Round 8 (2008) Titans v Bluebags

[Willow]

Forum 7s - Round 8 2008
GOLD COAST TITANS 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: Wedneday 30 July 2008 at 9pm (Syd time)​

REFEREE: Pistol
Venue: Skilled Park​

**The Referee Blows Game On!**

CLICK HERE FOR OFFICIAL WORD COUNTER​

 

[Robster]

Titans Team.
1 Amadean
6 tits&tans
7 Titan Uranus
11 Titanic
12 Coaster (Debut)

The Bench
3 beave
8 bgdc
9 Robster (c)

 

[gorilla]

Get out of the fuggin' way (1)
Where's that team list ? (2)

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The Backyard Hills Hoist League

I’ve had a long and fruitful association with a range of domestic equipment, but my most enjoyable is our backyard rotary clothesline. Domestic chores can be hard for bloke in a relationship, especially if partners have differing ideas of what constitutes a clean environment. Sometimes I feel like a ball-playing, grubber-kicking open-side prop playing in the first twenty minutes of today’s game environment. You have to do your part and the early hard yards before you can cut loose with your specialties.

I struggled and fought with domestic chores like a fat country second-rower in his first year of Sydney football, but I eventually realised that the hard yards could be accommodated when I discovered the joys of the clothesline and I chose to hang out the clothes.

This initially seemed a terrible choice when we had our first two kids and used cloth nappies. The kids were close together in age and It was a tough gig. The little dears might generate between forty to sixty wet and soiled nappies in a three day period.

One cold winter’s day, with the radio on the footy (a little transistor model pitched just low enough to hear), and as the sun broke through to illuminate the hill-hoist, I saw the glimpse of a game plan. Nappies were stretched tight and chain-pegged (it’s a technique…) to create a pathway, and, further still, a defensive line.

Now I admit I was sidetracked at first with the ludicrous possibilities of the extent of 50 or so nappies chain-pegged around the clothesline. I realised they could create corridors, and so I began to make mazes to run through, and little houses with all sorts of rooms. Eventually the rugby league focus reasserted itself and I began to play the solitary game again.

The brimming clothes basket was set upon a small stand in the centre of the clothesline and it became the ruck, the various clothes-pieces became my players, and the line became the field of dreams.

Heavy towel defensive lines sprung up to meet the long-sweeping shirt backline movements. A series of sock dummy half runs might tease the opposition defence, causing them to back-peddle, leading to pants second-row charges along the line close to the centre of the hoist. A flurry of underpants to the short side, and finally a bra squeezing between the sheet’s and pillow cases’ defence for the winning try. A successful finger-flick of a ciggie butt over the neighbour’s fence would constitute a conversion.

Like most matches, it was not always plain sailing. Sometimes clothes were fumbled in the cold weather, and handling was an issue in the wet. Up and under bombs, in the form of free-throw tea-towels over a certain line might be pushed over a notional dead-ball line, or catching by a fullback or winger would be disrupted by the bright sunshine.

There were even modern day issues – there’s talk of a rival codes-lines being introduced and stealing players, or ruck after ruck of monotonous sock-pegging dummy half runs and boring straight line defences when the sheets are done. Sometimes the dogs’ craps sit around the field like hot news media and reporter's scoops that can gut a team prior to game day.

I’ve even had teams play against each other; last year I had an eight team season. What a finals series ! The little men (singlets, tank tops and underwear) dominated throughout in the early heat-wave semis but, as the finals played out, temperature drops and heavy wet defensive blocks of towels and sheets played havoc with movement around the ruck and field.

The grand final was a beauty – a clear sunny winter’s Sunday afternoon. The family took their place on the deck, kids dressed in team colours, each one sporting a favourite player in a prominent position: one a beanie, another a scarf and the last a shirt. It was male versus female clothing in the final match of the BHHL.

Play started slowly with steady centre field line darting runs by the socks and underwear, with the occasional boxer stiffening up the attack. Despite the relentless defensive efforts of the sheets and pillow-cases, a slight breeze sprung up and gaps began to appear for the t-shirt halves to start to take control of the clothesline. A cloth-of-the-match performance by a pair of board shorts finding the space between some girl’s shirts and a bra on the wing gave the match to … the boys !

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(1) Apologies to Norman Mailer
(2) Someone has to start ......

750 words between the stars

 

[Willow]

The Bluebags Fokker Friendship touches down at Coolangatta Airport for this top of the table clash.

Wearing their obligatory Haiwaiian shirts and zinc cream, the team is greeted by applause from their many fans in the packed arrival shed.

Ref please note: Gorilla caught an earlier flight to dodge the female fans... he has popstar status on the gold coast and we sent him on ahead as a precaution against injury, often caused by the bevvy of buxom beauties that follow his every movement.

Willow (c)
gorilla
Black Kitty
Lossy
Rexxy

Reserves:
Drew-Sta
Timmah

Good luck everyone. :thumn

 

[Black Kitty]

Black Kitty wanders onfield for the Baggers looking lost and confused (and a just a tad airsick - green is definately not her colour!) ...

