The Wendell Sailor management crew and the Broncos camp are fighting
over what used to be called loyalty. Only the modern spelling is lawyerlty.
The Brumbies mob won't even let Sailor train. Reckon his head is not at
where it should be. Though last anyone looked, it was on his shoulders.
Allah, B Buddha! You wouldn't get enough players to stage the grand final
of the world solitaire championships if all the blokes at a league training
session were supposed to be where their heads are.
Besides, you tell me how a group of guys are going to hone their passing
skills running around a park with the 12pm to 6am shift of the East Brisbane
Southern Comfort Massage Parlour and Whoopee Emporium bobbing about on their
heads.
And are you gunna tell Alfie Langer to take an early shower because his
head is constantly replaying the last race at Randwick the other week –
the one that sticks fondly in his mind because his horse actually finished
for a change.
You want the job of telling a sensitive man like Mark Geyer to concentrate
on his grubber kicks when he is in a reverie as to whether the left-jab,
right cross combo he used in last week's game was a bit sissy and whether
he should revert to his signature full-bodied, right from the floor, knee
to the groin, kick to the head more manly approach?
Then there's Ian Roberts. Who's game enough at training to stop him from
pondering the appalling taste of all those cross-dressing on the Footy Show.
Just before he goes for the traditional forward's fifth lap spew at January
training.
The point is that the Broncos threw loyalty out the window. They established
the rampant art of lawyerlty when they wrecked the Brisbane club competition
a decade ago.
The icing on the cake was when the Brumbies stamped expiry dates on the
heads of Wally Lewis and Trevor Gilly.
Football is now a business as Mudrake the Magician keeps telling us from
mahogany row in the Big Apple.
And, all together now, what's the first law of working for a business. That's
right: fuck you!
You see, a lot of these wankers running footy clubs think white collar,
while a lot of players like Sailor come from a blue collar background.
That's a job where you either turn into a vegetable in front of a machine
in a factory or your knees and your back go from lifting heavy shit.
The one compensation is that the boss fully expects and gets you to hate
them. Working white collar, your fuckhead superiors expect you to give a
stuff about the business and its aims.
Carrying 50kg on your shoulders, you don't have to give a shit about balance
sheets. You can despise the foreman and let him know with your eyes. As
long as you are prepared to lift that next 50kg.
Fuck lawyerlty.
I'M interested in these two year option clauses in the Broncos' contracts.
I mean, does a player get the option?
What happens, all of a sudden, if a market survey by Iva Hardon and Associates
Marketing tell me that my punter appeal has dropped 6.5 points. The Broncos
want to drop me like a hot potato and I says, hang on, old chaps, I'm calling
in my two years' option. How far would I get? Fucking lawyerlty.
I don't blame Wigan if they were stretching the truth a wee bit about
signing Sailor.
I mean we've all done it; told our mates we rooted the spunky barmaid down
the Rose and the Thorn when we actually woke up with a fearful hangover,
lying in bed beside her grandmother. And we didn't have the balls to admit
that during the night, Grannie's half chewed through her forearm trying
to get away.
It was probably that with Wigan. They wanted Sailor; we wanted the young
barmaid. Telling it the way it wasn't might just make it happen.
I certainly don't blame Sailor for accepting, if that's what he's
done. The chance may never come again.
It seems that Wigan went down to the local cash converters and pawned everything
they owned – guernseys, shorts, socks, boots and even their beloved
footie ground.
If the club's prepared for that big a blowout, it would be selfish of Wendell
not to get in for his chop while the money lasts.
It's a real shame that Super League doesn't exist as it was.
Super League formed out of getting a better deal for the players. No way
would Super League have let the Broncos stop Wendell from doing what is
in his best interests.
When they decide which clubs get the kyber pass from the comp at the
end of the year, just what financial criteria do you use to compare community
clubs with privately owned franchises?
What if Melbourne spends a squillion to get people through the gates? How
do you compare this with a club like Souths, accountable to its members?
It must be funny being in the ARL knowing full well that your new-found
business partners are just waiting to do you in whenever the opportunity
arises.
Now that's lawyerlty.
Buddha, what's the world coming to! Australia's turning into a nation
of sports tarts, making anyone a hero.
Fair dinkum, a forward carts a ball up the paddock kilometres each year,
copping beltings left, right and centre yet gets no recognition.
Some clown in a set of speedos spends a few nights dog-paddling up and down
a swimming pool and becomes an Australian icon.
Take it from the Bash: Michael Klim is just another bald quim.
Cop u lata,
The Bash
