TRI NATIONS I (2005) AUSTRALIA vs GREAT BRITAIN

[roosterboy60]

[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif]Australia Kangaroos v Great Britain Lions
The Brian Bevan Cup[/font]

[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif]Game Thread
Please note - This is a game thread only, therefore only game posts can be made here (Teams, Articles).
Any other posts will result in loss of points and is at the discretion of the referee.
Only original essays, not used in previous games, will be marked by referees.

[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif]REP Match rules:[/font]
[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif]7 posts per team.[/font]
[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif]Teams allowed 3 reserves each.[/font]
Total (including reserves): 10 players per team.
Rules: http://f7s.leagueunlimited.com/rules.asp

[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif]Full Time: Wednesday 2nd November at 9pm (Syd time)[/font]

[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif]Venue: The Front Row Stadium

Crowd: 21,510
REFEREE: Capt Dread[/font]

[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif]**Referee Blows Game On!**[/font]

[/font]

 

[Willow]

The Australian team bus arrives before sunrise and the players take their positions on the ridge. The Kangaroos are keen and ready to take on the might of Britain.

1. Willlow (c) (Bluebags)
2. I Bleed Green (Raiders)
3. eloquentEEL (Eels)
4. Goleel (Eels)
5. Dilmah (Lions)
6. Azkatro (Panthers)
7. skeepe (Raiders)

Reserves:
8. Raider_69 (Raiders)
9. Prince Charles (Pirates)
10. The Colonel (Eels)

 

[Misanthrope]

chriswalkerbush, captaining the Lions for the first time, leads a strong team out onto the park in hopes of scoring a first up tri-series win.

Great Britain & Ireland Lions
1: chriswalkerbush (c) (Dirty Reds)
2: MrCharisma (Dirty Reds)
3: griffo346 (Sharks)
4: yakstorm (Rhinos)
5: Mzilikazi (Rhinos)
6: Big Mick (Penrith)
7: Rammo (Rhinos)

8: Morticia (Easts)
9: Pistol (Souths)
10: bartman (Rhinos)

 

[Willow]

Replacement for Australia:
The Colonel is out.
Raider_69 is in.

 

[Willow]

Ref, please ignore previous post. The Colonel is a reserve as well. Oversight on my part.
Cheers.

 

[Willow]

Willow runs on for the Kangaroos, shakes hands with CWB, then takes the first hit up...

George Bishop

George Bishop was an angry young man.

He had no qualms about going the biff in a football match and made short work of his opponents. But George was also a bloke who knew his time for vengeance… and George was a patient man.

George played Rugby League for Balmain in 1923 and from 1927-1935. A tough and uncompromising hooker, George was a loyal player who put club and team mates ahead of all else. He played 81 games for Balmain in an era when a man had to work a 60 hour week before he could play. On top of that, George represented NSW and appeared in two Tests for Australia.

But controversy followed George throughout his career.

In 1928, George was at the centre of an all-in brawl at Earl Park in Arncliffe when a match between St George and Balmain turned ugly. It was a fiery encounter but George escalated matters when he decided to settle a few old scores. In an extraordinary scene, George began chasing St George five eighth, Arnold Traynor from the field. This infuriated sections of the crowd and hundreds invaded the pitch with the intention of seeking their own revenge. The rabble used fence palings for weapons in a brawl that lasted most of the afternoon. Meanwhile, police used hand cuffs, batons and fists in an effort to quell what had turned into the now infamous Earl Park riot.

For the record, Saints won 21-3 but few remember the match for the football played.

George was unrepentant. Afterwards, he reportedly told team mates, ‘Traynor and his mates will get what’s coming to them!’

Following his retirement as a player, George became a referee. In 1946, he was promoted to adjudicating a Sydney Grand Final, refereeing his former team to victory and copping a fair amount of flak for the way he handled the match.

The 1946 Grand Final was described as a ‘fiasco’. Minor premiers St George went down 13-12 despite scoring four tries to three. But the focus was on a series of incidents which saw George put his stamp on the day. In particular, two disallowed tries against Saints were called back with the ref seeing forward passes on both occasions. Matters reached boiling point when Balmain's Arthur Patton scored after receiving a forward pass. Then seven minutes from fulltime, Balmain scored again when Joe Jorgenson crossed after being given a ball that had been propelled yards forward. The incident was rated in the press as being an ‘astounding’ decision.

After full time, a good dust-up followed with sections of the Sydney Sports Ground crowd exchanging punches. Saints forward, Jim Hale went toe to toe with Balmain hooker, Herb Gilbert Jnr. Hale was then attacked by a spectator and an all-in brawl followed. In a bizarre twist, the press of the day rated the incident as contentious as the Earl Park riot of 1928.

That should have been the end of the story… but old mates are never far away. George was booted upstairs, graduating to the Test arena where he officiated in matches against New Zealand and Great Britain.

However, George’s crowning moment came in the 1952 Grand Final when Western Suburbs upset minor premiers South Sydney 22-12. The former Balmain brawler copped widespread criticism for his handling of the match. Souths were thrashed in the penalties and when Souths scored, George pulled them back for one of his forward passes. The Rabbitohs never stood a chance.

The result prompted Souths legend Jack Rayner to declare that he would never talk to George again, and Jack stuck to his word.

George stood down as a referee after that match.

Booted further upstairs, George became a national selector. But it didn’t take long for the mud to fly when in 1955, he was accused of leaking confidential information that champion centre Harry Wells had been dropped from the Australian Test squad.

George was dropped from the selection panel the following year.

Despite it all, George is to be admired. He was obviously a bloke who didn’t care too much about what people thought about him... and he made hay for at least 50 summers. He passed away in 1972 at just 69 years of age. He leaves in his wake the unique record of being a Test player, a Test referee and a Test selector in addition to unsettling two generations of players, supporters and anyone who had the good fortune to research the career of George Bishop.

*750 words*

 

[eloquentEEL]

eloquentEEL, taking the next play for Australia, decides to spread the ball wide...

