SEMI FINAL. 2nd v 3rd Titans v Warriors

[Pistol]

Gold Coast Titans v New Zealand Warriors

-v-

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

Naming Teams:
* 5v5 (+ 2 reserves for both teams. SEMI FINAL CONDITIONS)
* 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 9th September 2009 at 9pm (Syd time)
REFEREE: Pistol
Venue: FRONT ROW STADIUM

**The Referee Blows Game On!**

CLICK HERE FOR OFFICIAL WORD COUNTER

 

[Titanic]

The Gold Coast TITANS v the Warriors
Back at the pointy end of the year... "Stop pointing Juicy"... here come the Titans:

The Run-on Team
1 Amadean
6 tits&tans
7 Titan Uranus
11 Titanic
13 TITs ANonymouS

The Bench
8 bgdc
12 Coaster

 

[Jesbass]

After incorrectly assuming his season was over, and having endured a particularly hazardous Mad Monday, Jesbass wakes up in a drunken stupor on the field. He crawls back into the changing sheds and, in almost illegible writing, scribbles the following line up on the wall with some red lipstick that was mysteriously located inside his back pocket...

Starters:
Jesbass (c)
rayroxon (vc)
MrCharisma
Bay Vikings
Suttsburger

Bench:
antonius
MKEB...

 

[rayroxon]

Rayroxon for the Warriors a little more afraind than usual.

*****​

Accursed

The following note was posted on a Warriors fan site recently.

~~~~~​

​

​

I had resigned myself to another loss. The Warriors were within range with 10 minutes to go, but that last try had put them 14 behind and it was clear that the players lacked the confidence to kick on. The camera was focused on the huddle behind the uprights when something strange happened. To the right of the huddle was Micheal Luck. With an unimagined brooding, he pointed towards the camera and mouthed “It’s your fault”. I had a feeling he meant me.

A couple of hours later, I was lying on the couch. The TV bathed the flat in a soft white as it was well after dark. I’m still not sure if what happened next was a dream or reality; all I know is that it chilled me to my core. White noise played on the screen accompanied by a dreary static buzz. My eyes grew heavy and I started to nod. A sudden movement on the screen dragged me out of my languor. As I focused, I realised the screen displayed a close up of the Warriors player tunnel. With eyes obscured by his fringe, a menacing Micheal Luck emerged. As he stepped closer, disembodied images flicked up on the screen: a cackling Mad Butcher; Vatuvei’s golden teeth, a close up of Tate’s neck brace. The static hiss was broken up by the shrill cadences of a referee’s whistle. Unable to break away from the display, I watched as Luck stepped closer. He paused, then screamed: “Stop watching the Warriors!” The sound of bone shattering immediately followed and silence returned.

With my throat tightened in shock, I emitted a noiseless cry. The video was a threat but the lack of retribution gave it a sinister edge. I reflected for a moment. I had witnessed a lot of Warriors losses this season. Perhaps it was my fault and the Warriors knew it? It seemed that I was the causative effect for their dire season and I resolved to miss their remaining games. With effort, I missed their loss to the Titans in Round 22. In Round 23, I caught up with friends as the Warriors lost in Parramatta . In Round 24, I strolled in the park as they beat the Raiders at home. Staying away seemed to have finally worked. I had regained a tentative balance until I received a call on Saturday.

“Mate, it’s Goodo. I got box tickets for the Dogs Warriors game this Sunday.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. I mumbled a “no”.

“Don’t be soft. It’s Hazem’s last game. It’ll go off! There’s free piss and it’s Stacey’s last game in Oz, too. You’d be stupid to miss it. I’ll pick you up at 1.”

With that he hung up. I hardly slept that night as I mentally replayed the message from three weeks ago. I hoped that Luck and the Warriors had forgotten their threat, especially after their surprise win against the Raiders.

The next day, Goodo was true to his word. Nursing a Crown, we watched the Warriors Juniors win. The main game started and that familiar sense of dread seized me. The inevitable loomed larger as El Masri stepped up to kick his first penalty. At half time, when Morris raced 90 metres for a try, I knew my fate. I felt every accusing eye in the stadium glaring at me. I was both a curse and accursed.

As full time approached, the Warriors hurried to pack a scrum. At 20 points behind, it didn’t seem to matter. A static report sounded on the PA and then Micheal Luck appeared on the screens at both ends of the stadium. He said one word.

“Tonight.”

Although I sat in a crowd of 41,000, I knew it was directed at me.

The drive home was in silence. My dread was palpable to Goodo, although he was oblivious to the cause. As he pulled away from the kerb, he waved goodbye with a sad finality.

Now I wait, alone, with a mocking fear as my only companion. I know my fate, though I don’t greet it openly. I am scared.

​

~~~~~​

The author was found dead the following morning. He had the rigor of a grimace on his face and a Micheal Luck player card clenched in a death grip in his right hand. The doctors said it was a heart attack. He was 23.

