Round 8 (2009) Warriors v Titans

[Pistol]

Forum 7s - Round 8 2009
NEW ZEALAND WARRIORS V GOLD COAST TITANS

-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 12th August 2009 at 9pm (Syd time)
REFEREE: Pistol
Venue: Mt Smart Stadium

**The Referee Blows Game On!**

 

[Jesbass]

After spending more than a week locked in a bitter staring contest with his opposing captain, Jesbass finally relents and leads his team onto the paddock...

Starters:
Jesbass (c)
rayroxon (vc)
Suttsburger
MKEB...
MrCharisma

Bench:
Bay Vikings
Kid-Dynamite
antonius

 

[Titanic]

The Gold Coast TITANS v Warriors

As we strapped on the boots for this the last game of our season-proper, it was mentioned in hushed tones that the w-w-Warriors are u-u-undefeated. Shaking and quaking, a tentative Titans team sidles furtively on to the field:

The Run-on Team
1 Amadean
2 Tittoolate
6 tits&tans
7 Titan Uranus
11 Titanic

The Bench
8 bgdc
13 TITs ANonymouS

 

[Titanic]

Tittoolate out (foot stuck in Mumbai bog hole, frontend loader called)
bgdc in (dragged away from shopping for her first game back in 2009)

 

[Titan Uranus]

Titan U struts out for side once more in front of the rest of the team who obviously aren't as desperate to get away from work. Anyway this Titan Uranus for the Titans with "Remember the Titans?" 745 words according to the OWC including the title (plus 3 in the logo)

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​

Remember the Titans?

​

The year is 2034 and a pandemic more virulent than the swine flu that devastated Australia in the summer of 2010 is sweeping through south-east Queensland. Like swine flu, this disease had its Australian roots in Melbourne.

Aerial ping-pong fever has caught on in advance of the Gold Coast Football Club’s appearance in the AFL Grand Final. The coach is looking to lead the team to an unprecedented 5th consecutive title against the unsophisticated but physically imposing team from Port Moresby.

Although fans up and down the coast from Coolangatta to Commbabah have caught the fever Skilled Park is still regularly sold out. However, that’s what you’d expect when a team is regularly in the Asian Champions’ League Final, as with Gold Coast United.

Prior to Australia’s entry into FIFA’s Asia, local soccer teams could only test themselves against opposition from such ‘metropolises’ as Honiara and Port-Vila. Now they compete against the best from the world’s most populous continent.

The change also benefitted the national team. Regular competition against teams of a somewhat better quality than New Caledonia and Nauru strengthened them greatly. This year a love of the sport reached an all time high as Australia hosted the FIFA World Cup and the Socceroos reached the semi-finals for the first time.

The rise in the popularity of association football mirrored the fall in that of league football. It all began in 2009 with the introduction of two Queensland teams to the A-League. A chance to see a sport that was well organised with greater international appeal was seen to be a better option by many in the sunshine state.

It wasn’t just the round-ball rise that caused the Barassi line to be so well and truly broken. Another thing was the expansion of the AFL into new territories. The entry of the Gold Coast team in 2011 was followed by a North Queensland team later on. The signing of Karmichael Hunt was just the beginning.

More cross-code signings occurred with more players won over by both money and a desire to move away to a sport with organisers who weren’t so bumblingly inefficient. At first it was a trickle but it soon became a flood. After a while there was no need as there was more than enough good talent coming up through the youth ranks. Meanwhile the numbers wanting to play league only dwindled.

Meanwhile in New South Wales the AFL never managed to expand on its one team in the state and the NRL maintained its stranglehold on state sport. It was this that resulted in the cockroaches winning the State of Origin throughout most of the first third of the twenty-first century, culminating in 2034 in a nine in a row winning streak. Memories of 1984 and 2010 when the toads managed five in a row were long gone.

It wasn’t only Queensland that saw such dramatic changes. Although rugby league had been the national sport of PNG they went too long without any real success, including the first decade of the 21st century without any victories against a national side’s first XIII.

The format of the 2008 World Cup didn't help. They were consigned before the tournament even began to not make the semi-finals, despite being one of the top four teams in the world. This left a bitter taste in the mouths of many.

Between 2003 and 2007 popularity in Australian Football, meanwhile, grew by between 100% and 400% each year. In 2008, while the Kumuls were losing every game they played, the Mosquitoes won Australian Football International Cup (AFIC).

The new Gold Coast team, inducted into the AFL in 2011, signed a couple of PNG internationals in 2009 and opened new possibilities to other Mosquitoes who won the AFIC again in 2011. Eventually the game became popular enough in the country for it to enter its own team into the AFL.

That was the team that made the final in 2034 against Hunt’s Gold Coast team. After playing for them for several successful seasons Hunt then moved into a coaching role. Twenty-five years previously when he decided to leave NRL he probably had no idea what would happen in the Gold Coast, and that one day people there would turn to each other and ask “Remember the Titans?”

Some would and some wouldn’t, either way this is the chronicle of Titan’s death foretold, but it’s not too late to stop it.

You have been warned.

 

[tits&tans]

tits&tans for the Titans rolls up his sleeves, adjusts his belt and dives into the fray ...

749 (OWC) below the stars

******
The Long and the Short of it

Events transpiring over the last week have led many to question the suitability of modern rugby league for the young and the emotionally impressionable. No, I’m not talking about players’ antics off the field but rather the increasing amount of nudity in our modern game. Wendall Sailor’s recent exhibition of his “boys” immediately and unfortunately springs to mind. There is so much airtime and so many column inches given to the alarming increase of sex and nudity across all aspects of our society, that the regular acts of indecent exposure occurring at the weekend in grounds throughout the nation goes unmentioned.

