Round 4 Eels v Dragons 2010

[The Piper]

Forum 7s - Round 4 2010
PARRAMATTHA EELS v ST GEORGE DRAGONS

-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 28th April 2010 at 9pm (Syd time)
REFEREE: Antonius
Venue: Parramatta Park

**The Referee Blows Game On!**

CLICK HERE FOR OFFICIAL WORD COUNTER

 

[bartman]

The Parramatta F7s Eels get onto the field a bit early, and make sure they warm up properly for what bodes as a 5v5 clash with their Dragons visitors...

phantom eel
Parramatta_Power
Matt23
Goleel (c)
fanatic eel
- - - - -
Hallatia
bartman (c)
MarkInTheStands

 

[dubopov]

After a narrow loss to the Roosters, the mighty Dragons are chomping at the proverbial bit in anticipation of their clash with the Eels.

Team is ...

Dubopov (c)
Murphy's Creek (vc)
St Linnane
Dragon Punk
Dragonz Rule

bench ..

Dragons PSA
Hornbyslilhottie

 

[bartman]

Out: Matt23, fanaticeel
In: bartman, Hallatia

 

[murphyscreek]

After safely stashing his bulging brown paper bag in a secret locker.....murphyscreek runs onto the field for the Dragons with a loud "C'monnnnnnnnn!".

750 words between the stars

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

Vientiane

His semi-affectionate name for their mode of transport was the “Pakse Taxi”. An old world pale yellow vehicle that ticked every box of the rural Asian cliché of a bus. Packed with slim and wiry people, poultry in cages, and large sacks of grain. Passengers embarking and disembarking more regularly than their Western impatient temperaments were used to. People scurried with purpose, the large sacks of grain lifted and carried seemingly effortlessly by men who looked as if they’d weigh half that of their loads.

The man and his wife had joined the bus at the Southern Laos township of Pakse, following several gruelling days on the road and the mighty Mekong. Including a hair-raising trip up the flood swollen river to cross borders from Cambodia into Laos. But that’s another story. Standing on the side of the road, this living entity of a bus pulled over to claim them. Before they knew it their luggage was on the roof, a seat for two cleared amongst the chooks, and away they sped. The air-conditioning was old school, the door and all the windows permanently left open. They looked at each other and shrugged, hoping they were heading in the right direction.

Thankfully, it was eventually ascertained (mostly through gesturing at maps to friendly strangers) that the bus was indeed destined for the capital. This was of extreme importance at this point in time. The year was 2005, and the day was the 22nd September. In two days time the man’s beloved Dragons would be playing in the Preliminary Final, and he was determined to make it to civilisation to hear the match live. He didn’t even know who the Dragon’s opponent would be yet, but presumed the Broncos would have been too good for the Tigers in the semi.

Upon arrival in Vientiane they booked themselves into the Lane Xang Hotel, whose glory days had obviously long passed. Though if one turned a blind eye to the somewhat tattered veneer the vibe of it’s former opulence could still be felt. They then had a nice cold beer and made their plans. He was going off to locate a source for listening to the all important match, whilst his wife would commence the quest for bargains to be had in Laotian kip.

Initially the man had little success in the streets nearest to the hotel. After widening his search he eventually found a small empty internet café which was adjacent to a large Buddhist Monastery and would be easy to find again. He quickly logged on to find out the West Tigers would be the Dragon’s foe. Sweet.

He returned excitedly to the Lane Xang, and explained to his wife they would now have to stay in Vientiane longer as the Tigers would be flogged, and the Dragons now certainties to make the Grand Final a week later. It would be tragic to miss a Saints Grand Final with no hope of finding further internet services once they headed off into the sticks again. She replied the only thing “tragic” around here was him.

So on the 24th day of September, in the charming city of Vientiane, the man made his way back to that quiet little internet café found two days earlier only to discover that inside the place had transformed into a sea of saffron robes. It must have been the Buddhist Monk’s day off, the café now full of them two or three to a computer, or just standing about chatting and seemingly having a good time. One group obligingly made way for him at their computer, where he donned a set of headphones and proceeded to listen to the match.