*****
​

747 words between the *****'s​

 

[Jesbass]

Jesbass follows ray in support, finding himself in the right place at the right time, catching his Warriors team mate's offload and breaking through the Gold Coast defensive line...

Punted (748 words including title)

As the Earth completed another rotation, breathing life into the dawn of a new day, the neighbourhood began to stir. Slumber gave way to the noise of lawnmowers as they groaned their way across nearby backyards, the ground shuddering awake beneath them. Paper boys began their routes as those on graveyard shifts stumbled into bed to appease their nocturnal body clocks.

But I didn’t need waking up. My twin brother and I had been awake for hours. In fact, we’d barely caught a wink all night. The sheer excitement of the coming daylight had given us no rest. For the duration of the fading darkness, we’d been sitting up, our tongues half out in anticipation.

On any other day, we wouldn’t have had the energy to remain conscious. But today wasn’t just any day; it was Saturday. And it wasn't just any Saturday; it was the day of the big final!

As with every game day, we’d spent the night at Johnny’s house, and we waited for him to stir in silent impatience.

We liked Johnny. We’d only known him for a year, but we looked up to him with great fondness. The three of us had had a great season so far. We’d gone onto the field together, and returned together every time, coated in mud and all of us bearing the tired scars of victory. We made a formidable trio, part of a star studded line up. We’d even scored the same number of tries as each other!

For every match and every training run, we were inseparable. We played and trained as one.

Johnny’s dad came in to wake up his son. Our best friend sat up, bleary eyed, and started to pull on his uniform.

“Come on,” his father called as he rushed out the door. “We’re running late!”

Without a word, Johnny ran into the car, and we were right on his heels, every step of the way. As the car took us towards our home ground, I wondered how the match against our arch rivals would unfold today. We’d footed it with most of the other teams, so I was confident that we’d run rings around today’s opponents. Overconfidence was my sole concern; we'd need to be on our toes to guarantee victory.

The vehicle pulled to a gentle halt and we stepped out into the car park. The three of us made our way across the field to where the rest of the team had already gathered, and we started to go through our paces. We interlaced our stretches with shuttle runs, a spring in our step as we readied for kick off.

But then something horrible happened.

Johnny's dad walked over to say that we were being replaced. His son would play, but my brother and I would only be spectators for the final; we were being booted to the sideline.

I tried to chip in with a protest, but my throat was sore from the long season. My twin just stood there and said nothing.

I was distraught – I felt downtrodden, like I was being walked over. The worst part of it all was that it was so hard to argue against. I wasn’t as effective in the wet as I had been at the start of the season, and my brother had never recovered from a crushed toe he’d sustained a few weeks earlier. We bore many scars of a tough and tiring season, and each one had made a lasting mark on our bodies.

Then our replacements were announced. The other players already knew of their reputation, and as much as it hurts to admit, they did look pretty impressive. Part black and part white with a sleek build, they looked like they meant business. They were renowned for their pace and flexibility on the field.

“I think they’ll be far more suitable,” smiled the father of our friend. "Especially for the final."

Our pain doubled when Johnny agreed.

This betrayal had us reeling, and we were too tied up in our own emotions to pay attention to anything else until the referee signalled the start of the match with a shrill whistle.

We sat on the foothill that overlooked the ground and watched the final. Our former team mates were triumphant, and Johnny even scored the match winning try.

We were pleased for him – honestly, we were. We just wished he was celebrating victory with us instead of that other pair of boots.

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

Source: http://shoes.about.com/od/shoetermsglossary/shoetermsglossary.htm (Throat, toe, heel, tongue, breast...who would have thought there'd be so many body parts for shoes to be...well...personified?)

 

[tits&tans]

tits&tans for the Titans storms on and dances the fandango ... oh, that light fantastic!

747 (OWC) Below the stars..

***

Unique

Rugby league is the best sport in the world. League is the only sport in the world. It is the only true sport. Rugby League is fantastic, blah blah blah.

How many times have articles, blogs and pundits proclaimed the superiority of this sport, without having any real basis or factual evidence?

Today is different though. This may seem to be another rant about how rugby league is the ultimate sport and how all other sports pale into insignificance alongside it. However, it's not. Rather, it's a logically and factually-based piece of persuasive writing that demonstrates how rugby league actually is the ultimate sport.

Rugby league is unique. Ok, every object is unique on an atomic level. And yes, you could argue that at a quantum level, every object both exists individually and does not exist simultaneously, which is pretty unique. However, rugby league is uniquely unique.

What is the source of league's uniqueness?

It's not the physical nature of the game. It's not the enthusiasm and loyalty of players, fans and managers. It's not the energy and rivalry exuded in key games. It's not even the 'weird and wonderful' off-pitch antics of the players.

The source of this uniqueness acts as a perfect metaphor for the spirit of the game and is particularly relevant in this age of globalization and internationalization.

It's its name.

It all began in a small town in Warwickshire, England, in a place originally called Droche-brig. Around 1066, the town entered the Domesday Book as Rocheberie. Years of linguistic development and a few 'friendly' visits from the Vikings, culminated it its more familiar name of Rugby. Hands, feet and balls were all thrown together in a pile and from this emerged the sport we know today.