A little direction please?
What do you do when you loose your game?

Recently I lost a dear member of my family with whom I was very close. My Aunty Margaret had been sick for quite some time and we were all aware that the time would come to say goodbye sooner or later. But knowing what will happen and thinking that you are prepared for such a thing really does nothing to prepare you for the reality of it all when it does happen. I didn’t handle the loss very well at all. Nothing has really seemed to matter much for a few weeks now and apart from my family and a couple of close friends, no one even seemed to care much that I’d crawled into some little solitary hole in the universe.

League and F7s have always been a good distraction for me whenever I needed to escape the real world. I watched the game with blank staring eyes. I don’t think I’ve even been aware of who I’ve been watching for the last couple of rounds. It’s just been background noise for the thoughts tumbling around in my head. I’ve sat here at this laptop many a time trying to write my next F7’s article. But alas, all I managed to achieve was blank Word Document time after time.

So once again here I sit staring aimlessly at the blank screen, trying to catch hold of any thought that could work. My boyfriend came out of the bathroom to find me sitting here blankly, I guess he figured what it was that I was up too, or not up to as the case so pointedly seemed. He came over and rested his hand on my shoulder and said, “Everyone has a slump at some point Hun”. I smiled weakly and nodded a little, starting to close the laptop. Then his words sunk in, like some Yoda moment in a bad cult film. He was right. Everyone does have a slump in their game at some point or other. “We do don’t we…” I said, pondering the idea as I opened the laptop back up, rolling the idea around in my head, getting a taste for it. Then it happened, I could see this story right in front of me, just waiting to be told.

For if a writer can have writer’s block, a slump in their game, why can’t anyone and everyone else? And what is it that a football player does to get himself out of that loss of direction? Is it just a simple line said by a loved one, coach or team-mate that snaps them out of it like it did with me? Or do they have to play on just the same? And if they do just play on, how much does it affect their game? Of course the answers and reactions to all those questions are dependant solely on the individual person, and can no more be answered by me on their behalf as they can be by anybody else.

It does make you wonder though at some of the things that players do for seemingly no rational reason. Are these players trying to break some slump in their game by changing teams, codes or even by retiring altogether? Has something made them feel like there is nothing more they can offer to their beloved game? Or is it that they feel the game can offer them nothing anymore? No escape, no distraction from the world around them, no joy anymore.

It made me wonder who’s looking after our boys when they need it? Do we give them enough breathing space to be able to go through such a thing without ridiculing them for their drop in game play? In all honesty I really don’t think we do. Footballers, like everyone else, are entitled to have an off day. They are, after all, only human. No matter how high the pedestal we put them on.

So next time you’re swearing at a player for dropped ball or missed tackle while your swilling your chosen beverage at the pub, maybe you could take just five seconds to wonder if maybe they have a reason for being a little off their game. Be a little more understanding than you need to be, because you never know what a person is going through.



**729 words (including title) according to the official word counter**

 

[Willow]

Willow | Bluebags

========


In the heat of the moment

The heat of the Queensland day had gone. A casually dressed crowd thronged the busy street of the coastal metropolis. Men and women sat at the open public bar of the newly named Hog's Breath Cafe, having a yarn while sipping on schooners of beer and glasses of wine. Backpackers from the train station would swagger along in search of a place to sit and eat. A quiet gaiety pervaded the place, for war had not yet come, and peace and prosperity reigned.

With dusk approaching, it was too early for any excitement or anything untoward that might take place.

But suddenly the smiling calm was disturbed. The backpackers' shuffles were stilled, the rattle of the foot traffic was stopped. The drinkers placed their glasses on the tables, and rose to their feet. They gazed up the street towards old Lang Park where footballers, fresh from their training run, were letting out the ribald shouts of common folk witnessing something out of the ordinary. Questions leapt across the streetscape as the laughter drew closer and reached fever pitched proportions. Soon no explanation was needed, for to the unconealed joy of the idlers and to the horror of the more conservative gentry, a man was seen running down the middle of the road, blindly taking no account of the obstacles – stark naked!

He was shouting something... one word, over and over... “Eureka! Eureka!”

A madman, obviously, suffering from the effects of the day's sun. But the streaker was recognised by some.

The naked runner was John Ribot de Bressac, former rugby league player and the chief architect of Super League.

John was born in Queensland and had a top class playing career that spanned seven years from 1978-1985. He played for Newtown, Wests and Manly in the big league of the day, the Sydney Competition in the New South Wales Rugby League.

The Brisbane Broncos joined the old Sydney Competition in 1988, 80 years after its inception, and were immediately suspicious that their cousins in the NSWRL were not providing enough returns for the Queensland franchise. The powers had long recognised Ribot de Bressac as an au fait business personality, and they commissioned him to determine a method of how much gold was contained in the game of rugby league in NSW.

