GRAND FINAL (2007) BLUEBAGS v WARRIORS

[Willow]

The F7s 2007 GRAND FINAL

NEWTOWN BLUEBAGS v NEW ZEALAND WARRIORS

-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.
Rules: http://f7s.leagueunlimited.com/rules.php

5v5 + 2 reserves each
No TBAs
Captains must stick with original teams named

FULL TIME: Wednesday 19 September 2007 at 9pm (Syd time)
REFEREE: antonius
Venue: The Front Row Stadium

**The Referee Blows Game On!**

​

 

[byrne_rovelli_fan82]

The crowd is excited, there's a bit of tension in the air. At last, after looking long and hard, the spectators see a bus coming into view...

The Warriors have arrived, stepping off their specially decorated bus...and the team sheet is handed over to the officials:

Jesbass
Mixmasterreece
MKEB...
rayroxon
Robster

Bench:
byrne_rovelli_fan82 (C)
Nz Warrior

 

[Willow]

The Bluebags have finally arrived following a cramped ride in the sponsor's bus.

TEAM Grand Final 2007:

Willow (c)
Gorilla (vc)
Everlovin' Antichrist
Rexxy
Drew-Sta

Res:
Dave Q
Timmah

Good luck to all players on both sides and may the best team win. :thumn

 

[gorilla]

Shaking the spittle out of his hair, rubbing dencorub into his crotch, and with maniacal laughter spilling out of the bus' speakers, gorilla steps up and out looking to rub some opposition cweeps face in the dirt.

gorilla for the 'Bags.

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

The needle and the damage done.

There’s been a lot of media attention on drugs in football - here’s one of my own experiences.

Jack Carver* played for a couple of years in Sydney first grade. One of the best of our country region, he played rugby league all his young life and as a young man.

We met in our under eighteen team - winning as many as we lost. He was our main ‘go-to’ man. Medium height and strong-broad with fast feet and well-balanced running, he played centre. We ended up playing together in regional representative teams, but that was as far as I got.

I was never really comfortable with Jack’s swaggering confidence. He was a working ‘man’, and I was still at school, but we got along – we’d be at parties and places and, of course, we trained and played and got pissed together.

I only once got the better of him; at training one night, after he’d stepped me so badly in tackle practice and he tried it again - I plugged him, held him up in the air and he both understood and appreciated that I’d not driven him into the dirt. We were more comfortable afterwards.

Jackie was also the wildest of us all. He worked at building sites but still got to the pub, and was the a centre of attraction after matches when we’d drink stupidly at the club.

I began concentrating on another sport and I stopped playing league. I still saw Jackie – working, drinking, playing reserve and then first grade (quickly onto the wing then centre). Jack made a name for himself by playing well and showing smarts.

We all smoked dope and in the next two years I saw Jack a lot. I visited his flat and smoked with him and friends many times. A girl I had a crush on took up with him and I wouldn’t visit for sometime.

When I next caught up, we’d both furthered our ‘pharmaceutical educations’. I was with Jack when we took speed and coke, and he would tell me stories of 70’s league players wrecking lockers and rampaging through matches driven by amphetamines. I know he used heroin once or twice, it was purer gear then and next ladder-rung up from speed.

He became adult hard and tough, able to step his size into gaps or run through outside defenders. Two and a half years after playing first grade in ‘town’, he got a contract in the ‘city’. He joined reserve grade mid-season and, by season's end, he had played two first grade games and scored three tries !

I met him at the beach when I moved to Sydney to a new job. All summer, he was smoothest, biggest thing around – his confidence shone out his arse. He was starting in first grade and had everything in front of him – women, drinks and .. drugs. He’d been using speed and dope but weekend hammer to 'really relax'.

We sat on his unit’s roof and watched jets fly across hazy sunsets, absolutely whacked out of our gourds. I smoked hash that summer whilst he chased a dragon around. If we went out I'd lose him mid-evening as some scrum of women and drinking blokes foamed around.

His next season started beautifully. Uncharacteristically safe and steady at first, he hit his straps in the middle of the season, at one stage scoring six tries over as many matches. He hit and ran hard, and he also played hard off the field. Plenty others have played just as hard, but this was newer generation. There were no tests, no policy, no awareness – just the law and nature.

Actual disintegration was quicker than you’d think. He’d had so many blokes and women pushing at him, he just went too far in too many directions. He pranged his car and ran away. He got into fights when speeding and lost his money trying to double up on the machines when hammered. His girlfriend left and he was caught in possession.

He’d kept playing – still in first grade but his mates wouldn’t look after him. He played injured and got caught awkwardly in his last match. The physiotherapy took the summer, and smack took his game.

Jackie Carver never played again. I heard he was working in the country. He’d got his knee back but who’d want to play when you had to take something to feel normal ?

* Name changed

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

750 words between the stars.

