumour is true. Leagueunlimited’s big shots have decided to can my Agony Aunt column. No more will you be able to read my dulcet meanderings through the portals of players’ psyches or thrill to my wit and repartee as I solve the salacious cravings of the misguided.

I bid you adieu and wish you all a better 2011 than Hijack Ivanovich.

*****

 

[madunit]

madunit for the Panthers

Welcome to the #FutureOfNRL

Social media has exploded globally. More and more people use their fingers to communicate than their mouths. It’s a sad yet true state of affairs and it is completely unavoidable.

Furthermore, it’s only going to get more extreme.

With the advancements in social media, so to have there been advancements in televisual technology. 3D televisions and telecasts, big screen TV’s, tiny little cameras and microphones that can be attached to players and referees with minimal intrusion to their natural play.

And as these advancements continue and hurtle on an awkward yet obvious path into one another, it won’t be long until the modern day commentator is dead and is replaced by a computer with a personality.

We won’t hear commentators on the TV; we’ll just see their tweets, facebook status updates or text messages at the bottom of the screen.

The TV won’t emit any sound at all. After years of not talking anymore to communicate, the ears of civilized human races will eventually evolve and disappear. We’ll probably grow extra arms where our ears used to be, lessening the distance the signals from the brain to the fingers have to travel when a tweet or sms is to be made.

Rugby League will have video cameras on every player, a small chip inserted in every players brain, allowing them to tweet without typing and to see what their followers have tweeted without taking their eyes off the game.

The ‘commentary’ will go straight to the players so that we can all see exactly what they’re thinking.

@NRLCommentary Hello everyone n welcome 2 tonite’s match between @Wests_Tigers n the @SSFCRabbitohs
@shaynehayne ready boys, let’s go *whistle*
@NRLCommentary Solid strt by the Tigers, Farah moving 2 dummy half
@robbiefarah going to dummy right and pass left to Benji
@NRLCommentary Farah’s pass hits Benji on the chest; he steps through the defence n runs 90m to score
@shaynehayne might have to talk with Bill in the video ref box here
@HollywoodHarrigan looks good to me, let’s slow it down, zoom in, edit some pixels & see if we can disallow this try
@brycegibbss what’s going on Hayne? #ecoslabs
@shaynehayne Bill is seeing if we can disallow the try
@HollywoodHarrigan sorry Shayne, the try is good.

Shayne Hayne has given Benji Marshall a gift

Benji Marshall has changed his relationship status with Robbie Farah from ‘It’s complicated” to “Friends”

@NRLCommentary Marshall scores under the posts. Its 4-0 KTC
@russellcrowe #$!@ *&$! *%#@

Russell Crowe and Nokia are now no longer friends

@NRLCommentator Marshall converts his try. Sideline cmmt from Freddie
@adolFITTLER yeah I think today the team who scores the most pts will have a gud chance of #winning
@charliesheen #TIGERBLOOD! #winning
@NRLCommentary WT up 6-0. Bbs after this ad-break
@Toyota check out our new Rav4. O wot a feelin
@AAMIinsurance pls visit our site to c if we can save u $$$

Liam Fulton likes “The hot chick from the AAMi Insurance ads”

@NRLCommentary wb and the @Wests_Tigers are bringing the ball back
@brycegibbss my turn to make us some metres
@ASOTAS1 I’m gonna smash Gibbs
@NRLCommentary OH! Asotasi has hit Gibbs slightly high and it’s on

Bryce Gibbs and Roy Asotasi are now no longer friends

#SendAsotasiOff is now trending in Sydney

@shaynehayne looks like the ppl have spoken @HollywoodHarrigan. Shall I send him off?
@HollywoodHarrigan yeah mate. Careless and high. March him. #byebyeRoy
@NRLCommentary and Asotasi has been sent off by ref Hayne
#byebyeRoy is now trending in Sydney
@russellcrowe #$!@ *&$! *%#@

Russell Crowe and Sony Ericsson are now no longer friends.

@NRLCommentary Marshall takes a quick tap, steps, jinks, dummies…
@BenjiQMarshall hope to get a flick pass out to Lote
@LoteTuqiri sounds like I better get ready for a flick pass
@NRLCommentary Benji flicks a pass out the back to Tuqiri who is in open space & scores in corner
@LoteTuqiri too easy! Thanks Benji!

Benji Marshall has given Lote Tuqiri a gift

@russellcrowe #$!@ *&$! *%#@

Russell Crowe and Telstra are now no longer friends.

