Round 4 (2008) Panthers v Warriors

[Willow]

Forum 7s - Round 4 2008
PENRITH PANTHERS 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.

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 7 May 2008 at 9pm (Syd time)
REFEREE: The Colonel
Venue: CUA Stadium
**The Referee Blows Game On!**

CLICK HERE FOR OFFICIAL WORD COUNTER​

 

[Jesbass]

In their first ever visit to CUA Stadium, the Warriors make a bad impression by upsetting the locals, resulting in one of the squad being arrested for the duration of the match for indecent exposure. Even so, Jesbass lets out a scream of unbridled fury and posts up the team list...

Run On Team:
2. sportsthought
6. byrne_rovelli_fan82
7. Jesbass (c)
11. rayroxon
13. MKEB...

Bench:
24. Bay Vikings

 

[Big Mick]

Penrith team to take on the Warriors.

1. Madunit
2. Furrycat
3. The Piper
4. Leaguenut
5. Glockers

RES:
6. Moonfire
7. Azkatro
8. Big Mick

 

[madunit]

madunit for the Panthers, takes the first run in the first ever Brandy Whiz Cup between Penrith and the Warrirors,

April 16, 1955

To the naked untrained eye, the title signifies a date of little importance to anyone, except those who were born on this day of course.

However this is the date of a game of rugby league in Australia where one team was decimated by injury, misfortune and the opposition.

After two rounds, Western Suburbs were one of only three teams undefeated on the top of the ladder, with St.George and Balmain, after they had defeated cellar dwellers Canterbury and the mid-table Eastern Suburbs.

Manly were placed sixth out of the ten competing teams. They had lost their first game by two points against Balmain, but bounced back against the disappointing Parramatta side in a dour 10-4 victory.

Both teams were at full strength leading into the game, one which many pundits believed would be a walkover for the Wests side.

Season 1955 was one packed with surprises and unimaginable performances by the underdogs. Many would be aware of the massive turn-around by Souths, who were languishing on the bottom of the ladder after ten of the eighteen rounds, with just three wins, before winning their next eleven straight games to take out the premiership.

But the Round Three fixture between Wests and Manly provided a result that no one at all expected, at least not up until halftime.

The game was played at the SCG in fine conditions in front of a crowd of 11,181 spectators, most of whom left the game at halftime.

The day was dubbed “Wests Black Saturday” after they were forced to finish the game with just ten players, after being cruelled by a massive injury toll, possible the biggest ever to hit a team in one game.

The first injury happened after eleven minutes when lock Jim McKenzie was carried off the field with severe ligament damage to his knee. Wests Reserve grade forward Barry Perry was called up to sit on the bench.

Four minutes later, young centre Jim Plater tore a muscle in his chest, but played on for the rest of the half in severe pain. Upon seeing this injury, Third Grade back Joe Leslie was called up to sit on the bench, as a precautionary measure.

At halftime Manly led 6-0 after two unconverted tries, but the crowd started leaving the ground when a number of Wests players looked to be carrying injuries as they left the field. The signs were ominous.

In the second half, Manly struck as the Wests players seemingly dropped like flies to injuries. Plater came off the field ten minutes after halftime, exciting young fullback Johnny Brest, who corked his thigh in the first few minutes of the game but played on, eventually came off the field in severe pain 25 minutes after the break. The two reserves called up as injury replacements took the field, however they too fell to the cursed injury woes, Perry with a broken ankle and Leslie with a broken forearm.

The last fifteen minutes of the game Manly ran riot against a depleted Wests forward pack. For the last fifteen minutes of the game Wests could only field three players in the scrum, which was to their advantage and helped secure some possession to stem the flow of points being scored against them.

Their starting props and hooker were the only players able to pack down in the scrums, with second rower Bill Carson pushed out onto the wing.

At the end of the day, Manly won 46-0. Manly backs scored most of the points, with Johnny Tenison scoring three, Eddie Lumsden, John Hobbs and Rees Duncan a try apiece. The Manly forwards also managed to cross the line, with Martin Jackson scoring twice, Bob Grimm and captain Roy Bull both grabbing a try each. Kellock kicked eight goals in the victory.

The possibility of injury is very real each and every week that games are played, however no team expects, nor prepares for, five severe injuries in a game. The toughness displayed by some of the Wests players to stay on the field after obtaining an injury, to try and help the team out as much they could, is practically unheard of nowadays.

If only the sort of camaraderie, passion and loyalty shown by the Wests players in this game towards their team mates and for their club was being shown nowadays, our game would be much stronger and more passionate than what it is now.

740 words, including title

 

[LeagueNut]

LeagueNut (Panthers)

Paul’s Story
Part Two – Training Day

Paul arrived at training a little earlier than normal. He hadn’t been this nervous since breaking into grade as “the next big thing” a few years back. Mack followed him into the ground, rubbing his gloved hands together in anticipation.