You may very well argue that in fact there are a number of sports that share this name. For the sake of this argument, I would like to make a not unreasonable request of you. Would you please only consider activities that can be categorically labeled as a sport? Therefore, let’s not waste our valuable time on trifles such as union or sevens, both of which should never be labeled as sports.

Let me give you a clue.

The following things, to differing degrees, demonstrate a similar characteristic of uniqueness:
Mothers and fathers (or more correctly mamas and papas) (no, not the band)
Tea
Kebabs

Any ideas yet?

I mentioned that the name is a perfect metaphor. Allow me to elaborate. In the same way that the globalization of rugby league the sport leads to increased cultural exchange and understanding, which in turn, leads to lots of other positive things, so too does the name of rugby transcend all international borders. How?

It's time to see how multicultural and international you really are. A mini quiz:

How do you say rugby in the following languages?
a) Afrikaans
b) Danish
c) Dutch
d) French
e) German
f) Italian
g) Spanish
h) Swedish
For those who didn’t guess: the answer is ‘rugby’.

How about Greek, Russian and Portuguese? (ράγκμπι, регби, rúgbi)
Or Japanese and Korean?
Urdu and Malay?

The word rugby is one of an elite group of words that boast the enviable property of being the least translated words in the English language, that is, they take the same (or a similar) form in the largest number of languages across the world.

As an intrepid off-the-beaten-path traveler or as a jet-setting business executive in a bar away from home, or an expat abroad or as any of millions of other roles that put us in contact with other cultures, the benefits of the status of the word rugby ‘seem’ to be limitless. Kinship can be sought and friendships can be made with fellow rugby lovers across the world, regardless of your ability as a cunning linguist. An immediate bond can be formed by simply uttering the two syllables ‘rug’ and ‘by’ , accompanied by a smile. Suddenly, things become easier. Accommodation is offered. Guided tours are provided. Free drinks appear in front of you. Deals are brokered. Money is made. Happiness and harmony are shared. Can you conceive how important this is and would be for global trade, international politics, religion, and regional stability?

No other sport can claim to unite people in such a powerful way. Surely, that is the most important definition of ultimate.

Having said all of that, a hot cup of tea or a tasty Doner kebab might also do the same!

 

[Bay Vikings]

To show compassion, the Warriors allow the slow, fat, slightly geniused Bay Vikings to take the field, a move they might regret after the game.

750 words between the stars

**********

Father And Son

Before becoming a father, I had an idealistic view of how a father-son relationship would be. I never had any real expectations that a son would automatically inherit my tastes in music, food, or anything else for that matter. But I did think that any son of mine would like the sports that I like and support the teams that I support. It’s not like I’d be forcing him to tag along to a synchronised swimming meet or want him to get excited by the badminton nationals. I love rugby league, my father loved rugby league, and his father loved rugby league, so I fully expected my son to love rugby league, too.

That’s not too much to ask, is it?

Luckily for me, after a few misguided and tedious years of playing rugby union, he took up the good code and has done quite well in it. There’s just one problem though: he’s a Bulldogs fan!

In the early 90’s, his mother and I followed the well-trodden path to Sydney to take the hard jobs off lazy Australians. We were living in Wiley Park, just two train stops from Belmore, when my first son was delivered in Bankstown hospital. This was a few years before the Warriors came into existence and, like many Kiwis, I was a casual Manly supporter despite actually living only a street away from the Belmore ground for a year.

We moved back to New Zealand before the boy was two years old. He hadn’t had a chance to trash a train or kick a rival fan’s head in yet, but the seeds of disloyalty had already been sown. Family and friends that stayed behind in Sydney after we’d left have showered him with gifts of Bulldog branded attire and paraphernalia over the years. Now his mind is brainwashed in the way of the Dog. It goes without saying that his school grades have suffered as a result.

At least once a year, the Bulldogs come to town and I’m forced to go to Mt Smart with my son, who is always in full Bulldogs regalia. Displaying my obvious support for the home side by wearing Warriors clothing and carrying a Warriors flag isn’t enough to absolve me of guilt by association. I just have to grin and bear it as the jibes and insults come from all sides before, during and after the game. If the Warriors have the upper hand, the ribbing is generally good natured; but should the Dogs put our boys to the sword...well, sitting next to a thick-skinned teenager wearing blue and white clothes isn’t a fun place to be.

It gets worse. I was a Queensland supporter before he was born, so of course my rebellious son sees himself as a New South Welshman. We can’t sit together and watch an Origin match without constant bickering and sledging. Thankfully, he’s had nothing to crow about for four years.

I see other fathers and sons blissfully supporting their favourite teams together. Where did I go wrong?