The word surreal is often overused in literature. It aptly fitted that afternoon. As the man faced the computer, periodically taking a surreptitious swig from a tallie of ‘Beer Lao’ kept hidden in it’s paper bag, in a ludicrous gesture of religious deference. Often loudly beseeching a hapless Dragons outfit to “C’monnnnnn!” with increasing urgency as the match progressed, to the bemusement of the saffron-robed assembly.

Afterwards, as he went to leave, one of the Monks looked into his eyes and the language and cultural barrier seemed to dissipate through a questioning gaze.

“Football?”
“Rugby League, my team lost.” the man replied dejectedly.
“Maybe they are winning next time?” in a kind voice.
“Maybe…khawp jai (thanks mate).”

Upon return to the Hotel his wife took one glance at him, then turned and quietly began to pack.

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

 

[DragonPunk]

DragonPunk for the Dragons, takes an offload from murphys and sets off upfield.

Change for the sake of change

Change is a constant in life, that’s a given but sometimes this change is taken too far. Last year the NRL decided that one referee on field wasn’t enough, they went with a second referee, who was supposed to improve the quality of referees but when you have two people officiating a match, they have different interpretations and this happened numerous times on the field over the last two years.

These errors were small and explained away by referee’s boss Robert Finch in next Monday’s paper. It obviously came to a head in round 6 when referee’s Ben Cummins and Gerard Sutton decided that Nathan Cayless deserved a rest for ten minutes after a strip, which he actually didn’t take part in. To add to this madness, Beau Champion made a tackle which slipped up a touch and due to earlier pressure, Champion was given his marching orders too. These decisions were widely condemned from the commentary box to many scathing articles in the day’s paper leading to Robert Finch standing down both referee’s for next week’s round of games and make a small change to the advantage rule bringing it back to where it was before any tinkering. One positive from this incident is the change to the two referee’s, giving one referee complete control and making the other, the junior to help them get some experience without being crucified for their decisions.

Rugby League has been tinkering with its rules for over 100 years from the changes from the unlimited tackles to a set of six in 1967 to the video referee introduced firstly during the Super League war and becoming the confusing and essential part of the game today. Sometimes these changes are for the good of the game and help improve the standard of play but some rules are ill-fated like the rule about checking knock-ons at the scrum, leaving rugby league fans scratching their heads, booing out of confusion and thus lead to their scrapping. The best quality Rugby League has over Rugby Union or AFL is that it’s an easy game to watch and follow the action, without complicated stoppages for nothing or continual fumbling for a ball. No, it is just two teams of 17 men each running, passing and kicking a ball trying to outscore their opponents.

The last few years have gone against this philosophy with the rule makers creating new interpretations on rules that really didn’t need to be changed, e.g. the downtown rule which has been ruled on once in the whole season thus far, making a mockery of all the pre-season hype around the rule being implemented to give superstars lie Jarryd Hayne space, ironically since the rules implementation, Hayne hasn’t scored a try in 2010, mostly due to his and his team’s poor form but it doesn’t look well on the rule. If this continual changing of the rules mid-season when they aren’t warranted and could be left to the end of the season when they could be fleshed out with a panel of coaches, ex-players and fans to make them simple and effective, Rugby League could become like the game it broke away from over 100 years ago, Rugby Union, which has it’s own fans bemoaning the stoppages and rules which no one seems to understand or care about thus creating less interest for the other rugby code.

Rugby League should remain the game for everybody from the housewife, to the group of mates watching it at a bar berating the opposing players. A serious of complicated rules being changed each season will alienate the fan base and potential fans because the amount of rules being added or modified will make league become rugby union lite and no one wants that. Leave change until it’s warranted and necessary for that corner post Vossy keeps banging on about or when another game is decided by a dubious call but not change for change’s sake.

(664 words)

 

[DRAGONZ_RULE]

Returning from a one-week injury, DRAGONZ_RULE scoots out from dummy half after a quick play-the-ball from DragonPunk has St George charging at a retreating Eels defence. With Dubopov and St Linnane on his outside, DRAGONZ_RULE hopes that his 749 word offering (between the stars) will be enough to confuse the Parra defenders!