 

[Mixmasterreece]

MiXmasterreece for the Warriors

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

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Following the anguish of their capitulation in Sunday's clash against the Cowboys, the Warriors should have now given themselves a launching pad for greater honours in 2008.

I, like many, was never totally convinced that the Warriors had the appropriate personnel to make it through the finals, and doubt must still surround whether enough key changes have been effected to rectify this in 2008.

The Warrior's 2007 campaign came to a screeching halt in searing heat in front of a hostile Townsville crowd. Remarkably on paper, the Warriors came up against a far weaker adversary, a team whose weakness across the paddock was supplemented by two uncanny anomalies.

The Warriors turned over far too much ball in the finals - conceding possession cheaply - which meant yet again they were forced to complete far more tackles than their opponents. This time a glaring gulf of possession saw the Warriors complete a total of 328 tackles compared to the Cowboys' 206.

Where the Warriors have fallen down is the lack of a 'game breaker' within the squad – a player with the ability to bust a game wide open. Thurston, Bowen, Williams, Folau, Inu and Stewart are all players with such an ability. A player of this calibre can, in one play, counteract a negative aspect of a team's performance – like an inability to complete their sets.

Earlier in the season a reversal of fortunes resulted in the Warriors ending the minor premiership in fourth spot, cementing their finals berth for the first time in four years – a sign of the grit and determination within the side. Perhaps this was the key factor in wallpapering over the inadequacies of their playing roster.

It's easy to regard the Warrior's pack, led by veterans Steve Price and Ruben Wiki, as one of the best in the competition. Price has unquestionably been the star, the club's inspirational leader plundered a mammoth 4515 meters - a feat for the history books.

The club may well be strong in other parts of the field as well – Witt has flourished at standoff, McKinnon is returning the ball with unbridled vigor, and Vatuvei has overcome his demons. Witt's goal kicking has - and will continue to be - outstanding, his 62 goals from 67 attempts represented a major contributer to the club's success.

The main reservations surrounding the Warrior's fortunes in 2008 must be at halfback and second row. To consummate their season with a Grand Final appearance teams need special players, and preferably in the right positions. Grant Rovelli at halfback has gone on to have another roller coaster season, while Logan Swann has disappointed in the second row. Michael Luck's superb run of form in 2007 saw him pull off a back-slapping 959 tackles for the season – 263 more than Swann's 696.

The Warriors now farewell a trio of players - George Gatis, Tony Martin, and winger Todd Byrne – conversely, they will also welcome into the fold Kangaroos centre Brent Tate and Bradford hooker Ian Henderson.

Both of the new arrivals have been heralded as 'smart buys' by the club but neither player will solve the dilemmas facing the Warriors in key positions. The club seems to have closed it's cheque book for the 2008 season so they will need to draw their solution from within the current roster. 2008 presents the opportunity to test the composition of our juniors, and to give them their chance to flourish in the game's greatest incubator.

I, for one, don't doubt the potential within the ranks of the Warrior's juniors. Sonny Fai in the second row has superstar written all over him, and 2008 should be the time for players like Kevin Locke and Isaac John to impress in the halves.

There’s no denying that harsh lessons have been learned in 2007 and, for the most part, the players should be better for it. They got a sniff of finals football, and saw the chance of attonement slip through their fingers in Townsville. They won't let the opportunity pass so easily next time.

If the Warriors hope to turn vilification into vindication in 2008, they will need to learn from the mistakes made this season, and promote those 'greenhorn' youngsters who may add that missing spark. The fans are pounding at the door, and the message they are delivering is unanimous in it's theme - the Warriors need to find a 'star'.

“We must not say every mistake is a foolish one.“ - Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)


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

750 words between the stars. All stats and figures sourced from NRL.com

 

[Robster]

Robster For the Warriors.

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

The Year The King Was Dethroned. ​

I'd never met Wally so after that first Test in '85, I went up to introduce myself. But he just turned his back on me and walked off! At first I was upset. But then I said to myself, ‘Right mate, I'm going to become your worst f**king nightmare!’” – Olsen Filipaina

It was 1985, when a player from Mangere lived out an extraordinary fairy tale wherein he tarnished the crown held by Wally Lewis to wake the Rugby League World up and embarrass Lewis in the series between the Kiwis and Kangaroos.

Olsen Filipaina – a player who had been languishing in reserve grade in what was to be his only season for Eastern Suburbs – had been named in the Kiwis. The move saw the unnoticed reserve grader coming up against “The King” Wally Lewis. Unsurprisingly Filipania had some pre match jitters in the build up to the opening Test at Lang Park.

Having watched Wally Lewis in the club scene for the Brisbane Broncos and, of course, the State of Origin these nerves were justified. It was hard to believe that a humble reserve grader was really going head to head with Rugby League royalty.