Mack, of course, is the elderly gent who introduced Paul to his little invention a couple of weeks ago – a ball that could be directed by remote control. Paul hadn’t bothered to try and understand how it worked, but he knew there were magnets involved somewhere. Even with his withered fingers, Mack kept precision control and made it all look very realistic.

To everyone else, Mack was “an uncle of mine who wants to watch the team train”. To Paul, he was a guaranteed ticket back into the big time. The two of them had worked out a plan for using the ball during games with a system of discreet signals and planned moves. Now it was time to put it into action.

To say it worked well would be an understatement. Paul’s nerves were quickly calmed when he realised just how seamlessly everything flowed – his passes and kicks came off without a hitch, and there was no hint of anything untoward going on. Paul would wipe sweat from his brow, and Mack would know from his spot in the stands that a chip kick was coming up – then guide it across the field “straight into the breadbasket”, much to the delight of both Paul’s team-mates and coach. Just for good measure, Paul also threw in a few conversions from the chalk and a couple of 40/20’s as well.

When the coach nodded his head as he shook Paul’s hand after training, he knew he’d cracked the team. When he saw “Uncle” Mack afterwards he impulsively gave him a hug, and Mack even cracked a smile.

“So when does the team get named?”

“Not ‘till tomorrow Mack. I’m bloody confident though mate, that was f**king awesome today”

“And Matt’s coming back from his injury too aye?”

“Yeah, he pulled up OK, so he should be back in the centres. Why?”

“He’ll need to be the first tryscorer on Sunday”

It took a few seconds, but Paul realised what Mack meant. It came out of the blue though – Mack had never let on his motives or intentions for helping Paul out, and Paul was just so damn grateful for a way back in that he hadn’t bothered to think about it.

“That OK?”

“Uhh, yeah, it should be sweet”

“Not should mate – will”

Mack stared at Paul with half-closed eyes and remained perfectly still. He wasn’t going to budge until he was assured on this, and Paul got that message loud and clear.

“Yeah mate, sure. As long as he’s in the team I’ll get him over first”

Mack continued to stare.

“Don’t worry Mack, you’re helping me out, I can do this for you easily”

That’s what he wanted to hear – now they were on the same page. Mack gave a little nod, and they headed for the car.

Paul continued to dwell on it though. He was annoyed with himself for being blinded by the first-grade “prize” without being too worried about how he was getting there. As he drove, he stole a few glances at Mack through the rear-vision mirror. Mack was scribbling something in a small notebook, once again remaining very still aside from the slow, measured movement of his hand.

“So what happens next mate?”

Mack was startled, as if he had been woken from a dream. He looked up at Paul with a hint of anger in his eyes.

“Sorry mate, I’ve just gotta know. Is it just first tryscorers you’ll be getting out of this?”

Mack slowly smiled, closed his notebook, and clasped his hands together. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

“Nah mate, I’ve already said that. I’d just like to know how this is gonna work. Can I count on you sticking around for the season?”

“You’re up for contract negotiations this year aye?”

Paul looked in the mirror with a raised eyebrow.

Mack chuckled. “Mate, you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours. We’re going a loooong way, you and me”

It’s one thing to buy a dream, but just then Paul began to realise he had no idea how much it was going to cost.

To be continued…

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

744 words in the counter thingee. :crazy:

 

[The Piper]

Piper for the

***

White Jersey Blue
“Bidding Begins”

Rodger Corser as Constable Jarrod Sammut
Aaron Pedersen as Senior Constable Michael Jennings
Tom Williams as Sergeant Offord
Gyton Grantley as Undercover Agent O’Mealy
And Gary Sweet as Chief Inspector Coach


Scene – CUA Station, Penrith (Crime Undercover Association)

Constable Jarrod Sammut and Senior Constable Michael Jennings were asked to meet with Chief Inspector Coach in his office immediately.

“There was some trouble brewing up the coast in Gosford early this morning,” Coach explained. “There has been a group of people smugglers operating off the Central Coast recently. The bandits have been spotted today with apparently a huge number of kidnapped personal and we’ve been asked by the CCPD to send some of our finest up to help the situation. I want you two to leave for Gosford now. You will be met by Sergeant Offord and Undercover Agent O’Mealy.”

Scene – Bluetongue Central Coast Stadium, Gosford

The pair of young officers arrived in no time. The highly populated area was just over an hours drive north of Sydney and only an hour south of Newcastle. Sammut and Jennings had arranged to meet officers Offord and O’Mealy at Bluetongue Central Coast Stadium as the rendezvous point. The ground was a fully seated stadium with the capacity of 20,119. Sergeant Offord had caught the train to meet with the Penrith boys and only had to walk five minutes from the station to reach the ground.