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

LIFE, LOVE AND RUGBY LEAGUE: A HELLISH PARADISE


CHAPTER 2


It was late on a Sunday night , and one would have been forgiven for thinking that everyone living on Smithtown Avenue was sleeping peacefully. Indeed, you would have needed a keen ear to make out the sound of a muffled sob in the third-floor apartment owned by John Wilson …

“Come now, Bluey, it’s OK…” John said, as he patted his son on the back.

“NO, IT’S NOT OK!!” his boy shot back. “It’s just … it’s just … it’s –“ but Kevin ‘Bluey’ Wilson couldn’t finish his sentence, for a new bout of tears and body-shuddering sobs had gripped him.

“Son, crying won’t get you anywhere. Remember this, and you will be a better man when you grow up: What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.”

“Please, dad, just leave me alone! I just want to be alone now!”

As it happened, this was no ordinary Sunday night. It was Sunday, September 26, 1993. Earlier that day, the Brisbane Broncos and St George Dragons had played in the NSWRFL Winfield Cup Grand Final for the second consecutive season. And St George, gallant and brave but ultimately not good enough, had lost. Again.

*****​

The day started with so much promise. Bluey was up and about early, his restlessness prohibiting a good night’s sleep. Although the butterflies in his stomach didn’t abate after a hasty breakfast, Bluey took it as a good sign that he was nervous – it was Grand Final day, after all!

Having saved up the weekly allowance his dad gave him, Bluey had been able to buy a Dragons jersey a fortnight earlier, and it was with great pride that he pulled the jersey on, before jamming his most prized possession, the St George cap that Tom’s father had bought him at Kogarah earlier that season, atop his head.

A quick car-trip later, albeit one which Bluey felt lasted for hours, and he was knocking on the front door of the Edwards household. He bounded inside, racing straight for Tom’s room. Tom had become Bluey’s best friend over the course of his first year living in Sydney: a friendship forged out of their shared passion for the Dragons. Since that fateful afternoon at Kogarah, Bluey had gone to almost every Dragons match with Tom’s family, and the two boys happily reminisced about their favourite moments from the 1993 season during the morning.

“What about when we smashed Canterbury at the SCG, and Walford scored two tries?”

“That was so awesome!! And then the week after we beat the Broncos too!”

“Yeah, but my favourite game was before we were friends, Bluey – we beat Easts 46-0 at Kogarah, we were cheering on the hill all game, Ricky scored a couple and Phil Blake got two tries as well.”

“I dunno, Tom … thrashing Canberra and Canterbury in the first two weeks of the Finals has to be up there. It’s been the best month of my life!”

And so the boys continued until the lunchtime barbecue. After lunch, everyone settled down in front of the TV for the big game – Mr Edwards seemed even more nervous than Tom and Bluey! Tina Turner performed, the commentators ran through the team lineups, the teams came out to rapturous applause, the anthem was sung, and the stage was set for kick off in the 1993 Grand Final!

*****​

Later that night, Bluey couldn’t really remember the game. It played out in his mind like a scratchy film, with most of the game on fast-forward. The parts Bluey remembered made him feel worse and worse as he thought of them: Jason Stevens breaking his thumb in the first minute; Kevin Walters throwing a dummy and slicing through feeble defence; Willie Carne’s try with two minutes to go; Allan Langer raising the Winfield Cup aloft; Brisbane players singing “St George can’t play” and laughing about it …

And so it was, with Bluey laying in bed, tears streaming down his face. He pulled out his footy player cards and flicked through them until he got to the one he was after: Brad Mackay.

Clive Churchill Medal winner.

In a losing side ...

Indeed, it certainly was no ordinary Sunday, Bluey reckoned to himself. He thought back to his father’s comment earlier that night: “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” Bluey’s resolve suddenly strengthened. Wiping away his tears, Bluey vowed, again, that he would become a St George Dragon. He promised himself that one day … one day … his revenge would come …

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

 

[Goleel]

Gol for the mighty Eels.

---

The Seer

Israel Folau is considering going to rugby union and the Melbourne Rebels. I for one am absolutely shocked, since he claimed back in 2008 that he took less money than the Melbourne Storm were offering so he could move up to Brisbane and be closer to his family. Knowing what we now do about the Storm, that must have been some pay cut. My question is, did Israel lie to us?