More remarkably, Olsen discovered he had a secret fan base in Sydney. When the NSW based fans found out that 100kg five-eighth was playing 'The King' they would tell him to give it to “Wally the Wanker” This surprised Filipaina and posed the question “How much do they hate this guy because he’s from Queensland?” More than anything it underlined the years of rivalry between the state factions and lifted the intensity another notch.

The Kangaroos narrowly won the first Test 26-20 through a late converted try. However, the match won’t be mostly remembered for the cocky Australian victory, but most notably for the domination of The King. It was a match when Olsen climbed his own Everest and triumphed over the best player in the world; Wally Lewis.

The announcement of Filipaina as Man of the Match didn’t go down well
with the local fans, clearly because of what he’d done what few ever achieved - outplay Lewis.

Afterwards, Filipaina went up to Lewis and introduced himself. Lewis responded and gave a curt “G’day” and disrespectfully walked away. It was clear as day that his response offended the affable Filipaina, but that brought resilience, encouragement and some old fashioned Kiwi mana. He resolved to really give it to Wally Lewis in the last two Tests at Carlaw Park.

Filipaina trampled all over Lewis in the second Test, in what is regarded as Filipaina’s best effort during a 29 Test career for the Kiwis from 1977 to 1988. Filipaina says: “Everything turned to gold for me that day. I made him (Lewis) look very, very ordinary." However, his second consecutive Man of the Match award was dampened by the heartbreak of New Zealand’s last minute 10-6 loss.

The Kiwis were shattered after two consecutive Test losses especially to the Australians. But as the Kiwis were feeling down in the dumps, supporters suddenly came running out of shops down Auckland streets. They screamed, “The Kiwis are here! The Kiwis are here!” There were even labourers and shop owners yelling, “Go Olsen! Go Olsen!”

This lifted the Kiwis’ spirit for the third Test encounter and another King Killing display from Filipaina proved the difference as the Kiwis triumphed 18-0. Filipaina described the crowd’s response afterwards as magnificent. There was more back-slapping for Filipaina when he returned to New South Wales for usurping “The King”

Filipaina tells smh.com.au: "I was like a bull – you wave a red flag in front of a bull and it goes mental. You wave an Aussie jersey in front of me and I'm going to do the same thing. Playing for the Kiwis was like going back to my family.”

No one disagrees that Lewis is a Rugby League Immortal and one of the modern greats through his achievements for Queensland and Australia. Despite Olsen’s dominance, Lewis still goes down as one of the major reasons for the outcome of the 1985 Test series as it was Lewis’ long passing that created John Ribot’s match winning converted tries in the first two Tests. But in nearly every other aspect, the man called Olsen Filipaina overshadowed him.

Surprisingly there is no mention of Filipaina in Lewis’ biography. Perhaps that is the biggest tribute of all for this “reserve grade” hero.
------------------------------------------------
744 words

sources- 100 years of rugby league,
Rugby League Week 2006,
http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=98393
http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2003/...639734008.html
forum members at http://www.nzwarriors.com

 

[Willow]

*Willow | The Bluebags*

10 Years Ago

It was 10 years ago, during the halcyon days of my fitness regime, that I’d get up at the crack of dawn and cycle down to the gym at Brighton-Le-Sands. As usual I was greeted by Sergio at the entrance. A naturally friendly bloke from New Zealand, ‘Serge’ always had a hello for regular gym customers. But on this particular morning he looked sensationally happy, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Did you see the game last night?” Serge asked.

“Of course!”

"What a try from Darren Albert aye?”

“Ah, yeah… and great to see Manly get beat?”

Serge laughed before remembering he was attending shop.

“By the way you’re really losing some weight there mate!”

I recall now that my membership fees were nearing renewal.

I know it doesn’t rate up there with ‘what you were doing the day JFK was shot’, but I can say without a shadow of doubt that I do remember what I was doing the day after the grand final, 10 years ago this month, September 1997.

This was no ordinary grand final.

I refer to a match where the normally rock solid Manly defence opened up, and a Knights winger crossed for a late try to win the Australian Rugby League grand final. The underdogs from Newcastle had defeated a powerful Sea Eagles side by 22-16 at the Sydney Football Stadium.

It is my view that the Albert try was a pivotal moment in bringing fans back to a game which appeared to have lost its way. It came at the back-end of a terrible year for football. Nevertheless, that try struck a chord with those supporters who were still capable of appreciating the passion of the game.

Students of that era will recall that there was another grand final happening further north, the Brisbane Broncos defeating the Sharks 26-8 in a far more predictable contest.

That's right, two grand finals.

The ‘Super League War’ culminated in this split competition of 1997, but the seeds of discontent were sown much earlier. Some maintain the divisions began as early as 1988 when the then New South Wales Rugby League competition granted membership to two new teams from Queensland. The Broncos club, in particular, pushed for greater representation but the NSWRL 'old boys' held firm.

