Rnd 1: 4 NATIONS 2010: Kumuls v Kiwis

[Willow]

Forum 7s - 4 Nations - 2010
PAPUA NEW GUINEA KUMULS V NEW ZEALAND KIWIS

-v-

Titanic (c) --------Jesbass (c)​

Game Thread:
* Please note - This is a game thread only, therefore only game posts can be made here (Teams, Articles).
* Any other posts may result in loss of points and is at the discretion of the referee
* Only original articles, not used in previous games, will be marked by referees.​

Naming Teams (F7s 4 Nations conditions):
* 3v3 (+ 2 reserves for each team)
* No 'TBA' or changing players named
* Captains must stick with original teams named​

FULL TIME (F7s 4 Nations Conditions): Saturday 30 October 2010 at 9pm (Syd time)​

REFEREE: Non Terminator​

Venue: Lloyd Robson Oval​

 

[Titanic]

The Kumuls take the field resplendent in their Bird of Paradise regalia, gris pik bilas na as tanget.

1. Willow
2. tits&tans
3. Titanic

Bench

4. murphyscreek
5. bartman

Mascot

6. bgdc

 

[Jesbass]

After scraping together a squad that consists of one regular player, three retirees, and one rookie, the Kiwis take to the field and prepare for battle...

-----------------------------------
Team:
Jesbass (c)
madunit
LeagueNut

Bench:
rayroxon
RHCP
-----------------------------------

Ringa pakia
Uma tiraha
Turi whatia
Hope whai ake
Waewae takahia kia kino

Ka mate, ka mate
Ka ora' Ka ora'
Ka mate, ka mate
Ka ora Ka ora
Tēnei te tangata pūhuruhuru
Nāna i tiki mai whakawhiti te rā
Upane... Upane
Upane Kaupane
Whiti te rā
Hī!

 

[Jesbass]

Fresh from a stirring haka, (and a hip replacement operation), Jesbass submits the 13,000th Forum Sevens match post as he performs the kick off...

***

Oh Baby!

In 2005, when Stacey Jones flew halfway around the world to be at his wife's side for the birth of their third child in the midst of the Kiwis' historic Tri-Nations campaign, it seemed like an admirable thing to do.

And in 2007, when Manu Vatuvei changed his focus to treating the ball as his own baby daughter so as to improve his handling ability in the wake of his career low point against Parramatta, it came across as a sensible method of preparation.

But it wasn't until 2010, when I became a father following a rigorous labour that almost claimed the lives of both mother and child, that it suddenly made sense.

Looking into the curious eyes of my daughter, born almost four weeks premature, has resulted in an irreversible change in me. Listening to her quiet breaths as she sleeps on my chest has caused a paradigm shift amounting to a sense of contentment that is difficult to convey with mere vocabulary.

For if rugby league is a sport of momentum swings and changing fortunes, then life must surely be a game of shifting priorities.

And as with most things that occupy my mind, a rugby league analogy is almost inevitably forthcoming...

Like any football season, parenthood requires a great deal of preparation, training, and the right game plan.

My first grade fatherhood debut began in the ideal way with a converted try early in the season. This was a dual effort between my teammate and I as we made a promising start.

The following months were filled with excited anxiety as we took ownership of our season and aimed for the title. I did what I could, taking the occasional hit up and cleaning up in defense when necessary, but it was my teammate who was the star player, taking the season on her back as if it were a voluntary burden.

We wanted more than the title, though. Being crowned champions of our own parenting empire was a fine goal, but it was the match ball – evidence of an outstanding performance – that we craved the most.

And, after months of hard graft, we finally arrived at our grand final. We weren't entirely prepared due to an unexplained schedule change which had brought the event forward nearly a month. The opposition that day was far more formidable than anything we'd encountered in the regular season, and the finals series had already taken its toll on my teammate's body.

But we needed her. The entire team had been built around her. If we were to claim victory, our superstar would need to dig deep, so I did what little I could to encourage her to use her natural ability to win that toughest of matches.

And use it she did, guiding us around the park as we simply supported her efforts.

Late in the second half, with the scores tied and golden point beckoning, she pulled off a particularly impressive move, pushing with sheer force through the opposition defensive line and pressing towards the try line.

