A Dog's Eye: pushing the envelope

A video came up in my news feed on Facebook this morning of a guy reviewing some spectacular football 'dives'. Overlooking the liberal use of expletives, it was quite funny so I shared it. I had already been thinking about this issue for a few days, since Australia lost to France in their World Cup 2018 opener.

Football, or soccer as we call it here and in the United States, is truly the world game. The FIFA World Cup is a larger event than the Olympic Games.With an estimated global television audience of nearly half the population of the whole world, and ticket sales of nearly 1.7 million, it is impossible to deny the popularity of what many call 'the beautiful game'.

I don't watch a lot of soccer. I watch Australia's World Cup qualifiers when they are on at a sensible time, and I check out as much of the World Cup action as I can. There is a blight on the beautiful game. An embarrassment which even casual viewers like myself cannot help but notice and shake our heads at. The dive.

Players often take dramatic falls and have exaggerated reactions to minor injuries. This is particularly laughable for fans of rugby league which is perhaps the most physically violent of all sports. The collisions between players in rugby league make mortals shudder and wonder how they can keep playing. The thing is even in rugby league, players 'dive'. It does not happen as often as it does in soccer but it happens.

The purpose of diving is to win a penalty or free kick for your team. In league it is known as 'milking', and you will occasionally hear the referee refuse to give a penalty by actually calling out 'milking'. 

I don't like this at all. To me, it is not in the spirit of the game, but the laws of the game-both soccer and rugby league- are such that decisions about foul play or illegal tackles are in the hands of the referees who must exercise their judgement as to the severity and genuineness of the offence. With such subjective assessments and enforcement of the rules, mistakes are bound to occur.

Players push the envelope to gain every possible advantage for their team. If they can get away with it, if they can dupe the referee into awarding a penalty or free kick, then why not? Why not? Because it's poor sportsmanship. I would say that the majority of players don't do it. I wish no one did it, but sport, particularly professional sport which involves such ridiculous amounts of money, is a microcosm of life.

Nearly everyone drives above the speed limits. Normally just a little bit over: pushing the envelope. That's just one example. In every arena of life, people try to bend and stretch the rules to suit themselves, to gain every possible advantage. It's normal right?

It is normal, but it speaks clearly of the rebellious heart within us all. A resistance to authority and to rules. We just don't like being told what to do. In sport, and in life in general the stakes are high, so we feel it is necessary to push the envelope regardless of how we may embarrass or injure ourselves or other people in the process.

Celebrate the small things: For king and country

Celebrating writing over 60 assessment tasks this week in preparation for term 4 which starts next week. Huge effort! I congratulate myself.

However I wish to offer more huger (sic) praise to my son James, (on the left in the photo) who will make his international rugby league debut for Thailand this weekend. James' mother is Thai so he is eligible to play for the national 13 in this weekend's series of matches to support the development of rugby league in non traditional league playing countries.

James has been the digital media manager for the Thailand 13 for some time now, and to my surprise this week, when the team was announced, he had made the cut. I didn't even know he was thinking of playing again. He played junior league with the Dapto Canaries, but retired a number of years ago. This is a comeback match and a International Rugby League (IRL) sanctioned match to boot.

Do you reckon a proud dad is writing these words? Go James! Go Thailand!

The Race for the Spoon

Fortunately I missed the Bulldogs last game. It was another Thursday night game, but I was enjoying dinner with my mum and fiance while my team was once more demonstrating how they have 'packed it in' for NRL season 2017.

This week, against fellow also-rans, the Rabbitohs we managed a goal to end the abysmal  6 week sequence of scoreless first halves. Incidentally, just three years ago the Bulldogs and the Rabbitohs contested the Grand Final. As I said, the mighty have fallen.

Bulldogs coach, Des Hasler, who must shoulder much of the blame for this forgettable season, described the team's performance against the Rabbitohs as 'flat'. 'Flat' seems a woefully inadequate word. We can't score points or stop points- in fact we can't even hold on to the ball, and we haven't won a game since we just beat the last placed Knights by 2 points in round 18, 6 weeks ago. Pathetic seems like a more accurate descriptor.

With three rounds to go until the play-offs, and the teams below us on the table, playing well and actually winning some games, the once-were-mighty Bulldogs could be headed for the ignominy of the Wooden Spoon. 