The NSWRL expanded further and by 1995 more interstate teams were admitted into the new ‘Australian Rugby League’ - a competition gunning for a national game. It seemed to the casual observer as if rugby league was powering forward at a rate of knots.

But a conflict over broadcast rights and ownership of the game was brewing. Led by the Broncos, a new ‘Super League’ was being touted in 1995. In 1996, matters over the control of the game and its incomes went to the courts. By 1997, the split was complete.

What followed was a media war. The competition for ‘loyalty’ was intense and player payments went through the roof, a debt still felt to this day.

Shocked by the open media squabbles, many fans walked away from rugby league. Aussie Rules in Sydney saw a surge in crowd numbers and even the tired old rugby union club games saw a brief increase in attendances. It seemed that rugby league was doing to itself what no other rival code was ever able to achieve. The game’s very existence was being brought into question - the so-called controllers of rugby league were stuffing it up.

As it turned out, Sydney's ARL grand final had a fair attendance of 42,482. The Super League decider drew 58,912 Queenslanders to the QEII Stadium in Brisbane’s south. As it had done so many times before, the game appeared set to bounce back. Rugby league remained as a game of passion - tribal rivalry doesn’t go away just because a boardroom dictates otherwise.

What followed is well documented. The warring factions came to the table; the ‘National Rugby League’ was formed. 10 years later, fans still argue over who ‘won’.

“I didn’t know you were a Newcastle supporter Serge.”

“I’m not! It’s just great to see such a great finish after the year we’ve had.”

Sergio told me afterwards that he was ready to give the game away. He got a whiff of the Super League grand final and was far from impressed. A week later he watched the ARL grand final and held one final hope that the players were still with us… that leap of faith was rewarded with Darren Albert’s last minute try of 1997.


*750 words*

 

[Rexxy]

Rex for the Bluebags

Hey Jealousy

There is only one drawback with the LU Forums. People tell you only the bits about themselves they want you to know. For instance, I bet you didn’t know that I, a poster with some 5,000 posts, am an "almost twin". Just a bit older than my brother but not enough to be an equal. And a few months can be quite a chasm. Some saw us as a dynamic duo - of one.

My sibling was a genius. We should have known as the signs were there early on. He was the first to grabbed by a beloved aunt, the first to the breast milk, and the first to be given that forbidden taste of beer on a dummy.

And it continued to the dinner table. He never had to eat porridge, crusts or sprouts. In fact the golden child would do as he pleased. He'd kick for goal over the Hills Hoist while I dressed for church. He practiced passing with laced boots on, in the hallway, while I did our homework.

Broken priceless statues were always my fault.

When it came to school, his classroom was the paddock and the goal posts were his blackboard. He could do long kicks, short kicks, banana kicks, while all I could do was look on, and be his sidekick.

Oh, I had my moments. Like the 40 metre try I set up during the Under 14s Semi Final. But, no prizes for guessing who finished off the movement. But that’s how he was when it came to winning the game, the fight and the girl. He could break a drought without breaking a sweat.

Can you imagine the pressure of living with someone like that? Someone who should be in your shadow, but instead stood head and shoulders above you - in all the areas where it mattered most. He followed me into the train on squad and the student became the tutor. With his rugged defence, and his soft skilful hands, he was the youngest ever to be graded, he broke the Club record on debut and then went on to get Man of the Match, Player of the Season and so on. It goes without saying he lived up to his destiny when he was picked for the region, and later beyond. I may as well have changed my name to “might have been”, “never was” or simply, “forgotten”.

Woman wanted him and men wanted to be like him. He was so perfect even men wanted him.

Eventually his fame and fortune became a noose around my neck. Each little sprinkle of magic was like a stingray barb through my Crocodile Hunter sized heart. Many a time I contemplated a fateful walk down the ocean to wreck myself like a sad Pasha Bulka, bobbing precariously in the gunmetal grey of the South Pacific Blue.

Then it occurred to me. There must be other older brothers dwarfed by their more talented siblings. I rang Neil Finn from Crowded House. I wrote to Matt Dillon's brother Kevin. I posted a query in the Go ahead!...ask us anything! section of League Unlimited.

A psychologist informed me of “Little Brother-itis”, a syndrome first discovered by the shrink who treated the late Robert Kennedy. What might help, he counselled was for me to develop a strong personality of my own. I was desperate to try anything to avoid the humiliation of coming second in a race of two. Slowly I developed my new persona. I put on a facade that would forever hide my feelings and disguise my angst-ridden jealousy. It didn’t happen overnight, but it did happen. I had created a clown-like mask to hide my fears and tears.

Sure I was proud of what my young bro achieved. But I could never come to grips with how easy he made it look, or how uncomplicated he made winning. And while my mask held tight so did my feelings of inadequacy. You may call what happened next petty and an act of bastadry. But the way i saw it, I didn't have a choice. It was purely an act of self preservation.

That's why I made the long distance phone call. And the London police did the rest.