“Thanks for coming,” Offord said. “With such a large population, we’ve needed to bring in officers to help us out with this people smuggling ring. In 2006, the population of Gosford was recorded as 301,551. It’s continuing to grow, too.”

Agent O’Mealy walked up the steps of the grandstand. “We were wondering if you two would go undercover as civilians. We set you up so that you’d be taken by the smugglers. We’d track you, find you and arrest the kidnappers in the process of selling you.”
The mountain men nodded.

***

After agreeing to become the bait, Sammut and Jennings were walking down the William Street Mall.

“Nice town,” Sammut pointed out.

“Yeah,” said Jennings, “Be nice to come up here to watch some sort of sporting event. Not far to come from anywhere.”

As the two came to the corner of Dane Drive and the Central Coast Highway, a van pulled up beside them. Men jumped out and grabbed them, throwing them in the back and taking off.

O’Mealy and Offord were on the case immediately, having a tracking device planted on the undercover operatives.

The van pulled up at an old abandoned warehouse right on Point Fredrick, by the beautiful Brisbane Water. Jennings and Sammut were lined up with other captives. In front of them, a man stepped up to a dais. He held a wooden hammer. Both of the cover cops could see many people watching the group from above, standing on platforms that ran around the warehouse.

The auctioneer smuggler spoke boisterously. “Gentlemen, the bidding will now begin. Place your bids on any of these men and woman smuggled that you wish. They’re many different people here, but they all have a few things in common.”

“They love their sport, having a high attendance for Union games and the Mariners have one of the best average crowd records in the A-League. They are a people who love their rugby league. There's a crowd record at Central Coast Stadium of 20,059 for a Northern Eagles versus Newcastle clash. The last Roosters/Knights match up played here this season saw 14,176 turn up. A team based on the central coast, for the people of the central coast, surely would be successful.”

He raised the hammer. “So, gentlemen, don’t give up on your bid.”

As criminals began to make bids on the smuggled Central Coasters, Offord and O’Mealy busted into the warehouse with many local police as backup.

***

As the smugglers and criminal were being taken away, Jennings and Sammut shook hands with O’Mealy and Offord.

“Looks like the local talent up here is pretty impressive,” Jennings said. “They came through for us in the end.

Offord agreed, “Thanks. That was a good win in the end.”

Driving home again, Sammut once more spoke of the city. “Nice place still, with the exception of the people smuggling. But that’s been foiled now.”

“I agree,” added Jennings. “I think the NRL should accept the bid for a league team based there.”

Sammut and Jennings will return in White Jersey Blue

***

750 words says the official counter

 

[rayroxon]

Rayroxon for the Warriors takes the field after a pretty one sided display from the Panthers so far.​

*****​

What’s The Point?

Last week I almost did it. After a season and a half of intense Forum 7’s competition I contemplated retirement. The sport that they write about in heaven had posed a variant of the question that’s vexed man since cognitive thought lit up our grey matter – what’s the point of it all? I had no hunger for anything after pouring my heart and soul into a match that the other team didn’t care about. Even worse, I got a subjective score that showed the ref didn’t care about my article. Humorous? Ha! Use your eyes ref, maybe you were marking the wrong match!

I turned to the team mates I hadn’t met in this virtual competition of strangers and thought what’s the point? What’s the point in writing about a sport that perhaps only 1% of the world knows about and perhaps only 1% of the knowledgeable care about? What’s the point in spending a week and a half editing, word counting and conjugating only for your opposition not to turn up? What’s the point in fighting crippling injuries like writer's block (1-2 weeks out) lack of imagination (3-4 weeks out) or no inspiration (season ending) when your efforts are seemingly unappreciated by the marking public?

What’s the point indeed?

Maybe I had taken things too seriously. It was time to take a step back and simplify. Why do we write? Personally, I write to convey my ideas, thoughts and opinions to others in a way that I couldn’t do through speech or art or even physical action. To write is to share our passion, joys and sorrows with a wider audience. It allows us the value of having something read even if it is by only a few. It is the opportunity to record a fledgling thought that may inspire some and be a point of conjecture for others. It is the opportunity to forget about life and just be.

Well sod off and blog then Mr Artistic Passion. True, Blogging allows one to indulge in all of the above but there’s something unwholesome about mixing League metaphors with a brooding diary entry;

“Dear Diary,
Today my friends ignored me like a well timed cut out pass ignores a dummy runner. I’m thinking of retiring from the game of life.”

Writing in Forum 7’s is the perfect medium to deliver an honesty that can leave a reader reeling like a Sonny Bill Williams shoulder charge or to indulge in clever word play that the articulate hands of Jonathan Thurston would be proud of. It allows us to fire a lightning quick riposte that would fly with the speed of a Billy Slater kick return or deliver a passage as powerful and as balanced as the running style of Mark Gasnier.