A few years later, on the day of discovery, Ribot de Bressac arrived at the Lang Park bathhouse contemplating the gold problem. We can imagine him lowering himself into the tub, then rising from it, studying with an interest as the liquid levels changed. The warmth of the water and childish preoccupation providing clarity... that soon developed into euphoria. Then suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, the solution was pushed to the front of his mind! Big John splashed out of his tub, shouting those immortal words at the top of his voice.

Without waiting, or thinking ahead, he raced out of the bathhouse and rushed through the streets of Brisbane still bellowing, “Eureka! Eureka!”

Ribot de Bressac had concluded that a team's weight plunged into a competition was equal to the weight it displaces. To determine how much gold was in the competition, his Brisbane benefactor only had to add more teams in order to displace those teams which were of no use to their silent business partners.

It was a discovery that would see the game spiral into a series of unforseen events, with administrators on both sides emulating Ribot de Bressac's nude run on numerous occasions. What followed is well documented in the history books. The subsequent 'Super League War' saw many teams, and their fans, suffer. Indeed, the peaceful tidings of yesteryear will never return.

Ribot de Bressac's legacy can been seen to this day in the southern franchise of Melbourne. Quaintly referred to as the 'Bastard Son of Super League' – no doubt a term of endearment - the Melburnians have done well. But much of the damage left in its wake will never be repaired.

But what of John Ribot de Bressac himself? He is now simply known as John Ribot and he still has a place somewhere in sport administration. But like all legends, he can't run around in the nude forever, and he will eventually be struck down by a groin injury.

As with the weight of gold, fables too can be displaced, and even an emperor can only get away with so much before someone cares enough to take notice.

=========

| 748 words |

Ref:
Many thanks to Archimedes of Syracuse.
http://math.about.com/library/blbioarchimedes.htm
And my old tattered book: '100 Great Lives'.

 

[Willow]

Bluebags interchange:

Rexxy injured.
Timmah comes off the bench.

 

[Timmah]

Shielding his eyes from the incredibly offensive & bright team list the Titans have posted on the big screen, Timmah sprints from the bench, taking the fourth hit-up of the match...

Timmah

***
Another False Dusk

As a Bulldogs fan, one would anticipate that in my first Forum Sevens article “post-Sonnygate” would be about exactly that. Not so. There are far more pertinent issues facing the game, the fans, the players. Forgetting about the greed of that one person and address this is where we need to go.

What’s amazing about this year - Rugby League’s Centenary Season with all its hoop-la and fanfare – is that it will go down as one of the worst years in the code’s history. The negativity from the media has hit an all-time high and shows no signs of easing, and most of that has stemmed from the print and online pages of the company that, believe it or not, are one of the competitions major stakeholders. In addition to this we’re seeing players skip town (legally or not), players on the town (often not legally) and very few fans in town willing to actually get out to the game – which in a city of four million people is criminal. The question remains: where are the solutions? Every Tom, Dick and Gus is more than happy to sit around and speak the doom and gloom without offering any sort of fix themselves. As such, the leaders of our game are put in the position where the fans watching seem to be armed with more vitriol and supposedly more knowledge than themselves.

While the world has changed irrevocably since the Super League “War” in the late nineties, the entire situation surrounding the game right now is eerily similar, with players again seemingly at odds with the salary cap and plenty of bickering about the TV coverage, and even more so it’s worth. We are far less likely to see any form of “break-away” competition this time around, but the current landscape means changes to the game as we know it are imminent.

I listened to the Triple M post-match wrap of the Dragons v Bulldogs match just this week and with all the recent rumblings, the discussion turned quickly to these solutions that are so desperately needed. One of the Triple M commentators made a brilliant point. While the current situation might be doing the game a great disservice, one could come up with one hundred solutions in one column, and in the column next to them, find 100 reasons why those solutions will not work, and ultimately not benefit the game.

These solutions being thrown about (few of which are offered by those aforementioned doomsayers) include:
- abolishing of the salary cap altogether;
- endorsing more third party details or asking them to not be considered under the salary cap;
- granting “loyalty reductions” to players who commit to one club for extended periods of time, such as 8-10 years;
- a broad range of changes in the current rules of the game which many believe to be turning rugby league into a dull and uninteresting competition; and
- various initiatives to boost crowds, ranging from reducing the cost of attending matches right through to culling the number of teams in Sydney.

As mentioned above, these solutions all have rather obvious arguments in both the affirmative and the negative. Super League was much the same – it offered so many solutions to what it viewed as the problems of the Rugby League. While it did damage to the game, there’s no arguing the health of the game in terms of support we currently have in its aftermath. After such a huge setback during that period, the game climbed above where it was previously, and in the last five years has produced consecutive different records in terms of attendances, and the success of the salary cap can be argued in the fact that seven different clubs in ten seasons have managed to win the premiership.