The Sad Bulldog

My team, my beloved Bulldogs have been in the feature Thursday night football game for two consecutive weeks. This inevitably leads disgruntled and disappointed fans like myself, to donning our jerseys and settling down to cheer for our team, knowing that we will, in all likelihood, lose the match despite our most insane hopes. Everyone else watching knows it too. 

It also means suffering through the pre-amble, the pre-match panel discussion which these days is just a tragic reminder of our inadequacies as a rugby league team. Even the commentators know we will lose, and don't pretend to 'talk up' their chances.

Among the usual things said about how we are limited in attack ( a kind way of saying that we suck) and therefore would probably lose, this alarming statistic was shared with viewers around the country: The 2017 Bulldogs have the worst attacking record of any Bulldogs team since 1968. That's 49 years. The same number of years I have been visiting this planet. Back then we weren't even called the Bulldogs. We were known as the Canterbury-Bankstown Berries and with a sissy name like 'Berries', it's a wonder we won any games at all.

We played the Panthers last Thursday night and competed well in the first half. In the second, it was anybody's game, but winning would require a change of gears: a lifting of intensity. The Panthers shifted gears and began to overpower us. In response we maintained maximum effort without changing gears. The final score was 8-16, but it may as well have been 8-36 or worse. 

There was a game earlier in the year against the defending premiers which was likewise in the balance. Ours for the taking, if we were good enough. We weren't. We aren't. Woe are Bulldogs fans. Woe. Woe. Woe.

Maybe we should start calling ourselves the Berries again because we play football as well as fruit does.

Bulldogs Blasted

At the conclusion of the match I tore off my jersey and threw it on the floor - I am prone to melodrama. The funny thing is, we scored first. We actually led 6-0, until we remembered that we don't know how to play. What can you say when your team negatively exceeds your low expectations? What can you say when the tiny flicker of hope is rudely and dramatically snuffed out by reality?

To be fair, we had very little possession...what? Wait a minute! The reason we had very little possession is because we either

1. kept dropping the ball
2. kept giving away stupid penalties
3. missed so many tackles that the Broncos either scored, or were able to force drop outs and have repeat attacking sets

The truth is we were appalling as usual. The try we conceded right before half time epitomized how far we have fallen. I'm pretty sure, I could score a try against the Bulldogs at the moment - I mean, by myself.

This game against the Broncos was really our last throw of the dice. We simply had to win to have any hope of making the play-offs (or so they kept saying-as I laughed until my sides ached) and not only did we not win, we did not even come close to winning, and the opposition, The Broncos, were not THAT good.

Final score:     Broncos 42.   Bulldogs 12.

Only deeply ingrained thrift and sentimentality prevented me from tearing my Bulldogs jersey and throwing it away. (They are not cheap and this one was a gift from my children.) It is also true to say that even if we never win another game of rugby league, I will remain loyal to my team even if it kills me to do so.

Trying to Lose

Sixty percent possession and at least three or four real scoring opportunities ought to guarantee that you take a comfortable lead into half time. Likewise, playing at your spiritual home ground, in front of a full house of loyal fans in a match designated as send off/thank you for one of your most popular players: a player who epitomizes the team and everything they stand for - and yet one who the management of the club has decided to let go to another club - should ensure success.

Playing against a team of mainly rookies who are coming last in the competition and are also rated last in defense, should also guarantee not just a comfortable half time lead, but also a comfortable win and a much needed two competition points.

Perhaps if we were talking about any other club, this post would be redundant because what should have logically happened, would have actually happened. However, I am talking about my beloved Bulldogs who suck, and who furthermore in the dying stages of the game, looked like they were trying to lose.

Check out the highlights if you are interested, but here's what happened in a nutshell. By half time, the Doggies 8-0 lead had been reduced to 8-6, and was ,over the course of most of the second half, turned into a 18-8 deficit. We are ranked 4th in defense, so how, one may well ask, did the last placed team score three tries against us?

The Bulldogs hit back with two tries in five minutes, the last of which was converted with roughly ten seconds to go in the match. Score: Bulldogs 20. Knights 18. While the players were celebrating victory on the sideline, the opposition was rushing for one last kick off and a hail Mary play at the death. The short kick off resulted in the Knights being awarded a penalty with regular time expired.