The Footy Gods Must Be…

According to an early 80s flick, The Gods Must Be Crazy. If that’s the case, then the Footy Gods must be rolling on the floor, laughing off their collective arses. For example, ever since Cumulus and Nimbus (Footy Gods of rain) converted John Peard to their faith in the 70s, kickers have been perfecting the bomb (also known as the “rain maker”). The sole intention? To provide the Footy Gods with their daily dose of amusement. Honestly, it’s like watching little kids playing smash-em-ups with toy cars. I can just imagine how it started:

Nimbus: Hey, I’ve got a good idea. Let’s get the players to run at each other, in opposite directions, without looking where they’re going, as fast as they can.

Cumulus (with an evil Peter Costello smirk): Leave it to me Nimbus. Leave it to me.

This year, they’ve added a slight twist, giving the ball a slight nudge on occasion, such that it lands centimetres inside the field of play. That way, the catcher is also prone to being forced back in-goal. Evil bastards.

Not only do the Footy Gods enjoy their collisions, they also seem to enjoy handicap matches. Ligamentus (Footy God of medical indemnity insurance) convinced the other Footy Gods that having teams at full strength all the time is “boooooooooooring” and that the obvious strategy was to introduce injuries. The thought of kids comes to mind again; removing random body parts from helpless insects and reptiles. I have it on good authority that the technique for selecting which injuries to inflict, was decided after enjoying a game of ten-pin bowling. It comes as no surprise that the Footy Gods bowling in the lanes marked “Knights” and “Raiders” fought it out in the final of the Footy God Ten-Pin Bowling Challenge, with the head pin (#1) taking an absolute battering throughout the tournament.

Perhaps the busiest of all Footy Gods has been Chance (Footy God of chance). She’s the one responsible for designing the oddly shaped ball, the competition draw and the weather. She’s the one that came up with similar sounding, but totally opposite calls of “Play on” and “Play the ball”. When a referee makes one of these calls, the player has a 50% chance of not giving away a penalty. Chance’s proudest achievement has been her influence in legislation concerning blindness. Had the cut-off been a touch stricter, most of the referees running around today would be disqualified, having been ruled legally blind. That is to say, if it weren’t for Chance’s meddling, we might have had referees with sufficient vision to make correct decisions. Evil bitch.

Even though it is highly unlikely that Shakespeare ever laced on a boot, The Bard somehow found his way to Footy Heaven and now acts as the Footy Gods’ script advisor. Only Bill could have come up with some of the twists and turns surrounding our game. It is no surprise that he chose another William as the main protagonist for one of his stories. In 2003, Willie Tonga languished in Premier League, disheartened at the prospect of having two international centres (Jamie Lyon and David Vaealiki) blocking his path into first grade. So Willie left to achieve greatness at Canterbury, only to see Jamie quit and Dave injured (Nimbus picked up a spare) early in 2004. Parramatta fans almost broke down at the inhumanity, but Shakespeare had another twist left at the end of his tale. Had Willie stayed at the Eels to partner Tahu in the centres for 2005, then Ben Smith would have seen out his contract in Premier League and returned to his country home, never to be unearthed in the NRL. Unfortunately there isn’t enough time to go into Shakespeare’s influence on the Joint Venture Trilogy.

Chronos (Footy God of time) is probably the most evil prick of the lot. He’s got a remote control with fast forward and rewind buttons used to great effect, such that he can finetune his adjustments to the knob marked “Length of Season” in the most painful way possible. He’s managed to get the setting just right so that this season was two times too long for teams like Manly and Cronulla, a few weeks too long for teams like Brisbane and a few weeks too short for teams like Newcastle and Souths.

Those Footy Gods really are an evil bunch. Chronos and Chance have had them in hysterics all year, laughing off their collective arses.

748 words

 

[Willow]

Replacement for Australia:
skeepe is out.
Raider_69 is in.

 

[Raider_69]

*after one false start Raider_69 finally gets on the paddock to make his debut for his country, he stops breifly to pump his fist to the green and gold and signals to the skies...*
--------------------
My Religion

One of my earliest childhood memories is holding my grandmother's hand as we walked quietly into the local Christian church – Holy Spirit. We’d be blessed by the Father, before taking up our usual seats in the front-row for the sermon.

The sermon would soon be over and 'Nan' would take me by the hand and speak briefly with the Father, each time introducing me to him. At the tender age of six, he was a man I looked up to and respected.

We attended on a weekly basis. I’d sit patiently absorbing the Father’s words while Nan nodded to herself quietly. A stone's throw away in the car park, my grandfather sat patiently in the car reading his paper, deciding which horses to bet on for this week.

Fifteen years have passed, and it is incredible how things have changed. Whilst Nan is still a weekly Sunday ornament at the Holy Spirit Church and Pop still follows the horses with his good eye, I have not stepped foot inside a religious establishment for nearly six years Much to my nans dismay. I consider myself an atheist... or so I thought

When setting off to visit my grandparents, I often think back on such times as a youngster and have a chuckle to myself. But a few days ago I decided to surprise them with a visit from their grandson, so I filled the car up and set our for the 20 minute trip down the M4 toward Blacktown. During the trip, I began to ponder about my beloved Raiders and what went wrong this season. It was then I had an epiphany. Something clicked. When you break it down, there really wasn’t much difference between the six year old I once was and the 18 year old I had become today.

What was so different about my grandmother and I, besides a difference of religion? It became apparent that there wasn’t much separating her Christianity to my love of rugby league.

The similarities were uncanny. Each and every weekend she rises and heads to Holy Spirit Church to worship her God, while I am also heading off to my own sacred building. Mine, however, is Canberra Stadium, where through voice and presence I am worshipping my own gods - such as Jason Croker, Simon Woolford and Jason Smith.

As we both enter our sanctuaries, we are greeted by a statue of our higher being. My grandmother gazed upon a statue of Jesus, while 300 kilometres away I was looking at a bronzed statue of the great Laurie Daley. Often I have joked that these two men could in fact be one and the same.

The similarities don't stop there. Entering our churches, we take up our usual positions - front-row, centre for my Nan and her fellow devout Christians, while I make my way over to Bay 72 to meet up with fellow Raiders tragics of the Raiders Army. I trade smiles with little kids as I walk in, much like my grandmother and her friends smiled at me way back when.