I wholeheartedly believe it is high time that NRL management, coaches and players investigate the root cause of this abomination: the unassuming pair of shorts.

In order to fully understand this simple garment and its role in this abhorrent, modern-day phenomenon, one is required to glance back at its fascinating history.

For such a simple unit of apparel, there is an astonishing range of styles and sporting applications: board shorts for surfing, culottes for equestrian events, bun-huggers for volleyball, lycra shorts for cycling, dolphin shorts for gym enthusiasts, nut stranglers for AFL and boxer shorts (originally designed for pugilists).

Humans have always had a fascination with covering our bodies, whether for protection from the elements, for cultural or religious reasons or, more recently, for self-expression. Genetic analysis suggests that “we” began to wear clothes approximately 107,000 years ago. Since humans have sparse body hair, the emergence of the human body louse (which can only live in fabric) has provided some evidence for this. Today, what a person wears can express personality, and can even indicate chronological origin or geographical location. For instance, breeches from 15th century England, leather shorts from southern Germany or hot-pants from the 1970s, to name but a few.

Our ancestors fashioned coverings out of leaves, furs and grass. As textiles developed, we created kilts, togas, tunics and sarongs. These laid the path for the first knee breeches, which upper-crust Europeans were spotted in as far back as the late 14th century. The modern shorts silhouette didn't come along until half a millennium later, when the British military was looking for a way for its soldiers to keep cool in warm places like… Bermuda. The army's smart-looking knee-length trousers quickly caught on among civilians, spawning 100 years of sock dilemmas.

In 1933, Alice Marble helped their acceptance in sports by wearing shorts to a professional tennis match. Previously, most sports players turned up in whatever clothing was to hand.

The use of shorts in rugby originates from its predecessor, football. Originally, knee coverage regulations forced players to wear knickerbockers. A loosening of these restrictions led to the appearances of shorts in football and, thus, in rugby league. The material used for rugby league shorts was tougher than that of football’s due to the game’s more physical nature.

Over the years, the length of our shorts gradually reduced until during the 1970s and 80s they reached their minimum length. Since then, they have lengthened slightly to today’s style.

The influences of fashion trends and textile developments in various eras in the 20th century have also been felt on the field. High and low waist lines, scalloped designs, single colour thigh stripes, knitted logos and club names all came and went.

Originally made of cotton, shorts today are made of polyester that undergoes a process of sublimation to imprint the colours, designs and logos directly into the fabric.

Most of us consider today’s objects to be at the peak of their development, having reached a perfection of design. Alas, this is not the case with this humble garment. Its major limitation is so often demonstrated when players are regularly “dacked” by their opposition. This is often accompanied by mocking laughter or the sound of shocked intakes of breath from horrified parents as their children are exposed to these anatomical horrors.

Should the greatest minds of our generation turn their attention to this important topic, it would soon be resolved. Unfortunately, if we leave this up to the intellects that have brought us such winners as shiny suits, novelty ties and tie-dye t-shirts, (i.e. the clothing companies), future generations are going to be irreparably emotionally scarred.

Fortunately, I have the perfect solution.

Forget tightening the waist elastic or imposing stricter penalties on wrongdoers, we should simply take a leaf from ballet’s book:

​

One piece lycra-suit!

Simple, flattering and yet immensely effective.

 

[MrCharisma]

MrCharisma returns from retirement to Forum 7's with the first hit up for the Warriors

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Belly Fire


Last Sunday saw a girl get under my skin for the first time in my life and I envisioned nothing more than punching on against her. She was tall, blonde, thin, highly vocal and a dominant personality. She barked orders like Adolf Hitler and had to comment on every aspect. I will admit that I still checked her out in her tiny shorts but that was not enough to stop me getting physical with her.

The worst bit is I lost and I was dirty.

Every weekend I play mixed netball with friends at the University of New South Wales. In 2008 my Purple Bananas dominated the competition, winning every match in the regular season and taking out the Grand Final. As much as I would love to play manlier sports, I just cannot risk the injury with physical sports thanks to high work commitments and having braces. I still put in 110% and play with as much physicality as I can Muster, though I do get penalised a fair bit.

Back to the start, this week saw our first major loss in almost two years. We moved up a division level and played a team which has representative netball experience a plenty.

The girl I speak of was a Captain/Coach of one of these rep squads and with the best we could play, they still won 24-19.

I hate losing.
Even though the Premiers get a $100 voucher to the pub, I still hate losing. It makes me so angry that I play harder and look to teach lessons in pain.

In contrast I look at my favourite sport: Rugby League.

Every week I watch 75% of the NRL games and one thing in common is the hand shakes at the end. When the Broncos went down to the Raiders 56-0 we still saw a handshake, when Steven Price was destroyed in State of Origin and we saw a punch up late in the match, we still saw a handshake moments later...
A list of examples could be found in every match of a rough and physical game like Rugby League. When I bash, crash and tackle blokes often bigger then me for 80 minutes the last thing I would want to do is congratulate my opposition for beating me.

I think back to my team and a moment that left me so filthy that I did not even know how to help myself. Bulldogs Vs. Dragons at Kogerah Stadium. The match where Jamie Coward the Milkman, milked the referee for every penalty under the sun and in the dying moments when the Bulldogs run in a final try to win the match and yet were denied... they still shook the Dragons hands?!

