SOOIII - it's French for that was a good game of league

After the first two State of Origins this year, I felt like a fuddy duddy. I felt old. Origins, you see, I said, Origins just ain’t what they used to be. Sure there’s intensity, sure they’re the best players, but… something’s missing. The emotion, the suspense, the awe. Heck, even for a regular season game, SOO1&2 just weren’t that good. Well, much like Michael Jackson until a few weeks ago, the child in me is back, and much like Michael Jackson until a few weeks ago, I feel alive. That was one helluva game!

Onto the thoughts, reflections and deep philosophical ponderances.

I really hate Brett White. And I’m a nswelshman! I hate him for at least two reasons. First, he beat up on Steve Price. Now I haven’t seen the replays so I don’t know if White knocked him out or if it was Waterhouse with the diving clothesline. Price was in there swinging too. But you don’t start a fight with Steve Price. I’m sorry, you just don’t. That’s like starting a fight with Hazem El Masri or Steve Menzies. Steve Price is one of the cleanest, most respected guys around, plus he’s old. And he used to captain the Dogs. White has a track record here too. I could have handled pretty much any other QLD player going off in a neck brace, but this just left a sour taste in my mouth.

Secondly, White cost NSW the Hayne try, thereby ruining what would have been a perfect finish to the game for NSW. Instead of seeing endless replays of Hayne - who else - skirting the touchline then powering through several defenders for the defining try to turn it into a thrashing, that whole thing becomes virtually erased in our memories. At least it lead to the angry bomb – more on that in a minute. White reminds me of the ignorant gland from the Blazing Entrails episode of Ren and Stimpy. It’s a big dumb galoot that Ren finds beating up on Stimpy’s brain, causing excess stupidity. I don’t have a picture to hand, more’s the pity, but if you come over to my place I can show you on dvd. Alright, that’s probably going a bit far.

There was some supreme attacking football in this game. Hayne and Inglis continue to stun. There’s something about games like this, the GF and GF qualifiers, and the rare club game, that bring out the best in the best players. Inglis is surely the best player in the game, I only wonder why he doesn’t dominate every game he plays. You can’t push Inglis back. No one else would have gotten back into the field of play when he did. So he's very strong, very fast and has an awesome fend. How many times did he tell the Wolfman not to argue with him?

In fact, as of SOO3, the fend is back. How many brutal fends were there in the game? Hayne absolutely smashed Michael Crocker, Boyd got Hayne a beauty at the end, Hayne and Inglis did it the whole game through, Watmough was doing it. A few years ago, I was truly excited about the SBW-lead resurgence of the shoulder charge as the pre-eminent display of power and poise at high velocity (speaking of which, how good was the Hodges almost try?) in rugby league. Now it’s the fend. We need a fends highlights package. Badly.

Generally speaking, I think the credit for the repeated line breaks and attacking raids during this game has to go to individual skill, will and power rather than team execution. It seems like the best recipe for a game like this is to unleash your best players and piss off the game plan, or at least your structured attack. It is a truism that you can’t build a good team, contend for a premiership, without a good 1,6,7 and 9. (Some people call this the spine, but you got a spine like that, you are one sick person. Since when do the halfback and five eighth stand behind the hooker anyway?) Unusually, the 1,6,7 and 9 for both teams were solid but none of them were dominant, or game changers. For NSW, this was a big improvement on games 1 and 2. Don’t get me wrong, there were some great performances there, but I don’t think any one would have a single one of those eight players down on their top three for the match.

Anthony Watmough was a line break machine. Did I see him run around Slater at one point? Someone did, only to get tackled by another player running back in cover defence. But to get past Slater, arguably the safest cover defender in league, was something else. Reminds me of that origin when Big Willie Mason burst through the line with only Slater to beat, and carried Slater for twenty metres, only to lose the ball over the line. Slater is persistent.

There were also some huge tackles, such as Price on Perry, and Tonga on I’m not sure who, early on. Kimmorley on Inglis was a good one too. But you can rely on big tackles in games like this – that wasn’t what made it stand out, though it helped. Speaking of Kimmorley, Brett, we get it – you can bomb. But usually a playmaker tries something different if a tactic fails the first five times. The crazy thing is, NSW could have had several more tries if they’d actually run the ball. Did you see their carries? Such power. Creagh scoring the winner was the epitome of this to me. And still, the bombs kept coming. The one time I would have liked to see a kick, it didn’t happen.