 

[rayroxon]

Rayroxon pops in the mouth guard and runs out for the Warriors.

****
​

Soul


The Playmaker looks at his team mates and gathers them under the posts as they take in air and water in ragged gulps. “Leave nothing on the field boys!” he yells as they line up for the start of double overtime in the season decider.

Minutes into the new period of overtime, the players have almost dropped to a standstill. The only thing unaffected by their exhaustion is the clock, which ticks relentlessly. A renewed raid stretches the tiring defence and the crowd roars. The Playmaker feels the hands of the clock bearing down upon him just like the outstretched hands of the oppositions charge down. Kick it now or they face another ten minutes, hours, days…it all feels the same. He stops, drops, and then steps into the ball. It’s not his best kick - the flight path is as wobbly and tired as he is and all he can do is close his eyes and hope.

The defence watches, the game out of their hands for a second and they too hope and pray but for different reasons.

No one in the stadium breathes, let alone makes a noise for what seems an eternity. The tragedy of blowing the ball off course is too much to comprehend; the possibility of blowing it through the posts too much to bear. Reality rushes back and it’s over! The ball dips and clips the black dot to clinch the game.

An agonised cry, the shrillness of the whistle, the beating of his heart all fade into nothing. He’s won the game and the Premiership. The crowd adores him and roars its appreciation. A dream achieved from one simple drop kick.

The roar swells and washes over him like a wave of relief. He finds his opposing number and picks him from the ground. He embraces him in an act of sportsmanship that will be splashed across tomorrow’s papers. As they part his foe whispers “This ain’t over.” Confused, overjoyed and triumphant the Playmaker is pulled into the huddle of his teammates and the comment trickles into the night along with the champagne spray. Who could have guessed the maelstrom it would bring.

The week following the win comes and goes with the pomp and ceremony of a coronation. The tickertape parade, the keys to the city, the photos, and parties all pass by and the celebrations seem unending. Then the rumours start. A court case and impending legal action crackle in the air lending a pall to the celebrations. “Don’t let it bother you mate,” they say, but it gnaws at him. Our Playmaker feels trouble brewing just like he felt the palpable tension in the stadium the week before. He prepares for the worst.

The next morning it hits. The papers decry “Grand Final Player Calls Foul.” and “Golden Point Cuts Golden Purse Strings.” Our Playmaker reads on in disbelief as his opposite number has filed an action to sue for damages, emotional grief and loss of earnings after his team’s Grand Final loss. It seems the plan to sue is being backed by the club as well. The loss has proved detrimental to the brand and merchandising sales not to mention the intangible loss of potential supporters.

The case goes by in a blur. The court appearances; the public out cry; the loss of innocence; the loss of the game's soul. The courts find that they can’t erase the result completely but they can order a Grand Final replay. The ruling states the game is eighty minutes long and that’s the way it shall remain. It's a court-appointed drop kick to the guts for the Playmaker.

The replay is a hollow showpiece. A crowd of a couple of thousand revisits the empty shell of a stadium to watch on as the court-dethroned premiers are overrun. Just as the game has lost its passion, one has a feeling the players have lost theirs too and are merely going through the motions to the inevitable loss that awaits. Our Playmaker slumps to the ground after the final whistle, dejected. A life’s ambition realized, then shattered in an eighty-minute ordeal. His opposite number approaches, the tables turned. He helps our Playmaker up who leans into his foe, eyes pleading and whispers “Why couldn’t you leave it on the field?” The flash goes off capturing the moment for tomorrow’s paper but no one will read it. They find out too late no one cares about a game without soul.

****

747 words including title between the stars.
​

 

[Everlovin' Antichrist]

EA for Da 'Bags.

The Helmich Manoeuvre

For me, the recent Dally M Medal presentation was only the entree to the main event of the same evening, the naming of the additions to the Rugby League Hall Of Fame. Adding the names of Sid Pearce, Arthur Holloway, Tom Gorman, Mick Cronin, Keith Barnes and Harry Wells to the list of previous inductees was a fitting tribute to the careers of some of the true greats of our game.

But it got me thinking.

Over the years something has been constantly overlooked in the Hall of Fame inductions, a vital component in the make-up of our great game just as valuable as any of the current and future inductees, and it’s time to right that wrong. There are hundreds of players who played a small number of games in the NSWRL/QRL/NRL competitions yet aren’t recognised apart from a line or two in the Encyclopedia of Rugby League players.

So, I have a proposal for the NRL.

The next Hall of Fame induction should include a name we’re not familiar with. Someone whose moment at the highest level of his chosen sport was probably shorter than the time it took him to get to and from the ground. It should include someone who represents centuries of effort by hundreds of players for very little game time at the highest club level.

Just before I began this story I opened my copy of The Encyclopedia of Rugby League Players to a random page and picked the first person named to have played a miniscule amount of first grade games.