This year, there’s been a change for the better. My new son was born in January at the Waitakere Hospital based in West Auckland. He’s a strapping lad, strong and tall with big feet and hands purpose built for rugby league. While his older brother floats between the back and front row, this one looks like he may be better suited to a creative role on the field - perhaps at standoff or even a ball playing lock. We’ll find out at the beginning of 2013 when he turns 4 and is ready to play for our local club after a good pre-season. I might invite a few agents along and get him a decent contract before he starts school; he can sign it in finger paint.

It gets better. Last Tuesday afternoon, his mother rang to tell me that our baby boy was smashing his toys against the wall at daycare. After work, I arrived at the daycare centre to find my son headbutting the floor. During the ride home, he just sat in his car seat punching himself in the face. His mother, understandably distressed, insisted we take him to the doctor, but I immediately knew what the problem was: Ivan Cleary had just named the team to face the Storm in Stacey’s last game and this new Warriors fan was obviously learning to vent his frustration like the rest of us.

Welcome to life as a Warriors supporter, son.

**********

 

[Titanic]

Substitution: Titan Uranus (out) has been loosened by a stomach virus and bgdc (in) has washed her hands and picked up the ball.

 

[Titanic]

Titanic for the Titans (750 OWC)
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Global League

The impact of Rugby League on world consciousness has gravitated rapidly from the occasional splash headlines of a decade ago, such as those that fingered John Hopoate and sniffed out dual international Wendell Sailor. Today, the saturation news coverage and constant critique underpinning the phenomena that's global rugby league, permeates every home worldwide.

The catalyst for the proliferation of the Greatest Game of All has been a series of coincidental events. It began in the home entertainment centre of the mandarin speaking, Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd’s Brisbane chalet.

Chinese Premier Hu Jintao, enjoying a rare incognito weekend sleep-over away from the glaring lights of the international political stage, made an intriguing discovery whilst rifling through “K Bear” Rudd’s porn collection… “Noodles” Hu stumbled across an old vhs, left by John Ribot de Brittlesack ten years earlier, extolling the potential of a global rugby league.

The leader of the world’s super-nation was stunned by the revelation that China had not benefited from the so-called globalisation of rugby league. So much so that on returning to Beijing he instructed the Red Army to immediately commence training in preparation for the inaugural season launch of the China Mobile Cup six months later. The rest is history.

Japan, led by kamikaze JRL President Harry Carry, refusing to be left behind, initiated the ferocious Banzai League whilst other Asian nations, in fear of losing trade leverage, began fledgling leagues. From the Nepal Gurkhas to the minnows from Macau, the Macau Minnows, rugby league had grappled the imagination of the massive Asian sports entertainment market.

It soon became apparent that other developing economies could cash in on the scraps that fell from the table of Oriental League. Africa was next to fall under the spell of the thirteen man game. Disillusioned by the lack of a reasonable windfall from the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, the African Union renamed itself the infinitely more proletariat African League and faster than you can say Ouagadougou, the Hutu Guru’s were smashing the hoodoo of the Tutu Zulu’s voodoo rushing outside-in defence.

Simultaneously across the Atlantic, South America’s pride was reeling from FIFA’s banishing them from the “beautiful game” because of continued crowd misbehaviour. In a continent-wide strategy to provide a replacement physical outlet for their frustrated fans, the South American Alliance introduced Touch and quicker than you can order Coke in a Colombian nightclub, and the Latin temperament being what it is… Touch out, Rugby League in.

There were many momentous milestones in the taking-over of the other football codes including the realisation by Rugby Union that they held less than one one-thousandth of one percent of the world’s viewing market or 10,016 which was one less than the number of rules that governed their game.

Soccer collapsed when it became apparent that without the budgetary spin-offs from the emerging nations to finance their lavish lifestyles, they couldn’t continue to convince the fickle top-end of town those ninety minutes of zero scoring was actually entertainment. Sponsorship dried up faster than the English Premier League sold its clubs to foreign interests who in turn quickly lost interest and found a better use for those purpose-built rectangular pitches… Rugby League.

However, the definitive moment came when the pivotal North American sports powerbrokers were unable to convince the omnipotent Murdoch clan to fund a hybrid game grown from a mix of baseball, gridiron, basketball and ice hockey called Star Wars. With the domination of the lucrative American market, Rugby League squashed the other small-time contact sports but benevolently ensured the survival of the ancient arts of golf, philately and women’s beach volleyball.

Predictably, the entrepreneurial spirit of the country that gave us Levis, Don King and the global recession turned its rapacious talons towards the NRL. Amongst Broncos, Cowboys, Titans, Knights and Storm there appeared the St. George Illawarra Red & White Sox, a joint venture acquisition by the Boston and Chicago communities. The globalisation of Rugby League was complete when the East Sydney Yankers evolved after the “Big Apple” connections of Nick Politis made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

So after another year of intense competition it all comes down to this weekend of intrigue. Two teams left standing, two groups of unrelenting fans…

Dubbed by many as the “great evil”, the Pyingpyongpyang Fallout, the unpredictable loose cannons of the competition, will line-up against the divine defending premiers and unbackable favourites, the gossamer clad good guys, the Vatican Gnocchi.