It goes back further – many could argue after the struggle of the opening seasons of the New South Wales Rugby League that our code should never have survived, with so much chopping and changing over the first three years, including the infamous forfeited Grand Final. But it fought back, as Rugby League often does. It fought back and kept strong through the Great Depression. It stood the test of the Second World War. It was strengthened by revolutionary rule changes in the 1960s, 70s and 80s. Its resolve was tested by Super League, and it has flourished since.

One more kick in the guts? Please. We’re stronger than that.

***

743 words between the asterisks.

 

[Titanic]

Titanic for the Titans, after giving new boy Coaster a large nip of port and dispelling all rumours that I have lost my tongue, I take up my usual position and prepare to have a rant. (750 OWC between the stars).

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Back to the Furor
​

When Rugby League (RL) was arguably at its peak in Australia (1995), a controversy erupted rivaling the rebellious days of 1895 in Huddersfield. On both occasions the players wanted more pay and more say, although focused on the “more pay”.

In the ‘90’s version, Rupert Murdoch’s News Limited (News) gang orchestrated an attempt to create a full-time professional competition called Global League. After being squashed in court for potential breaches to the Trade Practices Act, the News takeover of the ARL competition eventually materialized the following year in its now infamous Super League persona.

The fall-out from that “war” divided loyalties and alienated traditions built around tribalism and loyalty. News wasn’t interested in grassroots RL, just the crème de la crème. A tenuous amnesty has reigned for ten bittersweet years with the victors clearly being the protagonists and the losers being the general sporting public.

So how fitting that, in the Australian RL Centenary Year, one poor misunderstood player, frustrated by his constant rejection at having to beg Scrooge to add just a little more to his bowl, broke contract, retreated in abject defeat to France, changed sports, while seeking relief from the inhuman, invasive paparazzi. His irresponsible actions threaten to shred the fabric of RL.

The irony being that the player isn’t Australian, isn’t poor, wasn’t rejected and like a bulldog caught in headlights has attracted increased unwanted mega-publicity. The entire scenario could otherwise be interpreted as an uneducated and poorly advised man-child, after failing in his attempt to strangle the club that nurtured him, spitting the dummy and doing his best to stick his snout in the seemingly bottomless trough of a French Rugby Union club.

Like rats from a sinking ship his managers, who most likely still can’t believe their luck at having their cash cow double-dipping into two contracts at once, have distanced themselves from the case. His registered manager isn’t his manager anymore, the so-called unregistered manager refutes being his manager, the overseas manager states he wasn’t involved and the French club thrice denied him.

Gutless turds… let's just declare war on France... bunch of twig frogs jumping around picking their noses and taunting people... the single most conquered country in world history.

Their plonk is akin to extortionate vinegar, their grub has too much garlic, their sheila's are over-rated and under-sexed, their friggin' tower is rusty, their national anthem clichéd, and... hold on, they've just taken one of our biggest hypocrites from our shores and they may even want big little-Willie too... when the dust settles I may just grow to like Les Coqs.

With the pressure being brought to bear through legal avenues and intense media scrutiny, it could be argued that the player has willingly leapt from the “zee frying pan into zee fire”. However, this is no longer a tale of a misguided Neanderthal. The public has been stirred from its malaise and the fallout is sadly reminiscent of ten years earlier, with players grabbing what they can and the game "be buggered".

Greed is a shameful moniker to be tainted with and yet our NRL heroes are lining up like lemmings with their hands out while expecting understanding from their (ex?) fans. And it doesn’t stop there.

Media personalities are ambushing CEO's. The CEO’s are ambushing players. The players are seeking sponsors. The sponsors are being trampled in the rush to get away from RL. And the fans? The fans have had enough. So why has it all gone so wrong?

The game evolved a century ago from a pay dispute and it’s taken ten years to reconcile the last bout of avarice. Not surprisingly, the catalyst today, as it was previously, is money but with one large difference.

The modern player earns more than his supporter base, ten times over. Players’ salaries are thrust in the face of the public regularly by the media or by clubs flexing their might. There’s no supporter sympathy for either party and less for the managers.

The games administrators are also culpable. These News pandering simpletons have let this situation develop into the current fiasco. It would appear obvious that one independent, impartial board of management, that understands international law and global sporting trends, should control all facets of RL.

Only a cynic would believe that the French RU Top 14 competition’s television rights are controlled by News.

Fact: the French broadcaster is Canal+, owned by Vivendi SA, a major shareholder in Murdoch’s (News) SkySports

.....believe it and weep.

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​

Bibliography:​

http://www.smh.com.au/news/League/Ho...692633683.html​

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/text/france.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vivendi_SA​

 

[tits&tans]

tits&tans for the Titans plods wearily on to the pitch, brushing away the cobwebs of a hangover that are clinging to his eyeballs.

748 words between the stars (OWC)

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

In The Realm of the Imagined

​

As Einstein once said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” He may well have been correct while pondering the relative speeds of faster-than-light objects or devising the equivalence relationship between mass and energy, but sometimes I feel that the newspaper media has taken this maxim too much to heart.