There are several innocent possibilities. Perhaps returning to his northern home made him realise his family weren't as great as he thought they were on those cold Melbourne nights. That seems unlikely. The Folau clan could have decided to relocate to Melbourne, all of them, maybe in disgust at the latest Pauline Hanson outburst against whichever race she doesn't like this week, and Izzy wants to follow them. Again, unlikely. Or maybe he was lying to us all that time ago.

Despite what my mother often told me as a child, sometimes lies are better than the truth. A devoted Mormon, Folau could have been offered a deal much like one many other Storm players were, topped up on the side by illegal third party payments. His offense at this behaviour could be a reason he left, but to save the Storm face, and all the legal hassles, he could have manufactured this excuse to take the next best deal on offer. Completely plausible, if unlikely.

He may have just wanted out of the Storm. Billy Slater could have looked at his girlfriend a little too long one night, Greg Inglis could have hustled him in a poker game, Cam Smith might have hidden his favourite pair of shoes before the 2008 grand final. It would explain his performance in that game, as well as why he might want to get out and make up an excuse for why he didn't take the big money on offer. Players have left clubs before when they haven't fit in, just ask Brett Finch. Indeed, Folau could be some kind of seer, foreseeing Brett Finch's 2009 arrival at the club, and bailing before being subjected to a horror of that nature. On that note, he may have used this psychic ability to see the salary cap dramas of the last week, and bailed when he could for those reasons.

Following on from this, he may have an even grander plan. The Melbourne Rebels will offer him a guarantee of $1 million, and Folau may have seen with his gift that the rebels go under after their first season, giving him a quick life changing payday, and leaving him on the open market for season 2012. In this case, he wasn't lying to us at all, just taking advantage of a favourable situation. Well, he may have lied to us, but I'm pretty sure he's never been asked by Darryl Brohman in a post match interview 'do you have the power to see the future?' thus never had the opportunity.

Folau's supposed psychic powers could solve the NRL's big mystery: exactly who bet on the Storm to win the wooden spoon and collect big time from the TAB? If he did know about this thanks to a supernatural gift, why not bet more? Why even play football? Why not just take a look into the future the next time a big Powerball draw comes up and sweep the prize, giving him enough money to swim in Scrooge McDuck style. That a man with a gift like he has would risk his body playing a tough, physical sport like rugby league boggles the mind.

He could be in it for the fame, but if that was the case, why not just become a poker player? Winning the World Series of Poker gets you some pretty nice publicity these days. He could have become a successful politician, I'm sure seeing the future would be a valuable political skill. Dabble in the stock market, steal inventions from the future and take credit for them, the possibilities for riches are endless. So why is Israel Folau even playing football?

This could become the greatest mystery in modern sport. While Israel already knows the answer, I'm sure it will be a fun ride tagging along as he takes us on a wonderful journey. Nobody would make a move like this, back to Melbourne, contradicting yourself, without a bigger, future seeing plan. All I know is that if Izzy ever wins Powerball, I'll be mighty suspicious.

---

749 by my count.

 

[dubopov]

.. Dubopov proudly launched himself into battle against the war-mongering Eels. In the ANZAC week, it was more important than any other time for him to honour his war veteran grandfather, father and brother. And the mighty Dragons and all they stand for.

MY GRANDFATHER

My grandfather could've played football for Australia. Apparently.

Far be it from me to judge, but a lot of good players of his era rated him very highly. Unfortunately, though, like so many men at the time, his proverbial 'day in the sun' was on a much bigger playing field. He went to New Guinea in 1944 to fight the 'good' war against the might of the Rising Sun.

Despite the cliche, I usually think of him on one particular day of the year - Anzac Day. As a youngster I would think of him when I attended the Dawn Service and watched the march. Nowadays, I always find myself in the stands of the SFS watching the mighty Saints do battle with the enemy Roosters.

Under these circumstances, it doesn't take long for my emotions to dominate on this most emotion-charged day on the calendar. As soon as the first 'brahhh - brahhh' of the Last Post fills the silent air, a tear rolls down my cheek as I envisage grandad hewing and hacking his way through the dense jungle in hot, steamy conditions. He had been a cane cutter so it was a simple job for him and he barely raised a sweat.