But no matter how much technology comes along, the game will still be awesome, it will be followed by hoardes of fans, mainly on Twitter and Facebook.

And with that as scary as this may look, some things won’t change.

People will still flock to Rugby League games
Russell Crowe mobile phone gags will never die.

madunit and Rugby League have updated their relationship to "Madly in love for eternity"

730 words incl Title according to OWC

 

[Azkatro]

Azkatro posting for the Panthers.

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The human side of player injuries

We are four rounds into the 2011 NRL season and it seems the injury rate is higher than ever.

Browsing through a list of current injuries paints a rather morbid picture. Chris Lawrence has suffered from a hip cartilage injury. Two of his teammates have already announced retirement as a result of injuries they can’t recover from. Over half a dozen players are currently going through the painstaking rehabilitation process of an anterior cruciate ligament injury in their knee, typically a season-ending setback.

It happens to so many players. Torn muscles, broken bones, dislocated joints, ruptured tendons, and not least of all concussions are just some of the problems they encounter.

One thing that does occur in some cases is the onset of compartment syndrome in lower limbs. In a nutshell, compartment syndrome is an increase in pressure in the muscle compartment. It can occur as a result of a serious injury (acute) or over a long period of wear and tear (chronic). Serious fractures are sometimes the cause of acute compartment syndrome. It is a serious condition as it can result in a loss of blood flow through the muscle compartment which, in turn, can lead to muscle death. In acute cases a fasciotomy is often required to relieve the build-up of pressure.

I’ve been researching this particular type of injury recently. What I’ve found it that there are two common threads in the search results. One is that it is often the result of a sports-related injury, and the second is due to crush injuries – for example, victims of an earthquake getting trapped under heavy concrete.

The reason I’ve been researching it is that it happened to my 22-month old daughter. In her case, it was a mishap with a concrete bird bath. Needless to say it’s an unusual thing for your baby girl to cop an injury usually associated with professional athletes and earthquake victims.

It has made me ponder the severity of injuries we see in rugby league though. I’m not sure exactly how much this particular bird bath weighs, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was in the ballpark of an adult’s body weight. My daughter herself weighs about 12kg, so that kind of impact on her leg is pretty ferocious. What resulted was fractures to her fibia and tibula, as well as a torn calf muscle. If she was in your fantasy NRL team, you’d replace her, as she’s looking at a good three or more months out.

In adult male terms though, imagine the equivalent of a cement bird bath crushing the leg of a toddler? The injuries NRL players are suffering from are, in some cases, absolutely horrific. Yet they are so frequent nowadays that we have a pretty good feel for how long a particular affliction will keep a player out of action for. And let’s be honest, that’s all we really care about. How often do we stop to contemplate the individual who is working through the recovery process? I can tell you that I never do. When Brent Tate was injured in the Four Nations final last year, we all watched the harrowing vision of him breaking down at half time. Sure, I felt for the guy – clearly he was shattered. But I was annoyed that the Cowboys had invested in someone who they were only going to get half a season out of to start with.

Now I am so closely involved with such a severe leg injury, it’s made me stop to consider the emotional toll it takes on players. If you can’t go through it yourself, there is no better way to experience the ups and downs than watching your own child go through it. There are obvious difficulties, such as excruciating pain. But it’s the things you don’t anticipate that can be the hardest. Having to fast prior to surgery, only for the surgery to be delayed – sometimes by as long as 8 hours – is not something you see coming.

The lesson I’m learning is that it’s unfair on NRL players to be so nonchalant when they suffer a long term injury. As we sit and discuss their plight on web forums with remarks such as “he’s injury prone and a waste of money”, the player in question may well be suffering from major physical and emotional stress. It’s one of those “Captain Obvious” remarks but still something we as fans forget all too easily.

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747 words. Liftoff!

 

[Amadean]

[FONT=&quot]After a serious hangover, Amadean does his gourd-darn best to hit up 748 words for the Titans[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot]Koteka uniforms[/FONT]


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[This is an unedited segment from the upcoming travel memoir ‘High Times in the Highlands’, by Dicky Titanic. Many Forum 7s players know of Dicky’s brilliance on the field and strong ties to the Papuan Highlands. This special pre-publication release should throw a little light on how these ties came about –how this legend of the game learned the brilliance he displays on the paddock.

What lies under our Captain’s heroic helmet? In the spirit of respect and remembrance, I offer you the following excerpt.....]