It was then that the unthinkable happened. With the fulltime siren letting out a cry of finality, she dived to score the winning try. But just as she touched the ball down, she was blindsided by an unseen defender and collided into one of the goalposts.

Everything slowed to a blur as I caught up with her, feeling numbness where there should have been elation; shock instead of joy. Medical staff rushed our star player to the blood bin. The match ball – the very thing we had been yearning for all these months – had literally deflated in the tackle. Devoid of air, it came to a standstill as an official filled it by hand with the sweet elixir of oxygen.

I needn't have worried. The medics knew what they were doing, and before long my teammate was recovering in hospital, newly inflated match ball in hand...

I'm not too sure what is to be gained from such a tenuous analogy, nor dare I even consider what my daughter might think of being likened to a ball the shape of a pig's bladder. Calling my wife a superstar is no differentiation from the truth, however.

But one thing I'm certain of is that perceptions have certainly changed, and for the better.

Legendary Liverpool coach Bill Shankly once said that football is much more important than life and death. I can no longer say that I agree.

***

745 words between the stars (including title)

 

[madunit]

madunit for the Kiwi's

“Match Fixing” est. 1908

In 1908, Rugby League in Australia and New Zealand was officially born.

So too, unfortunately, was the first reported attempt to fix a game.

Northerners though were always keen for a punt, however one punter attempted to go one step further to get a win.

Wigan were the competition heavyweights for season 1908-09, and rightfully so, considering they had two of the world’s greatest players in New Zealand internationals Lance Todd and William ‘Massa’ Johnston in their ranks.

At the time, Todd had played 4 tests for New Zealand and Johnston had 7 test appearances for the Kiwi’s.

On September 12, 1908, Wigan were to do battle with Hunslet. Just two days beforehand, Todd and Johnston were at the Dog and Partridge hotel in Wigan after a hard day’s work, when a slightly drunken man approached them with an offer they’d heard many a time before from joking opposition fans.

“Do you think you could manage to lose on Saturday?”

The Kiwi’s laughed thinking it was another joke, but the man persisted.

“It can easily be done. I will you give you five pounds each if you go down. You can easily manage it. All you have to do is fumble the ball a few times and the crowd will think you are off your game, and the deed is done.”

Todd and Johnston, sensing that the man may be slightly intoxicated and sounding a little too serious, politely declined and laughed the matter off, figuring that’d be the last they’d hear about it.

Edward Crofton, a coal dealer from Northern England, and a known gambler, was the man attempting to squire a favour from the Kiwi stars. The day before the game he was found to be asking locals for the whereabouts of the two players he had approached the night before.

He returned to the Dog and Partridge Hotel and learned that the players were in a private room. Crofton, now sober but still very serious, ordered a round of drinks, for himself and the two Kiwi’s and then entered the private room with them, closing the door.

This time he wanted to prove he was serious.

“Now if you will do it for me tomorrow I will give you twenty pounds down and divide what I make between us.”

Todd knew Crofton was very serious this time, and carefully choosing his words, he very politely replied, “Look here, old sport, there is not enough money in Wigan to buy either of us over.”

Crofton wouldn’t accept the answer, and went on to explain more in depth how the ‘fix’ could be very easily done. The players again declined. He then threw ten sovereigns on the table and rummaged through his pockets, throwing whatever else he could find to the ‘pot’.

The players remained defiant, telling Crofton to take his money and leave. Johnston even said, “I would not do it for all the money in the Kingdom.” They immediately reported Crofton to the Wigan board, who decided it was a case best left to the local constabulary.

The case was heard in the first week of November, but the bench of Magistrates were divided and unable to reach a verdict, so the case was adjourned and a new bench of magistrates was selected.

Before a bench of 17 magistrates at the Wigan Police Court on November 11, 1908, the case was heard again.

Crofton claimed he had not met the players two days before the game at the hotel and that on the day before the game, contrary to the player’s statement that he sat with them in a private room, he said he simply said to them “I will give you a handful if you will not try tomorrow.”

The magistrates left to consider their verdict and returned. Crofton was found guilty in just 10 minutes and sentenced to two months imprisonment.