The penalty was justified. The very same player mentioned earlier, the most popular Bulldog, the heart and soul of the team, committed a deliberate, and completely unnecessary foul to concede the penalty. A successful penalty kick would have locked the scores at 20-20 and forced the game into golden point extra time.

The Knights kicker made an embarrassingly bad attempt at kicking the goal and the Bulldogs won the match.

Was I happy about the win? Not really. It was an ugly win, and saying that a win is a win regardless of by how much you win or how you play, is fine when you are a premiership, or at least a play-offs contender. When you are neither, when you are a monumental disappointment to your fans...such a win feels hollow.

Bulldogs V Knights Round 18 match highlights

Oh the humanity!

I apologize for the hyperbole, but when you hear my sad story, you will understand and forgive me.

In 1979, the Canterbury-Bankstown Bulldogs played the St.George Dragons in the rugby league Grand Final. I was at a relatives house surrounded mostly by Dragons fans. I was 11 years old and it was on this day that my love affair with the Bulldogs began in earnest. I would have gone to live games before with Dad, who was also a Doggies fan, and I would have watched many games on TV, but the Grand Final of 1979 was the moment I first remember being emotionally effected by the performance of a sporting team.

At half time of the aformentioned game the Dogs were behind 17-0, and I, unable to bear it, left the house to spend the second half doing what boys do in backyards. The final score was 17-14. I missed the exciting second half comeback which despite not giving us victory, did help set the platform for a premiership win the following year against the Roosters. (see below) and provide a seminal moment in my life.


That 1980 title win was the first of four for the Bulldogs in that decade. ('84, '85 and '88) We won again in 1995 and once more in 2004. More recently we qualified for the Grand Final in 2012 and 2014 - unfortunately losing on both occasions.

This year we suck! After 17 rounds we are down the bottom of the table with the also-rans who have no hope of making the play-offs this year. I am appalled by how bad we are, so to comfort myself I am going to dedicate Tuesdays for the rest of the season to lamenting and lambasting my beloved Bulldogs.

To close on a positive note, here is a glorious moment from the past. One of the most famous of all Grand Final tries. This is from the 1980 when we were known as The Entertainers of rugby league.

Celebrate the small things: winning is everything

All professional, most amateur, and many part-time/recreational sportspeople play to win. Regardless of what they are playing, who they are playing for, or with, or against, they want to win because winning is better than losing. The very best professional athletes and sportspeople, the champions of the various games which entertain us, and with which we amuse ourselves, are obsessed with winning. They hate losing, but more than that they hate not giving it their best: not competing to their potential. The truly great are always in competition first and foremost with themselves regardless of their opposition.

The 2017 National Rugby League (NRL) season started last week, and not surprisingly there were some good games, and some ordinary ones, and some good results, and bad results, depending on you barrack for. Some surprises and plenty of entertainment.

Last night I watched the Brisbane Broncos play the North Queensland Cowboys in Brisbane where the latter team had not won a game in their last five attempts. These clashes have become legendary due to the fact that they are particularly intense and always very close on the scoreboard. The 2015 Grand Final, in which the Cowboys defeated the Broncos in extra time, was arguably the greatest championship deciding game ever.

So these two highly rated and highly motivated teams did battle again last night, and the Cowboys repeated their Grand Final success with a one point victory in extra time.

One lousy point: the difference between a win, (and two premiership points) and a loss. One single point after nearly 90 minutes of gladiatorial combat of the highest athletic calibre, filled with drama and heart stopping excitement. One point to finally declare one of these teams the winner. Some say it's unjust, but the rules are the rules, and one point is all it takes.

One point: a small number with a huge impact. I want to thank the Cowboys and the Broncos for putting on such a wonderful display of rugby league football...again. Great stuff!

Click here for full match report and video highlights if you're interested.

Teach them well...not

This long weekend I've watched three games of juniour soccer and one of rugby league. People watching is another sport in which I have participated at the same time, and it has been, as always, quite fascinating.

There is a soccer competition for four and five year olds which is called mini roos. They play four a side, on a small field with small goals, no referees and no rules. They don't keep score either; it's not competitive. The idea is for the kids to have fun. You should see the hacking that goes on as little feet swing wildly at the ball and whatever else is near the ball. At some stage the children will learn that there is such a thing as a legal tackle and an illegal one: there are rules and their are penalties for breaking the rules. The parents at these games are very supportive of both teams, all the talk for the sidelines is positive and encouraging. I wonder how hard it will be for these little football players to unlearn the 'no rules' game into which they are being indoctrinated. 