...across the valley the tribe’s buttocks glistened in the morning light, and if there’s a better way to wake up then I can’t imagine it. I could’ve lain under that Dani hut, safe thatched with Pandan leaves and a love of League forever, but you can’t win every trophy lying down. With a heartfelt sigh, I wiped the sleep from my eyes and Vaseline from my lips and headed out into the highland sunshine.

Shouts from the team told me I’d overslept a bit (oops!) and that we needed to get our arses into gear if we were going to get prepped and head off to the match. The game was being held in another valley, almost 50ks away, and it would take the best part of the day to get over there. Despite the snooze-in, I was smiling proudly. Being coach of a team who gets up and gets prepped whilst their coach sleeps off the night’s party is a good feeling. My boys – this Dani tribe’s finest warriors – were a dedicated bunch any coach would be proud of.

As I hunted for a mascara-mirror, I could see preparations for the match were getting well underway. Some of the young kids from the village were scraping resin from eucalypts to bind the warpaint, others were beating the team’s jumpers against rocks to dry them. Many of the women were winding grasses for ties or loading food into the big truck. All around the village were cheerful shouts and bustling activity; not one person was idle or even working slowly. After all, in the Highlands, League and war often come together.

Properly attired, I headed down to where my men had finished their warm-up war-dance practice and were getting kitted out. Now, I was always impressed with the final result, and watching my boys get tied and dressed never failed to stir something deep down inside, but it wasn’t ever a quick process. The daubing of paint, the weaving of grass leggings... even finding the right jumper seemed to take forever. But the biggest time-sink were always the kotekas. Bloody things took ages.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved everything about kotekas, and would never want to play with a team who didn’t wear them. I loved the way they look as the team lined up. I loved the way the men would shake them to threaten the opposition. I loved the way they’d stick out from between your legs – a sight to frighten any lesser man. Their feel, their protection, their history and cultural significance: I loved those penis gourds.

Down by the team, I grabbed a handful of grasses and began to plait them into a nice, tight rope that would hold the bouncing, jerking gourd throughout the match, whilst remaining neat and attractive. It isn’t an easy job, this plaiting. You need to keep a careful eye on the appendage you’re preparing it for: either too long or too short and the koteka will twist in the tackle and no-one will be pleased. You also need to make sure you’ve got the right thickness of plait for the particular gourd the warrior has selected: as with boxing, kotekas are selected by weight grade and not having strong enough support for your boy’s member is not to be thought of.

I called over captain Mangi – that stunningly talented fullback I mentioned before – and began to wind up the koteka whilst discussing bench strategies. He reckoned bringing the big boys on later when the opposition was knackered was the way to go, but I was so focused on smearing the right balance of ochre and ash across his member that I didn’t stand up for my preferred ‘hit em hard and fast’ strategy. It didn’t help that Mangi was also sorting out the hollow log drums, bouncing around a few inches from my face.

Eventually we got the kotekas tied, loaded the team on the truck and headed off across...

 

[Tittoolate]

Tittoolate proudly flops his manly piece out for the Titans - all 743 words of it

****

HOOOOAAAH: Gourding our loins

I’m proud to be from the Hua tribe in the New Guinea highlands (‘Fabled Northern Warrior&#8217, as we gave the world our battle cry: HOOOOAAAH. We live at peace with our environment, and our land is at peace with us. I think you fellas could learn something of this. We have beautiful women, fat happy children and are blessed with many pigs. And today I’m very proud because we take to the honoured battlefield of our fathers in the manly contest of Rugby League against the hated and reviled Kok-r-ooch (translated: Low-born Disease Carrier) tribe! HOOOOAAAH!

Surrounded by my painted, feathered and be-tusked teammates, I allow myself a moment of reverie before the whistle. League has been important to us since the time of the Great Battles when food and gifts rained from the sky! I know you fellas call this Cargo Cult, but how could we not believe with passion in The Gods who sent us a crate of four hundred pigskin footies? Great granddad didn’t know they were footies when he burst open the crate, but he knew they were pigskin and so of considerable value. A passing battalion of Aussies found time to share the laws of Rugby League with us and taught our men how to breathe life into the pigskin; to take the field of battle in teams of 13; to tackle without spearing the runner; to palm and sidestep without clubbing the tackler; and to pack a scrum that grinds the opponents into a rabble.

