Round 2 (2009) WARRIORS v BLUEBAGS

[The Piper]

Forum 7s - Round 2 2009
NEW ZEALAND WARRIORS v NEWTOWN BLUEBAGS

-v-

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

Naming Teams:
* 5v5 (+ 2 reserves for visiting team, 3 reserves for home team)
* No 'TBA' or changing players named
* Captains must stick with original teams named

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

FULL TIME: Wednesday 8th April 2009 at 9pm (Syd time)
REFEREE: The Colonel
Venue: Mt Smart Stadium

**The Referee Blows Game On!**

CLICK HERE FOR OFFICIAL WORD COUNTER

 

[Willow]

The Bluebags Aquaduck berths in Auckland Harbour at sex o'clock local time.

Ozbash waves us ashore, and we all pile into the back of his ute.

We are now ready to defend the Brownie Shield.

BLUEBAGS TEAM - ROUND 2, 2009



Willow (c)
gorilla (vc)
Drew-sta
Everlovin' Antichrist
ozbash

Res:
Rexxy
Black Kitty

Good luck one and all :thumn

 

[rayroxon]

In proof that good things take their time, the Warriors leave the Bluebags waiting on the field as they finalise their squad in the sheds which incidentally looks a little like this.

Warriors Rd 2

Jesbass (c)
Rayroxon (vc)
Suttsburger
Bay Vikings
Kid-Dynamite

Bench:
cornelius-sula
Spence
Mixmasterreece.

Up the Brownie!

 

[rayroxon]

Rayroxon hits it up by himself for the Warriors. Sigh...

*****​

Townsville for 1.

I’ve just had the gig from hell. I’m stuck on Church Street in Parramatta at 1am looking for a taxi. The crowd ebbs and flows around me but, I’m the loneliest man in the world.

I hail a taxi and get in. The cabbie is talkative. He asks where I’ve been. I reply Comedy. He asks me if I’m a comedian. I nod my head. He asks me to tell him a joke. I deliver it; poorly. He looks at me like I’m a sham. I know that already. At least the rest of the ride is silent.

I get home and pack. I find my jerseys. They all smell bad. I pick the least offensive and place it on top of my bag. I go to bed and set the alarm for 4:30am.

The alarm rings. My girlfriend rolls over. I kiss her forehead and I think she tells me to piss off. I shower, get dressed and wait.

My phone rings. It’s the shuttle service. I go outside. There is no shuttle. I call the number back and ask where he is. He says number 62. I look up the road and notice the red of some tail lights. I run. He’s stopped at number 52. I have a dyslexic driver to the airport.

Small talk is non-existent. I try to snooze but can’t. Dawn breaks.

I get to the airport and check in. I’m asked if I have any explosives. I’m tempted to say I bombed last night but don’t. I stop and get the paper. Someone asks me if I’m going to the game. I reply that I wear my Warriors jersey in airports on Sunday mornings to advertise the team. It isn’t received well.

I look up from the paper. I notice a Warriors fan. He comes over and introduces himself. He’s going to Townsville as well. He’s with his girlfriend. They hug. I could use a hug but I don’t ask for one. I cry inside.

We board the flight. We sit across the aisle from each other. He points out Steve Mascord, sitting 2 rows in front. Steve has a massive head and a sense of self satisfaction that I envy.

We get to Townsville. The airport is covered in blue, yellow and white crepe paper. It looks like Cowboy Christmas for bogans. We get a cab. I’m staying in the centre of town; they’re staying near the casino. We swap numbers.

It’s 9:30am. I’ve had 3 hrs sleep. I nap. The fan calls me. I wake. I meet the fan in the centre of town.

The highlight of the day is watching a drunk female call a group of girls s**ts. They’re only 13 years old and it’s 11am. End highlight.

The fan goes back to his hotel. I spend the next three hours in the museum. The woman from museum reception sees me three times. I think she feels sorry for me and makes small talk. I am now sobbing inside. I buy a snow globe from the gift store. I don’t feel better.

I go to the casino and lose $20 on the pokies while I wait for the fan.

We catch the bus from the casino. It costs $8 one way. I’m outraged but pay as I know of no other travel option. The bus crawls along painfully and is soon full of Cowboys fans. I feel dirty.

We get to the ground. It’s in the middle of nowhere. There is more dust than grass. We pick up our tickets and find out we’re in the same bay. With some creative seat shifting we end up sitting together. It’s hot. The Warriors are wearing black. Not good.

The game starts. Thurston fires a forward pass to Bowen just before half time. Bowen scores, Thurston converts. It’s 18-12. I should have left then. The second half is torture. The fan leaves with 20 to go. I watch numbly as the Cowboys rack up 31 second half points. The crowd cheers. I don’t.

I leave the ground by myself. I catch the wrong bus and end up in a paddock opposite a shopping centre. I get back on the bus. I catch another bus. It’s the right bus but I know I’m in the wrong town.