The most beautiful example of thinking on your feet and sizing up the moment came when QLD bombed with a minute and a half left on the clock, just so they could smash NSW in possession. Any club game, even most origin games, the team would have passed a thousand times, tried a dud chip kick and probably lost it into touch. What QLD did is about as Tao as rugby league gets. We need to see more of it. If only NSW had kicked ahead once they had the ball. They spread it, and looked as though they might have had a chance for a second before it was quickly snuffed. But if they’d put in a long kick, it would have been great to see Hayne and Jennings and Morris competing with Slater and Inglis and Boyd for a final piece of glory. Oh well. We got Ben Creagh running away from Justin Hodges instead.

Some more random thoughts
- Cameron Smith is the ultimate little tough guy. He’s like the skinny guy from predator who gets flattened with a falling log but insists he can make it. Except Cam Smith can make it. He takes a licking and keeps on ticking. I don’t know what it is, some people are just frigging tough like that.
- Darren Lockyer’s Angel is having a tough time getting to the next level. Yes he’s good, but he’s not quite that good. Dave Taylor played a better game against the Warriors than Sam Thaiday ever has.
- I can’t believe we still haven’t figured out pre-game entertainment. How bout a song that actually makes the people *feel* something? I dunno, You got the touch by Stan Bush? Surely one of these could work? The other thing we could do, seeing as how people are there to watch a rugby league game and all, would be to play some inspiring highlights. Individual player highlights, big match highlights – for SOO3 they could have just played the last two minutes of that origin game QLD won at the death in the 90s. That’d gee up the crowd, wouldn’t it? I want to see them frothing at the mouth. By the way, did anyone else find Grinspoon singing Champion before game 2 supremely ironic? Isn’t that whole song about what dickheads homeboys who wear the champion label are?
- Did anyone else think the referees allowed a lot of on the ground roughing up and holding down? I know they sometimes let things like this slide in origin, but usually just in the first frenetic spite-filled exchanges, then they start penalising. This was going on up until the last seconds. I gotta say, Barett’s non-reaction to a first minute face grind from JT shows he’s not stupid – well at least that wasn’t stupid, he still might be stupid.
- Bummed that I missed two tries in the first five minutes of the second half cause I was watching the Chaser. A try each in the first five minutes after halftime? That never happens!
- The shots of the NSW and QLD coaches boxes during the game were priceless. Big Mal was sitting there, eating popcorn and looking as glued to the screen as the rest of us at home, while Neil Henry was all stern and focused and presumably sending orders down to the players. Meanwhile in the NSW box Bellamy had the look of an angry man whose anger has become so all-encompassing that even when things go their way they still can’t celebrate or smile. The two raised hands of Joey Johns, and one raised hand (…) of Tooley Daley, were in stark contrast.
- Finally, I am once again left wondering how much better Origin could get if a few more people were let in. I refer of course to the practice of denying non-qld&nswelshman a piece of the Origin pie. Who wouldn't like to see a Tuiaki or Vatuvei come charging at the line? Or back in the day, a Utai or SBW busting through tackles? Or a Kidwell or Ropati knocking opposing forwards out? Or a Holdsworth or Te Maari flying the West Australian Flag? Who?!

Yonex, Silvestre, Gauche

I had to give it up. Smoking six cigars a day has been killing me, goddamn i love it though. it makes me feel so alive.

this is what briar tung thought to himself as he stubbed out his seventh cigar for the day in an ashtray he'd fashioned from a disused dog bowl that used to belong to his neighbour, Bette Midden. Briar had only two weeks until the Olympics was starting, and he somehow had to conjure up the form to defend his 200m IM title. People nowadays take for granted that he is better than Michael Phelps, but you have to remember, back in 2012 Phelps was gunning for his world record 18th gold medal in this event. Briar gained a mental edge by stubbing his cigar out - the third of the day, if you must know - on Michael Phelps' coach's hand, couple hours before the final. He'd been this close to being thrown out of the games. Anywho, that was all water under the bridge now. Tung and Phelps' coach were married now, even though Burt Oast continued to coach Phelps. Tung kept trying to convince him to convince Phelps to switch to track and field, with only limited success.

briar tung's uncle, bey Barre, was a very, very fat man. even still, he could run the 100m dash in under 11 seconds, and was the one who'd originally turned tung onto sports. hell, if he could win gold at the senior olympics, while smoking a shisha pipe, briar tung could do anything. and he did, much to the delight of people all around the world. he was a modern day tiger woods, someone who really captured the imagination of people large and small. it might have been his cigar habit, people were sick of having idols who were better than them in every way.