I also watched an under 14's girls' match. They have rules and referees who enforce the rules albeit inconsistently. The talk from the sidelines is not always positive towards the players, and rarely anything but negative towards the referees. Only those who have refereed know just how hard a job it is. Referee bashing (not physical thankfully) seems to be a sport within sport. Coaches, family, and the players themselves criticize referees often, so players quickly learn to disrespect referees.

There was an incident in today's game in which a player was elbowed in the face. The rules state that this offence is a red card infringement, a send off offence, but the referee merely gave a free kick. The player who was elbowed had to leave the field, but was later able to return to the field. When she was ready to return, the coach instructed her to go after the girl who elbowed her. Revenge.

This is how we teach our children, while we shake our heads at the state of the world, and all its injustice.

Bewildering Bulldogs

The Canterbury Bulldogs are a team in the National Rugby League competition here in Australia. I have been a mad Bulldogs fan all of my life: ridden the highs and lows, the eight premierships (most recently 2004) the wooden spoons, the heartbreaks of losing grand finals (two of those in the last three years) and the gut wrenching calamity of the 2002 salary cap breach. I am very tense watching the Bulldogs play whether I am there at the ground or watching on television. They are a consistently good team, most years mentioned in pre season talk as at least certain finalists, and can be extremely good. The problem is we often win ugly.

Some teams perform like the well oiled machines that professional teams should be, and they do it week in and week out. You know what you are going to get. They will win more than they lose and even when they lose it will not be by much. The Bulldogs, on the other hand, are a little bit ‘rocks and diamonds’. They sometimes play as though they would rather be doing something else, and this results in them getting their pants pulled down, as in the infamous loss to the Titans late last season. They sometimes play as if this is the last game they will ever play. Fans are never quite sure which Bulldogs team will run on to the park.

It’s frustrating to watch, really maddening. True fans, like myself, spend a lot of time yelling at them to wake up to themselves. Most of us have never played what is arguably the physically toughest team sport in the world. Nevertheless, we expect our team to smash lowly ranked opponents and to win by any means against highly fancied teams. I want to watch us win pretty. Comfortably. Complete domination. As exciting as last round’s 'come from behind' win in extra time was to watch, I would much prefer the excitement of watching the boys run in seven or eight tries to nothing. Too much to ask? Perhaps, but that’s why I follow the Bulldogs. Victory and glory.

Who’s your favourite team? Do they drive you mad?

Shock departure

Jarryd Hayne is a rugby league superstar. Rookie of the year in 2006, and Dally M Player of the year in 2009. The 2014 season was his best, with another Player of the Year award, the highest number of tries and player of the series in New South Wales State of Origin series triumph. At just 26 years of age, Hayne is a player of rare and ubiquitous talent who has achieved everything in the game except for a premiership with the only NRL club he has played for: the Parramatta Eels. With the signing of a new contract, he was set to become the highest paid player in the game.


Now he has quit rugby league, and is heading to the United States to have a crack at American Football. He has his sights set on playing in the NFL, and who could deny that such prodigious talent will not be as highly prized in the US as it is here. It's a huge shock for the rugby league community and a massive risk for Hayne personally, but I say good luck to him.

Hayne said in the press conference that his goal was to become a professional rugby league player so he could buy his mum a house. He said he had achieved that, and everything since had been icing on the cake. It is time, he said, for a new challenge.

Thanks for entertaining us Jarryd, and all the best with the pursuit of your dreams. When you are ready, come back to us and we will welcome you with open arms. Champion.

Heartstopper

Does it matter where or how people get their thrills? Are some thrills more acceptable than others? Are thrills even important? Is it okay to live for the buzz, to chase the thrills? Or is it better to just enjoy them when they come along? Are thrills the reason for our existence, or do they just exist for a reason? Am I going to stop asking questions and provide some answers? Which is more important: questions or answers?

Last night, I travelled into the Big Smoke, with some family members, to attend a rugby league match. Played at Allianz Stadium which is probably the best rugby league stadium in New South Wales, the game was a sudden death semi final featuring my team, the Canterbury Bulldogs.