I get back to my hostel. The fan won’t return my calls. I eat alone. There are other diners around me, but I’m the loneliest man in the world.

*****​

746 words between the stars.​

 

[gorilla]

to the sound of over 3860 kazoos - gorilla strides about the reserves bench before plunging on



***********************************************************************
What makes a memory ?

My Dad and I were talking on the phone the other day and he asked if I’d seen a young kid in the U/20’s competition – he was from club in one of the towns we’d lived in during the 60’s. I said I’d not caught the earlier matches; too busy in the beery club, but I’d look out next match.

I’d first played league with that club, playing through junior levels at two other clubs, but that first has always been my favourite. Dad’s question took me back over forty years.

A schizophrenic uncle (by marriage, thank God) introduced me to league with his ramblings about great games, but a new school in 3rd class primary was my first contact. I’d never seen, played or heard a match – my father was an immigrant but he made sure I got to play as he was always open to new experiences.

School league teams were based on weight, not age – there was two divisions based on now-forgotten amounts of stones and pounds weight. I was too heavy to play. Always a big child, I stood head and shoulders above most of my mates. I was directed toward the local town league club – one for every little town in the district. I can still remember names of at least half a dozen.

The U/8 team trained twice a week on a full sized ground. There never seemed to be any other teams around except on match days when there would be kids everywhere. Our ground was in a bowl on a hill and by the time we turned up at 4.30 or so it was out of the sun. There were an old wooden clubrooms, paint peeling and empty echoes amongst stacked metal chairs and a few locked doors. We’d run around like mad in there if it rained to hear the hammering on the tin roof. No grandstand, just a ring of wood plank benches alongside the low-built galvanised iron pipe fence. It would be dark and cold when we finished with a ride home on our bikes.

We trained in sandshoes on dry stubby grass that would, later in the winter evenings, become slippery underfoot and we would slide along in the dusk-dark from shadow into the gleam of the piddley spotlights on sticks around the bowl.

We ran laps around the oval, stood in lines or circles to pass a ball around, and got shown how to tackle around the legs. Passing chains as we run along the pitch in groups of five or seven would see us strung across the field, each just keeping up with the other.

Our coach was called ‘Pops’. He was some kid’s grandfather, old and skinny and always wearing a thin woollen club beanie. Pops stayed the whole day on match day, always around the little wooden clubrooms and its second-storey time-keepers’ room. Up and down the rickety outside stairs he would battle the winds and wobbly handrail, probably battled a few beers too.

Game day was always the best, you’d get to wear your boots and guernsey – all fresh folded and bright. The numbers were cloth. The boots had solid metal studs, six all together - four at the front and two at the back with a high leather ankle you had to strap your laces around and a knobbly hard toe piece. Pops always had us shine our boots.

We’d charge around and get happy. Being big had some advantages until I was forced up age grades and used to get smashed by older, harder young men. 14 years old in U/16s, 16 years old in U/18.

Back in the U/8s it was strolling heaven – all those little kids hanging on. I was like a modern-day big Islander kid. Still I never really learnt to tackle as I couldn’t catch a lot of other kids if they ran away from me.

There were three things I learnt, even if I have to look back to see them all.

From my Dad I learnt that it’s not so much what you know as how well you’ll learn.

From Pops I learnt to play a sport and game and love it for its own sake, to play for team-mates and for the enjoyment or fun as he called it.

And from that U/8s team, my Moss Vale Dragons, I got my life-long love of the bid red V splashed across my chest.

***************************************
749 words between the aster-risks

 

[ozbash]

Humility-Courage-Sacrifice – Don't Give Up

Three words and a small phrase which sums up the short life of rising Warriors star, Sonny Fai.

Tragically taken from us on the evening of Sunday, January fourth at Auckland's wild west coast Bethells Beach. Sonny and members of his family had been enjoying a day out at the notorious spot, relaxing before he started pre-season training the following morning. Although he knew the dangers of the West Coast and apparently reluctant to enter the water, Sonny joined his younger siblings in that last fateful swim.

Famous for its unpredictability, Bethells can turn it on quickly with dangerous rips and deep holes appearing from virtually nowhere, that sad Sunday evening was no exception.

Three members of Sonny's family soon found themselves floundering helplessly in the surf and Sonny, without thoughts of his own safety, swam to them and guided the three back to the safety of the shoreline.

The last family member was Sonny's younger brother, Gillesbie. Sonny grabbed the 13 year old's arm and helped him towards the shore. His last words to his brother were “Keep going, don't give up”.

That was the last time he was seen. His family watched helplessly as the now exhausted hero succumbed to the waves and disappeared.

The news broke the following morning.

The amazing thing about this whole tragic incident is the way it has drawn people, from all walks of life, from all sporting codes, different countries, together and united in a sense of grief in such a manner that I have never seen before.