Bey Barre was now a commentator with seven olympics. he covered dressage and athletics, plus a little diving here, a little rugby there. man for all seasons, you could say. he would give briar a pep talk just before the final, just in case he hadn't blown the cobwebs out. it went a little like this:

Briar Tung, I stand before you a broken man. The race is over, and you haven't won. You had more talent in your left scrotum than every other competitor in the field, but your concentration let you down. as soon as you lost concentration, you lost technique. you started to worry, and the race was already lost, even though you were a full body length and a half in front.

By this time tung was so worked out he'd yell out - STOP! no!!! to which his uncle would say, oh, why ?you gonna prove me wrong? you gonna prove me wrong?! YOU GONNA PROVE ME WRONG?!?! AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! they'd then each share a quiet hug. and tung was so focused and ready to jump out of his skin the opponent didn't stand a chance. especially if they were rattled by their coach being attacked earlier in the day.

The End

A disaster story

Petersham, NSW 12:57
John Matlock was sweeping his driveway. same driveway he’d been sweeping every day for nigh on 6 weeks, ever since he was born, apart from a few years when he hadn’t been sweeping. he looked up the street, then down the street, then up again. ain’t that a kids rhyme? he thought to himself, chuckling angrily. Chuck, as he liked to be called, picked up the paper off his lawn, then cast a sideward glance at his neighbour, Bette Midden. she normally picked her paper up at roughly the same time, and even though they’d gotten into fisticuffs a few times over the years, they held a deep respect for each other, because they eached subscribed to the same paper.

but she wasn’t there this morning. strange, he thought to himself. that was when John Matlock looked up the street again and almost had a movement – there wasn’t a single person in the whole street. he quickly pulled out his mobile and called a few random friends and family – no answer. this was starting to freak Chuck out. he’d served in acapulco for a few years, and after retiring from the army he did some black ops in syria and new zealand. but in all his years he’d never seen anything like this. nothing could prepare him for this moment – this ‘event’, this ‘abnormality’ had wiped off every single human from the face of the country except him. or so he thought…

Williamstown, NSW 12:58

Mary Gaberdeen was a truck salesman, working for the department of criminal affairs and multiculturalism out of williamstown, near newcastle. she was on the phone to her husband, Hawn the man, having a heated conversation in fact.

Look, I told you already, I need you to pick up the kids – no, Hawn, that’s not fair – look would you just listen to me for a minute?! Fine, I’ll pick them up. Bye for now!

This was turning into a real clusterfuck of a day, she thought as saliva squirted into her mouth. Her belly was like an angry sea, sloshing around juices and prompting her to seek out food to remedy this unpalatable situation. She decided to head for Allan Hot Food, a place somewhere - i don't know where - that did the best chips and gravy. She checked her wallet for a money, and there was some for her to buy lunch. But just then the phone rang again. It was Hawn.

Look, what do you want now, honey?

Hawn started speaking, but in the middle of the sentence she heard the faintest yelp, and then the line cut out. She was absolutely buggered if she knew what was going on, but it started to freak her out. She was below quota for the month, her tummy was rumbling, and now it didn’t seem like a single human soul was around her for now. Things were getting weird. She started the walk to Allan hot food, slightly freaked out by the quietness for this time of day.

Blacktown, NSW, 13:05

Madison and Tony were making out. They'd been going at it for a while, their relationship had finally reached the point where this kind of action was possible and indeed desired by them both. They were around the corner from the local cinema, listening in, or at least pretending to. As the pressure built between them, Tony had to take a breather for air. He had a blocked nose. All of a sudden, they looked around and there was no one there.

Hey, where’d everyone go?

I dunno honey, don’t worry about it at the moment.

But there was a nagging feeling in the back of Tony’s mind that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t alright. He pulled out his phone and started to record the couple as they resumed their intimate throes. Madison responded appropriately to the cues, standing up and doing the slowest, saddest dance Tony had ever seen. He paused the camera.

Hey, where did you learn that dance?

It’s called the Mabinoggian, Tony. I learned it from my grandma, she was an irish dancer back in the sixties. It’s the last thing she taught me before she died.

Woah, Tony replied.

For some reason they decided to take a peek into the drive in, but despite the crashes and bangs from the latest reese witherspoon flick, no one else was around. this was starting to get really weird.

Canberra, ACT 1415

The Government had assembled its finest men and women to deal with the situation. Kevin Rudd called across to his deputy Julia Gillard.

Beats giving it to Malcolm Turnbull, eh Julia?

It's quite a rush Kev, but it's slightly tempered by the fact that he and his family are probably dead.

A trace of a hint of a tear appeared in Kevin's eye, but it disappeared in much the same way a shitload of people seemed to have in the last hour and fifteen minutes.