Like my grandmother does, I sit down and make idle chit chat with the regulars. A laugh or two and niceties are order of the pre match/sermon - as the choir sing a prayer, elsewhere the future “gods” are strutting their stuff in Premier League.

Once the main attraction is on however, a new atmosphere descends. In church, the Father is met with a hushed silence, while the men in green charge onto the field with a thunderous cheer from the crowd. And at the end of the game/sermon, regardless of a good or bad day, the Father and players are clapped/cheered from their respective podiums.

Religion is defined as “a personal or institutionalized system grounded in such belief and worship”, and essentially that is what it comes down to. In many ways these two “religions” are incomparable, but in basic ways they differ little. While we may follow different versions of religion, we both have a strong belief and devoutly maintain our faith.

I now look back to a time when I thought I was an atheist and laugh, as I am anything but. While my religion is a far less conventional one, it’s a religion none the less. For that, I have to thank my grandmother. Without her influence at a young age, I doubt my faith and belief in my beloved club would be so strong.

Rugby league, that’s my religion.

AMEN
-----------------
Word Count: 750

 

[Misanthrope]

Great Britain make a substitution:

Griffo346 off
bartman on

 

[MrCharisma]

With Australia on a role, Great Britain look at the skillful English hooker for an escape card

----------------------------
Coach Lets Down

It isn’t very often that the coach of your favourite sporting team lets you down. Like with Canterbury for example, all you hear after a loss is “bloody Anasta” or “fire Corey Hughes!”. Usually Folksy is the level headed guy who is organising the playing roster, cutting the oranges at half time and spraying the team when they are down 12-6 to Souths. Even when Folks dropped Mason and Utai to Premier League, there was method in his madness.

Well for once, I can say the coach was in the wrong.

So the NRL season is well and gone with the Bulldogs finishing well below the top 8 and then my ESL season finished with Bradford defeating Leeds. So far I’m 50/50 with my league season but then Noble, my favourite coach in the modern game pulls this stunt!

1. P. Wellens
2. B. Carney
3. M. Gleeson
4. K. Senior
5. L. Pryce
6. K. Sinfield
7. P. Deacon
8. S. Fielden
9. K. Cunningham
10. J. Peacock
11. L. Gilmore
12. P. Johnson
13. G. Ellis
14. R. Burrow
15. A. Morley
16. C. Walker
17. N. Fozzard

When I think of the Kiwi’s, I think of nuggetty forwards like Ruben Wiki, Ali Laui’titi, Roy Asotasi and Paul Rauhihi. In my eyes it is the forwards who win you the game. The backs might be fast and make quick metres from the sideline while the halves can create play making options. It are your forwards however who make the big blockbusting tackles, who push you off your own line and make those inspirational runs which get your team charges and telling the captain “give me the next hit up”.

To do battle against the big men, you need to own a few of your own. Australia has Willie Mason, Jason Ryles, Steven Price and Shane Webcke. So wouldn’t you assume Great Britain would do the same? Bring in the men with the tough nut reputation like Ryan Bailey, Terry Newton and Stuart Fielden to name a few. Sure the likes of Fielden, Johnson and Peacock did the job but Nobles always had an issue with quality replacements. In years gone by, he’s left interchange players right until the dieing minutes of the game (Stephan Wild) but this was even worse. When was the last time a side ran a halfback off the bench or even a centre? The 2004/2005 season has seen the emergence of the hooker rotation scheme. Australia used Craig Gower off the bench for impact, why not use Mickey Higham the same. I mean hell; he covered halfback, lock and 5/8th for St Helens. To also leave the tough Leeds aggressor Ryan Bailey (England A) and 2005 Dream Team prop Jamie Thackery (omitted) out, is beyond my belief. That isn’t my only beef with the forward selection either. Garreth Ellis, a wonderful leader on the field who is generally solid has played 2nd row for the majority of the year but was found an exception for the Tri-Nations when playing lock. Sure we miss Andy Farrell and Paul Sculthorpe but play a player who is used to that position like Kevin Sinfield or even Lee Gilmore.

Age is creeping up on our Great Britain backline and now is the time to start blooding. Keith Senior and Brian Carney, although unreal football players, they are drawing closer to the age of representative retirement. How does the ESL’s top try scorer (Marc Calderwood) miss selection? It’s not only that these players are really old but also their experience factor. Yes they have plenty of match intelligence but they also carry a lot of representative baggage. Great Britain is the changing face of the ESL competition. It’s not just the competition where old Australians go to retire and add to their bank account. More and more talented youth are being raised like James Roby, Danny Brough, Michael Shenton and Lee Smith.

With so many great players like Paul Sculthorpe, Sean Long and Danny McGuire out injured I do sympathise with Brian. We do have injuries which I understand doesn’t help Mr. Noble but so does everyone else. Becoming a dominant force doesn’t happen with a smart tactic ploy but rather years to preparing and training a youthful squad much like the West Tigers where they all rise to the top together. Otherwise Great Britain will be plugging holes after retirement every year. For once it would be nice to see someone else win the Tri-Nations.

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

Word Count: 750

 

[bartman]

And the debutante second rower tries to rally the troops on behalf of his country of residence...

Win some, lose some...

She worked in the canteen underneath the Cronin Stand at Parramatta Stadium. I used to see her every fortnight, as my dad and I had Eels season tickets. It was my job to go downstairs and buy the snacks every game, and she would always serve up our two pies, hot chips, one coke, and one cup of white tea (no sugar) with a laugh and a lively smile. It was 1990, I was in year twelve doing the HSC, and had never had a girlfriend or even been on a date.

I'd always go downstairs during the first half of reserve grade, when the queues would be shortest. While she gathered up our order she'd always have time for a chat. Ends up that she too was doing the HSC, and so was working part-time at the stadium until school was over. Around May we swapped names as she was handing me the change. She just threw out a casual "By the way, what's your name?" and added "My name's Belinda-Jayne - with a y - and don't forget it!"

One day in June, as Belinda-Jayne (with a y) was getting my hot chips out of the fryer, she said "Can I ask you a question?" I said "Sure" and then she asked "Would you like to spend my break with me? It's just that I get a bit lonely here, and I don't really like football." So I took dad's pie and white tea back to him upstairs, and explained that I'd bumped into someone I knew, and was going to go and chat with them for a while.

