Cameron Smith Making Me Say Wow Now

The Storm.

Sons of bitches know how to win a grand final.

What the hell kind of performance was that?

I don’t know. And critiquing high-caliber, clinical playing is not my forte what with the Raiders thing, you know…but I liked it, I loved it.  

It felt like a grand final. Last year’s was such an interminable affair that the only thing I can recall is Steve Matai’s bison- like head getting opened up right above the eye, a big scoop-n-split that sent blood flowing artfully down his face. Other than that I got nothing and I’m none the poorer for it. Let’s move on. Back to Sunday. To headier times.

To Joey Johns THE EIGHTH WONDER OF THE RUGBY LEAGUE WORLD behaving adorably even when ESPECIALLY WHEN being dispatched from a Blackhawk helicopter, fleeing from the Apocalypse Now-esque blade situation and fighting his way through the hurricane-strength wind that looked for all the world like it was going to tear away his suit pants and jacket in a spectacular wardrobe malfunction.

Speaking of tear-away pants how is this seedy photo of Channing Tatum from back when he was a stripper?

Anyway, the game.   

There was a good stink that caused Gus Gould to employ the words ‘brouhaha’, ‘melee’ and ‘fracas’, as well as the phrases ‘an allegation of biting’ and ‘they’re not exchanging Christmas cards’.

What he didn’t say was words to the effect of

“Allow me to give you a brief lesson in the human condition. Humans are about 70% water, and the rest is all guts, bone and minerals. But, although we are a highly evolved animal, we sometimes experience slippage and revert to raw savagery. James Graham appears to have suffered such a lapse by appearing to catch hold of Billy Slater’s ear with his teeth and appearing to tug at it with a good amount of force and barbarism.”

He didn’t have to say it. The implication was clearly there.   

There was the Storm being as clinical and cold of heart as ever. It would have been a harrowing, harrowing experience for Dogs supporters. They just didn’t get a goddam look in. Ever. It even depressed me for twenty minutes or so before I pulled myself together enough to revel in the splendour of the Storm and the stricken looks of the blue-and-white-wearing crowd as the experience became increasingly unbearable. Poor bastards. In football we try to grasp a feeling outside of ourselves and our tarnished existences. This is preposterous because very few of us, proportionally, follow a winning team. In reality, football, like life itself, is mostly about endurance and suffering.

Aside from or in spite of the cruel and awful nature of existence from which there is no escape outside of death my wish-list from a previous post was pretty well fulfilled. I take satisfaction from this, because if not this then what?..

1.Craig Bellamy got the Gatorade dumped on him. From behind. He shook his fist and grinned and looked a.) a bit like Mickey Rourke and b.) like he wanted to crash-tackle the culprits and grind them playfully into the ground. He looks so fun, what with his air of salaciousness. I would love to get loaded with him.  

- ‘Insiders’ who were at the Novotel after the game reported that Bellamy “was merrier” than any time they could remember, and that Billy Slater had “forgotten the bitten ear”.

2.Cameron Smith looked happy and relieved and gave a rousing, statesman-like speech. How can he be so laconic and so slick at the same time? He’s terribly talented. Authentic, too. This is where Cooper Cronk is lacking. His Clive Churchill medal acceptance speech sounded totally computer generated. When he addressed the team with a stilted “and to the playing group – you are my mates” it sounded exactly like those drooling aliens on The Simpsons when they had designs on becoming president and tried to talk as earthlings would.    

Anyway, Cameron Smith impressed me deeply and I really haven’t shaken off the sensation and it’s a little disconcerting but really, how good is he? Very, is the inevitable and undeniable answer. Very.

“I’ve been asked a few times whether this one would be sweeter,” Smith said after the game. “I guess there’s a small spot that says yes.”

Issues My Brother and I Have Discussed This Week

A List of issues my brother and I have raised and discussed re. the Raiders Rabbits game over the course of the week, bearing in mind that every communication has ended with one or usually both of us sighing and murmuring “heady times”, “isn’t it exciting” or “I’M SO FUCKING EXCITED I WANT TO KICK SOMEONE IN THE SPINE”

1. Who will Josh Palalii who we now refer to only as The Young Bull be instructed to get on top of this time? Taylor? Or Crocker? We have decided that we hope it is Crocker. We hope he unsettles Crocker like he did Gallen, and causes him to blow whatever fuses are left in the burned-out back-lots of his brain, thereby earning him time in the sin-bin. This is highly likely.

2. Jack Boom is back! We love Jack Boom. We are happy for Jack Boom. We expect to see him come off the bench and inject exuberant youthful aggression into the game. Jack Boom!

3. What is Joe Picker doing in the starting lineup? He was in the game for the final fifteen minutes last week and had no touches and made no tackles. He was a ghost player, in other words. Joe Picker needs to step up “or it’s back to the Bega Roosters for him.” Joe Picker also needs a haircut. He looks like an extra, sex unspecified, from a Motley Crue video. Absurd.