…the world again stands on the brink.
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[Suttsburger]

Chest out, fire in his eyes, Suttsburger takes the field for the Warriors...

740 words from below.

Absolutely, Positively Rugby League

2009 was a year dominated by the wrong sorts of headlines, where the sheer number of doom-and-gloom tales out-weighed the feel-good stories generated by the NRL and its players.

That is not to say that those stories didn’t exist however, so let’s go digging to find those hidden gems that put the much maligned image of the greatest game of all back in the good books and punctuated by a smiley face.

A Dog of a season

After years spent in the NRL’s detention hall, the Bulldogs’ off-season overhaul shaped them into a model rugby league organisation both on and off the field. Bulldogs CEO Todd Greenberg stepped up to provide David Gallop with an ally and the rest of the league with a blueprint as to how to live life on rugby league’s straight and narrow.

Cutting away the fat from their player ranks allowed the club to not only avoid the controversial headlines but also opened the door for one of the most impressive off-season recruitment drives seen in recent times. The Belmore-based club gave the fans a team they could enjoy and respect as well as giving the league a marketable franchise - culminating in the record-breaking round-25 attendance at ANZ Stadium when 41,000 fans passed through the gates. The NRL’s biggest success story may still prove unfinished depending on whether the Bulldogs can carry this fairytale through to the October long weekend.

Titanic achievement

It was truly a case of third time lucky as the NRL’s most recent expansion venture was officially vindicated in 2009. After the embarrassing track record of the Giants/Seagulls legacy and the short-lived patchwork of the Chargers foray into the national competition, Gold Coast Titans finally gave the sunshine strip something to cheer about in their third season playing alongside the big boys.

With the transformation of Skilled Park into a fortress and a swag of players rising to accept representative honours, the claiming of a home final was the cherry on top of a season that confirmed the NRL new boys as bona fide competition heavyweights.

After their first two campaigns were foiled by late-season form slumps, the Titans have set the league’s fears at ease by reaching the play-offs at their third attempt, an effort equal to that of their trailblazing big brother Brisbane Broncos – and they may yet better the Broncos’ effort of taking home the title inside five seasons.

The elite eight

Whether they realise it or not, the Tigers’ fourth-successive non-finals appearance spoke wonders for the state of the NRL. If a team with their talent and potential, who knocked off the would-be minor premiers, finds themselves not playing finals football then it speaks volumes for the teams who were able to make the cut into September action.

In fact it could be argued that 2009 presents the strongest collection of finals aspirants in the NRL’s 12-year history. While 2008 gave fans an eighth-placed team capable of competing in the finals, 2009 features eight teams capable of running the gauntlet to grand final day. What’s more, half of this year’s finals combatants are teams who 12 months earlier failed to make it this far, making it not only an elite group of title challengers but a testament to the unpredictability and level playing field that is the NRL.

Safety in numbers

If the negativity surrounding the game in 2009 drove fans away then it sure wasn’t obvious at the turnstiles. More people turned out at the grounds than any other year in the game’s history with a staggering 3,081,849 punters getting involved over the past 26 weeks.

When you consider the current economic climate, the league could have been forgiven for a drop off in attendance even without the dramas that beset it. But rather, thanks to the calibre of the product and the still numerous role models at the ready, children and adults alike made it known that there is no better place to be on a weekend afternoon than at the footy.

So keep the faith rugby league loyalists, the game as it stands has plenty to cheer about and more importantly there is a nation full of stake holders who are all too ready to show their support. Hopefully the most emphatic reason why this game is in such great shape is still to come, with four weeks of finals football that could still make this season the greatest ever.

 

[MrCharisma]

Running off the gap Suttsburger created, MrCharisma supports the attacking play for the Warriors;
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Bandwagoners: Win Or Lose, I Hate You!
(750 words including title)
​

Fact: When your team is losing more games than they are winning, people seem to go into hiding when it comes to continuing their support.

Fact: When your team is winning more games than it is losing, people seem to come out of the woodwork to support the team.

Rewind seven years ago and around this time was when the Bulldogs, after a tip off, were busted for rorting the NRL salary cap and stripped of all but their four bye points. Finishing a 17 game winning streak, we fans had been on an ultimate high, before being quickly brought down to the lowest of lows. I still have the newspaper clippings reporting the drama as it unfolded.

Back then I was at University in the small country town of Armidale, 700km away from the scandal and my fellow supporters. My three years at University were marked by three years of Bulldogs scandals with the above mentioned cap rort in 2002 and the Coffs Harbour rape scandal of 2004. Despite being a giant rugby league community, not one person offered support or condolence to myself the fan, but rather they hounded and ridiculed the club about being cheats and rapists.