Understandably, his team mates were devastated. Warriors captain, Steve Price, was inconsolable on national TV when asked about how he felt. So-called 'hard men' were reduced to tears at the news. Not only his team mates, total strangers, people who never even followed Sonny's chosen code were lost for words.

We had the unprecedented sense of 'mateship', where team members and management of Sonny's club maintained a daily vigil at Bethells Beach alongside members of his family and fans.

Don Mann, Warriors football manager, told me that the people who were hurting most were Sonny's young brother, Gillesbie, who was blaming himself for the accident and members of the Warriors Toyota Cup team who were having trouble coming to terms with the loss of their team mate.

We had members of Rugby League forums racking their collective brains thinking of ways in which they could help out the Fai family. One member (whom I am actually competing against in this F7s comp) came up with a great idea of manufacturing and selling Sonny Fai wristbands with those three words and the short phrase, (Humility-Courage-Sacrifice – Don't Give Up.) embossed into them. Initially settling on 2000 bands, another member (an Australian no less!) mortgaged his house in an effort to fund the manufacture of more bands. It was an unprecedented success and I'm very proud to say that my family assisted these two unselfish entrepreneurs in selling these at last weekend's game.

Sonny was a freakish player, 6 foot 4 inches, 109 kg, the second rower/centre had great speed and agility. He had the uncanny knack of being able to beat a tackler through either guile or just plain brute strength.

At 14, Sonny was playing for Counties-Manukau Under-16s and they totally destroyed Canterbury. Christchurch rugby league identity, Jeff Whittaker, rang his mate Frank Endacott, the former Kiwis coach and player agent, to tell him he had seen something special.

Endacott only needed to see Sonny once, he signed him. Sonny was later signed by the Warriors in 2003 on a three year scholarship deal. Sonny was only 14 years old at the time.

The following year (2005) Sonny debuted for the Junior Kiwis, he was three years younger than the next youngest!

He debuted in the NSWRL Premier League in 2007, scoring 14 tries in 21 games. His NRL debut came last year (2008) where he played 15 games and scored five tries. Sonny was selected for both the New Zealand and Samoan World Cup training squads.

Most of us are still trying to come to terms with his loss, I think for most it is the loss of potential and the pain left behind for his family.

R.I.P SONNY FAI
20/3/88 - 4/1/2009

715 words

 

[Jesbass]

Ready and primed to take on the Bluebags once again, Jesbass storms onto the field, a bit confused as to where his allegiances should lie...

What The Heck(ler)? (750 words including title)

I always fancied myself as a bit of a heckler. And when I say that, I don't mean a drunken lout who hurls abuse at the opposition. No, I've always made sure I'm sober when I'm getting stuck in.

It all started when I bought my first Warriors season ticket back in 1999. You see, $168 was a lot of money to a 16 year old kid, so I figured that I'd better ensure I got every last cent's worth from it. I vowed to myself that I wasn't going to merely be a spectator, but that I would participate to the Nth degree.

It was a role that I took very seriously.

Over the following decade, I was involved in all variety of crowd activities. From booing opposition players, to yelling at other fans to shut up when they booed one of our own, (yes, we're a fickle bunch), I had somehow found myself in the thick of it.

There were the usual taunts, which I'm sure are similar to those at every other league match. Players slowing the play the ball area were usually met with comments like “What is this, a gay porn film?” or “This is Mount Smart, not Brokeback Mountain!” The officials typically copped a spray or two, as well. “Is the rule book hard to read in Braille?” seemed to be a common query, and there was almost always one person willing to tell the touch judge where he could put his flag...

Last year, a friend and I even caused a momentary pause in play when the visiting referee delayed the feeding of a scrum as he registered one of our chants. It had something to do with him lacking use, and being born out of wedlock. Conveniently, the exact words escape me right now.

Having also managed to safely navigate my way through the minefield of big crowd faux pas, such as getting tongue-tied, attempting a failed slow clap like the guy in Not Another Teen Movie, or simply being too damn nice, I was sitting pretty. Sure, I was no Phantom Siren, but I felt I played an important role from the stands.

That all changed at a recent home match, however, when I heard another fan's heckle as it cascaded over me and others, down into the melee of combatants below.

It wasn't a particularly eloquent comment, nor was it original. But what stopped me in my tracks was that it was directed at me.

Shocked, I spun around, looking for my accuser, but none was to be seen.

A few minutes later it happened again, both louder and clearer. Yes, I was definitely hearing my name being used as a form of abuse. How dare they!

Angered, I slouched into my seat, hurt by this rejection from a fellow fan. Some supporter they turned out to be...

I was lost in my self pity, swallowed up by my insular perspective, when the crowd roared as one, hissing and baying for blood. I leaned over to the guy in the next seat to ask what happened.

“The Broncos scored,” he yelled over the noise, his brows furrowed in confusion at me not having noticed. “Bloody David Taylor.”