H. Helmich was that person.

I don’t know anything about H. Helmich other than what is written in the Encyclopedia (Played one game for Newtown in 1932, scored one try) but I envy him greatly because he actually played a game in the toughest competition of any football code on the planet.

Men like Mr. Helmich played Rugby League for many years for just a smidgeon of time at the top of the tree. A player may play 15 odd years for just a taste of the big time and there are hundreds of men like him in our game's history.

If I were offered the chance to play one single game for Newtown, Parramatta, Saints, Wests etc. a list of what I would give up for that opportunity would give the Encyclopedia Britannica a run for its word count. And if anyone reading this asks the same question of themselves the same answer will probably materialise.

It reminds me of the movie “Field of Dreams” where Doc wished he had that one chance to stare down a pitcher, then wink, as though he knew something the pitcher didn't. Like him, I wish I had once chance to take my place in the dressing room and dress for a first grade game, to feel the jersey material pull as I poke my head though the top. To take a second at the player's tunnel to taste the atmosphere the moment before my debut in first Grade. To maybe even give a bit of lip to the other team's gun, in the hope that he'd take notice and maybe even tell me after the game "You did good, kid". One game, just one single game is all I'd want. Even if it was pre-ordained that I would put in a Paul Cariage-esque performance and never set foot on the field again, I'd take it.

But it never happened because I, unlike Mr. Helmich, didn’t have the drive to “go the distance“.

We do not extend reverence to players who have played at NRL/NSWRL/QRL level without apparent distinction but playing at that level is a distinction in itself and should be recognised as such in one of the highest honours our game can bestow.

H. Helmich represents the people who actually put the effort in to get to that level, whether they had the talent or not to make a career out of Rugby League is irrelevant, they did what you and I never had the strength of mind and body to do.

H. Helmich can represent each and every player who graced the ovals, stadiums and fields of the greatest game of all, without apparently doing enough to warrant any more than the smallest of entries in the Encyclopedia of Rugby League players.

They deserve more and adding the name of H. Helmich as their representative can play a part in righting that anomaly.

745 words.

Reference; The Encyclopedia of Rugby League Players, Whiticker and Hudson.

 

[MKEB...]

On runs the Mad one known as Kiwi Elloco Bandido, the Jeering of the crowd is music to his ears. Off comes the MP3 player, the jeering is replaced by cheering...on,off,on,off cheering,jeering,cheering,jeering. Amidst his internal confusion, MKEB discovers his wa, and promptly falls over.

MKEB for the Warriors
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The Wool That Is Pulled

A couple of days ago, as I was reading the local rag, I caught sight of a political quote that left me both amused and bemused...

A little known Member of Parliament tried to ask a senior cabinet minister a perceived troublesome question; “a constituent of mine is calling for a ban on Dihydrogyn Monoxide, does the expert advisory committee have a view on the banning of this drug?”
To those that do not know what Dihydrogyn Monoxide is, I will explain a little later.

Somebody had pulled the wool over this politicians eyes (much like they attempt to do us), and undoubtedly be having a laugh at her expense.

This little episode of parliamentary comedy made me think how often those in Rugby League get the wool pulled over their eyes and how others try and do it.

I find it frustrating that different commentators have different views on different rules, and on occasion differ from what they said on previous commentaries.

Phil Gould is a classic example.

One commentary this year, I heard him refer to a player as having poor ball security and deserving to lose the ball that had been stripped in a tackle. Fair enough call, I thought. Half an hour later, the same offence occurred in which he lamented the referee for not blowing a penalty.

Really Phil, what has changed between then and now?

During another match, a player was slapped in a marginally high tackle. Mister Gould’s call was: “Sure it was a high tackle, but there was nothing in it. It doesn’t deserve a penalty”.

Are you condoning high tackles? You cannot penalise some high tackles and not others.
Phil, Phil, Phil, a high tackle is a high tackle regardless of how harmless it appears. That is the rules.

This anomaly is not just restricted to commentators. Coaches and players fall into this category as well.

There are few things funnier than watching a player take a dive. Don’t you just love watching a player run into somebody and fall into a heap from the faintest of touches? Only to get up and run around again when a penalty is (or not) given. Come on, boys – this is not Soccer nor is it Pro-Wrestling. Rugby League is a contact sport and diving to get an advantage is cheating. You might fool the referee, but you won’t fall the cameras.

For years, Andrew Johns had a lot of the Rugby League populace fooled. Those of us who thought him a champion player and role-model for kids were shell shocked to find him using drugs on a regular basis. Then to blame the pressures of the sport for making him into that, is not fair on the sport or fans of Rugby League.

Mate, you wanted to be a league player, the pressure comes with your ambitions, do not use league as your excuse.

It is sometimes hard to know when to take these icons seriously or not.