I'm pretty passionate about the Bulldogs. I've been seriously following them for about 36 years. My dad is a bulldogs fan, and so is my son, and my daughter, though she's not quite a 'mental' as us boys. Whether it is on TV or live at the ground, I yell and talk a lot when I watch the Bulldogs play. I can become pretty emotionally disturbed. In close, tense games, my mouth goes dry and I have heart palpitations. I become totally lost in the contest as though my life depended on the result of the game. A loss can flatten me, a win can make me float for days. This is one of my great thrills: watching my team play and cheering for them. I love it.

The result of the sudden death semi final was decided in extra time when the scores were locked 17-17 at full time. I felt that the second half totally belonged to the opposition and as they came back from a 0-16 deficit, I believed they would run over us and win the game. The crowd of nearly 30 000 was going insane, the noise in the stadium was deafening, as both teams ripped into each other in the desperate battle to win the game, and the right to progress through to the next game. It was so enthralling, I'm sure I must have stopped breathing on several occasions.

When full time sounded and the teams took a quick on field drinks break before commencing sudden death extra time-what we call Golden Point- I sat there beaming. I realized that even if the Bulldogs lost, I would still always treasure that night. The thrill of the contest. The heart stopping excitement. The nail biting tension. It was so much fun. I'm so glad I was there. I'm smiling now as I think of it.

Oh, you may be wondering about the result. Four minutes into the first period of extra time, Bulldogs half back, Trent Hodkinson, kicked the winning field goal. Final score? Bulldogs 18, Eagles 17.

As for the philosophy of thrills...who cares? I'm just glad we won and I had a great night. Go the Bulldogs!! How do you get your thrills?

El Magic

I have just finished reading a biography of former NRL superstar, Hazem El Masri. It is called El Magic and was written by Bill Woods. The issue of our sports stars being role models for our children and for the wider community is a vexed one. I believe we expect too much from ordinary people who happen to have outstanding skills in a particular sport and are therefore famous. It is a long way to fall from lofty pedestals and many do plunge, dragged down by the heavy weight of responsibility. Unable to cope with the demands placed upon them, they crumble and leave us disappointed and disillusioned. Hazem El Masri is a shining light: as an ambassador for the National Rugby League and as a hero of the Muslim faith. His story is well worth reading.

Follow the link to read my review.

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/883862788?book_show_action=false

Which professional sportsperson is, or has been a wonderful role model?

R is for Rugby League

R is for Rugby League

“‘Are you !@#$%^&  kidding me? Come on!’

Wittaya was on his feet gesticulating wildly at the television. The object of his wrath was the referee who had just awarded a try to the Bulldogs over their arch rivals the Melbourne Storm. Although Wittaya was a Sydney boy, Melbourne represented how he felt about his place in the world. They were a team which had dominated the game for over a decade. A team which all other teams aspired to emulate. A team of outsiders representing a state which was so passionately in love with Australian Rules Football that they had little affection left for a team full of New Zealand and Queensland imports. The Melbourne Storm were hated because they were so good. It was jealousy. Plain and simple, and exactly the same puerile emotion felt by his enemies towards him: a young, ambitious senator on the rise through the ranks.

‘What is the point of having a video referee if they are not going to use it? That looked dodgy at normal speed and the ref was not in a good position to see it properly. What do you reckon, Kelly?‘”  from chapter 9, Ashmore Grief

This is a bit of stretch in terms of being connected to my novel, Ashmore Grief, which is my theme for the A-Z Blogging Challenge, and it’s a repost from last year’s challenge but rugby league is such a great game, I just wanted to share this again.

Last night I went to a rugby league match. Those of you unfamiliar with this fast and brutal sport should think in terms of American Football without all the padding and helmets, less players and few breaks in play. Rugby league is 80 minutes of skillful gladiatorial combat. So here I am in a hotel room, the morning after the game, in Canberra which is not only our national capital but is also celebrating its 100^th birthday. As part of the celebrations, it hosted last night’s match at Canberra Stadium. Just over 25, 000 people, of which I was one, watched the first rugby league test match between Australia and New Zealand to be played in Canberra. It was an historic night. It was also an historic night for two of my guests. My niece and nephew are visiting from Thailand, and I felt obliged to share this wonderful facet of Australian culture with them. They were exposed to some of what is good and bad about living in Australia.