4. Only two forwards are on the bench. We hope that is enough for the big men of Souths.

5. “The odds between Souths and Canberra are widening. You know what that means don’t you?” “No, what does it mean?” “Souths have a very large supporter base who like to have a punt…And they punt with their hearts, not their heads. In other words, it means they are stupid!”

6. Dugan will be goal kicker. We hope he has been practicing by day and by night, as well as visualising himself popping curling hooking and landing clean balls as he listens to Tupac and as he sleeps. We hope it doesn’t come down to a penalty kick ala 2010 Raiders Tigers ie. THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED AND A PART OF JARRED CROKER DID TOO. We hope someone else is practicing too, in case one of Dugan’s flimsy limbs malfunctions or is bent backwards and twisted like an allen-key by someone again like how Jeremy Smith did last week THAT DOG THIS IS THE REASON NODDY KIMMORLEY LAPSED INTO A REVERENTIAL TONE AND CALLED HIM “ONE OF THE GREATEST THUGS OF THE MODERN ERA” RECENTLY DON’T FUCK WITH BAMBI BITCH AND ANYWAY HAHA YOU’RE PLAYING FOR THE KNIGHTS NEXT YEAR LOL WHO?

7. Greg Inglis must be shut down. It is essential. If you feel this point needs further elaboration or embellishment, seek out Joey Johns.  

8. How much we hate Souths.

9. How much we hate Souths.

10. How much we hate Souths.

"And now Blake Ferguson's gran-mama 'aint the only girl callin' him baby"

 - Raiders Sharks Semi-Final -

Joey Johns picked Blake Ferguson as his “impact player” yesterday which as I understand it is the ‘player’ he thinks will make an ‘impact’ of some significance. He would have been my choice too, had Channel Nine have asked me to contribute. I had actually opened up 60 minutes of my schedule to specifically address the “impact player” issue in the hours prior but the call never came through..

I love Blake Ferguson. As well as being my favourite “impact player” I also pick him as my favourite ever “DOCS graduate”. Not only because he wasn’t found dead and stuffed in a suitcase as a baby, but because he is just generally awesome and adorable and athletically freaky WHAT IS WITH HIS FINGERTIP CONTROL HOW DOES HE GET THOSE PICKUPS AND HAVE YOU SEEN HIM UNDER A HIGHBALL WHAT ABOUT WHEN HE ACCELERATES HOLY FUCK HE GOES LIKE A GREEN STREAK AND HOW ABOUT THE WAY HE CAN TIPPY-TOE WHO TAUGHT HIM TO TIPPY-TOE LIKE THAT IS IT A NATURAL GIFT OR WAS IT COACHING STAFF AT THE SHARKS BEFORE HE DISSED THEM AND UNCEREMONIOUSLY DEPARTED FOR THE RAIDERS AND THE POSSIBILITY OF PERSONAL HAPPINESS AND PREMIERSHIP GLORY THAT HE DID NOT BELIEVE THE SHARKS OFFERED BUT BELIEVED THE RAIDERS DID AND DOESN’T THAT APPEAR TO BE THE BEST DECISION OF HIS LIFE HOW HAPPY DOES HE LOOK PLAYING ALONGSIDE SANDOR EARL AND JOSH DUGAN HOW GANGSTER ARE THEY HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ANYTHING CUTER NO YOU HAVEN’T HAVE YOU EXCEPT MAYBE WHEN HE SAYS HI TO HIS GRANDPARENTS AFTER A GAME THAT’S PRETTY CUTE TOO ISN’T IT HUH HUH HELLO IS THIS THING ON  -  -  -

                                                                                         ---

Dugan & Carney: Clams & Chowder.

 

1. 

“Feeling good about this arvo?”

“Not especially but HELLO the Carney and Dugan action – feel the fierce.”

After that abomination of a game against the Titans I didn’t pay any attention to the Raiders this entire week. I was all like TALK TO THE HAND - it was the (lopsided) equivalent of a week-long dose of the silent treatment. This ended ten minutes before kickoff when I heard Josh Dugan was back and I yelped “DUGAN AND CARNEY?? LET THE CLAMS MEET THE CHOWDER!”

Obviously, in regards to the actual game, I had no lofty expectations. I left them behind in 2010. Along with a half-finished thesis and any chance of a mentally regular future.    

Trying to foresee what the Raiders will do on any given weekend is an exercise in futility. It’s like expecting Courtney Love to keep her lipstick on straight – you can’t do it. It’s just not feasible.

2. 

 “Toddy looking more meek than fierce.”

“I’m enjoying his pain.”

“SO.AM.I. Especially that shocking kick!”

"He’s got the wobbles. He needs a stiff drink, steady his nerves."

"Ha! Old fella sitting next to me just said the same thing!"

Todd Carney. He didn’t look so good. When he coughed up the ball at one point I think I heard a muted trombone make a wha-whaaaaaa sound.