We sat out in the shade behind the grandstand, carefully away from the canteen so that Belinda-Jayne's middle-aged supervisors couldn't see us. It was a really, really good getting-to-know-you chat - one of those rare times when new people find so much in common! Her break was only half an hour, but we'd chatted for 45 minutes. She went back to work, and I went back to my seat just in time to watch first grade.

I was a nervous kid in some ways, not blessed with the confidence or immunity to risk to make it easy for me to ever ask anyone out. So the season wore on and Belinda-Jayne and I continued our ritual of, flirting in the canteen and then chatting during her breaks each game, no longer constrained by the stainless-steel counter that had once stood between us. I really enjoyed her company, and was beginning to wonder about what would happen when we reached the end of the season?

Belinda-Jayne made a point of checking that I'd definitely be at the final home game, which (for those days) would be a rare night game. I was a ball of nerves as that day approached.... I knew what I felt, but I had no idea what to do. There was a big crowd in that night, and as I went downstairs to get our regular order for once the queues were quite long. When I got to the front, Belinda-Jayne explained that it was too busy for her to have a break tonight, but could I possibly meet her quickly after the game? Now I just had to think of some way to make dad go back to the car ahead of me, to give us some privacy…

Parramatta lost to Manly, ending our slim semi-final chances. As the crowd made its way out of the ground after the game I frantically looked around for Belinda-Jayne. finally spotting her sitting down near the gate. She was holding something in her hand, something small and white? We smiled as our eyes met and we headed towards each other. She said "Sorry about tonight, it was so busy. Here…" and she handed me something, kissed me on the cheek, and disappeared into the night.

I'd been too nervous to say anything at all. I'd just hoped that she had been feeling that same spark between us, and that her confidence had somehow transformed a way for us to keep seeing each other into the thing I now held in my hand. I nervously looked down. It was a folded over hotdog wrapper from the canteen. Inside she'd written: "In case you want to keep in touch, 686-4392, x". Perfect!

My team may have missed the semis, but that night I walked away happy, and about to try and arrange my first ever date…

- - - - -
(750 words - phone numbers have been changed to protect the innocent)

 

[Rammo]

Rammo, the Great Britain halfback tries to weave his magic at a crucial point in the game.

EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY


It was September 21, 1998.

The Brisbane Broncos had booked a place in the inaugural NRL Grand Final, defeating the Sydney City Roosters the previous day, and were awaiting their opponents.

The Bulldogs had endured a very strong finals campaign, and had perfect preparation, playing elimination matches right from the start of the finals series. They beat St George Illawarra 20-12 in week one, North Sydney 23-2 in week two, and Newcastle 28-16 in week three ( trailed 16-0 at one stage, 16-16 after 80 minutes). The unusual thing about the 1998 series was that the finals series consisted of the top 10 sides, as opposed to the usual top 8, a decision which proved to be a fortunate one for the Bulldogs, who finished 9th at the conclusion of the home and away rounds.

The Parramatta side on the other hand, looked a very potent one in both attack and defence. They had a very strong season and were fortunate enough to earn the previous week off as a reward for their outstanding efforts during the season, and were the highly fancied favourites to meet the Broncos in the Grand Final.

I arrived at the game about 45 minutes before the start, about 2:15pm.

“Piss off you Bulldogs twigs!”

“It’s gonna be our day today, why the hell are you wasting your time here!”

Naturally I was shocked by this idiot’s comments, being 10, I had rarely heard such poor language. I had thought about moving away from him, but I realised that if Canterbury were able to get up and win, this fan would have egg on his face.

9th minute, Halligan strikes a penalty goal, Bulldogs 2-0 up.

17th minute, Whereat scores for the Eels and the try is converted, Eels 6-2.

“Take that, there’s more where that came from”, screamed the fan, I turned and said “long way to go mate”, and the match continued.

27th minute, Carriage scores, try converted, Eels lead 12-2.

Eels lead 12-2 at halftime.

“Enjoy that mate? More of the same to come in the second half, so you may as well walk out now!”

The clock ticked away in the second half, and after 60 minutes, the score was still, Parramatta 12, Canterbury 2.

My state of mind was dashed, Whereat crossed for his second try, and the Eels took an 18-2 lead with just 17 minutes remaining.

The time ticked on, and I faced the reality that I thought my team were about to be eliminated. 68 minutes gone, still no sign of anything, 18-2, and the idiot in front of me continued his idiotic banter, he began to sing a victory song,

“na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye!”

I forwarded towards the exits, 10 minutes remaining, Parramatta 18, Canterbury 2.

As I was leaving, Jason Hetherington threw a brilliant ball to Craig Polla-Mounter to put him in to score. Bill Harrigan awarded the try, Halligan missed the kick.

Parramatta 18, Canterbury 6, 9 minutes remaining.

I thought I’d just watch the rest from the exits, just in case something out of the ordinary were to happen.

Incredible offload by Robert Relf! Rod Silva scores!, Halligan converts.

Parramatta 18, Canterbury 12, 5 minutes remaining.

The Bulldogs bring the ball back from the kickoff, Parramatta strip the ball in a two-man tackle, the Bulldogs are awarded a penalty, they find touch 25 metres out from the Eels’ line, 3 minutes remaining.

Willie Talau scores in the corner!

18-16!

Kick to come from the sideline from Daryl Halligan.

The equation was simple, he misses, Parramatta into the grand final, he gets it, extra time for the second week in a row.

The kick was struck, looked like it was going to swing too far, but it held its line, Halligan nailed it!.

We went back to the seat, my dad had a friendly greeting with the idiot fan,

“I think we’ll stay here about longer mate”. He said.

The Dogs led 26-20 in extra time, and Travis Norton had scored!

That was it, 32-20, the dogs had won it!

As the rowdy fan left, my dad and I began singing,

“na na na na, na na na na, hey, hey, hey, goodbye!”

We stayed and soaked up the atmosphere, knowing that we would never experience such an unbelievable experience in our lives again.

This really was proof that every Dog has his day, and this day was September 21, 1998.