I’m sure we’ve all read a newspaper or an online article that, because of its inaccuracy, triviality or unoriginality, has enraged, frustrated or saddened us. The media has a lot to answer for; politicizing non-political issues, false accusations, inaccurate factual reporting, or simply a lack of journalistic imagination. Indeed, some people attribute the rise of our current obsession with inane celebrity antics to an unimaginative media – they simply can't think of anything else to write about.

The important stories, those that people should know about, (NRL footballers giving up their time to visit hospitals or to provide coaching for underprivileged children, for instance) are often dramatically shortened or overlooked because of the readers’ perceived lack of interest. Those stories that should really only warrant a few lines are embellished to fill an entire page. Why does an NRL player signing shirts and balls in a shopping mall require an entire double page photo spread?

A recent international online survey, conducted by the Atlantic Free Press, found that 70.8% of respondents felt that news stories were sensationalized.

Can, or should, we rely upon the press for a fair and precise interpretation of the major issues of our times (video refs, salary caps and tries from a kick)? Sure, all news stories have an angle, but shouldn’t newspapers be completely objective? Or should they purely vocalise the opinions of their editors or owners?

I don’t wish to dwell upon these questions for too long. I’m sure there are many valid arguments defending the print media and their work, e.g. as newspaper editors face decreased advertising revenues, they must seek to diversify their content and include topics that sell better, such as sports or real estate.

This is excellent news for sport-aholics.

Print coverage of sports is generally very good. There are some excellent writers who really know their sports and are able to write in an interesting and eloquent manner. League is no exception and there are many great journalists: Roy Masters and Tony Durkin to name but two.

Living in a country where English language newspapers are published by a somewhat non-impartial media and the coverage of foreign sports is limited to NBA, NHL, European football and, of course, the Olympics, I rely heavily upon various newspaper websites to quench my League thirst.

The recent coverage overload of SBW stories aside, online newspapers fill this hole pretty well. But once again, the lack of imaginative headlines leaps out from the screen.

Let me show you what I mean:

“Dragons burn Broncos”
“Sharks bite Panthers”
“Storm blows Cowboys away”
​

And I could go on and on, and on and on.

At first, these headlines must have had their respective authors writhing around the office floor in literary ecstasy. Do you see what they did? They saw that for most NRL teams there’s a verb that relates to the team’s name and has a similar meaning to win or lose! Genius. What creative insight!

Rather than finding new and creative ways of continuing this innovative journey, writers insist on slamming themselves into reverse and repeating the same words over and over.

Surely, there must be a limit to how often the phrases “to blow away” or “to weather” can be used when talking about Melbourne. You would think that they would get bored of using “to bite” or “shark attack” when discussing Cronulla-Sutherland. Alternatives to “hen-pecked” or “to pluck” for the Roosters and “to savage” or “to maul” for the Tigers/Bulldogs must be found. While they’re at it, the Raiders can stop “raiding”, the Warriors can stop “crushing”, “stomping” and “vanquishing” and almost every team can stop “toppling” their opposition.

These terms have become stale and insipid. It’s time that some new vocabulary is introduced and some imagination is brought back into League headlines.

Something along the lines of

“Dragons incremate Broncos”
“Sharks gnash Panthers”
“Storm fulminates Cowboys”
​

Oh well, maybe not and I just haven’t been able to rid myself of this particular song:

How much is that ‘Doggy in the window?​

The one with the really sad tale.​

How much is that ‘Doggy in the window?​

I do hope that ‘Doggy’s for sale!

****************
Bibliography
http://www.editorsweblog.org/newsro...2/valuebased_journalism_an_important_goal.php
​

 

[Amadean]

Amadean hurtles onto the field for the Titans, still suprised from having discovered the throng 'Bagger's airport fans were, after close examination, comprised of one rather fat woman with big hair.

720 below the break

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French Garbage Disposal

Throughout the news recently was the much-touted theft of SB.Williams by the nefarious and garlicky club of Toulon. This has been widely portrayed as a BAD THING.


Understandable, really. After all, SBW did dump his mates, his club and the odd charity in return for heaving sackfulls of dirty, stinking, filthy lucre. These gobbing wads of cash were only able to hold any form of allure due to their notable absence in the NRL. Oh, and because Anthony “Moral Financier” Mundine said it was ok.


Every crisis is an opportunity.


I've met SBW twice, once at the Coogee Bay Palace Hotel and once at the Bondi Beach Road Hotel. The first time I was behind the bar, the second time in the bathrooms. The first time SBW had just joined the Doggies and Braith “Big Girl's Blouse” Anasta was feeding him C*cksucking Cowboy shots. Really. They spent the evening getting wasted, not tipping, and hitting on everything with a skirt, up to and including barstaff, bars**ts and a barstool over which someone had thrown a jacket.