There it was again! Not only was I receiving more abuse, but I was being blamed for the try!

Stewing in anger, I made the quiet drive home and turned to the internet, confident that the real fans – the ones who give up their personal time midweek to discuss the team – would support me. But there, too, I copped both barrels. Every thread that recounted key moments in the match seemed to mention me.

David Taylor this, David Taylor that.

Eventually, it all became too much. Lost in my self doubt and insecurities, I turned my back on the club I'd supported for 14 rigorous seasons. Despite serving the team faithfully in the stands for 10 years, it was clear that I wasn't wanted. The other fans had colluded against me.

No matter. I'm sure someone else will take me in.

Like Brisbane fans, for example. As far as they're concerned, I'm better than sliced bread. I've heard them say that I turned the match in their favour; some of them even reckoned I put in a man of the match performance! I think that might be going a bit far, but it's nice to know that my chanting and witty retorts haven't gone unnoticed by some people.

***

Special thanks to David Taylor of the Broncos for being my namesake - without you, this article wouldn't exist.

 

[Drew-Sta]

Drew pulls his old Bluebags gurnsey on, and pulls out a his reading glasses in preparation for the nights article.



---

The Ballad of Friday Night

The bright lights hit his eyes
As he stepped on to the field that night
The screams and cheers
Deafened his ears
As the whistle signalled the fight

The crowd gave a mighty roar
Tonight, they signalled, would not be a bore
As the red and white
Took to flight
In an attempt to establish their law

The gold and blue
His enemies hue
Their pain would be his joy

He would lure them in
Tackle and pin
That would be his ploy

“Tonight you run well out wide
“I need you to own that far left side
“They come to you?
“Bruise them blue!
“Your performance will turn the tide.”

He nodded his head, very intent
Tonight he needed to make a dent
To batter and break
And definitely make
His enemy bloody, battered and bent.

The whistle blew
The ball flew
The crowd roared the start

He ran hard
At the enemy guard
Adrenaline fuelling his heart

As the match continued the ball was spread
The enemy went right and used their head
They ran and passed
And finally the last
The halfback kicked it dead

The crowd groaned in dismay
They were not impressed with the play
But the enemy were strong
And the half was long
Both teams kept the other at bay

“Hit them hard
“Be on your guard!”
The player called to those in sight

A mistake was made
The enemy would raid
They would pass the ball to the right

The siren sounded its booming cry
As the enemy put a bomb to the sky
The leather held true
To the in goal it flew
And a contest was pitched in their bid for a try

The crowd stood up in rapture
As the blue and gold player did capture
The steeden in hand
And then did land
A try was scored by the catcher

Heads went down
Players did frown
Morale began to slide

The enemy cheered
They no longer feared
They were now a different side

The ref signalled the half time break
Both teams looked for oranges to take
“Defence is the key!
“Do you not see?
“You’re as soft as my wifes sponge cake!”

The red and white pulled together
And vowed they would fight forever
To the blue and gold
They would indeed be bold
And their attack would be quick and clever

The player then spoke
As the coach did hope
Strong words he offered to all

“Run fast, hit hard
“Don’t play like a ‘tard
“We must control the ball!”

Once again they went to the fight
And they were intent on showing their might
The red and the white
Defensively tight
Ran onto the field and into the light

The crowd screamed in anticipation
The enemy ran out with trepidation
They saw their resolve
Would not just dissolve
And there would be no mediation

“This will be war
“That is for sure.”
The commentators did observe.

“Both teams will belt
“Pain will be felt
“Both teams must hold their nerve.”

The game continued to be tough
Both teams played hard and rough
The forwards did bash
And the defence did mash
But the players were running out of puff

Finally the big men hit the wall
Fatigue kicked in and they began to stall
The player saw his chance to shine
He jinked, swerved and took on the line

The defence is broken and he runs straight through
Support on either side he can use too
The crow stands up when he’s fifty out
“Go Benny boy!” cries out some drunken lout

“Down the left flank, he’s owned that side!
“His strong hard running has turned the tide!”
The commentator stands to call the game
He’s never quite seen anything the same

The player runs to meet one more man
He needs to pass and not sure if he can
With blind faith and a little luck
He flicks the ball and hopes it stuck

The crowd shouts as the ball is caught
Support was there as they were taught
The red and white have won the fight
And Ben Creagh was the man of the night.

---

Word Count - 697

 

[rayroxon]

In an explosive outcome for the Warriors, Kid Dynamite is stretchered off the field and Spence limbres up and takes his place.

Off: Kid-Dynamite
On: Spence

 

[Spence08]

Spence strides out onto the field for his debut match.