It allows me to give back. As a fan I can give back to the game by buying a jersey, by going to matches and by buying a season membership. I can debate the merits of the latest team selections with friends and colleagues and I can live vicariously through the team. That said, the closest I’ll ever get to playing is by recreating that game winning field goal with my soft foam football in my hallway. Writing in the Forum 7’s gives me a chance to represent the team I love with a like minded gang of die hards. Every week we are guaranteed the chance to face off against a new group of like minded souls. Best of all you don’t need to have a League pedigree, nor be from a country town where League pulses in your veins, nor be able to execute a banana kick or be able to find open field to get that game turning 40/20. To write you just need passion, creativity and that spark of an idea; just be mindful of the word limit.

Had the passion truly gone or had I momentarily lost sight of the bigger picture? Artistic Expression and Rugby League are not common bed fellows but there is a simple joy which can be found in both making their union all the more joyous to experience.

The point is clear now. It was always meant to be a celebration of individualism and the game we all love - Rugby League. If one, one hundred or one thousand people end up reading this well good for them but the article will have already served its purpose by the time I type this full stop.

*****​

749 words between the stars.​

 

[glockers]

Glockers runs on the field at fullback to cover any holes in his team's defence.

Prince of Men
Footballers are not known for their outstanding intelligence and whether it is their drunken antics or stupid media comments, all the evidence seems to back a lack of mental ability on their behalf.

Clearly this seems like a stereotypical view and some smart person will be thinking Taniela Tuiaki is studying law, but how can anyone debate it when they vote Johnathon Thurston the best player in the game?

The Sun Herald players’ poll found 46% of footballers thought Thurston was the best player in the game, he won by a staggering 17% margin which leaves me to ask do they pay attention to the game or media opinions?

Sure, according to the media Thurston is the best player going around. They have been collectively gushing over the big-eared and head-geared wonder for quite some time.

Since Johns retired it seems this disease and misinformation has spread. Maybe the media needed a new darling and they jumped onboard the Thurston express.

Now there is no doubt that Thurston is a fantastic player and a great first grade halfback, but how could anyone rate the man above Darren Lockyer and Scott Prince?

This year Lockyer has been hampered with injuries, but over the course of his career Lockyer simply destroys Thurston with his achievements.

Look at how many premierships Lockyer has won, look at his State of Origin performances, look at his efforts in the green and gold.

Compare that with Thurston leading the Cowboys to no premierships and being a reserve player with the Bulldogs. Compare that to Thurston playing second fiddle to a dominate Queensland forward pack and Lockyer’s brilliance last year. Compare that with Thurston’s ok efforts in the Australian jersey.

Lockyer has produced more memorable performances in all of those arenas, meanwhile Thurston has done little more than have Phil Gould and Ray Warren sing his praises.

The players seem to think Thurston is better. I am left to ask why?

Clearly the best player in the game isn’t Lockyer or Thurston this season. Based on form alone Scott Prince is smashing both of them.

But it is also true that Prince has been the best in our game since the Tigers premiership season. If anyone honestly believes the 2005 Tigers would have won with Thurston at the helm instead of Prince they are kidding themselves.

Prince’s individual brilliance, his vision and his leadership won the Tigers the premiership.

Thurston simply isn’t capable of such brilliance. Hell the Tigers won eight games in a row that season with Prince in top form, Thurston isn’t capable of producing three games in a row without mailing one match in with a mediocre performance.

Prince led an unheralded Tigers team to the premiership and then moved to the Titans. At the Titans he has steered them to true premiership contention in the second year of their existence.

The Gold Coast team isn’t full of world beaters - the outside backs contain the likes of Brett Delaney and Brenton Bowen for goodness sake, Prince doesn’t even have a decent number six to play alongside, and the forwards have Bailey and Laffranchi but lack any depth of quality around.

Yet this team is up the top of the competition and the bulk of the credit has to be given to Scott Prince.

Meanwhile in the past Thurston has been blessed with the wise head of Jason Smith next to him and some monster forward packs alongside talented backlines.

Just look at the 2005 season, that Cowboys team should have destroyed the Tigers. Webb and O’Donnell led a monster forward pack that should overwhelm the Tigers. Meanwhile there was the likes of Matt Bowen in the backline for Thurston to use.

Yet Thurston looked lost in the grand final and was completely outplayed by Prince.

Since 2005 the Cowboys have continued to receive media praise and have continued to fail when it matters.

This year they started the season abysmally with Thurston looking deadset average.

But his average form was enough to get the Aussie jersey, being outplayed by a superior player for three and a half seasons hasn’t prevented him being gifted representative jumpers.

Prince should be feeling sorry for himself, but he is too good to complain and he will just keep doing what he does.

He will keep winning games and giving his team a chance at an improbable premiership.
The media will keep gushing over Thurston, and the players will continue to fall for it.

(749 words including the heading)

 

[MKEB...]