(750 words including title)

 

[Mzilikazi]

To the disbelief of family and friends, Mzilikazi wraps himself in a Union Jack and proudly (kinda) strides out to represent the land of his grandmother.

Of cynics and apologists:

Democracy!

It is a value that has inspired heroic deeds from great men and a term that has been hi-jacked to launch great evil on the world.

What is this concept, held so dear, that we are prepared to fight great battles in its defense, sacrificing millions of souls to its cause?

For many the most noted value of democracy is the freedom of speech and the right to determine our own destiny. There would be no need for democracy if we all agreed.

In the absence of differing points of view there would be little need for debate or the consideration of an alternative.

The reality is that we live in a world far from that ideal. So what should our response be? There are several options.

We could desist from raging against the dying of the light and allow a slow atrophy and decay of what we hold dear.

The alternative is to decide what it is that we consider of value and set ourselves to the task of improvement.

One of the most important parts of that process is the ability to analyse and objectively criticize that which is wrong, broken or imperfect.

A good example of this is our political process. Media and public scrutiny are essential tools in the process of identifying the wrongs and shortcomings of a government.

In a society where apathy rules or where this process is stunted, and sadly some would argue that is the case in Australia in this current political age, the authority or management of that society often gives itself to indulgence or autocracy.

Neither of these options is acceptable and history shows that the inevitable end for the indulgent or autocratic regime is either civil unrest or invasion.

What does this have to do with Rugby League you ask?

The conflict between the two approaches reminds me of the several years of debate amongst Manly fans.

Unaccustomed as we are to losing, in recent years Manly fans have had to confront extended failure and consider a response to it for the first time.

It has resulted in two groups.

The first is populated by those that would argue loyalty to the cause and the need for affirmation of the players and the club in an attempt to protect their confidence.

The second group is those that are calling for change, for heads to roll and a thorough analysis of what leads to disastrous flogging after flogging.

There is a vast difference between blind loyalty and objectivity.

At the moment, those that choose to be critical of the club and especially the players, do so with no great pleasure.

Rather it comes from a deep concern that the current player mediocrity combined with certain areas of off-field concern could well lead to a mortal decline in the club we all love.

Isn’t it better to have a club to criticise than to blindly love it into the grave?

Sometimes, though it doesn’t seem that the realistic approach is one employed by the club.

Consider that coach Des Hasler feels the team “over achieved” in a season where it slumped to the greatest loss in memory and only slunk into the finals through losses by other injury-ravaged teams.

A season like 2005 would have been considered a disaster in the club’s heady days between 1970 and 1997!

Has our level of expectation been so lowered that parlous performances and props making one hit up per game is seen as an over-achievement?

Why is there so few that feel the slight slide in our guts counteracting the butterflies of optimism fearing that these days a win doesn’t mean the confirmation of our dominance.

It’s more likely that a win shows a complacent opposition and an inspired, above ability performance from our team. Are we wrong to want to change that?

Are peoples’ memories so short that they can’t remember how it used to be, when we’d spend our Fridays salivating at the humiliating flogging we’d be handing out on the weekend?

Too often it is Manly on the receiving end.

My message to the apologists?

Dress it up however you like, but season 2005 was more feaces sandwich than it was Manly tradition.

So please don’t insult the intelligence of the North Shore by pretending that said sandwich has suddenly been transformed into a delectable dessert of mousse and cream.

We’re just not that gullible!

739 words including title.

 

[Misanthrope]

chriswalkerbush looks to inspire his compatriots with a bullocking run upfield.

2008 – I Can’t Wait

October 2008

I am a twenty five year old first year teacher nervously preparing for my latest test of character – year ten drama.

Whilst I nervously run over my lesson plan my mind drifts to the weekend ahead. I’m going to travel down to Sydney and go to the World Cup. Some may say international rugby league is a farce, but nothing peaks my interest better than the prospect of seeing the greatest game of all being played by rival nations.

I remember waking up with the dawn when I was sixteen and avidly watching as Lebanon and the Cook Islands played out a scrappy 24 all draw. I remember the dizzying high of seeing Wales take Australia to school in the first half of their semi final, teasing fans for a moment at the prospect of a World Cup final without the Kangaroos.

It’s been eight long years since the abysmal failure (financially speaking) that was the 2000 World Cup. In those years we’ve seen Gold Coast rejoin the NRL family, we’ve seen the tri-series improve in leaps and bounds, and we’ve seen legends like Andrew Johns hang up the boots.

“Oh wise and powerful time-travelling Chris, who is participating in this World Cup?” I hear you say, arms outstretched and eyes upturned.

Sanity prevailed. The World Cup has sixteen nations divided into four pools of four. None of this ten team crap, and we didn’t go crazy like a certain ‘other’ code and go for overkill with twenty. There are the usual suspects, of course. Australia, New Zealand, England, France, and Papua New Guinea were all gifted spots due to their outstanding history in the sport. Then there’s the teams like Ireland, Lebanon, Scotland, Wales, and Russia – all of whom earned qualification due to their performance in tournaments such as the Mediterranean and European Nations Cups, both of which were given added legitimacy by being made official qualifiers. The final six nations, given no chance by the average punter; are the USA, Samoa, Tonga, Fiji, the Cook Islands, and the true underdogs, Malta.

How did it go? Well, with the final set to take place tomorrow night, I guess I’m in a perfect position to tell you. The tournament opened in fine style, with the hosts and favourites Australia winning a thrilling match against New Zealand, 22-17 in front of a huge Sydney crowd. Once the pool stages had ended, Australia’s appetite for international rugby league had been well and truly whet. The French, bolstered by their own professional side in the English Super League, made a real showing – whilst nations like Lebanon and Malta impressed quite a few people due to their ability to draw on some of Australia’s most talented young juniors.

Australia, England, France, and Wales finished at the head of their pools, with New Zealand, Ireland, Papua New Guinea, and Lebanon rounding out the finals.

The finals, spread across Australia to truly showcase the game, were all played in exciting fashion, even if they were mostly one-sided. Australia ended the dreams of the Irish in an entertaining bout that saw the Irish really push the Aussies, England bundled out Lebanon in fine style, Wales went down to the always dangerous Kiwis, and the French went into extra time in a match of the tournament rated clash against Papua New Guinea. In the end only a late field goal from 2008 Man of Steel winner Julien Rinaldi taking out man of the match honours after nailing a field goal under heavy pressure.