****
Manly enough for you yet?

As 'A Beautiful Mind' taught me, a hangover is simply a lack of water content in the body. However for the pride of Manly-Warringah areas, an increase on their daily 8 glasses doesn't seem like the perfect tonic to wake the Sea Eagles up from their horror start to the NRL season.
Judging by the lack of execution seen in their last game against Newcastle, it would be safe to assume that any of the current Sea Eagles team would even be capable of taking any form of medication without great assistance. Manly had an 80% completion rate in Sunday's clash compared to Newcastle's 69% and a slightly greater share of the possession stakes. Although minor stats, they speak a lot for Manly's lack of ability to put in a decent performance in 2009. As they say, doing the 'little things' right wins you games but for Manly, this just isn't the case as they crashed to a 26-12 defeat, their fourth in the opening four games.

As these thoughts stewed away in my mind, I wondered if it was possible for Manly to successfully defend the NRL title they won so resoundingly last October. I decided to do a bit of digging around in the archives, and I found the infamous ’33 Bluebags team. 1933 is an historical year for not only Newtown, but also for the provincial rugby league competition. After a shocking start to Season 26 of the NSWRL competition, the Newtown Bluebags blew the competition right out of the water. After losing their opening four games, Newtown, led by their coach and former dual international Charles 'Boxer' Russell, went on to win 9 of their last 10 regular games to qualify for the final series as the equivalent of today’s minor premiers. Season 1933 wasn't without its heroics, Newtown were reduced to 12 men in their semi-final against South Sydney through an injury to representative fullback Alan Righton but they fought on, triumphant in their path to the final with a 17-12 victory at the Sydney Sports Ground; a ground replaced in 1986 by the Sydney Football Stadium.

I’m a Warriors fan, so I know a thing or two about terrible starts to the season. Manly’s 2009 start, however, takes the cake. Even the most die-hard Manly fans couldn’t place all the blame on the NRL suspending Brett Stewart for the opening four games. Brett Stewart is a key player for the club, especially at Brookvale where he has scored 48 tries in 52 games and whilst it is true that Manly only win 45% of their games without Stewart, this is no excuse for their poor form. They have also been missing their boom winger David Williams, nominee for rookie of the year in 2008. Jamie Lyon was missing from their last game with knee ligament damage, but that does not excuse their form so far, as he has only missed one game. Young buck Tony Williams is also out, however this may be academic as it seems Suniluna and Bani are favoured over him. The final injury concern they have is the most devastating, the one of Kiwi international Steve Matai, potentially out for the season and some, with ongoing neck injuries. Taking this into account, Manly are close to running at full strength, with all their players except for Matai due back by round 6.

Still the question remains, can Manly do it? They have only lost Menzies, who has gone over to the English Super League to retire and have gained the Novocastrian Chris Bailey, allowing Manly to play Lyon at Centre. It seems as though Menzies was more important to their team than previously thought, with his versatility hard to replace. However, apart from him, they are the same team that dominated the competition last season. I haven’t studied their games closely thus far, so I won’t comment on where they are going wrong, but I will say that I think that they can still make the play-offs. The Broncos in 1999 lost their first 5 games on the trot and after 12 rounds had only mustered 2 wins. They then went on to win 11 games in a row, squeezing into the top 8.

As for Manly, they play the Storm this weekend. It isn’t the best game for them to try and get the monkey of their back, but you'd agree a win would be the perfect tonic for a premiership hangover.
****

748 Words between the asterixes.

 

[Willow]

Willow | Bluebags


-----------

The end of the Sharks?

"Give me a pulse... c'mon you bastard... don't die on me now!!!!"

Ah yes, the old movie cliché. The main players in this melodrama are the pseudo-emotional doctor, the distraught nurse, showing just enough cleavage... and the patient dying on the operating table.

The doctor: played by the rugby league governing body of your choice.

The nurse: played by die-hard Sharks supporters.

No prizes for guessing who the patient is.

The Cronulla-Sutherland Sharks should never have been admitted into the competition. They had no real organised junior base before the 1950s and were destined to be squeezed out by their neighbours. Not too far south, the Illawarra had a successful local competition going since the 1920s. Their cousins St George, just a few clicks to the north, had the population, the money and records that simply spoke volumes.

In the 1800s, the entire area south of Cooks River was generally known as the Illawarra. For the uninitiated, that's basically everything south of the top of Botany Bay. For the residents of the then outer-city suburbs of Newtown and Marrickville, crossing the river by barge meant venturing into timber-getting area of the Illawarra, and into the bush. The Parish of St George came later. The Sutherland Shire came much later. The Illawarra just went further south.

In 1967, NSWRL 'expansion' saw the Sharks invited into the first grade. Illawarra were controversially overlooked. Geographical positioning alone should have been enough to bring the decision into question.

Perhaps the over-sexed resort village looked like an administrator's dream come true. Maybe they figured it would be good for the game's image. Perhaps the League, in their desperation to even up the teams, opted not to look far enough ahead. But regardless of the reason, it has proven to be one of the worst decisions ever made in the history of the game.