I remember when I played in my University Rugby League competition I would tell the opposition to "Get ****ed", "I hoped they get hit by a car" and often gave them a middle finger salute.

I could not look them in the eye, I would not want to talk about the match later on and I certainly did not want to give them a pat on the back or trade jerseys. I actually get a taste in my mouth that is so thick that I cannot spit it out.

How is it that I can play social netball or Rugby League players in the past who played part time could be so desperate to void losing that they would risk life and limb yet a professionally paid player does not?

If all I did was play Rugby League, train Rugby League, talk Rugby League, live Rugby League, study Rugby League and then I was to would lose my match, I would be furious. I just could not see how someone could live the limited lifestyle that our Rugby League players live and still lost the match and not show emotion. I saw this week in the papers that the Sea Eagles Anthony Watmough and Matt Orford got into an argument on the field and were scrutinised that their Premiership defense was lacking coherence. Where some see this as communication breakdown, I see this as passion and pride taking over to evoke an animalistic desire to be number one. Is not that what you want for your team come finals time?

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Word Count 716

 

[Amadean]

The Titans' Amadean does the 'helicopter' in response to the Kiwi haka and nearly blinds the touch judge.

737 below the bar




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A Queenslander in Canberra






As a Queenslander, I've been accused of thinking highly of myself. As a Queenslander, I've been accused of thinking less of everyone else. As a Queenslander, I've been accused of being painfully handsome, ridiculously good at sports and astoundingly accomplished at corrupting mid-level politicians.


All of these accusations are correct. I apologise for nothing. From the incessant wining and dining of Anna Bligh to the thrillingly understated length of my jaw-stubble, I am a proud Queenslander and guilty as charged.


I am also currently abiding in the Australian Capital Territory.


I hope my stay here will be mercifully brief. I hope to never again walk into a footy club only to find that every single person in front of the bar is a public servant. I hope the Broncos improve on their 0-56 scoreline next time they play the Raiders.


0-56 was an entirely justified scoreline. It was an abysmal performance by arguably the most talented team in the competition. It was a match I watched, with Canberran mates, live down the pub. It was humiliation unseen since 1991, coincidentally the last year the Broncos didn't make the final 8, again coincidentally it was the last year the Raiders were any good; they certainly aren't this year.


These factors (the mates, the Queenslander pride, the low quality of ACT League, the increasingly evident corruption withing the Queensland Labor Party, the vanishing hopes of Brisbane making the finals) combine in some perfect-storm-like fashion to make my time here even more miserable than necessary.


Ok, ok, I'll be fair. Canberra is not as entirely hideous as you may've heard. The average person here is much like the average person in Melbourne, Brisbane or Alberquerque. Perhaps slightly less interesting than those other average people, but not intrinsically evil. Just dull. And fat. Still, I went to school here for a while and I turned out ok.


Thank the good Flying Spaghetti Monster that I didn't turn out like the rest of them. I'm not going to harp on about Todd Carney here (although tacking on Carney to the end of his name is laughably appropriate given his sideshow antics and [insert clown pun of choice]), but rather about the feel of the pub during a footy game.


I've watched League live on telly in London, Shanghai, Sydney, Perth, Singapore and Chicago. And Canberra. In fact, I watched a the recent, brilliant, game between the Storm and the Dragons (match of the year? Could be.) in a packed bar in Kingston in Canberra (called the Kingston Hotel, or affectionately 'Kingo') and it was an embarrasingly quiet affair. Play the same game in similar bars anywhere in the world and you'll get a response. Play it in a working-mans pub in the ACT and the conversations on house prices and fuel efficient motoring aren't disturbed to the slightest degree.


So yes, Canberrans are boring. Even when they're beating, thrashing, humiliating the once-mighty Broncos Canberrans are boring. Whilst this may have something to do with (to judge from a stroll through Tuggeranong Town Centre) the local population's habit of inbreeding with obese dugongs, it is still inexcusable. Canberrans, should you feel an inesacapable need, visit www.manatee-mammaries.com and relieve your urges there; please don't continue to raise children who look like they should never have ventured onto dry land.


Does this innately boring spirit permeate their footy? Well, perhaps, although it certainly never used to. Tricky Dicky was pretty flash in his day, Gary Belcher and Laurie 'Winged-Keel-from-the-1983-Americas-Cup-Winning-Yacht Nose' Daley were perhaps more so. It wasn't even a bad place to live; the people seemed less Camry-like, the local newspaper seemed less craft fair obsessed and some of the girls didn't appear to have come through the lens of “Kelp Bed Hidden Cameras”.


Hell, I don't know what's happened. Maybe the fact that an Origin game in Chicago rocks harder than a league game in Canberra is a positive thing. Maybe I've been spoiled by long-legged meter-maids and Scotty Prince's playmaking. It is even conceivable, albeit terrifying, that the ACT is the way of the future and the rest of the country is waiting to catch up.


Hell, what do I know? I still think the Titans, Cowboys and Broncos will make the Semis.








Wait.


Hold on.


I'm a fscking QUEENSLANDER! I'm not bloody wrong! Of course we'll make the Semis!









This place must be getting to me...

 

[Jesbass]

In a woeful display of lamentation, Jesbass takes to the field for the Warriors, his weary legs carrying him ever onward.

***

Pros And Cons (749 words including title)

I was really excited heading into this season. The silent agony of the off season hadn't been kind to me, and I honestly thought that this year might be different. I predicted 2009 to be one of the best seasons of all.

Unforunatenly, I was wrong.

Now, I don't mind making a few blunders from time to time. I'm human; it happens. But far worse than being mistaken, I was let down.