And so the semi finals were last weekend, and we couldn’t have hoped for a more exciting pair of matches. The Australians continued their history of breaking the hearts of the English - Jarred Mullen and Greg Inglis starring in a high scoring 34-26 victory to the tournament favourites. On the other side of the draw, France continued to be the miracle workers of the competition, somehow managing to down New Zealand 12-8 in a match that must surely be remembered as one of the most torrid in recent memory.

And now it’s down to Australia and France. The old school versus a nation on the rise. Isn’t this the stuff international football dreams are made of? I can’t wait.

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November 2005, 6am

I wake up with a splitting headache, knowing full well I shouldn’t have done that last tequila shot. And I had some crazy dream. Something about France and a World Cup.

Must’ve been soccer.

WORD COUNT: 749 including title

 

[Big Mick]

Big Mick lines up for Great Britain:


Who is really #1?


Australia has always been a dominant figure in Rugby League. Without any doubt we are still the number one nation in the world in international rugby league. We have the best competition in the world and the best junior systems by which to choose players. But the question we all must now answer, based on this years tri-series, are we still #1? While the tri-series this year is still in its infancy we have seen New Zealand come to the forefront Obviously the Australians still hold the title of number one, but for how long remains to be seen.


The New Zealand team has shown in its last two meetings against Australia that they are a force to be reckoned with. They have displayed a passion of the jersey that is unsurpassed by any team I’ve seen in recent memory. You only have to look into the fierce eyes of Ruban Wiki to know how much passion he has for that jersey while doing the renowned haka.


The New Zealander’s came to Australia with a 59 year losing streak against their name. They had not beaten any Australian team at Telstra Stadium and they were without many of their star players. With that in mind, New Zealand went into camp with the belief they could cause an upset, while the Australians went in feeling relaxed and a little too composed.


This game was full of controversy, most of it before the match had begun. The New Zealand team were struck again by injuries, with stars Sonny Bill Williams, Roy Asotasi, Jamaal Lolesi, Dene Halatau and Bronson Harrison all booked in for surgery before the series had begun. On that basis, Stacey Jones answered an SOS and led his team with inspiration and vigour. The New Zealander’s new coach Bluey McLellon was set the impossible task to put together a team that could compete against Australia. Not only did he create a team, but he created a monster that is rarely seen in International rugby league. He created a unit, a team of champions set to conquer their longest losing streak.


The Kiwi’s ran out onto Telstra Stadium with one vision, one purpose and one goal. The next 80 minutes saw Australia stunned that such a feat could be accomplished on Australian soil. Players with legends status could only sit inconsolable after Australia were dominated by a much more committed New Zealand outfit. Together as one, New Zealand departed the field, committed and united as they were for the two weeks prior.


The scary thing about this match however is that there is the hint of a changing of the guard in International Rugby League. This New Zealand team was vibrant in attack and unbreakable in defence. The future for this Kiwi team is also bright. While this year’s tri-series has already exceeded expectations, the future of the kiwis has players such as Benji Marshall, Dene Halatau, Roy Asotasi and Sonny Bill Williams all waiting to take their rightful place on the international stage. Add to that list some up and comers of the calibre of Simon Mannering, Greg Eastwood, Jeremy Smith and Marcus Perenara and players who have been unearthed this series such as Jake Webster, Manu Vatuvai and Bronson Harrison and New Zealand rugby league is looking much stronger now as it has ever before.


Has the time come where Australia’s dominance has ended? Will New Zealand be the powerhouse force they have been destined to become for decades? I believe they will. With the talent that New Zealand will have in its ranks for the next decade, I believe we will be able to see the New Zealanders reach their potential as a nation and not only compete against the worlds best, but consistently beat them. With special players like Benji Marshall, any team can be made to look good, but this Kiwi team will have some of the greats of our game by the time the decade is through. Experienced test campaigners Ruban Wiki and Tony Puletua have already cemented their spots as two of New Zealand’s finest players, but players like Marshall and Sonny Bill will soon enough, be among the greats.


While Australia according to rankings is still number one in the world, rankings will not matter at the end of this year’s tri-nations. A new nation will rise from its slumber. A new team will dare to beat the might of Australia, and claim their number one status.

748 words

 

[Azkatro]

Azkatro posting for the mighty Kangaroos

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Missing

Rugby league is a lot like marbles.

Yes that’s right, you heard me. Actually no you didn’t hear me. You would have if you were in the room at the time but I wrote this but looking around, you’re not here. Hmm, I probably shouldn’t admit that I’m reading this out loud as I’m typing. Anyway, if you didn’t hear me say it, you definitely read it. I said rugby league is a lot like marbles. A lot! Like MARBLES!

Now at this point I’m going to take a punt and guess that you’re wondering why the heck I’m comparing rugby league to marbles. Flamin’ heck Ailse, the bloke’s a screw loose! Well seeing as how I’ve brilliantly predicted your inquisitive train of thought, I’m going to take a step further and respond to your curious mind. Rugby league is a lot like marbles because I said so, and by the time you’ve read this to the end you’ll nod your head and say out loud, “yes. Rugby league is so much like marbles that I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.” Anyway, to make sure you actually do say that, as I predicted, I better tell you exactly why rugby league is a lot like marbles.

First of all, when I was writing (and talking) about marbles just now, I remembered a tackle that Josh Hannay made on Luke Covell this year. Now Josh, you see, was really angry. I’m told that he reads the Front Row Forums from time to time and he was getting annoyed. Why would that great guy Josh Hannay get angry just reading a website? Well, I’ll tell you. He was sick of seeing posts about Luke Covell. He didn’t hate Luke before, but he does now, even though it’s not Luke’s fault. So what did Josh do? He waited and waited until the Cowboys played Cronulla, and when they played, Josh was thinking only about one thing. And he finally got his chance in the second half. He picked Luke up and dumped him head first into the ground.

Now why the heck would thinking about marbles remind me of that?