Another occasion that comes to mind is when Des Hasler (Manly coach) made a remark at a Warriors match bemoaning a decision to disallow a Manly try for obstruction. This same news conference, he was asked by the media about one of his team’s tries from a blatant forward pass. Des replied, “That is up to the referee, it is his decision”.

Come on, Des – do you support a ref only for favourable decisions?

On a Maori Televison show named Code, John Hopoate was asked about the “finger up the date” incident. Hoppa candidly replied that the whole thing was done in fun, and that it was a joke among players to do this.

This amazed me. Surely, he was joking. I have never heard of players shoving fingers up other players “jacksies” previously.

Do us, the Rugby league public, deserve to be treated with the discourtesy of being branded idiots by commentators players and coaches alike? The great majority of us fans know the game, the rules and systems inside out and back to front. It makes me wonder what these people are trying to achieve.

By the way, Dihydrogyn Monoxide = h2o = water. I wonder how the aforementioned Member of Parliament would react to water’s banning. I said before that this quote left me both amused and bemused; amused as a clever dick got found to be a bit gullible, and bemused that she happened to be part of our Government… Damn.


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747 words between lines.

 

[Jesbass]

In a somewhat sombre moment, Jesbass takes to the field and soaks up the moment - the cheering crowd, the cool night air, the adrenaline of such a huge event - before breaking into a jog and taking up his position for the kickoff.

In my first article of the year, I dedicated my 2007 F7s season to the memory of my late father, who passed away six months ago this coming Sunday. If it wasn't for him, I doubt I would have fallen in love with rugby league in the same way that I have. And so, with the Grand Final here, I tribute my final piece to him once again.

This one's for you, Dad.

****************************************************************
A Tribe Unto Ourselves (750 words)

There is something profoundly primal about supporting a rugby league team.

It brings with it a unique sense of belonging with likeminded individuals who would otherwise have nothing in common with each other. It draws out a raw passion in people which allows them to unite as one and let out a parochial war cry against those not in the group. Call it tribalism if you wish; a clan mentality of sorts. But no matter which name you give it, there is no denying the feeling of belongingness and kinship that comes from gathering with other passionate fans to support your chosen team, through thick and thin.

This isn’t the traditional form of clan, of course. There is no assigned chieftain. Nor is there a need to forage for food in order to survive. But inter-tribal war is an ever present aspect as warriors take to the battlefield on an almost weekly basis, to either raid an enemy town or defend their homeland from attack.

We form an intangible bond, both online and off, as a ragtag group of misfits, all baying for opposition blood.

On September 16th, I was at a Warriors away match function with just over a hundred other fans to watch our team’s first semi final match since 2003. We were, of course, predictably hopeful of a Warriors victory. Unfortunately, the match didn’t turn out the way we’d wanted – it didn’t even come close to satisfying our cravings – and after a 49-12 dismantling at the hands of the rampant North Queensland Cowboys team, the room was filled with silence. Our season was over, and the sudden lack of noise in the room spoke volumes.

And then something completely unexpected happened.

In a moment somewhat reminiscent of the final scene in the 1993 comedy movie Cool Runnings, someone clapped. And then, someone else did the same. Within seconds, the room was filled with clapping and cheering for our side – our tribal warriors – for getting as far as they had.

It was a bittersweet moment, of course, as we’d let ourselves dream of Premiership glory just a few weeks too soon, but there was no mistaking just how much this team had achieved. The Warriors’ resurgence in the National Rugby League has allowed for a realistic perception of the club as future title challengers. The team are no longer competition lightweights, but genuine contenders.

The shared identity that accompanies such a tribal mindset is a very powerful one. One fan I know first met his eventual best man at a rugby league match. My relationships with my father, with my wife, and with certain friends have all been solidified and strengthened by attending rugby league matches together.

Fans cheer together; they boo together; they laugh and cry together.

And they grieve together.

As a Warriors season ticket holder for several years, I have found the reality of relationships founded solely on the proximity of other club members’ seats – people who I now know by name and have, on occasion, bumped into outside of the stadium during the off season. These are people who considered my father a friend before he passed away at the beginning of the season; people who mourned at the news of his passing; people who attended his funeral.

This is more than a tribe: this is a family, albeit a very much extended and often dysfunctional one.

And yet, it can never be the same without Dad. Someone once said: “Men may fight for their country, but they die for their mates”. In a way, that still rings true for me. As much love and passion I have for a team that I’ve been following for thirteen seasons, an eventual Premiership victory would be just that little bit less special. It is simply a fact of death that one must not only grieve for what has been lost, but also what never was. I’ve sat next to Dad’s seat – the same one he used for seven rollercoaster years – for a whole season now, imagining how he would have responded to certain events on the field.

That seat will belong to someone else in 2008, but I’ve made a personal vow that when I have a child – the child that would have made Dad a grandfather – I’ll continue the tradition of building a lifelong relationship through rugby league.

After all, it would only make sense to welcome another supporter into the tribe.