We all were.

For the record, I'm not talking about the disappointing Warriors season that once promised oh so much. In fact, this isn't about the football at all.

I’m referring, of course, to the off field antics of some of the game’s most talented performers. Players of the ilk of Brett Stewart, Greg Bird, and Greg Inglis - players who have represented both state and country at the highest level - are finding themselves on the wrong side of the law.

The sad reality is that when the suits atop the NRL’s hierarchical pyramid gather at the end of 2009 for a post mortem chinwag, there will no doubt be numerous questions demanding answers.

How have the players managed to get it so appallingly wrong? Why does it keep happening? What can be done to bring this madness to an end?

Not since Doctor Hopoate’s complimentary rectal examinations have I been this embarrassed to call myself a leaguie.

Sponsors will likely be wondering what the general (and paying) public will reflect on when deciding how to spend their hard earned. Will they remember Lewis Brown chasing down a bag snatcher in January? Will they recall Junior Sau’s protection of a teenage girl who was being assaulted in June? Or will they only have paid attention to the controversies and scandals? Will they remember the good or the bad; the pro(fessional)s or the con(vict)s?

But what about the fans? What searching questions will we be presenting? I suspect many of us will be inclined to sit upon our moral thrones and look down upon those sorry souls and pass judgment.

I for one am willing to take on a query which potentially has far reaching consequences: as fans, and as the wider rugby league community, what have we done to contribute to this situation?

Now before you get turned away by this unexpected demand of personal accountability, allow me to clarify. I am a firm believer in the art of admitting mistakes and facing the aftereffects. I live according to the simple truth that one’s response is one’s responsibility, and the last thing I want is to be seen to be absolving these players of blame. What they have done is regrettable, avoidable, and inexcusable.

But have we played a part in establishing the scenario within which these giants have toppled? Have we become a collective Doctor Frankenstein, creating and harbouring an environment for our monsters to wreak havoc on society? Are we placing these individuals on pedestals so high that to fall would result in inevitable damage to player and public alike?

A common thread that seems to run through these players is that, for the most part, they’re good people who simply lack the grounding and respect that a normal childhood would provide.

By way of example, I used to do a fair bit of acting as a child. A sizeable portion of my years between the ages of 7 and 20 were spent on film sets. I enjoyed it, and was fortunate enough to work with some familiar names who you’ve probably heard of.

Even so, I was a boy in a man’s world.

Although I didn’t step out of line or break rules – I was far too shy for that – there were some who did. New Zealand’s largest film company at the time refused to re-hire one of my peers. His trouble making antics as a 9 year old on set effectively ended his career.

I sense similarities between this young kid and our fallen heroes. Perhaps a lack of preparation was their mutual downfall.

By preparation, I mean more than mere education. Of course, teaching our young athletes about alcohol management is important, as long as we focus on the ‘how’ just as much as the ‘why’. But putting that instruction into action is the key. People need to get around these youngsters and keep them grounded.

I’m sure the likes of Greg Bird – once a pro, now a con – wishes he hadn't fallen off that pedestal.

***

Two of the good news stories from the NRL in 2009:
http://www.stuff.co.nz/sunday-star-times/news/808426
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/sport/news/article.cfm?c_id=4&objectid=10581900

 

[Titanic]

Titanic for the Titans runs out, bro, just about shutting humsulf, trou' down and trupping over hus jandals. (750 OWC)

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Shining light

Sometimes it’s the little things that inspire others to greatness. Sometimes these events are lost in the hurly burly of life. Sometimes these stories are just begging to be told…

Players’ struggles, their legendary feats, often magnified by time, are seen by many as the mainstay of the game’s checkerboard history while for others on-field victories only mirror triumphs in life.

Older Newcastle Knights’ fans may remember fondly a young Papua New Guinean who arrived at their club in the shadow of his more illustrious countryman Dairi Kovae. Both were then Kumuls. Kovae transferred to the Knights from North Sydney as potentially a gun signing while Arnold Krewanty had made the trip down from Port Moresby as a speculative recruit. It was 1989.

“AK” was a very different PNG footballer. His father was a well respected NCO in the famous 1RPI Regiment while Arnie enlisted to become an Air Force engineer. He spent a season training at the Wagga RAAF base where his appetite for Australian league developed. On his return to the Port Moresby Defence Club, he focused on realising his dream of trying the NSWRL competition.

Defence bowed out in third place, beaten in extra time by the eventual premiers Air Niugini but his sleek finishing and above-weight tackling earned him representative selection. Krewanty joined the Kumuls’ tour of England and France. The team mostly performed well below expectations, marking the end of captain Bal Numapo’s and coach Barry Wilson’s reign but a lone star burned brightly on the wing.

Krewanty was off to Newcastle as soon as his visa was issued. The best wishes of an entire country launched PNG’s pin-up boy off into the largely unknown. Relinquishing his rank and position in the PNG Air Force was a tough choice… a seemingly small sacrifice for someone with the rugby league world at his feet.

PNG players have beaten a well-worn track to the door of fame and fortune but only a few have entered. The successes of the likes of Costigan, Aiton, Westley, Lam, Gene and Bai have been tempered by the failures of Kovae, Numapo (Bulldogs), Gau (Balmain), Emil (Cowboys) and a myriad of others. Krewanty also features on that “nuffie” list. He played only two games for Newcastle and when offered a contract extension, opted to return to home to his wife Liz.