Crofton’s defence pleaded to the judge for a lesser punishment, to which the judge simply responded, “He will have to go to prison for hard labour.”

Lance Todd went on to have a distinguished football career at Wigan and Dewsbury before retiring. He then became an administrator, most notably as secretary-manager for Salford and later as a commentator.

Tragically, he died in a car crash in Oldham in 1942.

He is remembered every year when the Lance Todd trophy is awarded to the man of the match of the annual Challenge Cup final.

743 Words, including title

Sources:
Wanganui Herald – December 30th, 1908.
The Colonist – December 29th, 1908.
www.rugbyleagueproject.org

 

[Willow]

Willow | Kumuls

Hugs and kisses

CONTENT WARNING

THE FOLLOWING ARTICLE IS RATED PG. IT CONTAINS:

• Sexual Themes
• Violence
• Strong Language
• Nudity

PARENTAL GUIDANCE IS RECOMMENDED


With two generations of players celebrating tries and victories with hugs on the footy field, it's little wonder that most fans are blissfully unaware of a more sober time when players respected, or feared, each other's space.

Over 30 years ago, I was a young fella living in what was then the far-flung western suburbs of Sydney.

Isolated, I got my match calls thanks to radio 2SM and the doyen of rugby league, the late and great Frank Hyde. It was in the 1970s that post-try celebrations saw players getting all touchy and feely, and Frank described it in detail across the red-roofed housing of Sydney suburbia.

The game's greatest commentator picked out one afternoon and protested aloud when two or more players embraced each other.

"This hugging business is a nonsense. In my day, men just gave each other a firm handshake!"

Frank, a man of his time, was appalled by the show of affection between players on the football field. Even though it was the 1970s, and I was an ill-tempered, testosterone-laden teenager living in the manic-male domain of the western suburbs, I still thought Frank was out of touch.

To be fair, the 1940s was Frank's day. It was wartime. 'Rock and roll' had to wait another 15 years and the swinging sixties were not even a twinkle in the offspring's eye.

No doubt, the forties were tough.

With food rationing, the threat of invasion and the cream of the nation's youth at the front line, it should be no surprise that people were desperate for a distraction. Football provided this and everyone looked forward to the weekend. But the diversion only lasted until Monday when the facts of the day were again a sharp reality.

The 1940s gave rise to a new type of football player. They were fitter than the previous generation and the game itself was more professional. There were often no reserves. If they suffered an injury, players usually stayed on the field.

If you were a player in those days, there was no foxing, no diving, no winking at team mates as you got carted off for a breather. You toughed it out. For this, you were paid a pittance. To top it off, your day job was harder and you clocked in for longer hours for less pay.

While some may argue that football players of the 21st Century are true professionals and much fitter thanks to modern training methods, there is no doubt that players during World War II were a tougher breed.

Frank played during this time for Newtown, Norths and Balmain. Players like Frank set the platform for the even tougher post-war era where a 'softer' player found it impossible to hide on the football field.

Which brings us the 1950s - the time of Rex 'The Moose' Mossop. The Manly forward played when the game was no place for the faint-hearted. By 1956, it seemed that coathangers, spear tackles, headbutting and a truckload of indiscretions were commonplace. As were send-offs.

Mossop had his fair share of run-ins with referees. He was marched more than once but this didn't stop him receiving the prestigious Sun Herald's 'Best and Fairest' award in 1958, such was the acceptance of on-field violence in these pre-snag days. Indeed, Rex had no time for what he saw as pansies. During his career as a league commentator and media personality, Rex made a number of gaffes when expressing his views on the naked male form.

"Some people don't want genitalia shoved down their throats." Good old Rex.

The Moose flew the Bloke Flag well into the 1980s. But he was part of a dying breed - Dinosaurs that carried the legacy of the ear bitten, eye gouging, and 'hand shaking' giants from the post-war era.

In the here-and-now of the 2000s, players wear pink in the name of charity and match day is frequented by families and their festive cousins. That's a good thing.

But were the tree-hugging days of the 1970s the thin edge of the wedge? Did it put us on that slippery slope? Should we put a stop to it now before it gets completely out of hand?