Grandad had volunteered for WW2 as soon as he was able to enlist: a mere boy of seventeen filling man-sized shoes. He wasn't a patriotic Aussie like most of his mates; he had to fight against the evil that had engulfed his Fatherland and destroyed much of Europe. More than anything, he wanted to live to know that Hitler was dead. He did.

As luck would have it though, he was sent to combat a more pertinent threat; the advancing Nippon who had already bombed Darwin and sent the mini subs into Sydney Harbour. We had to stop them in New Guinea before they invaded our fledgling nation.

"Look out !", yelled Captain Hornby as the Aubbussonesque Japanese warrior penetrated the left flank and dived over to score. ..We were in early trouble.

"Hit 'em hard", ordered the Captain as he barked orders at Corporal Costigan who obliged with relish. New Guinea was HIS homeland. He would always defend it with honour. The Saints soldiered on.

After the huge frame of Trent Merrin crashed over, Jamie Soward's marching kick-routine melded with photos of grandad on the Kokoda Trail. It was here, in an army base in the oddest of places, that grandad made his Rugby League debut. Previously, his idea of football was 'soccer', so he wasn't particularly interested when he was approached by none other than Bill Collier, a St George great from their 1941 Premiership side. Co-incidently, Collier was being honoured at the 2010 Anzac game.

" Mate we need you for this game. We only have 12 blokes. You're as tough as nails and a fast runner; you'd be good".

"I'll help you out", Grandad quickly responded. Apparently.

The soccer boy from the bush didn't take long to warm to the new game. Although he was wearing army boots and running on a rough, cow paddock-like surface, he sidestepped his opposing centre and scored a runaway try; just as Darius Boyd put in a grubber to set up a try for Matt Cooper.

Grandad dominated the game which finished with his crashing through Big Jack Munn, a tough front rower who would star for the Dragons in the 1949 Grand Final victory. Nine other quality players from various clubs also participated in this impromptu relief from war.

Ben Creagh crashed through the Roosters front line almost simultaneously.

"What hit me ?", the dazed but impressed Munn queried.

"What hit us ?", echoed the Roosters.

Bill Collier wrote a letter to the Secretary of St George suggesting that the Club sign the curiously named Fontaine Dubopov as soon as possible.

"He will be a sensation, but other clubs will now know of him. Be prompt."

The Saints were sensational, grinding the Roosters into the turf: the game culminating in a penalty try after a sniper-like shot against Matt Cooper who dodged a bullet.

Grandad didn't.

Granny still has a letter from the Club asking him to 'speak to them at his earliest possible convenience'. She has it framed and hanging in the lounge adorned with six war service medals. Next to it is another framed letter and a picture of grandad proudly wearing his slouch hat.

That's one letter too many. Not to worry. It was a 'good' war. Apparently.

 

[St. Linnane]

Running of the hip of his captain, St. Linnane takes the offload:

********
Maybe Whitney was right….

So here we are. Week three in my Forum Sevens debut season. Hit it up well on debut and backed it up for the coach in my second game. Third game in a row, starting to understand the rigours of being a first grader. I was pleased with myself when the captain tapped me on the shoulder to tell me I had made the squad again, I must be doing what he wants, I thought.

That is where the issues started. All of a sudden, I had to find something to write about. It had to be league related in some part. It had to be topical, or historical. It had to attract the interest of the reader. I thought back on the fortnight that had been in league. Nothing remarkable had occurred, I mean there had been a small salary cap scandal that the media were running with, but it was hardly big news. Only a fortnight ago they were telling us that the Titans were in trouble.

I thought about it some more, could I make an article out of this minor newsworthy event? Well, I probably could, but that would be a rookie mistake, surely everyone else would have the same idea. I needed inspiration. It wasn’t coming. I sat at the ANZAC match, reading Big League from cover to cover, whilst noting the footballing lesson the Roosters under 20’s side was giving my boys. Then my inspiration appeared.