It may be because I once played marbles with another kid at school and when he won all mine off me, I picked him up, tipped him upside down and shook them all out. And when they finally stopped bouncing all over the ground, I dropped him. Right on his head! Can you believe my shock and amazement when I was watching a game this year and Josh did exactly the same thing on Luke? Sure it was for different reasons, but the similarities were uncanny. That’s one reason why rugby league is a lot like marbles.

While I was writing (and talking) about the angry, angry Josh Hannay just now I thought of another excellent reason why rugby league is a lot like marbles. Some of you might remember the try Benji Marshall scored against the Sharks late in the season. Before I go on, isn’t it unbelievable how things that I compare with marbles always involve the Sharks? Anyway, I digress.

Benji got the ball and did like 38 steps, 15 jinks, 21 dummies and 7 line breaks before passing the ball to Daniel Fitzhenry to score a try. Now there are two things here. First of all, BENJI, seeing as how you managed to smart-alec your way through three quarters of a football team five times over (I think Raper subbed a bench player on during the run to try and stop it as well), why on earth would you pass the ball when you’ve only got one player left to beat? I thought this when I first watched it happen, and no word of a lie, this is exactly what I thought: “Have you lost your marbles!!!?” Isn’t that amazing?

The other thing here is that if Benji had have tried all those crazy moves on a tiled floor with marbles scattered all over it, well I think we all know what would have happened then. He would have started slipping and falling everywhere like one of those idiots that can’t walk properly and are always slipping and falling all about the place. So it’s a good thing he did it on grass and not marbles!

In conclusion, rugby league is exactly like marbles. And just like I seem to do in every off-season, I’ve lost mine already, waiting for round 1 2006.

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747 words. Liftoff!

 

[TooheysNew]

Dilmah in his Kangaroo debut
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No, you are...

I’m not a homophobe. Honest i’m not.

I am however worried about the direction our game is heading. For years the AFL, or AFL as it is affectionately known, has been the place for the cream of Australia’s homosexual sporting talent to show their ‘skills’. Rugby League has been inching its way down that same path, a path no serious sporting competition wants to follow.

When all other insults fell through, when we couldn’t rely on crowd or ground attendance figures, when we were all out of ideas there was always one insult League fans could fall back on. One insult that the AFL fans had no comeback for. We could always find means of attack in the short shorts and sleeveless jersys.

We made comments about this comfortable with the fact that our competition was the most rugged and manly in the country. We were secure with the way our competition was portrayed. People thought of Rugby League as a game of toughness, skill, pain, glory and emotion. Perhaps we were too secure, perhaps this security led to complacency, i’m not sure.

All I know is Rugby League has changed. Changed for the worse.

Prior to metrosexualism, in at least one game each week there was a fight, two blokes going toe-to-toe and proving their manhood. These fights took place in front of 15000 fans screaming for blood. Sadly, these days are long extinct. Fights in today’s football games are few and far between, and more closely resemble a ballet than a boxing match. You could be forgiven for thinking each punch was succinctly coreographed - planned right down to the last swing to avoid unnecessary injury. Instead of fans screaming for blood we have fans covering their eyes and screaming “think of the children!”.

The emotion and hunger that was once so rife within our game is just gone. Sure, the emotion is still there, but it’s not the emotion we want. What we want is raw emotion, blinding desire to win, strength through adversity - the type of emotion that gets the crowd involved. Instead we get men in shorts dancing around and holding hands when they score a try. Correct me if i’m wrong, but didn’t Benji Marshall kiss Scott Prince on the cheek during one game? If someone had tried kissing their teammate 20 years ago and they’d be well on the way to seeing one of those punch-ups we talked about. Not today. Scotty just smiled and gave him a pat on the bum. That’s just not football.

“All that proves nothing“, I hear you say. “That’s just a sign of the mateship between players.”

Have a look at the lifestyle of your average footballer today. Stubbies, thongs and a beer gut have been replaced by tailored suits, sponsorship deals and wheat grass shots. Footballers have personal nutritionists, managers, and even hairstyles. Not haircuts, hairstyles. Gone are the days of the shaven head and white scar marks, or the traditional Rugby League ‘never-seen-a-hairdresser-in-my-life’ hair cut. Unshaven faces are also no longer as a result of laziness, it’s called designer stubble. Designer stubble. Think about it. What the... sh*t is that?

I suppose this kind of behaviour was inevitable. Society has moved towards metrosexuality, Rugby League had to follow sooner or later. The definition of man has changed. Men are no longer considered men just because they can belch the national anthem, or scratch 4 different parts of their bodies at once. Your new age guy is clean shaven, has impecible personal hygiene and can speak leap small buildings in a single bound. If an average 1950s’ prop forward - pie in one hand, beer in the other - walked into a pub with the men of today he’d throw up on the spot in digust, and then be thrown out for disordely conduct when he tried to show them “what a real man acts like”. Compare Craig Wing to Artie Beetson and you’ll see what I mean.

As I write this, I notice myself echoing this change in society also. Glancing back over this piece i’ve used words such as succinctly, coreographed and homosexual. 20 years ago no-one would have even known what these words meant. ‘Homosexual’ would have been replaced by ‘raging nice person’, and pronouncing ‘coreographed’ would not even be attempted without the aid of a dozen beers - yet i’ve used those three words within the space of one article.

I’m not a homophobe, but geez, even i’m worried.
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750 words.

 

[I Bleed Green]

IBG dons the green and gold for the first time, and wears it with pride as he takes it to the Poms...


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When Is Enough, Enough?


As a rugby league tragic, the last few weeks have caused me to experience some heavy withdrawals.

No more can I spend my weekends watching the greatest game of all. No more can I spend time with some mates down at the local, downing a few alcoholic beverages while hurling abuse at the widescreen TV in the bar. No more can I be up to date with the latest news and goings on in the newspaper or through rugby league-related TV programming.

Sure, the Tri-Nations have been entertaining to watch, but that's only a short-term fix. Soon there will be nothing on TV but Golden Girl re-runs, and while Bea Arthur is strangely entertaining, that show just cannot fill the void in my life. Wait, I just admitted I like the Golden Girls. Why is the backspace key conveniently not working?!

Nevertheless, while us greedy fans are wishing and hoping for more rugby league to grace us once again, the players themselves are probably wishing for exactly the opposite.