The free bus, which was to take us to the ground from where we parked our car and had an awesome Italian meal, was late. When we got to the ground, there was a massive queue of ticket holders like us, who were being slowly corralled through just four ticket gates. The teams came on to the field while we were outside. The national anthems were sung, the haka performed and the game commenced all before we made it in. We were then directed by stadium staff to the wrong end of the ground, and by the time we walked to the other end, found our seats, ejected the people who were sitting in our seats and finally sat to watch the game, twenty minutes had elapsed. It was very cold but we cheered with vigour as our boys finished strongly in what had been a tight contest. With a victory under our belts we left the ground in high spirits, and went to join the crowd of people waiting for buses. It was long wait. I thought my niece and nephew, unaccustomed to cold weather, might die from exposure. The crowd jeered the stadium staff as they apologized for the lack of buses as we stood and made the best of our plight.

Last night was one of those nights which will be talked about for as long as we live. A great victory by a great team with great support from patient and generally good humoured fans. I love my footy. What sports are you crazy about? What lengths have you gone to see a match?

Photo sources

zimbio.com

smh.com.au

R is for Rugby League

“David was a rugby league man through and through. Having played rugby league as a youth, then coached and refereed, it was disappointing that Tomo showed no interest. It seemed certain ethnic backgrounds virtually guaranteed a football career.”

-          Loathe Your Neighbor ch. 6

This is a bit of stretch in terms of being connected to my novel, Loathe Your Neighbor, which is my theme for the A-Z Blogging Challenge, but last night I went to a rugby league match. Those of you unfamiliar with this fast and brutal sport should think in terms of American Football without all the padding and helmets, less players and few breaks in play. Rugby league is 80 minutes of skillful gladiatorial combat. So here I am in a hotel room, the morning after the game, in Canberra which is not only our national capital but is also celebrating its 100^th birthday. As part of the celebrations, it hosted last night’s match at Canberra Stadium. Just over 25, 000 people, of which I was one, watched the first rugby league test match between Australia and New Zealand to be played in Canberra. It was an historic night. It was also an historic night for two of my guests. My niece and nephew are visiting from Thailand, and I felt obliged to share this wonderful facet of Australian culture with them. They were exposed to some of what is good and bad about living in Australia.

The free bus, which was to take us to the ground from where we parked our car and had an awesome Italian meal, was late. When we got to the ground, there was a massive queue of ticket holders like us, who were being slowly corralled through just four ticket gates. The teams came on to the field while we were outside. The national anthems were sung, the haka performed and the game commenced all before we made it in. We were then directed by stadium staff to the wrong end of the ground, and by the time we walked to the other end, found our seats, ejected the people who were sitting in our seats and finally sat to watch the game, twenty minutes had elapsed. It was very cold but we cheered with vigour as our boys finished strongly in what had been a tight contest. With a victory under our belts we left the ground in high spirits, and went to join the crowd of people waiting for buses. It was long wait. I thought my niece and nephew, unaccustomed to cold weather, might die from exposure. The crowd jeered the stadium staff as they apologized for the lack of buses as we stood and made the best of our plight.

Last night was one of those nights which will be talked about for as long as we live. A great victory by a great team with great support from patient and generally good humoured fans. I love my footy. What sports are you crazy about? What lengths have you gone to see a match?

We Suck

Excuse my use of such sophisticated language but it is the morning after, the smoke has cleared, the dust has settled and we have lost again. Seven years in a row we have been defeated by our arch enemies from north of the border. I'm talking about Rugby League football. I'm talking about the State of Origin Battle Royale.


Every year New South Wales play Queensland in a best of three game series to determine which Australian state rules the Rugby League roost. This intense rivalry has raged since Federation in 1901, and now from 1982 with the fight transferred to an annual sporting contest, the fiercely passionate antagonism reaches boiling point over a six week period during which the three matches are contested. The State Of Origin series is a premier sporting event which attracts huge television audiences and sells out stadiums. It is the pinnacle of the game, the highest quality, the fastest, toughest sport on Earth. I love it.