In the Hua people a man is not a man without his Koteka, and I have several from which I choose as the occasion befits. Next to the footy, our Kotekas are the most important bit of kit in our League dressing hut, and there are reasons for this. When the crate of footballs was discovered great-granddad and another wrestled over the first one out of the crate (as I said they knew good pigskin when they saw it!) The other fella, having hands full of football and great-granddad, lashed out with the only weapon he had left – and kicked my great-granddad right between the big toes! This would normally leave the opponent in a sad and moaning heap for many minutes, gasping for air while he held onto his squished manhood. Not so great-granddad! He was wearing his “hairs-rok” (translated: hell that’s huge) Koteka that day for which the other bloke’s toe was no match! The defensive value of Koteka became part of our footy lore and the lesson from the Gods was clear to all: winners wear their Koteka with pride to the footy.

Also the grass on the battlefield has fed on the blood of tribesmen battling for honour, pigs and women and has grown like tough, razor-sharp wire brushes over the years. My trusty Koteka protects even during the hardest of games. When one is sprinting down the touchline, dodging Kok-r-ooch and the occasional runaway piglet, one’s mind needs to be on planting the footy over the line; not on what damage the grass might do during the scoring dive.

Today I’m wearing a sentimental favourite, my bah-mytz-phaaar (translated: stop wriggling or I’ll cut too much off) Koteka. This one I call “dong-kee” which means tripod; a reference to the support needed while at rest. When I came of age and it was time for my manhood initiation my father and uncles took me out into the jungle to find my first Koteka. We found just the right plant, secured a handsome gourd and wow was it big! Dad said, “Don’t worry son. You’ll grow into it”. I was up all night polishing and shining the inside of the Koteka. Uncle Stumpy (some misfortune at his bah-mytz-phaaar) insisted that splinters and sharp ridges were to be avoided at all costs. My father was so proud and really I must say the girls in the village were pretty impressed when I swaggered in the next day proudly wearing dong-kee as a new man.

My mind zooms back to the game now. I imagine the look of fear of my opposite number when he sees dong-kee in all its glory! I check my face paint, my feathers, and my pig-tusk arm bands. I check dong-kee’s strapping. All ready! I gaze about the team – inspiring! Now for the war dance! How we will waive and shake our Koteka! We are ready to go squish some Kok-r-ooch!

 

[tits&tans]

tits&tans for the Titans with a corker ...

749 words (OWC) below the stars ..

***************
One Track Mind

I’ve always been ahead of my years; some would even say I matured at an early age. I remember at the tender age of eight being fascinated by those pumping muscled limbs on TV, those intertwining bodies and those drops of sweat flying everywhere. Even at that age I could understand why these shows were aired late in the evening – I remember staring fixated at the moving images, in awe of how the human body could do those things and eager to try myself.

A few years later I was caught with a stash of “improper magazines for a kid my age” (according to my father) hidden in my wardrobe. I had no idea there was any reason not to own such magazines and I remain convinced to this day that such an interest is both healthy and normal for boys of that age. The guy who sold them to me seemed to have no issue with it. A clip around the head and being sent to my without dinner didn’t really have an effect on me, except for improving my ability to hide such “offensive” objects.

At school the boys’ locker room was located next to the girls’ room and I got a thrill every time PE lessons began. The older boys practiced on the field directly next to us, and the school girl’s netball team practiced on the other side. Oh, to be so close to such physical activity, such excitement, such promise! It made me ache with anticipation – I wanted it so much.

I vividly remember my first time. I was only 12 years old, but as I said I was mature for my age – I even had a little facial hair (personally, I think that’s partially why I was chosen). After weeks of begging and pleading, of promises and lies, I was allowed to progress to the “next level”. Until now, we had just been playing around; nothing serious, just fun in the park. But now, I was given the chance to show my worth and to prove I was just as good as all the guys who had gone before. What an experience! It was 25 minutes of the sweatiest, most intense, most physically demanding activity I had ever done in my short life. We played rough and I felt battered and bruised afterwards but infused with a glow that spread throughout my body and soul. So this is what it is like to be a man!

Over the years, I tried many things but have always come back to this when I felt down. Whenever things didn’t go as planned, or whenever I needed to burn of some nervous energy, I always found solace and comfort here. It didn’t matter who with or where, the pure physical activity always helped. The climactic high of scoring always picked my spirits up and helped me deal with whatever I was going through.
I thought perhaps adulthood would quell my obsession, but it simply opened more doors than I thought existed. Now I could try out international flavours and historical variations. I had fun with Indians, Americans, Chinese, Japanese, Kiwis, Africans and Mexicans, to name but a few, and one thing I have learned is that the rules really are different when rolling around in different fields. So different, in fact, that you can end up slipping all over the place and really hitting the wrong spots.