Grand Final day 2004 was something special. Yes, I was a broke uni student and yes, I was 700km away from the action. But that wasn’t enough to stop me painting the town blue and white, including colouring in the pavement of my entire block, and adding balloons, streamers and anything possible to show my support. If you don’t remember, we went up against the Sydney Roosters and with that, I seemed to have the majority of the town on my side. Horns honked and people yelled “Go the Bulldogs!” We won that match 16-13 with great joy but I found myself with hundreds of newfound ‘supporters’. Was I in that television show Sliders and now found myself in a parallel universe?

In 2005, we became one of the first – if not the first – Premiers to miss the finals after taking the Premiership the previous year. Reni Maitua and Sonny Bill-Williams became the apple of many fans’ eyes with their rugged good looks and the fans kept hope. 2006 was no better; nor was 2007, and 2008 was rock bottom. Jonathan Thurston, Steve Price, Roy Asotasi, Willie Mason, Sonny-Bill Williams, Mark O’Meley and Braith Anasta, among others, had all departed the club. Where I would normally see throngs of Bulldogs jerseys around the shopping centre and street, there were empty spaces. No one was a Bulldogs fan; instead, everyone was supporting Manly, Brisbane, Melbourne, and Parramatta .

My job changed from selling to training in my company in 2009, meaning I became office bound. The annual tipping competition came around and many people asked me who I thought would win the competition and in my heart I knew the Bulldogs would be there.

“You’re mad.”
“Kimmorley is on a downward spiral.”
“You guys can’t do it without Sonny Bill-Williams.”
​

These were the typical responses, but my support never waned. I still wore the jersey, bought merchandise and even the coloured bands on my braces blue and white throughout 2009.

Just like Groundhog Day, the haters have mutated into my fellow peers.

“You guys can take it out.”
“I hope you smash the Dragons in the Grand Final.”
“Kimmorley is having an awesome season, and he should play for Australia.”
​

A parallel universe again? What happened to me being a cheater or a rapist? What happened to being the most hated club and all the negative back page articles in the Daily Telegraph?

Fact: I hate bandwagon ‘supporters’.

The people who caused the City Rail drama were not Bulldogs fans... they were idiots who happened to be wearing our jersey, just like the idiots who have given us bad press over the years, such as the ones involved in the massive brawl against the Roosters many years ago. The true fans are the ones who turn up to the matches, who can name our players from the ’80 and beyond, and live in the spirit of the Bullfrog.

In the last round of 2008, I travelled with friends to Canberra when we knew we'd get belted. With little to play for other then Corey Hughes’ farewell we travelled down, gritted the cold, and gracefully accepted the wooden spoon because that is what true fans do: support their team win, lose or draw.

 

[TITs ANonymouS]

TITs ANonymouS runs out for his first semi final, much to the delight of the fans. 749 OWC below the line.

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[FONT=&quot]Loyalty: a dinosaur?

[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]In Far North Queensland where I was raised, I was a pint-sized tackling machine, running around wearing number eight for my club. My amateur club: the club that all my mates played for and if ever I went back it would still be my club. I could no more go to another club than change my eye colour.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Also in those early days the incumbent Australia lock was the iconic Ron Coote. He was a mighty fine role model to boot and it was because of him that I adapted the Tri-Colours as my own.

Now had good ole Ron been playing for Parra’ or the ‘Doggies then that would have been fine with me especially in hindsight of those teams success over the ensuing years. But oh no, he had to be a Rooster didn’t he? So I became a Rooster supporter, from that day to this.

Things started out fine, two premierships in 1974 and ’75. Wow, I was on a winner. By association, I was a champion too, for a short time at least, then a bit of a dry spell set in. Considering that those halcyon seasons were my yardstick for East’s success, my expectations were perhaps a little unrealistic. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]It was a drought that was to last 27 years and tested my loyalty to the hilt. Nonetheless I stuck with them. During that time we continued to have outstanding players pulling on my beloved Roosters’ jumper but a niggling suspicion was eating away at me: so many quality players with so little return.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]It should be remembered that Eastern Suburbs don’t have much of a catchment area in which to groom promising players, we are forced to go out and poach from other clubs’ territory. This is the law of the Rugby League jungle according to the Roosters. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Historically, we have been unable to build a tradition, unlike Canterbury who can develop their own home grown talent, who in turn run on the field each week, buoyed with the knowledge they are Bulldogs through and through. Luckily the Roosters have always had enough money to buy good players.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]The salary cap evened the playing field to our detriment. Nonetheless player’s salaries continued to rise to such an extent it became financially rewarding to switch clubs according to the highest bidder and we continue to compete. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Today’s trend of players switching country and code, sometimes simultaneously if the price is right, has banished club loyalty into history, for professional players. Clubs and supporters alike have had to adjust to the reality that few players today will spend their entire professional playing career with one club. This is not disloyalty but rather good economic sense, if you’re the player.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