The Sharks' story reads like a train wreck in slow motion. They have never won a premiership and are essentially the competition's least successful club. By 2010 the chant from opposition supporters will be "43 years and juanf**kall!" Even the dwindling number of sharky fans know the lyrics.

But winning isn't everything and a solid financial base will always keep the ship on an even keel... right? Well actually, Cronulla have rarely been ahead of the game money-wise. At various times they have been propped up in one form or another by the NSWRL, the ARL, Super League, the NRL and whoever has an open cheque book.

In the 1970s, Cronulla's home ground of Endeavour Field saw construction start on a clubhouse and grandstand. It was quite a sight and an innovation with fans being able to watch the game and then resign to the club for post-match drinks. But the construction stalled for a few years, and rumours abound that the club had run itself into a debt of $1 million!

The rumours of financial strife intensified into fact when, in 1983, the NSWRL stepped in and provided a loan. Then in 1986, medico-gad-about-town Geoffrey Edelsten and his blonde sidekick Leanne tried to buy the Sharks. The club rolled out the red carpet, only to be blocked by the NSWRL. In 1993, Cronulla went into receivership, with the ARL bailing them out. In 1995 the lure of dollars saw them jump ship and join Super League.

In 2004, former coach John Lang declared, "The Sharks have no influence and no money. They have spent half their history staving off bankruptcy... some seasons have been a success just to exist."

The man who replaced Lang, Chris Anderson, tried to right the ship by accusing the Sharks of having a "losing culture." Anderson also said to the Sharks board, "sack me or back me." He was later sacked. 'Ando' responded by taking legal action against the Sharks, and taking the cash-strapped club to the cleaners.

As recently as 2008, the Sharks were forced to borrow $500,000 from the St George Bank so they could pay their staff. They actually asked for $1 million, but the bank looked at the club's assets and pulled back the credit. In any man's language, the Sharks had just maxed out.

In many businesses, there are often methods established in the early days of operation that seems to embellish itself onto subsequent administrations. If this is true, then it appears that the fate of Sharks was set in stone decades ago. If so, then the question remains, how long before the inevitable happens?

| 750 words |

 

[Suttsburger]

Suttsburger is buoyed by his opening round hit-out but all too aware that no one remembers a one and done hero - just ask Paul Hauff.

(748 words from below)

You can’t always get what you want.

I remember the way my stomach turned and the disgusting taste left in my mouth when in September 1993 Brisbane claimed back-to-back premierships.

My 12-year-old rationale was that we might as well not have played, watched or worried about the entire season if all we were going to end up with was the same outcome from 12 months prior.

I'm older now and questionably wiser and while the idea of seeing the Broncos win repeat premierships still sickens me, the idea of a bona fide dynasty is something the game could dearly do with.

I'm not talking about predictability thriving on a lack of competition but a genuine benchmark and level of prestige - something which rugby league's modern incarnation appears to be lacking.

Following Manly's third loss in succession to christen their 2009 premiership defence, I heard a commentator question whether their run atop the NRL was coming to an end.

"Coming to an end?" I thought, "When did it get established?"

If Manly were to drop off the face of the earth after a grand final loss and victory, would fans truly romanticise a Sea Eagles dynasty?

The closest thing we've had of recent times is Melbourne's three-season domination and even that has only yielded the solitary title.

I'm not trying to point the finger or suggest that teams these days lack the mettle to gain notorious longevity, but the game has changed; from the laws to the skill-sets and you have to wonder when, if it all, will we ever see old-school, table-topping domination again?

Since News Limited got the ARL drunk, slept with them and spawned the lovechild better known as the NRL in 1998 we've seen eight different premiers in 11 years.

On one hand it's a great indication of the unpredictable nature of the competition. Conversely, it sends a message that if teams bide their time a title will come rather than having to overcome an all-conquering opponent to earn the game's highest honour.

The salary cap has made it unlikely we'll have a team govern for more than three or four years and while fertile backyards such as those housed by the Broncos will always keep producing talent, player farms of the future are likely to see stars earn themselves a higher price-tag and inevitably spread their wings.

If you cast your mind back to an age before salary caps (it was barely an age of salaries), the greatest dynasty of all reigned.

St George's string of 11 consecutive titles puts Melbourne or Manly's dominance to shame. It was the ultimate benchmark of rugby league supremacy.

Imagine that burning desire to topple the champs, growing stronger with every year of disappointment, the visceral desperation, the joy of small victories and knowing that to be crowned champions you had to do so by overcoming all odds and proving everyone wrong by doing the impossible.

The key to that remarkable run was the ability to keep a core group of players together over an extended period of time. What's more it was the best players in the game who remained loyal. Norm Provan was there for every title while Reg Gasnier and John Raper arrived in time for premiership No.4 and stayed well past the streak's lifetime.

In a sign of the times, we've already seen Melbourne turn over half of their 2006 squad while most of the Brisbane team that beat them that year have left.