When I came to China, I thought that perhaps my passion would be doused slightly, mostly due to the lack of opportunity to partake. I thought it was a healthy move for me, as my body was beginning to show signs of use and really wasn’t lasting as long as I used to when I was a youth. However, amongst locals there is a healthy and growing interest and before long my passion was reignited. The Chinese have shown themselves to be very resourceful and surprisingly inventive when it comes to playing with balls and constructing posts.

Even after marriage, family and career I still can’t look anywhere, think about anything, read anything without my mind wandering back to my favourite pastime. Just this morning, in the car as I took my son to the local primary school, I heard him ask, “Mummy, when I’m older I want to play with balls and run with men. Just like daddy.” I think I’ll soon give him the magazines my father denied me, starting with Rugby League Week.

 

[LeagueNut]

LeagueNut - Panthers

Shaun M

It certainly wasn’t your standard NRL debut.

He didn’t know until the day before that he was going to be a late inclusion in the team – and starting, no less. He hardly slept a wink that night as the butterflies set in.

In a strange way he always knew this day would come – even when it looked to be the distant dream of a delusional teenager – but that didn’t mean he was ready for it.

He could play, there was no doubt about that. His ability had made him stand out at a young age and he was finally ready to start delivering on that promise.

But before he could take the field, he needed to get his head into the right space.

He knew there would be some negative reactions to his rise into the top grade. He’d heard all the taunts before – you don’t deserve it, you should be locked up, you’re f**ked in the head – and he’d gradually been working on shutting them out.

Shaun, you see, had done a bad thing when he was younger.

He was immature, confused and easily led astray. He committed an act that seems unspeakably vile to most level-headed adults.

He was hauled before the courts and given a custodial sentence.

It wasn’t easy. Some may think he didn’t get enough “justice” served to him by the courts, but he certainly got his fair share inside.

He served his time and emerged at the other side, ready to give the next stage of his life the best shot he could.

And now, after several years of solid effort, he was standing poised on the edge of his NRL first grade debut.

……

The match itself was almost a total blur. Debutants always say the speed of the game surprises them, and this case was no exception. His first touch was a juggle followed by a swift shoulder to the chest, and his second touch wasn’t much better.

He was able to get a few good tackles in on his opposite number, which really pumped him up. At one stage he found himself smack bang in the middle of a sweeping backline play that put his winger into a huge gap, and as he backed up on the inside he nearly allowed himself a tiny smile.

His dream was coming true.

But even though he was doing his best, he couldn’t escape the taunts.

“You’re a f**king murderer!”

“Drop it ya scumbag!”

“How would you like it aye? How would you like it if I did that to you?”

Then there were the flashbacks.

It was difficult to stay focused on the calls from his halfback when he began hearing that familiar cry of terror.

He found it hard to take in the halftime instructions from the coach when he suddenly picked up the whiff of prison showers.

The second half wasn’t any easier.

“You think you’re a big man aye? Yeah, you’re a really big man aye?”

“You gutless prick – I hope you rot in hell!”

This was never about redemption – this was about proving to himself that the second chance he had dreamed of for so long could actually be within his reach.

The highlight of his debut came midway through the second half when the opposition winger made a break up the touchline – he chased as if his life depended on it and made a sweeping tackle that put his opponent into touch.

“You’re still a wanker you know!”
……

He walked from the field with his head slightly bowed. The voices seemed a little quieter now, easier to ignore. He’d earned this chance and proven, however slightly, that he could make the most of it.

He didn’t know why, but he suddenly lifted his head to glance skywards.

As he returned his gaze to the ground, he took a quick glance at the grandstand. There was still a decent crowd around so he began to scan across the faces. A few were looking away or talking to each other. Some were looking at him. Most were applauding the rest of the team as they headed for the changing rooms.

But every single one of them was completely silent – as they had been for the whole match.

“I’ll get to you lot later” he thought to himself. He was impressed enough that he’d been able to block them out while he was on the field.

His biggest demons were still inside.


742 words in the official counter.

 

[Big Mick]

Big Mick takes a hit up for the Panthers:

​

Private Party
​

Private ownership of sporting organisations is nothing new around the world today. It has resulted in increased corporate support, success on and off the chosen field and financial stability with the respective teams. While entrepreneurs have raised the stakes of clubs; their control means the average supporter can't have a say in the running of their team or the organisation that controls it. This phenomenon, however, is only new to the Australian sporting landscape.