A loud voice is heard uttering "ice-cream, ice cream", in the flicker of an eye the ice cream salesman runs into the toilet, twirls. Where once was an ice cream man, MKEB...now stands

MKEB...for The Warriors


****************************************************************
A Time for Vocality

It is said, “There is a time for everything. A time to embrace and a time to refrain”.

In my world of Rugby League there is a time; a time to launch my vocal musings, and a time to keep them to myself.

I am one of those people that must participate to the fullest of my capacity as a spectator of a football match.

I must let my team know that I fully support them. I must let the opposition team know that I loathe them to the maximum of a team being loathed.

In fact not many people are safe from my musings.

I will let it be known that I enjoy cheerleaders; pretty dresses, nice dancing, ample boo…uffants.

They are fun and do a lovely job of geeing on the players and crowd alike.

There is a time to be raucous and shout remarks to cheerleaders, and times for silence.

Most men’s football ground instincts would lead them to yell something obscene to hear those around them guffaw at their wit.

Picture those scantily clad she-devils bouncing around, bosoms heaving and blowing me kisses.

You possibly might not realise that not all the people around you are laughing and in fact the person sitting right next to you is slowly clenching his fist, because the cheerleader that you are cat-calling just happens to be his girlfriend.

The punch to the face and subsequent missing front teeth usually waken you up to your vocal misdemeanour.

Note to self: When harassing cheerleaders, make sure that those around you are making crude comments first. Or alternatively, wear a full face motorcycle helmet at a game.

The opposition team will always be the target of my most vehement abuse.

Really, parading around in colours that you and most people of your ilk find distasteful and offensive can be rather distracting and upsetting.

Whether the opposition is winning or losing, they will be subjected to torrents of abuse. This is simply because they are the opposition. Is this not reason enough to give another team a complete lambasting?

Yes. One must abuse the other team, it’s a rite!

Sometimes pouring the opposition with torrential tirades can have its drawbacks; projectiles have been known to be released- plastic missiles with a brown liquid fuel.

There are easy ways to avoid these weapons of mass inebriation; when one feels that one must heap abuse upon the opposition, then one should take suitable measures and make sure that he/she is sitting higher in a grandstand than the opposing supporters (it is more difficult to throw a cylindrical object upwards than downwards).

Who else is there left to abuse?

The timekeeper? No…all he does is start and stop the clock at its allotted time.

The beerstall men? No…nearly worthwhile of your chagrin, but all he does is sell you your least favourite beer at extortionate prices…not worth the bother.

Aah yes…the referee.

The man who always helps out the other team.

I should stop to remember that “the referee has feelings too”, that referees are not expected to get every decision right, and that referees are as vital to the game as players are.

But I cannot help myself.

The referee will bear the brunt of my team winning/losing.

The referee is blind (contrary to what the other team believes), and the referee is always painfully biased in favour of the other team.

Having subjected a lot of different referees to many varying offensive barbs, I have worked out that not all referees enjoy razor-sharp comments hurled in their general direction.

Being the politically correct person that I am, I have worked out that swearing at refs is not entirely wholesome. Mothers and younger children (all of which maybe as mad at a ref as I am) do not need to learn the colourful colloquialisms that I tend to use.

Hence I have learnt that encouraging a referee (albeit rather loudly and acutely) to use his optic organs will probably enhance the enjoyment factor of a game of Rugby League for myself, the referee and the family audience.

Cynical referee deprecation in the aforementioned “profanities” can often lead to the local police and/or security men forcefully leading you out of a footballing facility-a waste of thirty dollars.

For me, “my commentary” is a vital part of my enjoyment of a football match.

It is beer-fueled, loud and obnoxious; but it helps me to enjoy my beloved game.
****************************************************************

745 Words between asterisks.

 

[Jesbass]

The crowd is witness to a freak accident as byrne_rovelli_fan82 attempts to evade the drunken linesman and goes tumbling into the Whiz-Alexander Cup head first. As a result, a startled Bay Vikings is pushed onto the field for a hasty debut.

OUT: byrne_rovelli_fan82
IN: Bay Vikings

 

[Bay Vikings]

The Viking from the Bay storms onto the field ready to rape and pillage but is sent back to the sideline to remove the silly horned helmet.


****************************************************************************
Journey To The Dark Side

"This sucks! Why do I have to play?" my boy asks as we leave the league field where he’d just finished playing. "I don’t even like rugby!"

"Because you promised Mr Patterson you would,” I remind him, at the same time thinking it won’t hurt his school grades if he helps the rugby team that his teacher coaches.

Mr Patterson was no fool. His team had been thrashed the previous weekend so he rounded up all the league players in the class and talked them into playing rugby for his team by appealing to their egos.

Fifteen minutes later we pull up next to a Rangerover from which a small, pasty boy reluctantly emerges. He's been prised away from a PSP to play the game his father remembers fondly from his own days at private school. Seeing my boy, the pudgy kid switches into hip hop gangsta mode.