Whether it is salary cap restrictions making it impossible for clubs to hang onto players or the dissolution of player-club loyalty, teams are unable to maintain a familiar-looking squad much less maintain consistently high results for a decade.

As "How the mighty have fallen" becomes a more and more common part of the league pundit's vernacular, we've almost come to expect the crushing fall from grace that besets the glow of winning a premiership.

If Penrith's glory of 2003 was a precursor to another wooden spoon in 2007 and Wests Tigers fairytale of 2005 was the forerunner to three seasons of disappointment then what awaits our current crop of world beaters?

Maybe competition is good for the sport and perhaps my desires are clouded by a quest to re-establish the game that was echoed in my childhood. I just hope success isn't being devalued in the name of equality.

 

[Everlovin' Antichrist]

Duplicated post, site playing up. Apologies Ref.

 

[Everlovin' Antichrist]

EA for Da 'Bags.

Bring it.


Rugby League is Australia is nothing if resilient.

From humble beginning at Sydney’s Bateman’s Hotel 101 years ago, it has survived two world wars, numerous scandals, attempts to force its own demise via the Super League war of the mid 1990’s and the constant threat from the auld enemy, Rugby Union.


But today it faces what should be its toughest adversary. For three decades the most insidious of enemies has been trying to infiltrate Rugby League’s turf in Australia. It is an enemy without morals, an enemy without tact, and an enemy with a penchant for dishonesty, astounding arrogance and an innate belief that it is the “desired” game of the masses in Australia.

That enemy is Australian Rules football. A sport so bereft of class that its God is a man who was present when a young girl died of an overdose, and its King is a man who slept with his best friend’s wife and is currently on assault charges in the USA.


It’s about survival apparently.


Each code of Football in Australia has had to expand. Three codes, Rugby League, Rugby Union and Soccer have expanded into Australian Rules Football’s areas with a minimum of interruption to Australian Football. Soccer contracted then expanded again and moved to summer. Rugby Union, already safely ensconced in NSW and Queensland as the number 2 code (behind Rugby League) dipped its toes into the water in Perth with some success and Rugby League moved into Melbourne with a minimum of fuss or fanfare. But the governing body of Australian Football, AFL, does it differently. They do it with all the bells and whistles possible. With an army of scribes firmly wedged in the AFL’s back pocket, they stormed into Sydney and Brisbane a quarter of a decade ago acting like returning war heroes. It worked for a while, but the honeymoon has long since been consigned to history.


The AFL has announced a new team on the Gold Coast and will follow that up in the future with a Western Sydney team.
Their problem is their ignorance of the complete and utter lack of anything resembling real “interest” in their code in Western Sydney and the Gold Coast. The 60,000 crowds they used get to their blockbusters at ANZ Stadium have plummeted to the mid 30’s and the memories of 300,000+ regular TV viewers in the 1996 season have been erased by years of sub 100,000 games in recent years. In fact, last Saturday night, the AFL blockbuster between the Sydney Swans and the defending premiers was beaten by every show on the opposition free-to-air stations.


The Gold Coast is little different, sub 10,000 crowds are the norm and the Queensland regional ratings for AFL never make the meter flinch. It is this type of truth the AFL, its administrators and its fans ignore. Eddie McGuire confidently states regarding the Gold Coast in a recent article “The region is strong in AFL tradition and surveys show half the population follow our game; it is also a growing talent procurement area.”


Yet Carrarra has a ground capacity of 18,000 and an average attendance for AFL games of just under half that figure. The ratings for AFL in regional Queensland are laughable.

But still they push forward blindly.


Why?


Because they’re scared; they’re scared that if they don’t imprint themselves into the hearts and minds of all Australians, not just southern Australians, they’ll end up irrelevant. So they believe that the two new teams are their version of going for the jugular and they firmly believe that eventually, Australian Rules Football will be everyone’s favourite code of Football in Australia.


The problem the AFL has is that it has spent the best part of twenty five years and it is still only marginally relevant in Queensland and barely relevant in NSW. Their actions in forcing two teams into areas that have shown little interest is suicidal.


And it won’t work. In fact, it should backfire. For the past ten years the more they’ve pushed in front of us, the less interested we’ve become. In the next ten years, with two extra teams to ignore, the AFL should bleed and quite possibly bleed into total and complete irrelevance with the people of NSW and Queensland.


Our resilience may once again be tested but based on the history of the AFL in NSW and Queensland, it won’t. It may well do the opposite and hasten the AFL’s demise.


Here’s hoping.


747 Words.


References;
http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,25269153-5012432,00.html
http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2002/10/24/1035416936653.html
http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2008/01/30/1201369169509.html
http://stats.rleague.com/afl/seas/2009.html
http://www.tvtonight.com.au/2009/03/week-14-2.html

 

[Bay Vikings]

Last out of the changing sheds as usual, Bay Vikings brings up the rear. Lucky he's the fullback.

