The NRL should bite the bullet and invite South Sydney back for a
nostalgic guest appearance in the season's finals series, brought forward
because the big O's coming to Sydney. And I thought he was dead!
After all, if you're going to have a whopping eight finals contenders
out of a field of 14, why not make it nine by throwing some Rabbitohs into
the stew.
For eight teams out of 14 is a dead set joke that even the notorious Manly
prankster Narko Marx could never have ever dreamed up while dozing fitfully
all those years in the comfy big leather chair in the ARL's mahogany row.
It's gotta make the NRL the only first-class sport anywhere in the world
where even the easybeats have a chance at finals glory and a team is still
in the elite even if they don't make the cut.
Especially this year, where we could end up with 13 teams vying for the
eight spots come the sticky end of the tournament.
That should just about make the holders of this year's wooden spoon dead
set certs for immediate relegation to reserve grade at Roma, where they'd
probably have trouble winning a game.
No, the great Narco Marx may have left the building, but his spirit lives
on.
And what about the NRL's promise that a 14-team competition would
end lopsided matches.
St George-Illawarra-Bateman's Bay-Bega – who The Bash still reckons
will make the grand final again, by the way – got thrashed the other
week by Melbourne. Cronulla got bitten by 28 points by the Northern Manly
Sea Beagles.
The Sea Beagles are proving that it's better to be red, white and merged
than dead, and their form highlights the warning given to any brash young
lad or lasso who ventures to Sydney town.
Down Manly way, the locals will steal everything bar your eye teeth, and
be even careful of those teeth if you see a bloke in an Italian suit brandishing
a pair of pliers.
The connection from the Norths Bears has been responsible for every win
of the Claytons Manly side, yet jersey wise, they barely got a look in.
No wonder the pisspot bimbo poofta TV and radio sports journalists can't
help calling them Manly.
Enough about those slither-tails. On to more pressing matters. Here's The Bash's lowdown on the season and the prospects of your team.
The Sea Beagles.
Let's hope that wooden spoon has just a hint of silver in it. And let's
also hope it's a metre wide; that should be just about big enough to shut
Toovey's mouth.
The NQ Cowgirls.
Of course the wheels are going to fall off. Don't they always. But don't
be surprised if, somewhere, sometime during the season, they make league
history by having the entire team sin-binned in a game.
Auckland Worriers.
Who'd want to be an Auckland supporter. They will come storming home again
in the second round – just to miss the eight. This is a side to crush
mothers' hearts.
Penrith Pussycats.
What are they putting in the water down Penrith way, apart from weed, that
is? With all their fucking injuries, I think it needs to be cortisone. The
pennies will have another respectable season, but it would help if they
could beat a girls' under 8 soccer team away from Pussycat Park.
Canberra Rodents.
No fucking good. Stop wasting your time and more importantly your hard-earned
on this motley crew. You know they'll just raise your hopes only to dash
them most cruelly at crunch time.
Well, that disposes of the elite six who won't male the play-offs. Let's look at the bums who will be there.
Canterbury Pugdogs
They should be known as the Canterbury Clappers. Like the clap, you think
you've gotten rid of it, but in your heart you know it'll be back. The Pugdogs
have already played and will continue to play some woeful football. But
they will be there come finals time.
Cronulla Guppies
Sure they've got tremendous courage and consistency, but face facts, true
league fans, they just can't match it with the more brilliant sides.
Sydney City Featherdusters.
You cannot win consistently if Freddy and the Lam dominate your set plays.
Won't make the grant final.
Parramatta Feels.
Never, ever write these slippery bastards off! With their old hands Dymock
and Smith combining with the kiddies, they will have a mighty second round.
Definite grand final prospects.
Brisbane Brumbies.
Buddha help the Brumbies if Gordon Tallis gets injured. The Bash is just
waiting for the wheels to fall off. He'll try not to laugh too loud.
Melbourne Storm, then fine, cold for an hour then hot again before
a chilly night.
Hate to say it, but the Melbourne Storm might just rise again without Lazarus
to be a definite show of back to back grand finals.
St George-Illawarra-Bateman's Bay-Bega
The Bash's value tip for the season. Put the house on them to make the grand
final, with a saver to win it.
Newcastle Once a Knights Enough.
Everyone's raving about the big Knights forwards but the word 'slow' comes
to The Bash's mind. It won't be the first time that the fate of history
has turned on a groin. They tell me that in the finest homes of Newcastle,
dinner party conversation is dominated by one topic. When the host breaks
off a leg from the pheasant under glass, he says: "Which reminds me,
how is dear Andy's groin?"
And if you think The Bash knows fuck all about fancy dinner parties, I'll
word you up. Only last week me and the missus were guests at a private do
in Carina Heights. That's one of Brissie's flashier suburbs, with their
fancy cavity brick, split level homes and electricity and stuff.
At one point in the meal, the hostess asked me: "How is your spatch
cock, Mr Brown?" I had heard about this sort of dinner party banter
so I'd done me homework and was ready with a reply. "The plumbing's
still working fine," I answered, "how's your hairy old beaver
going?"
The next thing I know the host was chasing me out the front door with a
wild game shooting rifle.
What that door was doing with a wild game shooting rifle I will never know.
Thank you, Groucho. Thank you, ball boys.
And thank you Narko and his successors. Greed is good. And better eight
than never.
Cop-u-lata,
The BASH