It could be worse, we could follow soccer.

...and now for some football nudity.

Spoiler: The Naked Truth

Frank must be turning in his grave.

| 745 words |

 

[LeagueNut]

LeagueNut for the Kiwis

Will you get to the bloody point?

“It’s not you, it’s me”

“I need some time for me right now”

“I think we should see other people”

“I love you, but I’m not in love with you”

Most of us know how much hard work relationships can be. It might be all exciting and new at first, but sooner or later you find yourselves in the gripping vice of routine – and you can either start spouting any of the tired clichés above, or ignoring the problems in the vain hope they’ll go away, or actually trying to fix it before you end up duelling with pistols at dawn.

Some people like to use analogies on their relationships. Personally, I think relationships can be a lot like cars – both can be spared from expensive overhauls with regular maintenance. And if you miss a couple of check-ups, a bit of TLC can work wonders – something to kick-start the spark back into place.

I’m not just talking about relationships with the significant others that share our beds every night either. We have relationships with all sorts of people, and “Relationship maintenance” can take on many forms – it could be a phone call to your Mum, or some home baking for your neighbour, or a patient ear for a work colleague. These little things can make all the difference between a happy relationship and a blazing gunfight. Just remember, if you’ve left things alone to fester for a while, you might have to think a bit bigger – perhaps knocking on Mum’s door would be better than a phone call sometimes.

So how’s your relationship with your Rugby League team?

Most relationships between club and supporter are pretty basic. You give them money, vocal support, fanatical devotion and marketing opportunities – they give you some damn fine entertainment, occasional free supporter goodies, club newsletters or magazines, and a seat at your favourite ground to watch the best game in the world. Most of the time it averages out pretty evenly – our clubs are important to us, and supporters are damn important to them – so it’s a good dynamic.

Like most relationships, there’ll be times when you get on each others nerves. We know a losing team can be tough to support, but we also know we’ve signed up to support our team “for better or worse”, “in sickness and in health”, and all that jazz.

But what about your relationship with Forum Sevens?

Forum Sevens is a strange beast. Sometimes she leaps along, all guns blazing, with an optimistic outlook and a horde of players willing to contribute. Other times she seems to amble across the swamp like a drugged donkey with a gippy leg.

Many of us have had our own ups and downs with Forum Sevens, sometimes giving her the silent treatment or falling into the pattern of arguing so often that it becomes routine. She seems to be pretty resilient, but there’s no doubt she’s been shaken and stirred a few too many times over the years.

Maybe it’s time for a bit of TLC for the old girl. Nothing too drastic, maybe a spit-polish or a fresh coat of paint. I think we can all see that she’s seen better days, but there’s absolutely nothing stopping her from returning to those lofty heights once more.

We all regularly revisit the age-old problems of too few players; of teams folding, or sometimes not even getting off the ground; and a blanket of indifference that sometimes envelops most of the competitors – happy to keep their heads down until “someone else” takes care of things.

What if “someone else” never comes?

There are plenty of things we could all do to make a positive difference. Get out there and recruit those people you’ve thought of before but never asked – promote the game when the opportunity is there – volunteer for those extra jobs that “someone else” normally does.

One or two people on their own won’t necessarily make the difference. But having the majority of the Forum Sevens community out there loudly drumming up interest and support would build up a hell of a lot of momentum.

You may not agree with me, and you certainly don’t have to. That’s partly what this competition is all about. But perhaps we can each ask ourselves: In my relationship with Forum Sevens, am I doing my part to keep things harmonious?

Or am I taking her for granted too?


742 words in the official counter - trust me!

 

[LeagueNut]

Double post ... sorry

 

[Titanic]

Titanic for PNG (750 OWC)
_________________________________________________

CAPTAIN'S LOG, 30 October

It is now 622 cursed days since we set sail from England, aboard The Lady Harried Hooker.

Our mission was to spread the word of rugby league to the uncivilised world.

To this end, we carried 122 pretty coloured beads to trade with natives we encountered in order to engender goodwill, 132 mirrors and 167 rugby league footballs for the same purpose, and 62 sailors/rugby league players unsuspectingly carrying the smallpox virus.