My inspiration was probably 3 years old and had just arrived with his father. He was wearing an old school Penfolds Wines jersey, with the numbers on the sleeves. How I wish I had one of them. It had number 5, probably in favour of Slippery Steve Morris. The boy was so excited to be at the football. He didn’t notice the hiding the Dragons were copping, merely pointed at the players in the big red V and tapped his Dad as only kids do, and said “Dragons”. When they came past again, he repeated the exercise. He was satisfied just being at the football, seeing the game. He didn’t care who won or lost; and I bet as sure as anything he didn’t know nor care about what had happened to the Storm on Thursday. He definitely looked like he enjoyed his afternoon. I know I enjoyed mine.

The next day, I ventured to Woolworths to complete the most tedious of chores; the weekly shop. Wearing a red V proudly, I raced around the aisles, trying to beat my record. What can I say, I’m competitive. Anyway, you know when you are doing the shopping and you run into the same people in each aisle? Well I kept running into a boy with his Dad, up and down maybe 3 aisles. Each time he would point at me and say “Saints Daddy”. Now the father didn’t give me any indication if he was a Saints man or not, not even a sly little “Go Saints”. But he did confirm to his son that yes it was Saints. This boy may have been old enough to understand winning and losing; but I don’t think he was a child genius, who understood the salary cap and its implications.

Which all in all makes me wish I was a child again. When football was football. When you played flicks with your footy cards and ate the Stimorol gum that came in the packs. None of this put them in an album business. When the cards cost 30 cents a packet, and you were guaranteed to get the NSW Rugby League Emblem and Greg Conescu in every pack, no matter how many packets you bought, or what boxes they came from. I can tell you I don’t remember Canberra breaching the cap in the 90’s; but I can tell you that my mother wished I supported a different team every time I came home from wearing my footy jersey up at the park with my mates.

I made me think, at the end of the day Whitney was right, the children are our future. The children will see this game through the next scandal and the one after that, so long as the product is attractive. We just need to make sure the parents develop the interest. Hopefully the current scandal won’t see too many parents lost to the game. Another, lesser known Whitney was half right, yes, who dares wins, but just don’t get caught.

*********
749 words

 

[phantom eel]

Phantom Eel takes the second hit-up for the Eels.

- - - - -

Footy Drove Me To Drink…

Well, it didn’t really. But it was responsible for my first ever experience of alcohol, and has played a part in many intoxicating experiences during the years since. Are rugby league and alcohol inexorably linked?

From a personal perspective, I can directly trace my first experience of alcohol back to high school football in the 1960s. As a small and mobile kid who excelled at sports I was selected to play with the older guys in the senior team. I packed down at the back of the scrum, and while I wasn’t a flashy player my strength was in speedily breaking away from the scrum base and mowing down the opposition backs with what was described as a “copybook tackling technique”. Aim for the hip, head down, connect with the shoulder, and then slide the arms down the legs to the ankles.

I wasn’t much use in attack, but did my job and scored the occasional try. As a small lad I copped my fair share of injuries as well. I remember my mother’s look of horror when I returned home missing the skin down one entire side of my leg. She wondered why I was so happy and couldn’t feel the pain, and I had to explain to her that we won, I’d scored a try, and in those days at schoolboy level the in-goal areas contained their fair share of gravel. The injury had come about because a defender had gone on with the tackle after I’d scored, and rolled me over into the pointy bits. Sure, it hurt. But there was another reason why I wasn’t crying…

In recognition of my efforts, after the game the senior boys had asked me to join them that day in what had become their regular post-match tradition. It involved walking down O’Connell Street and through Parramatta, and sitting out the back of what was then known as the General R.W. Bourke Hotel. The building still stands on Church Street to this day, and is known by a younger generation as P.J. Gallagher’s – more than fifty-five years may have passed, but apart from some renovations I’d say the general atmosphere probably hasn’t changed?

Proudly wearing our high school colours, the guys would all gather in the beer garden at the back while the few players that had already come of age went into the bar to order the drinks for everyone. No concerns were ever raised, and no questions were ever asked. It was just what real footy players did after a game, and as the high school senior team we thought that we’d earned that right (despite playing our match on a weekday during business hours).

So, it was as part of a post-match ritual that the older players had encouraged me to have my first experience with alcohol. And my second…. I think two beers was more than enough to tip me over the edge of awareness that day into a pleasant state of victory soaked euphoria, and enough to help me forget the pain of my very visible grazed skin. I’m not sure whether my mother ever suspected what I’d done or where I’d been, but if my Dad had realised what was going on then he probably would have been proud!