Last week the Newcastle Knights members gave a 97% vote in favour of mining magnate Nathan Tinkler to take over the club, offering financial security for at least the next decade. This purchase has again sparked debate as to whether sport in Australia is losing its community feel and identity. But what structural model provides both community feel and financial security?

The existing NRL model is one that is struggling. The majority of clubs are run by Leagues clubs relying on revenue grants from the government by preying on addicted gamblers. Prior to 2005 this model was successful due to the financial stability of large leagues clubs. However, after the Pokie Tax was introduced, the revenue of the clubs suffered and subsequently, so did the Rugby League clubs that relied on their grants.

A report earlier this week suggested the Penrith Panthers NRL club is in financial strife following the Leagues Club trouble in generating losses. However exaggerated by publications, multiple NRL clubs will now be under even more pressure following Federal laws that are to be introduced to curb problem gambling. As such, clubs need to find alternative revenue streams, hence the strong push for memberships never before seen in the NRL.

The structure of the NRL, on the most part, ensures the faithful fans keep ownership of the game they love. Their passion isn't beholden to one person. Most International teams are privately owned by one owner, and receive little input from fans in making decisions. While this type of enterprise has turned EPL teams like Manchester City and Chelsea from also-rans to title contenders right away, these teams’ fans are frustrated that their input is never sought. And when things go wrong, as we have seen in overseas codes, it is those loyal fans that are left to cry over the broken pieces.

One example of an enterprise that embraces community and provides financial stability with opportunity at success, is the ownership structure at one of the most successful NFL teams ever, in the Green Bay Packers, who just two months ago won yet another Super Bowl.

The business model for the Green Bay Packers is one centred on community-ownership. While this may seem similar to that of the Brisbane Broncos it is different in that the Packers are the only non-profit, community-owned franchise in American professional sports, while the Broncos are publicly owned and able to be purchased on the share market.

The distinct lack of a single owner has been the reason that the Packers have never been moved from Green Bay, despite a small population base. In comparison to other NFL teams which are in cities containing millions, the Packers are in a city containing only 102,313 citizens, while continually packing out stadiums. On top of this private share offering, not one single owner is allowed to own more than 30% of shares in the team, therefore meaning the power rests in the community vote.

This model also secures the financial future of the team due to the fact they are a non-profit organisation putting funds into the Packers Foundation. There are tax benefits being part of such an organisational tree, along with the fact revenue is brought in not only from share offerings, but also membership. All this and the team is consistently successful despite being in a part of the country with notoriously bad weather.

This model is one the NRL could look to follow. The community ownership of an NRL team would give greater impact to the feeling that fans are part of the corporate decisions that affect their team. It also secures the financial futures of the NRL team and ensures that funds are allocated back to the team and facilities for the team and, most importantly, community charities and local initiatives. This is a business model that would be successful in the NRL and is certainly an option that must be reviewed instead of catering to the big pockets of corporate ownership.

Our competition is about community. Let’s keep it that way.

750 words

Sources:

• “Stakeholders Urged To Reject Privatisation Of Sports” – The Ghanian Times, 18 April, 2009
• Privatisation of sport and listed events - European Broadcasting Law and Policy, By Jackie Harrison, University of Sheffield
• Fans the losers in private ownership – Ross Lewis, The West Australian, November 24th 2010
• Green Bay Packers History - [FONT=&quot]http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_Bay_Packers[/FONT]
• Collective Bargaining in Australian Professional Team Sports, Brendan Schwab, Chief Executive, Australian Soccer Players’ Association Inc.
• Governance, Protest and Sport: An Australian Perspective, IAN WARREN, 2008 paper for Sydney University.
• Economics of Sport, December 2010, The Economist

 

[Jesbass]

That's all, folks!

 

[Titanic]

Now that is a close contest. Thanks Panthers for the excellent reads.
5v5 Titans ... good effort. The father & son PNG tag team play was novel Mark & Luke - next round we are considering a progressive 5 man saga.
Do your best Mr. Referee and let no man say otherwise.

 

[madunit]

I sincerely apologise for getting all your hopes up...


hehehehe

 

[Amadean]

I sincerely apologise for getting all your hopes up...


hehehehe

...and back atchya!

 

[Jesbass]

I have not finished marking this match.

But I have started. ;-)

I'm not sure if I'll finish it tonight or tomorrow.

But I will finish it.

 

[Non Terminator]

This match.
This match.
Just reminds me how much I love this competition.