Surprised? At the beginning of this piece I trumpeted a tale of inspiration…

At first life was kind. Unable to re-join the Air Force, Krewanty started afresh as a car salesman. Still the football light burned brightly. His Kumul position was unchallenged and with the advent of the new SP Inter-City competition in 1990, he rightfully claimed his position as Port Moresby Vipers’ Vice-Captain behind the legendary Kumul veteran Arebo Taumaku. The Vipers won the inaugural SP Cup and premierships followed in four of the next five years. Similarly, Arnie's car sales were skyrocketing.

Then disaster struck…

Diagnosed with a simple infection, Krewanty’s health mysteriously deteriorated. By late 1995, he was hospitalized with worrying weight loss and general malaise. His greatest challenge was in front of him. Tests were inconclusive, his body withered and medical bills soared, yet sadly community support rapidly diminished.

Malicious gossip had the jungle telegraph overloaded. Puripuri (black magic) was blamed, sexually transmitted diseases were whispered everywhere from blackmarket bars to family gatherings. Visitors to his ward dwindled to almost nil.

Test after test ended in failure and frustration… after six months his voice was gone and his weight… a skeletal 25kgs… hope was in short supply. His wife couldn’t face the ordeal and only his two brothers, Alex and Julius, kept up the lonely bedside vigil.

Fortunately, his employer and a visiting Indian doctor were made of sterner stuff. Toba Motors guaranteed his hospital account whilst the doctor continued his tireless task. Eventually, it was determined that Arnie had contracted tuberculosis of the stomach… a rare and commonly fatal infection.

The inspiration...

Here is a player who gave up his career to chase his passion. He accepted his limitations and put family before his dream. He took a small frame and beat the best that his country could offer. He took on a new career and climbed the ladder to success. He fell to the depths of despair and under the glare of public ridicule crawled out of the mire. Today Arnie he is better known as the PNGRFL's Chairman of Selectors.

Arnold Krewanty: a man, a strong man, a man of rugby league.
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[MKEB...]

*knock knock knock* "who is it"
"it's me MKEB... open up I got my article"
"who"
"MKEB... my article it's a good'un"
"who"
"MKEB..."
"MKEB...isnt here"



MKEB... For the Warriors
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Me – Then And Now

When I was about 8 years of age, I played the brutal sport named Rugby League. Rugby League was the sport that everybody in the neighbourhood played, whether after school on the street or on a Sunday morning.

I was a lot smaller than the boys I played against and with, and not nearly as quick or nimble. The green jersey with the gold vee would drape halfway down my thighs and when tucked in would hang through the legs of my shorts.

Mum and Dad had to promise me that I would grow.

I always looked forward to playing footy on a Sunday morning. Putting on my socks and boots was the highlight of my week. Getting muddy was the icing on the cake of the perfect weekend. The wetter the day, the more excited I became. When I got player of the day I was over the moon.

My zealous mum and hungover dad were cajoled out of bed at ungodly hours to ready my breakfast and drive me to the game. Mum's ever present handkerchief and Dad's gumboots were always in the car the night before. They loved watching me play, though they hated getting up early.

It was always a matter of conjecture between them if I was very good or not.

Mum was of the opinion that I was the best in the team: fearless and fleet footed, with the shiniest boots and my socks were always pulled up.

And Dad, well...he thought there was a lot to be desired. His view, which he would opine to me after a bad game, was that I couldn’t kick, couldn’t pass, ran with the vigour of a sloth on valium and tackled like a Nancy. That (of course) wasn’t all true; I could kick a ball...that was not moving and on the ground.

I did not care whether I won or lost, I just wanted to play the game.

Fast forward a number of years. Years of enduring an apprenticeship, working weekends and losing any measure of fitness that my body once had. Years where my enthusiasm for imbibing extraordinary amounts of alcohol increased and my lust for life started to wane.

33 year old MKEB... wakes up for cricket on a Saturday morning. Though no longer the smallest in my team, I do have the prestigious honour of being the least fit, the heaviest smoker, and the closest to wearing a life shortening heart attack. Ten hungover men of various sizes and vocations are also waking up.

The text messages begin.

“Are you playing today?”

“What time do we have to be at the ground?”

“Who owes dozens today?”

My whites are seldom the white that is required for a Saturday's play. Cricket ball and grass stains from last week's play remain, perfectly matching my three day stubble. My boots always have dirt clogging the sprigs. Sleeping in is what I most look forward to during the week, particularly after five eight-hour days of terminal work overload.

My eager missus wakes me up on the Saturday morning of a game and has to make sure that I have everything ready for the match: coin for the toss, new match ball, spare match ball, and my lunch. Is my missus keen for me to play? Or, is she more anticipating having a day in the weekend to herself and enjoying the girly things that a Saturday afternoon can offer her.

I hear arguments raging inside my head; am I a better player or socialiser? Do I give everyone a go and hope for the win, or do I play the best players and be guaranteed of a win?

Though I am the captain of my team, the joy of playing cricket with my team mates doesn’t appeal to me so much anymore. More appealing are the days drinking, and more appealing still is the prospect of a nights drinking at the end of play.

I kind of feel a bit disappointed that I do not feel the enthusiasm for sport now as I did when I was younger. My verve towards sport has been replaced with a dull lethargy; my desire to run around with reckless abandon has been replaced with a fear of injuring my digits that I may not be able to work. Most painful is that my exuberant memories of Sunday sporting with my mates are being overshadowed by half memories of Saturday’s drinking.

When did things change?
***********************************
749 words between snowflakes

 

[bgdc]

bgdc for the Titans ... breathless. (750 OWC)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Morons or morass

This isn't an attempt to excuse or divert the blame of any player’s misdemeanours away from themselves. Its purpose is to examine some of the influences that allow a player to choose the pathway of rugby league as their profession.