At the Beach Road Hotel I tripped over SBW's leg as I was trying to “insert forum-appropriate euphemism for urination” in the Gent's. He seemed to be sleeping comfortably on the tiles, head cushioned by the regurgitated remnants of what looked like souvlaki.


From these experiences perhaps I've developed somewhat of a nuanced view of SBW. Certainly I haven't been that keen on Greek food. Consequently, I'm more full of gratitude than animosity towards French playboys. Today I whiled away many an entertaining minute thinking of other things I'd be grateful for some linen-trousered frog-dodger removing from Australia's fair shores.


Gasnier was a good start. He played pretty damn well for the despicable cockroaches and I was glad to see him leave. However, he did at least have the virtue of being Australian and a proud Leaguie from way back, which SBW lacks. Still, good riddance to irritating tryscorers on Gaz's part.


Big Willie “More Overrated Than An Octogenarian Blowjob” Mason would be next on the list. Like SBW he is a Bulldog, unlike SBW he has had more accusations of sexual assault levelled against him then the U.S Marines. For some incomprehensible reason he is also held in high esteem by Kangaroos selectors and the Channel Nine commentary team. He hasn't been effective in a game since Papua New Guinea was a state and should be presented to the French with a complimentary chocolate selection from which the coffee creams have been removed. Nobody likes coffee creams.


Paul Gallen has been staunchly defended by his coach Ricky Stuart despite committing more professional fouls than every other player since Web-Ellis combined. He could plausibly bear the burden for the grubbiness of the latest State of Origin series as well as for the poor form of Cronulla, who now are the basis of increasingly virulent speculation as to their future. The French know how to deal with illiterate thugs. They must do: since Charlemagne they've preferred to roast wild boar and viciously over-feed geese than actually develop civilised cuisine. Give Gallen to the Gauls.


Ray “Rabs” Warren is a tricky one. I would earnestly suggest his forthright removal to France, were it not for a suspicious set of circumstances. Rabs, despite astounding displays of ineptitude, is still calling NRL matches after more than 5 millennia behind the microphone. This leaves us with two possible explanations. One: Rabs' former profession was as a swash-buckling archaelogist by the name of I. Jones. After his last-but-one adventure, he holds in his spittle the last few drops of life-giving liquid from the Holy Grail and Rupert “What's Wife Number 4's Name?” Murdoch can't afford to let him die. This explanations hold little water, as the man who used the phrase “he's done a poultice of work tonight” (really, a poultice of work? A poultice is a herbal compression placed over a wound to draw out infection. How in Al-Jezeera's name does that equate to good hard running by Tallis?) is plainly an idiot not capable of distinguishing his arse from his elbow, nevermind Hebrew from Ancient Greek. Explanation Two: he's a moron with tenure. To the French with him!


Don't blame the Frogs for taking SBW; use them to dispose our other garbage.

 

[Titan Uranus]

Titan Uranus wanders onto the field in a lovestruck daze right into acting captain Titanic who flattens him. Blissed out and feeling nothing he quietly waits for his Titans team mates by lying on the field looking up at the clouds and the beautiful shapes they make.

750 words including the title as confirmed by the Official Word Counter
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My Summer With Sue​

​

When I first saw her short name written down it looked like it was pronounced as Soo or Sue. Obviously that wasn’t actually her name but it is a name that’ll forever be close to my heart.

She was always there, in the back of my mind. I often thought of her even though I knew that I’d have to wait until May before anything could happen.

My friends warned me about getting too involved. They said it wasn’t a good idea to wrap myself up so completely in her when I knew that it couldn’t last, that it could only ever be a short-term affair.

They asked what I’d do when it was all over, how I could go back to my previous love and be truly faithful. It was true I did love Natalie Ruby Lea too, as did many men, yet Sue offered something else, something more.

As CLR James might have said had he been Australian “What do they know of Natalie, who only Natalie know?” They didn’t seem to know or understand in the same way that I did that you couldn’t have Natalie without Sue or that Sue wouldn’t be was wonderful as she is without the existence of Natalie. I’d often think about whether it was possible to love both.

However I still fell for Sue more heavily than most. It was to me as if everything that was perfect about Natalie was distilled an encapsulated in a concentrated form. In retrospect it may have been a good thing that we were limited to only three dates.

The first one was on the 21st day in May. It did not go too well, but many great relationships are forged after a disastrous first date. That’s not to say it wasn’t difficult to deal with having my hopes so cruelly dashed after raising them so high. I even started to think that maybe that’s just what comes from playing away from home.

I had three weeks to prepare for our next date yet despite that I didn’t feel too good going into it. So much had changed between the two that I didn’t really know what was going to happen and was convinced that even worse was to befall me. In the end it turned out to be better than I could have expected. Now I started to believe that our love was meant to be and I was entirely justified in forsaking all else for Sue.