[/FONT][FONT=&quot]East’s have had distinct advantages in this modern player market because we’ve been doing exactly that for years: buying players and attempting to make a team of them. So why the drought and why in recent history did they compete in four grand finals in five seasons for just one win?[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Injudicious purchasing? Perhaps.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]For me, it indicates a lack of character that the team takes onto the field. They may be well coached, they may have inherent ability but character needs to be nurtured by peripheral influences such as community. Just like my junior club, players will come and go but each club’s culture relies on that community, administered by their committees.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]This year truly unmasked this deficiency at East’s.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]For years, I’ve watched teams, like Canberra, evolve from weekly whipping boys into champion teams. The key is the cliché: a champion team and not a team of champions. Much of their success can be attributed back to the club culture and their administration.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Nowadays, loyalty is a term for fans only. It should not be confused with a players’ motivation at professional level, that’s no longer applicable in today’s game. Perhaps we should take a leaf out of the USA sports manual “the team before the player”.
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Loyalty aside, there’s no excuse for a player not to be enthusiastic especially when his livelihood depends on it. Professional football flies in the face of Rugby League’s traditions of loyalty but at East’s we’ve always had to buy our success so this is not the reason for our malaise. [/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Perhaps hiring a mercenary coach to lead our bunch of hirelings is the key, however, I feel that we should follow Parramatta’s example and examine the administration. It’s time for a change… at the top.[/FONT]

​

 

[Amadean]

Amadean begins his second finals series for the Titans with great pride and a slight limp. Limp what? None of your damn business!

746 below the bar

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

Our Ill Winds

We’ve been hearing a lot about how heathly League is at the moment, with gates receipts up, final series competitive and girlfriend-beatings steady. A few theories as to the whys and wherefores have been floated, from Union going through a dry spell to the astoundingly boring public speaking style of Kevin Rudd, however I’d like to tender a few different ideas.

Firstly is the Global Financial Crisis, or GFC for those in the know. Actually, the “in the know” bit has been a key point, because so very few people appear to. Let me break it down a bit….

Things we know include: “I can’t lose this bloody useless job because there really aren’t that many other out there”, “Kiama is looking pretty good for a holiday this year” and “Geez I wish they’d just sort the bloody thing out”.

Things we don’t know include why, how and what actually happened.

The absence of knowing anything at all has been a central point of this latest mess, and that remains true whether I’m speaking as a League fan, a taxpayer or a Master of Economics student. When you are surrounded by such unpleasant uncertainty, then the enjoyable and dependable start to become attractive.

NRL is dependable; watch any section of any given match and you’ll find something familiar and comforting. Should you not find the sight of elite athletes bashing the snot out of each other, then you haven’t experienced the full impact of either the economic effects of the GFC or listened to a bunch of politicians play “but-he-said-it-was-my-fault” ad infinitum all over the news. NRL is enjoyable and the reactions of crowds and lounge rooms across the Eastern sea board emphasise the visceral nature of this enjoyment. Cerebral concerns can go to buggery, because if the Broncos lose this one then they’re out of the finals.

Can the NRL thank the ARU for a bumper season? Well, possibly. The difficulty with assigning credit for success or ineptitude is that we’re not always sure what the results would’ve been otherwise. If the ARU hadn’t been spending far too much time playing wallet-footsy with League players instead of promoting their own juniors game, would NRL gates have been down? Tough call, as economically the decision would depend on whether the sports were perfect substitutes (which, given the varying attendance figures and regional popularity deviation they plainly are not). If they are partial substitutes (in that a day at the Brumbies with mates is better than a day on the couch if the Raiders are playing away) then the picture is very blurry. Even if we accept this, then gate figures for the Super 14 in Australia were very slightly down on last year, and brutal statistics need to be called in to sort it out.

Those same stats would be called on to see whether KRudd’s quiet boredom is responsible for viewing figure increases. Perhaps it is theoretically possible for a politician to raise a nations desire to change the channel every time anything political is mentioned, but surely Little Johnny would’ve managed it just as well?

No, for those truly responsible for League’s top season we need to be far less subtle. Not un-subtle to the degree of having two neon pink referees policing the ten like Americans waiting for Maccas to open, but un-subtle in terms of dealing with the immutably obvious.

The players themselves have done much to raise League’s profile over the last twelve months, in manners both good and evil. The evil (if not overtly satanic then certainly on the very very naughty side of the ledger) includes all manner of assaults upon women, public drunkeness and the occasional drunk-driving charge. The good includes the best season of footy I’ve seen in nearly a decade.

I’d like to state very clearly that I’m not suggesting any correlation between those two.

No, unfortunately I’m suggesting something nearly as vile; something discussed for nearly a century. There is no such thing as bad publicity. All those bleeding heart ill-wishers whom I hear so frequently abused (whether they exist or not) in pubs should be concerned by the fact that the more ill-coverage League receives, the more likely the average family is to go down to Skilled Park on a weekend. Every mention is positive in terms of bringing the game towards the fore-front of the national consciousness.

Sure, the result is good. I just wish it were for different reasons.

 

[bgdc]

bgdc for the Titans - don't worry boys, it's a girls prerogative to be late (but not all the time, if you know what I mean) ... 750 OWC
................................................................................................................................