An argument can be made that our education system is as culpable as any person’s socioeconomic background in determining their inability to handle intense public scrutiny. Into the mix there are the professional clubs which, although promoted by the omnipotent media as young potential stars’ “friends”, are more accurately rapacious entertainment enterprises.

The key determiners in this often sad scenario are the elite clubs’ callous disregard for players’ off-field guidance and the NRL’s, the lack of conscience in ensuring players’ long term career welfare… commodity versus community.

Examination of educational continuation decisions from Year 10 to tertiary entrance indicates that the major decision point appears to be at the end of Year 10. [1] It should then come as no surprise that the major catchment area for professional clubs is the susceptible 13/14 year old bracket. Why study math’s or write essays when your career path is being laid out by “well-intentioned” scouts and player managers?

In the commercialised and professionalised world of elite sport, issues associated with career pathways and post sporting career options have a particular resonance. In rugby league, an unexpected knock, twist, bend or break can profoundly impact a player's career. It’s argued that in this high risk and high consequence environment, nearly all clubs have instituted player development programmes to educate and prepare elite level performers for life after football.

Not nearly enough is being done though. Drawing on Foucault's work on "governmentality and the care of the self", his paper presents data that suggests that elite performers are so focused on establishing and prolonging a career as an elite performer, that other aspects of identity are seen only as something to be complied with as a consequence of industry expectations. An industry emphasis on higher education raises issues regarding commitment and motivation for the rugby league clubs that promote player enrolment in higher education and for the higher education institutions that must manage this lack of engagement. [2]

Attaining a post-secondary credential has become increasingly important for securing opportunities to get high-return jobs in Australia. Students from low-income families are underrepresented at every milestone in the educational pipeline, limiting their ability to attain post-secondary credentials and break the intergenerational transmission of poverty. [3] It’s therefore apparent that the clubs need to do more than just pay lip service to their career development programmes. The clichéd “he got every opportunity” is a cop out. By enticing adolescents from the youth-at-risk demographic and waving a cheque book at their often naïve parents is at best irresponsible.

It should be remembered that the responsibility for a schoolboy’s behavior and character when in the liminal space between home and school in Australia has its roots in the UK’s "muscular Christianity" dating from the early 1860s. The concept of late-nineteenth-century manliness and masculinity featured an enduring attachment to pursuits of the mind rather than the body amongst school masters, and points to the dominant role of parents (particularly fathers) and boys themselves in the rise of sport in schools. [4]

The bridge between the school system and the community of park rugby league has very little intrinsic connection with the enterprise of commercial clubs. In this bubble of member passion, the ideal of player rights thinly veils a more predatory desire to satisfy the bottom-line.

There has been considerable speculation from the club experts that rugby league plays a pivotal role in promoting a players level of self-esteem with analyses revealing a significant difference between the non-athletes and both the competitive and elite groups. Surprisingly for the clubs, rugby league orientation was found to moderate the relation between athleticism and general self-esteem; non-athletes who had a greater win orientation or lower competitive orientation were also lower in self-esteem.

Thus, the fit between the level of competition and the self-esteem concept depends on characteristics of the individual rather than the sport itself. [5] This substantiates that within the club environment a “strength in the herd” mentality prevails with such horrendous consequences as the acceptance, albeit behind closed doors, of gang-banging.

In summary, a tough stance perhaps but jointly the education system, social apathy and the greed by necessity of the professional clubs must be held responsible for the continuing wave of deplorable player behaviour.

+++++++++++++++++++++++
[1] SOCIOECONOMIC INFLUENCES ON EDUCATIONAL Attainment: EVIDENCE And IMPLICATIONS FOR THE TERTIARY EDUCATION FINANCE DEBATE, Paul Miller & Paul Volker (2007)
[2] Preparing to "Not" Be a Footballer: Higher Education and Professional Sport, Christopher
Personal author, compiler, or editor name(s); click on any author to run a new search on that name.Hicks & Peter Kelly (2006)

[3] Pathways to Boosting the Earnings of Low-Income Students by Increasing Their Educational Attainment, Louis Jacobson & Christine Mokher (2007)


[4] "In Loco Parentis"? School Authority and the Manly Character, 1855-62,
Rob Boddice (2008),


[5] The Link between Competitive Sport Participation and Self-Concept in Early Adolescence: A Consideration of Gender and Sport Orientation, Leanne C Findlay & Anne Bowker (2006),

 

[Jesbass]

Posting by proxy for rayroxon of the Warriors, smitten with upcoming wedding bliss...

***

Executive Decisions (743 words including title)

This round has been a slight deviation from my regular F7’s preparation. For starters, I’ve been involved in some heavy hitting family meetings, friends have been congratulating me for something I’m just about to do and I’m typing this article surrounded by ribbon, tape and cardboard. If you’d guessed I had just bought a membership to Australian Scrapbookers Weekly you’d be close, but mistaken. Instead, I’m merely getting married this weekend.

To be honest, I’m pretty excited by it all except for one minor detail - I miss the Warriors vs Eels clash because of lack of hindsight when we picked the date 2 years ago. I attempted to see if we could get a TV and Foxtel at the reception, but to no avail. Instead, I came up with the next best thing: bring the Warriors to the reception.

How would I do it? I wasn’t going to be able to invite all of them to the reception, so maybe it could just be Stacey and Steven. If they were to come though it would be late, so maybe they could make it to the ceremony only. That could work and with the backdrop of North Sydney Oval, the photos would be fabulous!

