Todd Carney: Sands Through the Hourglass

This Todd Carney saga, my god. It's dragging like Nate Myles' knuckles. Settle in with a bag of salted nuts and a dash of weary fatalism as it enters another week, with eleventh hour interest from the Dragons putting the kaibosh on what was to be a certain signing with the Sharks. Allegedly. All of this is alleged, meaning no one knows what the fuck they are talking about but continue to publish wildly speculative articles in which everyone and anyone even remotely connected to the story refuses to comment.

On the other hand, I have no idea what's happening but am gagging to comment. This is the very essence of the internet and especially of blogging, no? I am singularly unequipped to grasp the appalling complexity of the cat's cradle of vested interests at stake in the high stakes game of SIGNING TODD CARNEY. I am also singularly unimpressed with the glimpse into the machinations of the masters of the League that this saga has provided. But then, my perspective may be ever so slightly distorted. Since I'm still hung up on the belief that the Raiders committed the crime and cock-up of the decade by sacking him in 2008. So yeah. There's a certain sense of ideological betrayal still lingering. Whatever. It keeps me sharp.

Obviously the thought of Toddy playing for the Dragons turns my stomach. This is an entirely unpalatable prospect, and is in no way a part of my coherent world view. There are many reasons for this; including but not limited to the fact that I don't much care for the Dragons, but the biggest is that basically I don't want my loved ones mixing with Jamie Soward. No sir, no way. That boy is bad news. Jamie Soward is a detestable player, and one that is sunk so deeply into his own needs and wants that rudeness has become inevitable and ingrained. And if you lie down with dogs you wake up with fleas. And probably crabs, in this case. Anyways, this is no time to start in on Jamie Soward. I just had a shower and I want to retain my clean feeling. 

This is all very tiring. I can only imagine how exhausting Toddy must be finding the whole ordeal. Oh no, wait, he's been tearing it up in Thailand. With sweet and sad-faced Raider AND FELLOW GOULBURN SON Jarrod Croker. Sweet merciful Christ on a cracker. Still, this is what dedicated, dyed-in-the-wool hooligans do when the spectre of oblivion looms, it's what separates the contenders from the pretenders, don't you know?

Even my mother has got in on the drama of it all. During phone calls she has taken to assuming a tone of genuine, maternal, sympathetic concern and asking "and how is Toddy?" whenever I mention anything about league and occasionally even when I don't. You know, like Carney and I share some kind of an actual relationship instead of me just writing a blog loosely based on his life and times? Yeh. Delusion runs in the family.