A man in a defence uniform stepped forward to the table to brief them. He looked harried and old, like he just couldn’t handle this situation.

S-s-sir, at approximately thirteen hundred hours eastern standard t-t-t-t-t-time, some kind of energy disturbance appeared over the country. It has the effect of getting rid of people. As far as we can tell, more than half the country’s gone – Geezuz christ, called out Kevin Rudd – I’ve made contact with the only four people left in the country outside the ACT, all of them localised to the eastern seaboard. A couple called Madison and Tony, a lady called Mary Gaberdeen and an old guy called John “Chuck” Matlock. the australian capital territory appears to have been spared, but riots have already started between the better off people and the less educated poorer people. Casualties have been reported your h-h-h-h-h-h-h-honour

Thankyou chief superintendent brigadier Stevenson. I know you’ve lost family in this. So have I. The important thing for us to remember that we were elected to serve the australian people. and while there may only be a few left here, at any given time there are thousands of them overseas. it is to them that we are now responsible.

No one was prepared for this situation, but they had no choice but to deal with it now. This was really happening. Meanwhile, Julia Gillard thought to herself, This is going to be a fucked up day.

Two days later

Bring them in, Julia

the prime minister’s lush office had been transformed into somewhat of an ad hoc ops room, with plush couches, big screen monitors, telefax machines and desks, and a dozen people repeatedly tapping away, empty cups of coffee sprawled across the floor, hundreds of bags of lolly gobble bliss bombs stacked in the corner.

kevin rudd had assembled a small team of what remaining civil authorities there were. there was an engineer, a finance man, a schoolteacher, julia gillard and brigadier stevenson. julia walked in with four confused souls.

what are we doing here, asked ‘chuck’ matlock. I need to call my wife

my kids, my prime minister. can you tell me what happened to my kids?! cried out mary gaberdeen in anguish

tony and madison were mute. they were young and confused

thank you julia. you can leave now. kevin had julia gillard running a small brown bag team, assasinating the few remaining foreign spies in canberra and the surrounding suburbs.

ladies and gentlemen, you’re probably wondering why you’re standing here before me. I’m afraid I have some bad news. you might want to sit down. won't make a frickin lick of difference though. Kevin wasn't too worried about swearing now. two days ago an energy wave of uncertain origin struck australia. it seemed to target humans in particular, and you’re all we have left. small portions of papua new guinea were affected, as was the solomon islands.

the room fell into awed silence. it was as if they were in some disaster movie, only this was the real thing.

it hasn’t taken long for the world to respond, kevin continued. the US has bolstered its troops in the malacca strait, and the iranians have started taking hostages in iraq, and the chinese have called in an extra 3% of their army reservists. the middle east is turning into a shitfight, asia is on the brink of chaos and new zealand is looking like a safe refuge. any questions? kevin allowed himself a moment to survey the room. he couldn’t believe that he’d adjusted so quickly to this bizarre new world he found himself in.

someone rushed in the room and called out ‘ mr prime minister, mr prime minister! come quickly!

No I will not come quickly! what is it woman?

all the lost people of australia – they’ve turned up in russia!

kevin rudd’s jaw dropped as far as his tendons would allow it. this was a disturbing new development. his thoughts wondered to his wife, therese rein. she’s alive, he yelled out

THE END

***

Post scriptum. The preceding slightly fantastic tale was inspired by my reading of a pretty, pretty, pretty lame disaster book. As is my wont, and I am wont to do, i refused to keep reading once I realised this. I remember a book i read called Earth Abides, and it looks a whole heap better in comparison. It had none of the ridiculous flourishes of some books, it was believable, and kind of eery. it is my great pleasure to recommend that book.

This is a story inspired by, rather than about Tooley Daley

nodgrass was ill at ease. he’d just eaten a chocolate croissant that sat badly in his estomago. that’s because it was a piece of shit – literally! figuratively speaking, of course! but these kinds of stomach ailments wouldn’t put him off his task at hand. tooling off in public. his idol was Tooley Daley and he made sure to offer a sacrifice – thousands of thousands upon thousands of little boys – each day, in his own special way. nodgrass finished himself off then returned to his desk, where his boss awaited him

where you been, noddy?
just out for a minute, what’s up boss?
it’s this report, noddy. I need you to take a look for me. I have a meeting next week and I’m just gonna go over there for a little while.
no probs boss. anything in particular you want me to look for?
yeah, someone lost a rare two dollar note in there. that’s the main thing

with that nodgrass redirected his vision away from his boss’ abs and towards his computer screen. he had a learning difficulty.

THE END