"Wazzup my gentleman, where’d y’all come from?" he asks, assuming my son's brown skin equates to some kinship with the African American rappers that Kiwi kids idolise.

"League," says my boy without elaborating, trying to kill off the conversation.

"Yeeeaaah, I’m gonna play league next year, it's dope! Hey y'wanna hang out afta da game?" asks the little Eminem who then transforms back into the chubby little darling his parents know as Timothy. "Muuuuuum, can he pleeeease come over to our place after rugger?"

My boy glares at me and we move on before the mother can answer.

The players are hustled out onto a field surrounded by spectators dressed in smart casual clothes with wellys, brolleys, and Afghan hounds. The boys line up either side of the referee who inspects the cleanliness of boots, neatness of uniforms and most importantly mouthguards - the collective cost of straightening those beautiful little teeth is more than the entire GDP of Samoa. Before the game can start, the referee must go over the rule changes handed down overnight by the IRB and both coaches take notes. There are new interpretations of the offside rule, some trucks and trailers, a gate, some rucks that turn into mauls, some mauls that are actually rucks, and something about releasing.

The kids are now totally confused.

Finally the ball is kicked off and it goes in to a ruck or a maul or whatever! The referee penalises someone for not going through the gate at the back from an offside position. Now the kicking begins, back and forward, one fullback to the other fullback in a boring display of aerial ping pong until one of them kicks it out. Strangely, the crowd claps politely every time the ball is kicked out of play as if it's part of the game plan. During the kicking display, the rest of the team has been running to where the ball used to be and are subsequently knackered.

This pattern continues for most of the game: lots of kicking, countless stoppages for penalties and infringements of one type or another, followed by more kicking.

One of the opposition is maimed for life by getting winded in a tackle. They get a penalty kick giving them a 3-0 lead in this gripping rugby thriller and there's not much time left on the clock. I pause Tetris on my cellphone when my boy gets within earshot and tell him to stop mucking around. So he takes the ball off the opposition and heads up the field while half his team are still gazing into the sky wondering where the ball is. He brawls his way to the try line and both teams look bewildered, most having never actually seen a try scored before. The ref consults his rule book, scouring the chapter on ways not to award a try but can’t find a suitable reason and gives our team the 5-3 victory in frustration.

Mercifully, the game ends, and there's some more polite clapping. The toffs either side of me tell me what a great rugby player my boy could be. They point out the benefits of private schooling and the numerous business networking opportunities that could be available to me if only we would embrace the dark side. We get away before the Jedi mind tricks take hold.

"Rugby sucks, I'm not playing for them again," my boy says on the way home.

True to his word, he didn't play rugby again, and his school grades suffered accordingly.

A true story.

************************************************************************
743 words between the asterisks

 

[sportsthought]

sportsthought for the Warriors, keen for an early touch as usual. So the sooner he can get off the field, the sooner he can find one. . . .

*********
​

Maps Are For Pussies


​

Hard to believe it was eight long years ago, but there I was, sitting in Manchester at the Theatre of Dreams - the famous home ground of Manchester United, watching the final of the Rugby League World Cup 2000. 



A mate and I had booked final tickets months before the event - we wanted to make sure we wouldn’t miss out. Little did we know that only a third of the tickets for the final sold. 



All up, there were six of us attending, (all Kiwi's based in London), so we hired a 7-seater car for the drive up. Little did we know that one of our crew promised his two Aussie mates that they could come up with us. Suffice to say, there was some bleached blonde Aussie bloke sitting between two hard plastic seats in the back. His ride was as comfortable as the Kiwi's was during the post match journey to the hotel. 



We left London at 7am on the day of the final to give ourselves plenty of time to get to the game. We figured we did not need a map to get to Manchester. We were in London and Manchester was North. We found the Northbound motorway and headed off. Someone in the car asked if we had a map and the following conversation took place: 



”Manchester’s up North aye bro?”

”Yeah bro.”

”We're heading North aye bro?”

”Yeah bro.”

”So eventually we'll hit Manchester right?”

”Yeeeaahhh…”

”Sweet. Maps are for pussies!”



That became the 'call' of the tour. Not 'Cattle dog' or 'Queenslander', but the elegant and sophisticated 'Maps are for pussies!'



In actual fact it turns out that maps are not just for pussies. They are for league heads as well. A case in point; another carload of mates left London two hours after us, and rang us when we were about half way there. The following conversation took place: 



”Where are you guys?”

”In Manchester.”

”WTF? What time did you leave?”

”9am bro, what about you guys?”
”7am…”
”Did youse get lost?”

”Nah, but we don't have a map.”

(Laughter in the background) ”F**king idiots, we'll see you when you get to Manchester.”



So eventually we arrived in Manchester, and after getting lost on the way to the hotel, we managed to make it to Old Trafford with a few minutes to spare. 