Our first point of call came earlier than we expected. Just two days after we set off, our coxswain and orange boy, Billy Blackjones, shouted from the crow's nest: "Land ahoy!"

"Could this be right? Land so soon?" I asked my first mate, Alphonse de Ponce, a fine fullback, even though he was French and knew stuff-all about the sea. "Mais, non?" he said.

I trusted his opinion. I had to. I didn't speak French but I had been captain of the Firsts team at Warrington College (Alphonse was a French exchange student there).

As The Harried Hooker docked, I called out: "We mean you no harm. We come in peace, in the name of God, The Queen and Rugby League."

"We come bearing gifts of friendship. We have beads, looking glasses and rugby league balls." We quickly ascertained, however, that the people of this land thought we were absolutely bonkers. They had a deep devotion to a game called soccer. They complained that our odd-shaped footballs hurt their heads when they tried to deflect them into their goals.

We'd arrived full of hope, confident that we would soon have the locals worshipping rugby league… lots of tries, lots of conversions. But this first lot of filthy rotten heathens told us to stick the beads, looking glasses and rugby league balls up our scrums.

It also turned out that we were still in England, albeit a few miles up the coast.

As The Lady Harried Hooker pulled away from the dock, hundreds of by-now less-than-friendly inhabitants chanted and jeered. It was like losing an away-game.

I gathered the crew for a pep talk as we charted a course under full sail for the South Seas, the Australian colonies and the great unknown.

I can report that we never made it.

I thought we had ample provisions for a long voyage. But I was wrong.

We sailed on for 230 more days and saw no land at all.

We ate all the bully beef, bread and the fillet mignon Alphonse had insisted on.

By day 221, we had nothing left.

By day 230, the men were barely standing. I have never seen a rugby league team so hungry.

It was then I made another decision I will regret for the rest of my God-forsaken and rugby league-deprived life. I felt I had no choice. I told the men they could eat the footballs.

They were stowed in the forward hold and, on opening the hatch, it was discovered we had sprung quite a nasty leak… the footballs were afloat.

"Don't touch those footballs," I cried. But it was too late. The men were plucking them out.

Someone threw one to me. It was a perfect pass and, if I’d had the energy, I’m sure I’d have instinctively dashed to the gunnels and dived across the rhumb line.

Alas, I was hungry too. I ripped into the ball - ravenously, putting aside my initial fears and forgetting my duty to my team. The pig’s bladder tasted leathery but if you could get past the faint, perhaps just imagined, taste of urine, it was really quite delicious.

Suddenly the ship started to creak and groan alarmingly. Oops, I remembered the water-filled hold. Then I remembered the buoyant footballs had been the only things keeping us afloat. And now there were more than 60 hungry men eating them.

The ship was SINKING! "Abandon ship," I cried. "Captains, vice-captains and halfbacks first!"

Not everyone made it. The last I saw of Billy Blackjones he was caught up in the frigging rigging.

We drifted for three days and three nights before bumping into a coral atoll. Alas, there are only six of us... not enough to even constitute a Sevens Team.

Everyday, I scan the horizon hoping like hell that another team will come.

Please come.

Please.

We have eaten the last of our footballs and all we have now are coconuts. These are basically round and not at all suited for the game of rugby league.

Captain Cecil Knotcock-Smythe
​

 

[tits&tans]

tits&tans for PNG ....

last minute rush on to the field with guns blazing and sweat pores dripping


744 words (OWC) between the stars


****
Mathematical Musings


We recently held a parents meeting for to give parents some insights into how local and western teaching methods and philosophies differ. During the Q&A session, we were how to encourage students to study subjects which they felt had no relevance to their life (outside of passing the exam). One such example was mathematics, where students felt the content had no relevance to or use in their lives. We proposed that in order to stimulate a student’s development in a subject, there must interest and relevance.