What I don't love is the fact that my team, the Blues of News South Wales, lost another game and another series to those we southerners affectionately refer to as Canetoads, the Maroons of Queensland. This year was our best chance. We picked a team that could theoretically match the opposition, and the coach was charged with instilling faith in the players: faith to believe that they could beat the Maroons who, are possibly the best Rugby League team the game has ever seen. The question on everyone's lips was, could we not only compete with them but could we beat them. In Game One we played well enough to win but didn't. In Game Two we played better than we did in the first game and we deserved our victory. And so it was with our chests puffed out and heads held high that we marched into war at Suncorp Stadium in Brisbane for the deciding match feeling like this was going to be our year. We would finally end the winning streak of the Maroons and claim glory for the mighty state of New South Wales.

Last night our hopes were obliterated. We lost by one point. Just one point, but the truth is we sucked. We did not play as well as we did in the previous match. We didn't defend as aggressively or effectively, and in attack we looked clueless most of the time. The final half of football in the 2012 series was when we should have stepped up and taken what was rightfully ours, but we didn't. We sucked. Credit to Queensland though. The wining margin may have only been one point but they were clearly the better team and deserved their victory. Ah well - here comes the cliche -there's always next year.

Riding Bulldogs

In 1999, after the war (the war between Newscorp and the Australian Rugby League)the South Sydney Rabbitohs were excluded from the premier Rugby League competition in the world by the new administrators of the game. I will never forget seeing the reaction of the fans to that monumental decision. It was as though a family member had been murdered. One image is indelibly printed on my mind: that of a Rabbitohs fan, dressed in full club colours and regalia, as though he had raided the supporters shop before being filmed, facing the camera and crying, blubbering over the demise of his beloved footy team. I could not believe all the snot and hot tears. This was a staggering manifestation of an illogical yet undeniable emotional attachment.

In 1979, aged 11, I fled the living room of a family member in horror and disgust as my team, the Canterbury Bulldogs, crashed to an insurmountable 17-0 deficit at half time of that year's Grand Final against the St.George Dragons. In the 1994 season decider, I spent more time in the toilet than in front of the television as the Bulldogs fumbled and bumbled their way to a shellacking at the hands of the Canberra Raiders. I have been nervous before matches and exhausted after them. I have paced the floor, groaned and complained, lambasted the opposition, the referees, and my own players. I have punched the air in triumph and punched pillows in anguish. I have experienced the thrill of victory, and the devastation of loss. For 32 years I have been riding the rollercoaster, following my team through the highs and the lows. From Premiership glory to the ignominy of the Wooden Spoon.

When I watch the Bulldogs play, I fall into another dimension. I escape the real world to live, albeit temporarily, in a fantasy universe where a sporting contest has eternal significance. The thrill is addictive, the tension is electric, the pain is real. I lose myself in the epic battle in which superb athletes brutally collide with each other as they struggle for supremacy.

This year, 2011, the Canterbury Bulldogs are embarrassing me with their onfield performances. Not only losing but playing poorly. They are a shadow of a football team, a spiritless gaggle of brightly uniformed geese. Nevertheless they will remain my team. I won't dump them, I won't walk way. I am committed. They are a habit I cannot break. As much a part of me as my job and my church, and all the other interests I have in life.

Having said that, you will never find me shedding tears over them. I will never plummet into a pit of depression because of what they do, or don't do. It took some time, but I have learned a little perspective. I love the joyride I get to take every footy season courtesy of my team. For eighty minutes, the suffering is contained and focused, the emotion is raw, there is only the battle. There are cheers and boos ans sometimes too personal abuse. There are winners and losers, and people get hurt, but no one dies, and when it's over...it's over but only until next week, or next season. Being a fan of a football team can be heartbreaking but that's life.I love it.

When you invest yourself in something, or someone, you should expect to suffer. To live and to love is to feel pain, and in a way that makes most of us just a little bit masochistic, doesn't it?

Axe video referees

I'm sick of the video referee system in the NRL. I have been a supporter of it from day one but I believe it is ruining the game. They said that using the video referee would mean that the officials would get most decisions right. But it's not happening. The standard of referring is going down the gurgler and I've had enough. Let the guys on the field make the calls so we can focus our anger and disappointment on them, instead of on an invisible third referee hiding in a box somewhere.
We can't blame our own teams for their performances. If we lose it's always the referees fault. Everyone knows that.
Furthermore they take too long to make decisions. Endless replays from all different angles, slow mo, super slow mo, forwards, backwards...yawn. Players waiting, fans waiting...yawn. If we aren't careful we'll turn our great game of rugby league into an altogether beast like the NFL.