I don’t want to talk about today’s modern post-match rituals, and what the players get up to with alcohol and the behavioural incidents that have become too commonly reported facet of rugby league. But as a fan over the years, I can assure you that alcohol was indeed a part of many of my experiences following my beloved Eels! From the sly drink in anticipation of a key game, to excited drinks of celebration after major victories, to that slow drink of contemplation while analysing what might have been – alcohol has never been to far away during the ups and downs of this supporter’s footy career.

And finally, we should take a moment to think about our game’s current headline issue – the Melbourne Storm salary cap breaches. I’m sure there are many Storm fans (and maybe players, management and staff) whose first instinct when the news broke was to turn to the bottle for a quick taste of escape? But if there’s one person that has truly earned the right to claim that rugby league may have driven him to drink, it’s the guy who lives with the most pressure in rugby league – here’s to you David Gallop!

- - - - -

749 words

 

[bartman]

bartman takes the next hit-up for the Eels, hoping in vain that there might be more to come...

- - - - -

The Amazing Waldo’s Marquee of Mystery…

Scene: An imaginary hospitality marquee at the rear of Olympic Park grandstand, Melbourne. It’s game day at some point during 2009 and the Melbourne Storm players are leaving the dressing rooms, having changed into their street clothes after the match.

The Amazing Waldo is dressed in the manner of a circus ringleader, and stands at the entrance to his imaginary marquee.

Waldo: Well played today Storm lads! [claps] Bravo!!

Several Storm players return Waldo’s gaze with admiration and enthusiasm.

Waldo: Step right up boys… Step right up into the “marquee of mystery” to reclaim your promised rewards!

Billy Slater: What are you talking about boss? There’s no marquee. And why are you dressed like you’re running some circus?

Cameron Smith: Maybe that’s the mystery?

Waldo: My dear boys, just look behind me! It’s our post-game hospitality marquee, nudge nudge, wink wink. Now come inside, all of you!

Greg Inglis: Um, what? [giggles]

Smith: Waldo mate… I think you’re making sh*t up. Stay off the drugs! C’mon guys, we’ve got places to be. I’ve got to front up for some post-match media commitm –

Waldo [interrupting]: But Cameron – or Cam if I may? What if I told you that you could get paid handsomely for these media commitments?

Smith: Paid? But this stuff is my duty as captain, flying the Storm flag. Getting us seen and heard on all the shows and papers and building the brand is part of the bargain, I don’t need to be paid.

Brett Finch: Cam dude, he’s talking sweet sweet cash. At least hear him out, he’s the big boss. He might… you know, know something?

Waldo: Such wise words Finchy, I knew we brought you here for a reason. Cam, do you want to hear how to turn your tiresome media commitments into some extra spending money for you and the wife?

Smith [looking at watch]: Ok Waldo, you’ve got two minutes. Give me the details.

Waldo: Thank you Cam, I assure you it won’t take two minutes. [reaches into trouser pocket] Now I want you to watch closely as I take this magical wand and –

Slater: Whoa! Waldo, I’ve seen enough!! Our costume party isn’t until the end of season. C’mon guys, let’s leave him to his dreams.

Inglis: Um, what? [giggles] Yeah.

Slater and Inglis turn to leave, but Waldo pleads with them in desperation.

Waldo: Guys, wait! Seriously, this may look like a joke but you’ve got to listen! You all want to stay playing together with the Storm for your next contracts, right?

Players [in unison]: Yeah.

Smith: But the salary cap… you know it’s going to be impossible Waldo. We’re all – well, except for Finchy – we’re all stars, and you can’t match the offers that will come in.

Waldo: Yes, I know the limitations Cam. But I’ve found a way! A way for you guys to stay playing together for years to come, and for me… I mean, for the Storm to reap the rewards!

Inglis: Um, what? [giggles]

Waldo: Greg, how would you like… a boat?