Then came July and the end of the affair. After the success of our last date it was decided that it’d be best not to change anything this time round. However, things did not go quite as smoothly and a tense feeling pervaded. Well into the evening it looked as if it could go either way. All of this made the final penetration of the southern defence and the consequent release of my emotions all the more beautiful.

The taste though was bitter-sweet as I knew that it could never be surpassed. I also knew that this was the end of the road and that we’d have to part ways and, for the first time, I truly understood Shakespeare’s comment about parting being such sweet sorrow.

A month on, the memories still linger and I believe they will until we meet again. There is a further problem in that Sue is in Australia and I am here in China. While absence may make the heart grow fonder it does not make a long-distance relationship any easier. How I envy those who can live with their true-loves in a state of eternal sunshine. Yet at the same time I pity them for not experiencing a love that can transcend nations, cultures and the Pacific Ocean.

As for whether it is possible for one man to have two loves. I’d say that it is. This may seem to be as Dostoyevsky could’ve said “the dream of a ridiculous man.” In Dostoyevsky’s short story this dream is of an earthly paradise which for me is the perfect description of how I felt at the start of this northern hemisphere summer. So it follows that I do dare to dream this dream. While I had a wonderful time with Sue I know that Natalie will always be there for me week in, week out to accompany me through my everyday life.

No matter what else may happen in my life I’ll always have my summer with Sue.

 

[Coaster]

Coaster hits the field in his debut for the Titans, he kinks his neck, pops in his mouth guard, and shivers with excitement.

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Tezza and Me

It was 6pm on a balmy evening in South East Queensland and Terry and I were waiting for the train. In fact, we’d only been at the station for about 5 minutes when the conversation became heated.

“It’s all about loyalty,” Terry jabbed, trying to fire me up and knowing full well that this single statement would raise my blood to boiling point.

“Loyalty?” I spat back. “Nobody’s more loyal than us. We’ve waited nine long years to get back into this competition - no thanks to your mob.”

I could already sense that this was going to be another long night.

This was the game that we had both looked forward to, partially with dread. Titans vs. Broncos. Mate against mate. This one was personal and the gloves were off. We both had our particular reasons for wanting victory tonight and were too proud to give an inch.

The train pulled into the station, spilling us out into the arena at Robina. Home ground advantage was going to play an important role tonight and it was ours.

“I can’t believe you don’t follow your hometown’s team! You speak about loyalty but where’s your loyalty to the Gold Coast?” I demanded.

The Coast has always been good to me; I have travelled all over the globe but always called the Coast home. I expected Terry, who is also a Coastie, to feel the same.

“I don’t change teams like you do,” Terry retorted. “What is it, three or four teams in the last twenty years?”

Terry had me there… and it hurt.

I had changed teams through necessity. Being Gold Coast born and bred and having to suffer the indignity of our team being punted for such a long time had left a hole in my heart. I had tried many times to fill this gaping wound and reluctantly followed other teams, including Parramatta and tonight’s opponents, while waiting and hoping Gold Coast would be re-admitted. In my mind I had had to follow somebody or the passion of League and the tribalism it creates would have been lost to me.

Terry, on the other hand, had started to follow football when the Broncos were the Queensland side and naturally got swept up in the ‘Us versus Them’ propaganda created by the Broncos’ fantastic marketing machine during the ‘90’s. And now it seared another hole in my heart knowing Terry had always lived on the Coast, yet didn’t follow the Titans.

We walked into the stadium and were deluged by a sea of blue and maroon, giving the impression of State of Origin rather than a local derby.

“Pfft! At least we are the ‘Queenslanders’,” boasted Terry, knowing how to hit all the right buttons - that one was particularly painful.

“Last time I checked, we were still in Queensland, or has Brisbane done a deal with News to have us kicked out of the state for 10 years?” I rebuffed, fighting fire with fire.

The remainder of our conversation was somewhat chilled as we took our seats in the new Skilled Park.

“Do you like the seats?” I asked. These foundation seats had cost me a bit and I was proud to own them and to be part of a new era in the Titans’ history.

“Stadium’s a bit small isn’t it? Can’t really compare it to Lang Park,” Terry replied sarcastically, but I smirked into my beer knowing full well how impressive all the local Titans support and waving flags around us were.

I was with friends and Terry was in the minority.

After 80 minutes the final whistle blew. Titans triumphed by 2, and bragging rights were mine! The match was over but the rivalry hadn’t diminished, only intensified. The train ride home was littered with Titans and Broncos supporters taking their own cheap shots at one another.

“Six premierships to how many?” Terry asked me. It’s common for Broncos supporters to big-note themselves about premierships. They conveniently forget that they were instrumental in nearly destroying us and then pillaged our local talent. Just like a rapist bragging about how much sex they’ve had. I let it slide.

We soon reached our car, both understanding that the derogatory remarks and cheap shots must stop.

“Ok. Ok. Is it time for a truce?” I asked, holding out my arms.