Now, I'm sure we have all been to events that have only sold a third of their tickets. It makes for a limp atmosphere as fans are spread paper thin around the ground. However, this was different in that almost all of the punters were sitting together, making for a surreal atmosphere, as much of the stadium was totally empty yet other parts were packed.


We were pumped, really pumped - and full of confidence that we would beat the Aussies. Little did we know that our confidence was sadly misplaced. Actually we really should have known better.

When Tonie Carroll threw a fantastic dummy and eventually crossed for his try, we were jumping for joy, as the score was 18-12 after the conversion.

My mate yelled out that we were watching the greatest match of the century unfold. The guy’s nickname is 'superlative' - need I explain? I wisely reminded him that given this was the year 2000 the century was not actually that old! I don't need to remind you about the final outcome. 



The next day we headed off, and in another navigational blunder kept heading North, away from London. It wasn't until someone pointed out that the sun was on the right side of the car, when it should have been on the left that we realised what had happened.

Someone muttered that maybe we did need a map. The following conversation took place: 



”Jeez, maybe we should have taken a map.”

”Bro, we are heading south now right?”

”Yeah mate.”

”And London is South right?”

”Yeah bro.”

”Sweet. Maps are for pussies!”



Everyone cracked up laughing and suddenly the 40-12 score line seemed very far away. 


So in the end, the six Kiwi's plus two tag along Aussies headed back to London knowing that despite our dented pride and bruised egos, our collective spirit was alive and kicking. 


Bring on World Cup 2008. If you are making your way to the final in Brisbane, don’t use a map to get there, because as we all know . . .

Maps are for pussies!

***********

750 between the stars
​

 

[Big Mick]

Substitution:

Azkatro in for Furrycat

 

[Azkatro]

Azkatro for the Panthers.

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

Test matches at the SCG

This Friday night sees Australia play New Zealand in a celebration of the 100th year of Test match rugby league in Australia. It was on May 9 1908 that the first Test was played against New Zealand in front of about 20,000 spectators at the Royal Agricultural Society Showground.

The Centenary Test, however, will take place at the Sydney Cricket Ground. The first Test match played here was on June 29 1914 against England, the second Test of the series which Australia won in front of 38,000 spectators to draw the series level 1-1. It was a momentous result as it was also the first time Australia beat the “old enemy” on home soil.

Since then, Australia has played 64 matches (including World Cup games) at the SCG. Of those matches they have won 39, drawn 3 and lost 22. It has been 34 years since Australia lost there, however it has also been 22 years since the last Test match was played at the ground. A total of 2,801,963 spectators have passed through the gates throughout these 64 games, for an average of 43,781 per match.

The most regular visiting team has of course been Great Britain. The Lions have appeared at the SCG 36 times. They are also by far the most popular touring side with an incredible 1,652,744 spectators having watched Test matches at the ground between Australia and Great Britain. This works out as an average of more than 50,000 per match. By comparison, New Zealand have played 18 Test matches there. A total of 609,021 supporters have watched them play at an average of less than 37,000 per match.

On these numbers it is clear that Sydneysiders love nothing more than watching Australia take on Great Britain at the Sydney Cricket Ground, and perhaps this is largely due to the connection the ground has with hugely popular cricket tests between Australia and England.

In light of recent criticisms aimed towards the Sydney public regarding sluggish ticket sales to the Centenary Test, it will be interesting to see if the relatively modest average crowd for New Zealand Test matches at the SCG will be reached this Friday night. However it is good to note that it will blitz the lowest crowd ever at the SCG for these two teams, which was 6,541 on July 22 1978.

Interestingly enough, New Zealand didn’t play a game at the SCG until after World War II. In 1948, they took on Australia in a two-Test series leading up to Australia’s tour of Great Britain. The first game of the series was the SCG match and was certainly quite a memorable event. It was the first time a rugby league match was broadcast live on New Zealand radio, as almost 56,000 watched a great victory by the touring Kiwis 21 to 19. At one stage in the first half they trailed 13-0 which made the win all the more outstanding. Of course with the loss came widespread criticism of the Australian side.

While it is not unusual for such an unexpected loss to result in changes to the line-up, history shows that this famous loss to New Zealand resulted in two of the most important debuts in a single match in Australian Tests. Jack Rayner was dropped to make way for a relatively unknown forward from Brisbane Valley by the name of Duncan Hall, who went on to play 22 Tests and gain selection in the Team of the Century. The other debutant from this match who went on to have a stellar career was none other than the Little Master, Clive Churchill.

New Zealand had success against Australia at the SCG twice more in the 1950’s, winning 19-9 in 1952 and 28-12 in 1959. Since then however, they have played 9 more Tests there without success, so on Friday night they must overcome a 49 year SCG drought in order to win.