I can’t say whether the highly relative assertion that Origin rattled him is right or wrong. But he looked like a young man with more on his mind than in it yesterday.

This concerns me because he seems to have an easy and affectionate nature – one which enables him to patiently suffer the indignities heaped on over the years.

Look at this sweet footage of him giggling with Joey. Is this a man seduced by the allure of cheap bravado and self-hatred? I find it so cute that I can’t tell.

3.

“How sharp is Dugan’s game! Dooogz!”

“Doooooooogggggggaaaaaaaannnnnn!!!”

Dugan is back. Dugan is fucking gangster. Dugan is a PIMP. Holla.

Russell Crowe & the Rabbitohs

Everyone knows that Australians are great sports lovers and that they’re great barrackers but does anyone ever mention how much we like being able to boo? And hiss? And hate? On a whole variety of teams, for a whole variety of really rude and entirely subjective reasons? Not enough, no. Unless of course the subject at hand is Collingwood, which is an unlikely prospect on this blog. Supporting a team to the point of just about having a stroke every time they play over the course of a season is a rich and satisfying occupation. Barracking is but part of this experience.

It was in this spirit that I engaged in an expansive conversation with my brother, via text, regarding our shared loathing of the Rabbitohs yesterday. It was great. How could it not be?

Apparently – and this is what started it - Daly Cherry Evans is being pursued by the Rabbits. By which of course I mean that the at once attractive and repellant Russell Crowe, equipped with that formidable gravelly voice, pungent charm and considerable authority, is wooing him, all whips cracking. I’m not used to saying it, but this doesn’t bother me. Cherry Evans plays well and seems friendly enough but he is obviously devoid of humour and personality and is therefore of little emotional interest to me. He’s very vanilla, isn’t he? Or white bread. He’s the human equivalent of a piece of white bread, untoasted, and spread with Flora margarine.  And Crowe, well, I love a wildly egotistical and morally muddy man, so I have no issue with him either. HOWEVER. On the morals thing: Cherry Evans needs to be prepared to watch his evaporate should he sign with the Bunnies. He will also need to ensure he is in rude good health, mentally, because goddamn if the Bunnies don’t turn most of the players they buy into burnt out husks with piss-hole eyes and poorly disciplined games within two or three seasons of being there. How do they do this??? They are astonishingly, mesmerisingly adept at it. Whatever the process, the reality is that the club does not encourage towering individual performances.  My brother said as much yesterday, texting about our hope that Coal Train Taylor goes back to the Broncos: “Yeh he was better when he was there. In fact, everyone goes crap when they go to souths. Greg who?”  Touche.

In any case, I approve of Russell Crowe’s involvement in league. It adds an element of absurdity to what is already an acutely absurd theatre sport. Matty Johns, who suddenly seems to have developed a diamond-sharp edge of anger to go with his mongrel-instinct intelligence and now sports a hairstyle reminiscent of Tony Mokbel on the worst day of his life, said the other week that league is a pantomime and you have your good guys and your bad guys. This struck me as very clever. Soon after, some deranged Warrior fan tweeted him asking if he was on drugs and he barked “No you have me mistaken for someone else”, and this struck me as very cruel, especially as he accompanied it with a steely-eyed look and I thought of Joey’s sad canine eyes and soft-shell crab demeanor and felt awful for him. I love Joey. I love Joey to such a degree that every time I see or hear him I instinctively think and usually murmur “Oh, Joey” and feel my heart wince. He has that certain haunted look that I very much admire - eyes imbued with the hollow despair of the damned that indicate he has looked into the face of something horrible. He’s lovely.  

Anyway, Crowe could, I imagine, turn a brain-numbing preamble about contracts and salary caps into the most gripping of soliloquys and effortlessly shift the mood from comedy to edge-of-seats suspense and back to comedy before the more slow-witted members of the football fraternity knew what had hit them. In saying that, I think the more intellectually lively players know what’s up. This is why, for example, Sam Burgess is a Bunny and Cooper Cronk is not. Not that there’s anything wrong with Sam Burgess. That great big head atop that great big body? Fantastic. A drooling Great Dane of a man with a peanut-sized brain rattling exuberantly around inside that big British skull? What’s not to like? I also like the fact that Crowe, clearly suffering from a chronic irony deficiency, seems to fancy himself as the Jim Jones or David Koresh of league. Well, why not? Every pantomime needs a handful of charismatic and unhinged egomaniacs; they add an unintentionally surreal and comic edge to proceedings. So, go forth Russell. Woo and charm and seduce and sign and never surrender to the soul-shrinking pointlessness of trying to buy a powerful Bunnies team. If nothing else, my brother and I appreciate the high comedy of the effort, and the ongoing opportunity to hang shit on the entire Rabbitohs organisation. It’s the Australian way, this booing and hissing and dancing on the grave of a despised team’s failings, and we are nothing if not patriotic.