The demanding nature of rugby league makes it one of the most physical sports in the world. To play at the elite level in the NRL, you can't just be a rugby league player; you have to be an athlete. This is why there have been so many flash-in-the-pans over the years, as opposed to great players who have longevity on their side.

Many would say that the life of a rugby league player is easy. You go to training a couple of days per week, you get to travel all around the country, you get a high profile within the media and most importantly - you get paid a lot of money. While it all seems so simple, every rugby league player will tell you otherwise. They will tell you about the countless hours spent in the gym and all of the grueling training sessions that take so much out of you. They will also tell you about the sacrifices made due to injury, like a lack of sleep because you have to put your leg in a bucket of ice all night, or because you've done your shoulder you can't pick up your four year-old daughter for a hug.

It's not all sunshine and roses.

As of this past Monday, several NRL clubs returned to the training paddock in preparation for season 2006. The question has to be asked: Is it too early?

We're still four to five months away from the start of the premiership, and already the players are being forced to train in the hottest part of the year. The training won't be too strenuous at this stage, but it can still lead to player burnout when it comes to crunch time during the season. In the 2005 pre-season, Canberra Raiders strength and conditioning coach Carl Jennings said that the Raiders players had to become fitter to lead a proper assault on the 2005 premiership, so the Raiders started training earlier than anyone else in the hope that it would freshen up the players. It was a theory that worked well to begin with, because the Raiders won their first five games, but from there on it was all downhill. The Raiders started to fade in the second half of every game they played. An injury toll - the likes of which have never been seen before in the nation's capital - began to mount. The players were running on empty, and the end of the season couldn't have come soon enough.

I'm not saying the clubs should give the players a bigger holiday, because they wouldn't know what to do with themselves. However, they shouldn't have to start training - at least full-on or demanding training - right away. Why not mentally prepare the side for the year ahead? Why not get them to learn the finer points of the game of rugby league and talk strategies, game plans, and so on? Better yet, why not enrol players in educational courses suited to their interests? You always hear footballers talk about how they have no idea what they're going to do with themselves once they're retired. Why not plan for the future now?

There is no question that the game of rugby league is getting more and more professional each year, but we also have to be realistic with the expectations we have on the players' physical capabilities, otherwise we may run all of our superstars into the ground.


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748 words including title.

 

[MrCharisma]

In: Morticia
Out: Yakstorm
MrCharisma posting on behalf of Morticia
(http://forums.leagueunlimited.com/showthread.php?p=1950504#post1950504)

Morticia for Great Britain, carrying a hammy injury in off the bench.

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One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest


Entering one of Melbourne’s busy metropolitan hospitals on a crisp winters morning at 0640hrs, rugged up in a woolen coat, gloves, beanie and scarf, I was horrified to see a man sitting on the steps of the main entrance with a young girl in a pushchair. The man had a sign in front of him, “please help feed my daughter”. The child, wearing a light summer dress, her blond curls matted under a Richmond Tigers beanie, had the biggest blue eyes, a feature that stood out on her dirt stained face. I paused; my thoughts briefly back in India, but only long enough to see security coming to move them along and went on my way to order my ritualistic pre-work cappuccino. The image soon left as I set about dealing with the latest intake of homeless, drug affected admissions to my unit. Ahh Melbourne….the city of great food, better coffee and the AFL.


“Who do you support?” my clients would ask as I’d perch myself on the arm of the couch as a game was about to begin. “The Sydney Roosters,” I’d reply amidst perplexed looks. “Don’t you mean the Sydney Swan’s?” they’d ask. “No, I’m a rugby league supporter,” would come my standard answer. Without exception, a glazed look would momentarily pass my clients faces and they’d mumble something incoherently under their breaths. “That game is crap. It’ll never infiltrate AFL and take over down here,” they’d matter of factly state, calling out to an Australian colleague of mine for support. Then would come a pause as part of the game was watched and I’d go off and do whatever nurses are supposed to do.

Back on the arm of the couch, I’d ask, “so who do you support?” “Richmond (insert any one of many bottom feeder clubs here) mate, they’re gonna win it this year,” was the inevitable statement. Game continues with clients yelling at the TV. One of the Richmond players scores and does a celebratory salute. “Yeah, I know mate,” a client responds, nudging me. “See that, he’s just letting us know its all good. So, who are you going to support? You can’t live in Melbourne and not support an AFL team.” I’d ponder my response for a second or two. “I think I’ll stick with rugby league. It’s a far better game.” The game goes on with Richmond (or whatever team) becoming bumbling idiots and being screamed at by the clients. Game over, team loses. Client gets up, kicking the chair and storms out to the smoke room. I wander off to write notes:

Nursing Entry AM: Involuntary client maintained on 15 minute obs. Client remains preoccupied (with AFL) this shift and appears confused; has no idea who the Sydney Roosters are. Thought blocking evident and appeared to be responding to non-apparent stimuli when posed with the idea that contact nurse supports rugby league. Client is displaying paranoia+++ in the context of thinking that rugby league is trying to infiltrate and take over the state. Attempting to staff split and gain confirmation of same paranoid ideation. Grandiose delusions voiced; client thinks Richmond is going to win the Grand Final. Pressured speech evident throughout the shift. Idea’s of reference from the TV also evident with client verbally responding to same. Reality feedback and psycho education re rugby league given. Client appeared irritable through latter part of shift and became physically aggressive towards chair, redirected to smoke room for low stimulus environment. Food and fluids satis. Overall, settled shift.

Melbourne…I think I quite like it here, despite the rugby league coverage being crap. My jobs certainly easy with so many blatantly delusional people running around the city in any number of tribal colours spouting paranoia. The coffee’s great…always an important factor and when you spot another person as mad, maybe that’s not an appropriate word to be using here, as fanatical about league as yourself, theres an instant connection. Victoria, the place to be? Not yet, but it will be when rugby league has infiltrated the state. It’s going to happen in 2009 after the Roosters win three back to back grand finals. How do I know? The man on the TV told me!

*Please note, this is written tongue in cheek and all characters depicted are purely fictional. I am not a nurse, nor do I suffer from any psychiatric illness.

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Words 736