However nothing in rugby league is impossible, as we all know too well. The Kiwis will play their first big match under new coaches Stephen Kearney and with the help of Wayne Bennett, will be desperate to gain revenge for their 58-0 hiding in 2007.

But they will have to find a way to overcome not only a 49 year drought, but an Australian side instilled with pride and belief in their jersey by coach Ricky Stuart, with one of the greatest backlines to ever take the field for Australia.

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

747 words. Liftoff!
​

 

[Jesbass]

In a moment of 'tough love', Jesbass salutes Stacey Jones' 32nd birthday by head hunting every Panther player he can find...

***
​

Call Me Loyal (747 words between the stars including title)

I can't remember last time I thanked you,
Keeping my distance unintentionally.
Too close for comfort, just ain't close enough.
If I could have more time we would brainstorm.

​

August 5, 1305. Under cover of darkness, William Wallace is ambushed in his sleep and captured by Scottish knight John de Menteith. The captor’s fellow countryman had been on the run, attempting to evade the occupying English after suffering defeated at the Battle of Falkirk.

This simple act of disloyalty was to lead to Wallace’s trial for treason against English King Edward I, and his hanging, drawing and quartering that was to follow shortly thereafter.

And I love you tender, but we must walk away,
Keeping you on my greeting card file.
And if it were different – did you know it ain't?
Let's get on with it love.
​

August 22, 1485. King Richard III stares defeat in the face at the Battle of Bosworth Field as Sir William Stanley turns against him in favour of Henry Tudor. In his act of betrayal, Stanley would help bring to an end not only the English king’s life, but the Plantagenet dynasty which had ruled the nation for more than three hundred years.

English playwright William Shakespeare, in his 1591 play named after Richard III himself, would have us believe that the soon to be defeated monarch, having been unhorsed and finding himself surrounded by his enemies, uttered the famous words: “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”

Out in the battle, flung far and used.
Where does allegiance lie?
Sometimes when all of your hopes, and all of your dreams,
Are too much to value in one moment.
​

May 1, 2008. The gradually developing media circus that is Sonny Bill Williams responds to a question surrounding his potential involvement with the All Blacks for their 2011 rugby union World Cup campaign: “If they (NZRU) did come knocking with a good offer I would definitely have to sit down and seriously look at it.”

Ultimately, what he said amounts to common sense. In a profession where careers are short, it seems straight forward that a player would be willing to consider every possible opportunity to set themselves up with as strong a financial position as possible.

But it is the simple fact that this is not the first time Williams has considered other options. He was once a close friend of Roosters sound byte Willie Mason, who has talked previously about wanting to play American football in the NFL and, yes, to join the All Blacks. It also seems that Mason taught Williams everything he knows when it comes to causing controversy through the media.

It was not long ago that Sonny Bill, a former New South Wales junior, suggested New Zealanders should be eligible to take part in State of Origin. And even more recently he has suggested representing Samoa at some point in the future.

It all becomes a bit confusing for the average league fan, especially those who value Test football above every other level of the code. It is, all of a sudden, easy to wonder where the pride for the black and white has gone, especially when Sonny Bill has made these statements as the Kiwis and Kangaroos have been building up for their Centenary Test, a century on from the original All Golds tour.

And call me loyal,
I'll say you're loyal too.
I know you're loyal,
I feel your loyal truth.
​

One can only ponder what Albert Baskerville, pioneer of the thirteen man game in Australasia, would think of such flippant comments regarding code and nation of choice. Of course, Baskerville was never fortunate enough to see the game flourish, because he succumbed to pneumonia on May 20, 1908.

Albert Baskerville may not have fought on a traditional battlefield, but he gave his life for the code and the country he loved.

One might wonder if Sonny Bill, and others like him, would be prepared to do the same thing.

Call me loyal,
I'll hold you loyal too.
And we are loyal,
Keep it that way...
​

Name: Sonny Bill Williams
Date Of Birth: August 3, 1985
Position: Second rower
Current Club: Canterbury-Bankstown Bulldogs
Currently Represents: Kiwis (New Zealand national rugby league team).
Has Previously Represented: New South Wales at junior level.
Would Like To Represent: New South Wales, All Blacks (New Zealand national rugby union team), Samoa, and quite possibly anyone else with enough money to throw at him.

***

Sources:
www.google.com
www.letssingit.com
www.wikipedia.org
"The Kiwis: 100 Years Of International Rugby League" by John Coffey and Bernie Wood
Lyrics from "Loyal" by Dave Dobbyn.

 

[Willow]

 

[Big Mick]

well done lads on both teams...10 great reads there.

 

[Jesbass]

Phew, right to the full whistle. Well done to both teams. Great to see a 5v5 contest.

Good luck, one and all!

 

[madunit]

Azkatro, the champion, comes up with the goods on the bell.

What a legend!

 

[rayroxon]

Go the 5 on 5 action. It's like a movie I watched on the weekend but with less balls.