Inglis: Um, what? [giggles]

The Amazing Waldo produces his magic wand from his trouser pocket and waves it furiously in the air. As his flurry reaches its crescendo, a dull sharp sound and puff of smoke to the right reveals out of nowhere a flash speedboat on a trailer!

Waldo: That Greg. It’s yours!

Players [in unison]: Woah!

Smith: That’s pretty amazing boss! But what about the salary cap?

Waldo: Oh come on, Cam. You don’t have to worry about that. All the other clubs are doing it.

Smith: Are you sure?

Waldo: No, but if I repeat it often enough, people might start believing me. [retrieves a watch on a chain from his waistcoat pocket, and starts swinging it from side to side] Repeat after me, all the other clubs are doing it…

Players [slowly, in unison]: All the other clubs are doing it…

Waldo: Excellent! [snaps fingers] Now who’s next?

Finch: Hey Waldo, can you get me back in the rep teams?

Waldo: Well it is a magic wand, but not that magic…. Maybe it can get you a Premiership ring if you hang around until the end of the year Finchy?

Smith: Where do I sign? The proceeds of magic are a foolproof way to get around the salary cap, and the circus freaks that are the salary cap auditors will never wise up.

Waldo: Now you’re talking Cam. Send in the clowns!

- - - - -

749 words

 

[dubopov]

Time up ............

 

[bartman]

Well done Dragons. Three posts were all we could come up with this week .

Congrats on the win, you guys are looking well drilled this season .

 

[St. Linnane]

Cheers Bartman - Our captain-coach is old of the same mould as Killer Ken.

How much for the rights to the screenplay?

 

[Pistol]

Thar she blows

 

[dubopov]

bad luck bartman .. i know what it's like to feel disillusioned by team-mates not posting .. it has happened quite a few times in my brief career .. hopefully you guys can bounce back as we have this season ..

i'm rapt with the enthusiasm and commitment of our rookie squad .. great stuff team ..

 

[bartman]

Cheers guys. I look forward to having a good read of your your pieces now - I always leave it until after full time, but in previous games I've noticed you've been going really well as a team.

No worries about disillusionment for the Eels, no-one really went missing. Big respect to Goleel and Phantom for posting :thumn.

We just had a couple of notified withdrawals yesterday and in volunteering people for the bench we didn't have the confirmed availability to cover it. Them's the breaks sometimes, we'll bounce back after the coming bye/rep fortnight.

 

[DRAGONZ_RULE]

Well unless we all score horrifically, it looks like our first win of the season - a shame that it would be a win by default, basically, but at least we get on the board for 2010!

 

[antonius]

Eels
Goleel
The Seer
749 Words
Why is Izzy going back to Melbourne? That question is asked and a solution attempted to be found in this piece. I found it a bit all over the place in reading, seemed rushed to me.
Score 84.

Phantom Eel
Footy Drove Me To Drink…
749 Words
Another good read, drinking and league. I think most things in life can be associated with the old drink. Nice touch at the end there, I’m sure David Gallop may well have had a couple recently.
Score 86

Bartman
The Amazing Waldo’s Marquee of Mystery…
750 Words
The writer puts an amusing take on the Storms recent woes. Funny in parts.
Score 84.


Dragons

Murphyscreek
Vientiane
750 Words
Nice story, Some good descriptive writing almost had me there with you. I enjoyed the read.
Score 88

DragonPunk
Change for the sake of change
664 Words
The writer expresses his views on rule changes. He makes some good points. Some very long sentences, minor spelling, and grammatical errors mar the piece.
Score 83

DRAGONZ_RULE
LIFE, LOVE AND RUGBY LEAGUE: A HELLISH PARADISE
CHAPTER 2
749 Words
Looking back at an old grand final and the lead up to it. Simple piece, that does the job.
Score 84

Dubopov
MY GRANDFATHER
743 Words
Very well written piece on the writer’s grandfather, and the Anzac day game. He intermingles the game with memories of his grandfather playing a game during WW11
Score 89

St. Linnane
Maybe Whitney was right….
749 Words
I liked this. The writer looks at the game through a childs eyes and realises that to him there is no cap scandal just another fun day at the footy.
Score 86

Result Dragons 430 Defeated Eels 254 POTM Dubopov

Some good reads in this game shame the Eels couldn’t get five in.