The idea was good but it was short notice. I’d have to go straight to the top. I had to email Warriors CEO and all around good guy Wayne Scurrah and ask him directly. To push my cause further, I decided to attach a picture of the last time Steven was truly happy. It was Round 2 at Brookvale this year when my groomsman and I stalked him post match.

​

Look at that smile. It could melt the gruffest forward's heart.

I typed up my request and hit send. If it were to work, it would be the perfect celebration of both of my loves, my fiancé and the Warriors - the latter of whom I should mention I’ve been seeing exclusively for the last 15 years)

Imagine my surprise when he wrote back to me 15 minutes later.

From: Wayne Scurrah
Sent: Thursday, 6 August 2009 12:42
To: Raymond Cashman

Hi Ray,

Thanks for taking the time to write and congratulations on your upcoming marriage.

As you would appreciate it would not be possible for Steve or any of the travelling players to attend your wedding on the day of a game. Unfortunately it would damage their pre match preparation and post match they have recovery and other team related duties to take care of.

I am happy to arrange an email from the team to be read out at your wedding if you like. If could give me some insight into your fiancé and yourself we will put something together. Thanks for your support and all the best for the big day!

Regards
Wayne Scurrah

I must say I was impressed he wrote back but I was told I shouldn’t be surprised. Upon learning that a Warriors fan had lost his house and Warriors memorabilia to a fire, Wayne organised to get a brand new signed jersey presented to him. From his email and this anecdotal evidence it’s clear that Wayne Scurrah is a new brand of League CEO, the type that doesn’t get involved in boardroom scuffles or physical abuse.

With that in mind, I thought I’d take up Wayne’s offer and give him some insight into our relationship as requested, offering the following pearls of insight.

• We’ve been together for 10 years – almost as long as Kevin Locke has been alive.
• We went across to NZ for Stacey’s second last home game against Parra in 2005 and somehow wandered into the post match function. We scared Todd Byrne by asking him to sign “Todd is Godd”.
• We had a Warriors themed cake at our engagement party. I couldn’t bring myself to cut it for fear that they would lose that weekend if the cake was damaged.
• Marissa’s favourite Warrior is Simon Mannering who I think we also scared back in 2005.
• I put a -4 on the back of my 2006 jersey and Cooper Vuna thought it was “funny”.

I doubt any of that could help him in a player email, however a collection of well wishes on the day would be fantastic. Either that or a lock of Hitro Okesene’s hair; that would also be tops. The ball is in his court but I’m sure he’ll come good.

***

 

[Suttsburger]

Suttsburger strolls onto the field, relaxed on the outside, firing on the inside...

749 words from below

Eyes Wide Open

I wonder how much I've missed out on watching rugby league with only one eye.

Yes I grew up with a one-eyed obsession that bordered on irrational - prone to outbreaks of petulance when things didn’t fly my team's way.

But over time I’ve come to reflect on that period where I was beset by the false belief that all that mattered – neigh, existed - was me and my team.

Passion is one thing, but what about everything I was blinded from?

It is a recent revelation I won’t lie. One brought about by a combination of the indisputable talent of certain individuals in the game and supporting a team so consistently underwhelming that I have been forced to look further afield to satisfy my rugby league fix.

The 2009 season has been a landmark one for me, with fair and balanced appreciation triumphing over the one-eyed perspective I've been prone to bear in the past.

My earliest rugby league recollections are awash with pure distain for two teams – Parramatta and Manly. There were reasons for my dislike of them - some legitimate, most not - but when the passion of love and hate takes over in sport then the reasons behind it become irrelevant.

So imagine the moral battlefield I found myself in when this year was punctuated with an unforeseen love for two NRL starlets who were kitted out in the blue and gold and maroon and white colours that previously sent fury coursing through my veins.

The men in question? Jarryd Hayne and David Williams.

Though both have had seasons polarised by the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, they are the two men who allowed this experienced campaigner to finally look beyond the colour of the jersey and realise that there is a lot to be said for the satisfaction of simply watching the greatest game of all played at the highest standard.

This epiphany has opened up a Pandora's Box of the talent I've neglected to acknowledge in my journey as a rugby league tragic because I was too consumed with the goings on in my own back yard.

Oh, the years I spent cursing the talents of Allan Langer or Ricky Stuart, just because their ability to single-handedly steer the fate of the premiership away from my beloved team was something I deemed unacceptable. Or refusing to watch every time Cliff Lyons set up Steve Menzies for another game-breaking play that would, either directly or indirectly, end up breaking my heart.

Though I did come close to breaking through that barrier once before.

The year was 1996 and the team in question was, believe it or not, Manly once again.

Now as youngun brought up Bears territory, my hatred for Manly was pure and real. That said, as a young Kiwi boy who knew of no higher accolade in life than to call one’s self an All Black, the arrival of Craig Innes on these shores was something that caused conflicting emotions. A man who had worn the black jersey of New Zealand was now representing the enemy on Sydney’s northern beaches.

I loved to watch Craig Innes play, he was one of my first memories of All Blacks rugby and I even remember as an 11-year-old questioning why he would trade in that hallowed black jersey to play rugby league.

I tried my very hardest to embrace this national hero and even felt a deceitful rush of joy as he crossed the line for the opening try in that year’s grand final. But in the end no amount of talent was enough for me to set aside my preconceived notion that all things North Sydney were great and all else was pure evil.

It was evident that my time had not yet come, my rugby league nous was still yet to mature, I would be forced to bide my time.