I have been thinking about this a lot, in particular, in relation to my field of interest, mathematics. The difficulties faced by maths teachers are well known. Many textbooks try to motivate students by introducing varied applications. This addresses both students’ desire to see the relevance of their studies to the outside world and also their skepticism about whether mathematics has any value. This idea only works with students who are committed to a particular academic or career field. For typical students, applied examples often fail to motivate if they are not of immediate concern to them or they do not occur in their daily lives. Fortunately, students have some common interests that can be built upon when teaching mathematics. Connecting their studies to something that interests or concerns them almost always works better.
You might think that the last thing going through a rugby player's mind would be mathematics. It's difficult to imagine a 120 kg prop contemplating geometry just before game time, or the coach giving a short tutorial on statistics for inspiration.

However, rugby can be a great teaching tool.

Here are five situations that could be used in a mathematics lesson:

Mathematicians at the Los Alamos National Laboratory carried out a study into which sport is the most exciting. Not, it seems, an objective question. However, they investigated which sport had the most upsets and theorized that the more unpredictable a scoreline is, the more exciting the game. Certainly, the possibility of an upset in a soccer game between a top and a bottom team is more likely than in a game of rugby. The reason is simple: far less "points" are scored in soccer, meaning that a game can be decided by freak events. In rugby an underdog may hold, or even out-perform, a top team for a period of time, but a single freak try is unlikely to be the deciding factor over 80 minutes. I would, however, argue that it is the fact that there are so many points scored that makes it a more exciting game than the dull, mainly scoreless, soccer.

Nerds at Durham University investigated the effects of red and blue jerseys on the outcome of a match. They discovered that those wearing red won over half the matches. In close matches, the colour really mattered, and the red side won 62% of the matches. Perhaps this goes some way to explaining Queensland’s dominance of the SOO.

Geeks in New Zealand have found out that it is almost impossible for linesmen to keep their eyes on the players and the ball at the same time — meaning that bad calls and terrible judgments are inevitable. The Free University of Amsterdam asked three professional linesmen to assess 200 situations, and found that they got it wrong in 40 of those cases. The suggestion was that the perspective from the stands would be less than from the sidelines, thus reducing errors. Perhaps it is lucky that we have the video ref.

Suppose you are in the final minute and you have to kick a perfect drop goal. You need to simply solve the appropriate quadratic equation in your head! Easy! More seriously, the parabolic equation for a particle trajectory, allowing for air resistance and spin, was and is the basis for artillery calculations.

Captains are often confronted with a particular tactical conundrum. He has to choose the best order in which to use a group of players or set-plays in the face of unknown counter choices by the opposition. Do you want to field the strongest players first to raise morale or play them last to produce a late run for victory? In this case game theory is required to adopt a strategy that your opponents cannot guess. There is such a strategy: randomness. There is no counter-predictive strategy from your opposition that can beat it.

Whoever said rugby was a simple game or mathematics a boring subject?

****

 

[Jesbass]

Great game from both teams. 3v3 - over to you, ref! :thumn

(And welcome back to the big time, LN!)

 

[Willow]

Better late than never.

 

[Non Terminator]

New Zealand

Jesbass - 93
It's great when a beautifully written article about the miracle of life can turn into something so humerous.

madunit - 90
A great picture of history, it's good to search through the hidden stories.

LeagueNut - 89
I definitely take it for granted, but a good spread of topics in there. Enjoyed it.


Papua New Guinea

Willow - 90
An interesting read, from personal experience mixed with great research. Beautiful comparison.

Titanic - 88
It's different, a great gift of writing you have. I liked it.

tits&tans - 90
I do like it when I lose myself in my own stupidity. When I came to, I loved it!

New Zealand 272 def. Papua New Guinea 268

Keeping the comments short as all articles were excellent. Plus, people would like the quick result.
Well done all. Incredible match.

Man Of The Match - Jesbass

 

[Titanic]

Onwards and upwards boys.

 

[Willow]

Congratulations to the Kiwis, and to Jesbass on the POTM.

Not quite the thrashing you handed out to our lads in the other game today, but well deserved just the same.

Thanks ref, swifty as always. And thanks to skipper Titanic for the opportunity.

Great reads all round. :thumn

 

[LeagueNut]

Great game everyone - and well done Jesbass

Three cheers for the speedy ref as well.

 

[Jesbass]

Captain's Knock:

To the Kumuls, thanks for allowing us to take to the field and represent our countries...and thanks for using a less physical approach than your compatriots! ;-)

To the referee, thanks for your record attempt for fastest marks ever. I hope your keyboard hasn't caught on fire!