​

Super-ish League

Last night’s Dally M extravaganza quite rightly was a glitzy affair. This is the one night of the year where all the luminaries of the NRL world gather together in a celebration of the extraordinary skills that so many of these fit, athletic, young men possess.

It's a night full of glamour and caviar, and pate de foie gras, all the while tempered by cascades of champagne. A night when the media are arranged in a sort of narcissistic collective as they shower well-earned praise on those who have toiled so hard all year with recognition by their peers being their just reward. It is a night full of superlatives.

Legends, greats, role models, stars, superstars… supermen.

Superman, the iconic fictional character first created in 1932, is perhaps the most poignant of those often over-used superlatives when describing rugby league players. He is a role model of good and the defeater of evil. His extra-terrestrial roots ensure that he also represents our great Australian tradition of open immigration. And of course on this night of nights his alter-ego Clark Kent, the reporter, is personified by the media scrum.

Look, up in the sky, it’s a bird, it’s a plane, it's……….

Greg Inglis. Although he didn't win the coveted main award, he certainly proved throughout the season that his unique combination of strength and speed was worthy of adulation, despite the acrimony that dogged the latter part of his season off the field. He...

Leaps tall buildings in a single bound
Is more powerful than a locomotive
Is faster than a speeding bullet
Walks on water
Gives policy to God
​

Jonathon Thurston. A mixed season, eventually derailed by some erratic performances behind his miss-firing forward pack and a string of injuries to key team-mates. He...

Leaps short buildings with a single bound
Is more powerful than the Mayor of Townsville
Is just as fast as Sterlo heading to the TAB
Walks on water if the sea is calm
Talks with God when time allows
​

Jamie Soward. Probably disappointed to finish a little off the pace but can hold his head up high when he reflects on seasons past and opportunities missed.He...

Leaps short buildings with a running start and favourable winds
Is more powerful than a Wayne Bennett glare
Is faster than Wendell’s gob
Walks on water in a heated indoor swimming pool
Talks with God if special request is granted
​

Michael Ennis. After a year where he's experienced the highs of rugby league and the depths of ridicule from his peers, it seems that this journeyman has finally found a loving home. He...

Barely clears the backyard dunny
Loses tugs-of-war with any referee
Can fire multiple speeding spitballs
Swims well
Is occasionally blessed by God
​

Nathan Merritt. A well-deserved award after serving relentlessly behind an often fragile defensive line while managing to regularly provide the spark to an underachieving backline. He...

Makes high marks on the wall when trying to leap buildings
Is sometimes flattened by runaway locomotives
Can handle a gun without inflicting serious self-injury
Dog paddles
Talks to prop forwards
​

David Gallop. In a year where some poor reads by the players off the field have been underpinned by some even poorer reads by the administration in response, our super CEO seems to be living near an acre of kryptonite. He...

Runs into buildings
Recognises locomotives one out of three times
Is not issued live ammunition and shoots blanks
Can't stay afloat with life preservers
Talk to walls
​

Video Referees. Rugby league has proved to be a resilient product over the past one hundred years and although there's a very good argument that it's done a marvellous job to repair the self-destructive hold it put on itself ten years ago, this blight on the game needs to be examined with x-ray vision. They...

Fall over doorsteps when trying to enter buildings
Say "Look at the pretty choo-choo"
Wet themselves with water pistols
Play in mud puddles
Mumble maniacally to themselves
​

Jarryd Hayne. Whether you are Fijian or Australian, a Parra’ supporter or not this guy has certainly attracted more headlines than his comic strip persona. It’s not known if he gets changed in a telephone box or wears his underpants on the outside when at home, but he…

Lifts buildings and walks under them
Kicks locomotives off their tracks
Catches speeding bullets with his teeth and eats them
Freezes water with a single glance
He IS God
​

And now the NRL Finals… up, up and away!
................................................................................................................................

 

[Jesbass]

The referee sounds the full time hooter. (Not sure what he was doing in the stands instead of on the field, though!)

 

[Jesbass]

5v5 means this game is on like Donkey Kong!

Good luck to both teams. Our fate is in your hands, ref! :thumn

 

[bgdc]

First time the referee was a player and time keeper - multi-tasking again?

5v5 is no surprise between two teams that have danced this dance before.

Well done Titans, good luck Warriors and over to you ref (the real one).

 

[Titanic]

Great scramble team, thanks bgdc and sorry for the very late notice. TU is still glued to the loo and has just been conferred a TAFE Certificate IV in Spray-Painting.

Thanks Warriors for another excellent contest - it's a pleasure as always.

Well, Mr Pistol, you certainly have your work cut out for you, looks like it will be fun to mark.

 

[Amadean]

*nominates TU for F7's most appropriate moniker



....wait, he couldn't type because of that? TU mate, you're doing it wrong. Disturbingly so.


Nice work by the Warriors, best of luck come the reffing.

 

[rayroxon]

[insert well meaning platitudes about the titans here]
[insert encouragement for the warriors here]
[insert cheeky referee comment here]
[insert comment about madunit's coolness here]