Sadly, attempts to rekindle my childhood memories in the wake of my recent revelation have proved fruitless. Attempts to go back and marvel at the spellbinding performances of the greats in opposition clothing are not blessed with my new found 20/20 vision but rather evoke the same narrow-minded madness of the one-eyed boy still lurking within me.

Perhaps the greatest test to my two-eyed discovery will come this weekend, when Jarryd Hayne, the player I have come to marvel at most, sets his sights on my beloved Warriors - and for 80 minutes he will become the enemy once more.

 

[rayroxon]

Rayroxon for the Warriors.

Executive Decisions (743 words including title)

This round has been a slight deviation from my regular F7’s preparation. For starters, I’ve been involved in some heavy hitting family meetings, friends have been congratulating me for something I’m just about to do and I’m typing this article surrounded by ribbon, tape and cardboard. If you’d guessed I had just bought a membership to Australian Scrapbookers Weekly you’d be close, but mistaken. Instead, I’m merely getting married this weekend.

To be honest, I’m pretty excited by it all except for one minor detail; I miss the Warriors vs Eels clash because of lack of hindsight when we picked the date 2 years ago. I attempted to see if we could get a TV and Foxtel at the reception, but to no avail. Instead, I came up with the next best thing; bring the Warriors to the reception.

How would I do it? I wasn’t going to be able to invite all of them to the reception, so maybe it could just be Stacey and Steven. If they were to come though it would be late, so maybe they could make it to the ceremony only. That could work and with the backdrop of North Sydney Oval, the photos would be fabulous!

The idea was good but it was short notice. I’d have to go straight to the top. I had to email Warriors CEO and all around good guy Wayne Scurrah and ask him directly. To push my cause further, I decided to attach a picture of the last time Steven was truly happy. It was Round 2 at Brookvale this year when my groomsman and I stalked him post match.

​

Look at that smile. It could melt the gruffest forward's heart.

I typed up my request and hit send. If it were to work, it would be the perfect celebration of both of my loves, my fiancé and the Warriors - the latter of whom I should mention I’ve been seeing exclusively for the last 15 years)

Imagine my surprise when he wrote back to me 15 minutes later.

From: Wayne Scurrah
Sent: Thursday, 6 August 2009 12:42
To: Raymond Cashman

Hi Ray,

Thanks for taking the time to write and congratulations on your upcoming marriage.

As you would appreciate it would not be possible for Steve or any of the travelling players to attend your wedding on the day of a game. Unfortunately it would damage their pre match preparation and post match they have recovery and other team related duties to take care of.

I am happy to arrange an email from the team to be read out at your wedding if you like. If could give me some insight into your fiancé and yourself we will put something together. Thanks for your support and all the best for the big day!

Regards
Wayne Scurrah

I must say I was impressed he wrote back but I was told I shouldn’t be surprised. Upon learning that a Warriors fan had lost his house and Warriors memorabilia to a fire, Wayne organised to get a brand new signed jersey presented to him. From his email and this anecdotal evidence it’s clear that Wayne Scurrah is a new brand of League CEO, the type that doesn’t get involved in boardroom scuffles or physical abuse.

With that in mind, I thought I’d take up Wayne’s offer and give him some insight into our relationship as requested, offering the following pearls of insight.

• We’ve been together for 10 years – almost as long as Kevin Locke has been alive.
• We went across to NZ for Stacey’s second last home game against Parra in 2005 and somehow wandered into the post match function. We scared Todd Byrne by asking him to sign “Todd is Godd”.
• We had a Warriors themed cake at our engagement party. I couldn’t bring myself to cut it for fear that they would lose that weekend if the cake was damaged.
• Marissa’s favourite Warrior is Simon Mannering who I think we also scared back in 2005.
• I put a -4 on the back of my 2006 jersey and Cooper Vuna thought it was “funny”.

I doubt any of that could help him in a player email, however a collection of well wishes on the day would be fantastic. Either that or a lock of Hitro Okesene’s hair; either would also be tops. The ball is in his court but I’m sure he’ll come good.

 

[The Colonel]

Time, ladies and gentlemen.

 

[Jesbass]

The Warriors took the unusual approach of posting 6 articles to gain an advantage...lol. Pistol, please feel free to disregard my proxy post, as Ray clearly agreed to my persuasions to break off the engagement and play F7s instead! :lol:

There are some great reads there - a bit of a panicked rush from the Mt Smart team, but we got there. Great hustle!

All the best to both teams. Over to you, ref! :thumn

 

[Titanic]

Lol... this could be an F7's first 5v6... those Kiwis will do anything for a win. Jess why not put in seven?

Good games everybody and particularly bgdc for filling in with such quality at the last minute.

Over to that "until recently retired" player-ref.

 

[MKEB...]

Looking forward to reading all these pieces again...
Good luck all.


BTW My brain hurts. Today at work I said "hypochondria" which is more than three syllables. Oh no, I just typed it now...I think I feel my fingers are starting to go numb.

 

[Jesbass]

Lol... this could be an F7's first 5v6... those Kiwis will do anything for a win. Jess why not put in seven?

Good games everybody and particularly bgdc for filling in with such quality at the last minute.

Over to that "until recently retired" player-ref.

We were looking to do 7, but thought it might be seen as cheating. Instead, we went for the "simple mistake" of posting the same article twice. Naturally, we expect it to get the same mark both times!

And while we're congratulating folk, I'd like to say a big "welcome back" to MrCharisma, who was coaxed out of retirement with the offer of a hefty pension at season's end!