“Yes, I suppose. Until next time anyway,” Terry said as she lovingly succumbed to my embrace.

She’s a fiery little creature, but hey, that’s why I married her.
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750 words between the lines

 

[Willow]

Bluebags interchange:

Lossy has shot through to France.
Drew-Sta runs on.

 

[Drew-Sta]

Drew-Sta for the Baggers!!

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It’s just a scratch...

The latest contact debacle that has encompassed the NRL is playing over like the famous sketch from Monty Python and the Holy Grail where King Arthur dismembers the Black Knight, only to have the deluded fool continue to try and fight on, believing he had not sustained a grievous enough injury to prevent him continuing to do battle.

ARTHUR: I command you as King of the Britons to stand aside!
BLACK KNIGHT: I move for no man.
ARTHUR: So be it!
[hah]
[parry thrust]
[ARTHUR chops the BLACK KNIGHT's left arm off]
ARTHUR: Now stand aside, worthy adversary.
BLACK KNIGHT: 'Tis but a scratch.
ARTHUR: A scratch? Your arm's off!
BLACK KNIGHT: No, it isn't.
ARTHUR: Well, what's that then?
BLACK KNIGHT: I've had worse.
ARTHUR: You liar!
BLACK KNIGHT: Come on you pansy!

Although I’ll leave little to your imagination just who I think the Black Knight is, I’ll very abruptly state that I am of the opinion the NRL has offered up a piss poor effort to defend itself, and has done so for nearly 15 years. Since the Super League, we been fed the abysmal lie that the Salary Cap is beneficial to the game, and that Rugby League has never been in better shape.

One David Gallop has, as all good marketers do, sold ice to an Eskimo – although I’d argue the ice is a poo-brown colour – and managed to hood wink the public into believing that Rugby League had some grand, masterful plan that would lead to expansion and fulfil the aspiration of taking over the inferior code of Rugby League as the world’s premier oval-ball sport.

Phil Gould rightly called him out on this in a conversation he and Gallop had on Triple M the other day and not once did Gallop answer the question of how the NRL was going to deal with the increasing problems it was facing, particularly with player retention from overseas raids:

Gould: Well, give us answers to the problems. Let’s not beat up on Sonny Bill Williams. Let’s give us solutions to the problems. We’ve got no plan, David.
Gallop: Of course we’ve got a plan.
Gould: You haven’t got a plan.
Gallop: Of course we’ve got a plan.
Gould: You can’t answer the issues of the game.
Gallop: What I’m telling [you] is the game has done some very significant things strategically. The game will go into a period of growth over the next few years. We will put ourselves in a position where we can do a great broadcasting deal.

The fact Gallop evasively answered Gould’s question instead of providing us with a direct ‘This is what we’re doing, this is how we’re going to do it’ has clearly led me to believe Gallop is as deluded as the Black Knight; Oblivious of just how significant his wounds are, and yet unable to offer more than a glaring look and heated words when given the chance to strike back.

Gallop’s response to Williams is ridiculous; bringing an injunction against a player who is skipping his contract is not only an attempt to waggle his finger at Sonny Bill as if he’s some sort of naughty boy, but the only tactic he has left to divert attention away from the real issue – Players have finally woken up to how much they’re worth, and the game just isn’t in a position to allow them to take advantage of it.

And the awakening has seen the pillaging begin. Between the ESL, ARU and French Rugby Union, the NRL has endured every slice and gouge to its game without offering so much as a parry. No change in tactics, no retaliation – We’ve simply turned the other cheek

For too long clubs and the game has lined its coffers with the fruits of the poker machine. Now that Leagues clubs have been crippled by new taxes and laws, and with News Limited holding a gun to the NRL’s head, the final insult to fans is that David Gallop has the gall to stand up and proclaim ‘The crowds are growing. Up 4 percent this year’, as if the fans will rally to a game whose administration has sold its soul at their expense.

4 percent increase, was it David? Or were you referring to how full ANZ was on Monday night?

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Word Count 736

Source for the Gould / Gallop discussion was The Daily Telegraph, 30th of July, page 117.
Source for Monty Python skit is: http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/mphg/mphg.htm

 

[Willow]

 

[Willow]

5v5

Well done both sides and good luck to one and all.

 

[Titanic]

Just made it home in time to see the clock tick over. Onya guys, a great effort Titans and good hussle 'Bags even if you did need to start that Gorilla early so that he could stand deep enough to run onto the first pass.

Willow and any other interested readers, I discovered something amazing when I was researching and Googled "French Military Victories". here is the link:

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/text/victories.html

Over to you Pistol - we figure that if you use that six-shooter on those "Baguettes" then you'll run out of ammo before you can finish us off.

 

[bartman]

A good 5v5 clash, as befitting the competition joint leaders. Only one can remain undefeated, unless we have any takers for a draw?

Best of luck to all involved and both teams.

 

[tits&tans]

5v5 .. great graft guys! gonna be a good game!

Good luck all