To the Kiwis, well done! We've started this competition in the right way. Carn, Kiwis - fire up!

 

[madunit]

*gets sauce*

 

[Non Terminator]

My keyboard is made of fire. Full stop. Have to work quickly.

 

[gorilla]

Titanic for PNG (750 OWC)
_________________________________________________

CAPTAIN'S LOG, 30 October

It is now 622 cursed days since we set sail from England, aboard The Lady Harried Hooker.

Our mission was to spread the word of rugby league to the uncivilised world.

To this end, we carried 122 pretty coloured beads to trade with natives we encountered in order to engender goodwill, 132 mirrors and 167 rugby league footballs for the same purpose, and 62 sailors/rugby league players unsuspectingly carrying the smallpox virus.

Our first point of call came earlier than we expected. Just two days after we set off, our coxswain and orange boy, Billy Blackjones, shouted from the crow's nest: "Land ahoy!"

"Could this be right? Land so soon?" I asked my first mate, Alphonse de Ponce, a fine fullback, even though he was French and knew stuff-all about the sea. "Mais, non?" he said.

I trusted his opinion. I had to. I didn't speak French but I had been captain of the Firsts team at Warrington College (Alphonse was a French exchange student there).

As The Harried Hooker docked, I called out: "We mean you no harm. We come in peace, in the name of God, The Queen and Rugby League."

"We come bearing gifts of friendship. We have beads, looking glasses and rugby league balls." We quickly ascertained, however, that the people of this land thought we were absolutely bonkers. They had a deep devotion to a game called soccer. They complained that our odd-shaped footballs hurt their heads when they tried to deflect them into their goals.

We'd arrived full of hope, confident that we would soon have the locals worshipping rugby league… lots of tries, lots of conversions. But this first lot of filthy rotten heathens told us to stick the beads, looking glasses and rugby league balls up our scrums.

It also turned out that we were still in England, albeit a few miles up the coast.

As The Lady Harried Hooker pulled away from the dock, hundreds of by-now less-than-friendly inhabitants chanted and jeered. It was like losing an away-game.

I gathered the crew for a pep talk as we charted a course under full sail for the South Seas, the Australian colonies and the great unknown.

I can report that we never made it.

I thought we had ample provisions for a long voyage. But I was wrong.

We sailed on for 230 more days and saw no land at all.

We ate all the bully beef, bread and the fillet mignon Alphonse had insisted on.

By day 221, we had nothing left.

By day 230, the men were barely standing. I have never seen a rugby league team so hungry.

It was then I made another decision I will regret for the rest of my God-forsaken and rugby league-deprived life. I felt I had no choice. I told the men they could eat the footballs.

They were stowed in the forward hold and, on opening the hatch, it was discovered we had sprung quite a nasty leak… the footballs were afloat.

"Don't touch those footballs," I cried. But it was too late. The men were plucking them out.

Someone threw one to me. It was a perfect pass and, if I’d had the energy, I’m sure I’d have instinctively dashed to the gunnels and dived across the rhumb line.

Alas, I was hungry too. I ripped into the ball - ravenously, putting aside my initial fears and forgetting my duty to my team. The pig’s bladder tasted leathery but if you could get past the faint, perhaps just imagined, taste of urine, it was really quite delicious.

Suddenly the ship started to creak and groan alarmingly. Oops, I remembered the water-filled hold. Then I remembered the buoyant footballs had been the only things keeping us afloat. And now there were more than 60 hungry men eating them.

The ship was SINKING! "Abandon ship," I cried. "Captains, vice-captains and halfbacks first!"

Not everyone made it. The last I saw of Billy Blackjones he was caught up in the frigging rigging.

We drifted for three days and three nights before bumping into a coral atoll. Alas, there are only six of us... not enough to even constitute a Sevens Team.

Everyday, I scan the horizon hoping like hell that another team will come.

Please come.

Please.

We have eaten the last of our footballs and all we have now are coconuts. These are basically round and not at all suited for the game of rugby league.

Captain Cecil Knotcock-Smythe
​

Damn, you forgot that wingers are there to be eaten in these very situations !