****************************************************************
Sources:
www.wikipedia.org

 

[Drew-Sta]

Drew for the Bags.

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Tribalism

I’m sometimes a little scared about the future of Rugby League. One of the great enigma’s in today’s game is the level of passion and loyalty shown by supporters, but not by the larger majority of the players, let alone the ruling administration itself.

Classing myself as being a disillusioned St George supporter, I tend to find myself less interested in the game itself after being an absolute fanatic for it in my younger years. Indeed, I quite easily put my schooling results at risk due to the incredible amount of time an effort I put into researching the game, and also St George history.

For a goodly while I wondered what on earth possessed me to take so happily to the addiction of supporting ‘my team’, without even considering exactly ‘who’ I was supporting. Indeed, because the vast majority of my time as spent researching a team that does not exist by the historical standards of the NRL, I’ve begun to unravel the exact emotions that float through me.

One of the anthropological intricacies of human society is a little thing called tribalism, which ‘...is the possession of a strong cultural or ethnic identity that separates oneself as a member of one group from the members of another.’ This interesting little tidbit of information is a very basic description of what possesses a human being to support a sporting team. That urge, that desire to identify with a group, and to be a part of that group, is what drives fans made with passion and longing to see their team hold up whatever the trophy may be that signifies they’re the best.

I supposed, and this is only pure speculation, that our distinct dislike for those who decide to betray that group and defect to another team is treated with such disdain as it is akin to treason of the highest order. Never do I feel so disgusted than to learn a fellow Saints supporter has defected to another team, nor do I feel so dirty towards those who believe they can support more than one team. As polygamy is detested amongst certain societies, so is the practice of following two footy teams.

Heaven forbid some poor child grows up in a household where the mother supports Canterbury, and the father Parramatta. And I quote – ‘The term "tribalism" taken in the sense of societal structure usually carries a connotation that society is not only divided into smaller groups, but that these groups are actively hostile towards one another.’

Is it wrong that I’m chuckling at that?

But I digress.

As I grew older, and slightly more aware of who my St George had become, I became accutely aware of the fact that they weren’t exactly my St George any more. They were St George-Illawarra. I scratched my head. Hadn’t players like Morris, Langlands and the like all played for Saints, yet come from the Illawarra basin?

Moving slightly away from this and more to the point I wish to explore, when David Peachey, Joe Williams and their fellow North Sydney Bears run out on to Campbelltown oval to the delight of Shoremen faithful, exactly what is the NRL doing to address the tribal needs of fans that call the red, black and white their team?

I suppose I should feel relatively happy. For 24 weeks of the year I see the Red V run out... Ok I take that back, for at least 16 weeks a year I see the Red V run out, and for the rest of the games I see some funny team in a Liverpool jersey turn out onto the oval, so I shouldn’t be too upset about my situation.

Bears supporters, on the other hand, are forced to travel to each and every game just to support their side. There’s no radio support, no television coverage, no nothing.

I suppose the gleaning point I’m trying to make is that supporters aren’t exactly a fickle bunch as much as they’re an anthropologically programmed group of people designed to support that which they associate with the most. I tend to find that the NRL is attempting to expand its fan base, but at the expense of what brings people together under one banner.

I think that if the NRL was really serious in expanding the supporter base of our brilliant game, it would seek to appease the base needs of its supporters. After all, a game is only successful to the supporters following it.

 

[Willow]

 

[byrne_rovelli_fan82]

Woop! Woop!!

Well done everybody, both to my Warriors and the 'Bags!

Phew!

 

[Willow]

Well done to all forummers for a great 5v5 effort. Should be a cracker of a match. :thumn

 

[gorilla]

Well done everyone - congratulations.

Grand final, eh ?

Bloody beauty, makes me want to put the Kenny mask and overalls on.

Good luck, if you sledders (NZeders) want to drop by the 'Bags clubhouse, youse are welcome for a beer and a tug (not me tho' ....)

Best wishes with the finale marking Ref.

*cough* - playing for anyone good next year ? ;-)

 

[Jesbass]

Wow. Just...wow.

Bluebags, take a bow for that effort. How you managed that all in such a short space of time is beyond me. *stands and applauds*

Fellow Warriors, well done on an awesome team effort. Here's hoping we can pull off a huge upset, but even if we don't, we've exceeded the expectations of many.

Well done to both teams. I think we've given antonius a cracker of a match to mark in his final outing.

I'm going to have a lie down, now! :lol:

 

[MKEB...]

Well done folks on a great match again.

Am looking forward to the off season. (ooo my brain hurts) To the warriors, woulda thought we would make it this far?

To the bluebags, all the best for next season...

Gorilla mate, might just stop off with you ockas for a beer and tug (not me tho'...)

Cheers

 

[Timmah]

Bugger, my article wasn't used lol.

Good stuff both sides. Privileged to even just warm the benches there... sensational stuff. Well done all.