748 words between the stars

***********

The Immortal

It would be fair to say that Rabbits have had the wood on the Warriors in recent times. According to journalists, ex-players, sports betting agencies and fans on forums everywhere, the Warriors should be outright favourites when they face the overachieving Rabbits. Last Sunday was no different, but someone forgot to tell the Bunnies that. With an exceptional halves pairing and strike power across the park, smart money should’ve always been on them picking up another unlikely win against the injury ravaged Warriors.

It’s only a recent trend mind you. Prior to last year, the luckless Rabbitohs had copped some merciless beatings from the Warriors. Kiwis have a soft spot for South Sydney, as we do for the underdog in all sports, a position that we can identify and sympathise with. However, that didn’t stop the Warriors from inflicting South’s worst ever defeat at ANZ Stadium in round 16 of 2006, a 66 - 0 capitulation which would prove to be the lowest point in a year where they grabbed the wooden spoon well before the season had finished.

Sunday’s match reminded me of another game. In an uncanny coincidence to this weekend, we hosted the Rabbitohs at Mt Smart on a Sunday in the 5th game of the 4th round of 2005. Even the weather was the same, no mean feat for Auckland. The 2005 game was a different story though. While there were players who had featured in both games past and present, one player stands out above all others.

It had been 10 years since the little general first ran out on to the field in 1995, a few weeks shy of his 19th birthday and by his own admission, the weekly grind of the NRL and international rugby league had taken its toll on him both physically and mentally. Add to that the growing tension between players, staff and management at the time and you could have forgiven Stacey for not fronting up on April 3rd 2005. Of course, that wasn’t his style. A player of his class never goes through the motions as South Sydney found out the hard way. With disgruntled players and a coach that was just about on the chopping block, the Rabbits were ready to be skinned. This set the stage for another stellar Jones performance.

I remember that game as if it were yesterday. The late summer sun streamed down as I took a seat with my refreshments, supremely confident of another Warriors win. Right from the kickoff the Rabbitohs were under siege and it wasn’t long before Todd Byrne scooted in for the first try. As the Warriors gathered momentum, it was almost unfair watching Stacey toy with the hapless Bunnies. He had truly evolved into a league God, such was his dominance. His stand out performance almost made me feel like a part of the team. My hands twitched as if he was passing the ball to me, one shoulder dropping to put in the big shot to protect him or pinning the ears back as I imagined he had sent me in under the posts.

Next up to score was young Manu Vatuvei. In the style that we’ve come to expect from “The Beast”, Manu turned the Souths winger into a speed bump on the way to his first try in the NRL. Stacey scored a try, just because he felt like it then let Fien have one too. The backrowers, Betham and Koopu took a try apiece, before Clinton Toopi chimed in with a jinky solo effort to really put the Rabbits out of their misery. The poor Bunnies managed to score somehow but it was small consolation for a well beaten side.

It was nearing the final whistle and the Warriors were once again camped out on South’s tryline thanks to our man Stacey. Awen Guttenbeil powered his way through some feeble defence and was just about to score when I heard a familiar voice from behind me. “Get OFF that bloody Playstation; you’re too old to be playing video games!” said the real halfback in my life. Nevermind, I’ll play again tomorrow when she’s not home and exact revenge upon South Sydney, the same way I’d thrashed the Broncos the week before to complete the ritual performed after every Warriors defeat.

Two weeks ago, Steve Price called for the legendary halfback to be added to the list of league immortals. I think he’s already been immortalised in “Stacey Jones Rugby League”.

***********

 

[Pistol]

Thar She Blows

 

[gorilla]

5 v 5

almost worth a slab of earth-roasted pork or a bucket of chilli mussels !

the 'Bags are crowding around the back of the Warriors' stand, looking for the BBQ or the keg - should we look for a block of large or tall people ?

 

[gorilla]

must be about midnight or 1 o'clock in the Eastern Islands, ey ?

 

[Willow]

5 v 5

almost worth a slab of earth-roasted pork or a bucket of chilli mussels !

the 'Bags are crowding around the back of the Warriors' stand, looking for the BBQ or the keg - should we look for a block of large or tall people ?

I'm so there.

Well played everyone and great to see some new names in the F7s match forum.

Good lucks all round. :thumn

 

[rayroxon]

5 v 5

almost worth a slab of earth-roasted pork or a bucket of chilli mussels !

the 'Bags are crowding around the back of the Warriors' stand, looking for the BBQ or the keg - should we look for a block of large or tall people ?

There is no "or" in that statement Gorilla, I'm making sure we do the pork and mussels.

Also you're looking far too high, we're all quite small and short, it helps with pit digging for the pork.

Anyways well played both teams. Now it's time to crack open the Brownie memorial chilly bin and have us a steinlager or two eh? Last 'Bag there gets a towel whip in the sack.