"I've been collecting names," I informed Blue over scotch and
sarsaparellie, a vile drink we imbibe occasionally, just to be different.
"Jeez, Bash, that's how you got in the poop when you were in charge
of the Painters and Dockers' pay roll," Blue reminded me.
"Unfortunately, quite a few of the names did not have bodies to go
with them. Phantom payroll, they called it, didn't they, Bash?"
"Yeah, that'd be fuckin' right," I replied, because some of the
bitterness remains.
"Tried by an inquiry that gets its fuckin' inspiration from a comic
book."
Blue tried to calm me down. "But you set ''em straight, Bash!"
"Too right, Blue. Looked those bags of fruits straight in the eye and
told them I was no good at maths."
We let the tale drop there. We both knew that my eminently reasonable explanation
was wasted. The suits deregistered the union and put the Bash on the rock
'n' roll.
I drained half a schooner of scotch and sarsaparellie in one hit and updated
the conversation to modern times.
"No, Blue, what got me going collecting names is wondering why the
rich give their daughters idiotic names. Take the wife of that plum in the
mouth Tory deadshit last Governor of Hong Kong. She is called Lavendar Patton.
And Pixie Skase. Pix-bleeding-ee. La de bloody da. Give me a break!"
Blue nodded his head in support of the point.
"So what are you doing with the collection of names, Bash?
"Nuttin'," I had to admit.
"But it got me to thinking: does a name help or hinder a football team?
"I mean it obviously helps your Pixies and your Lavendars tell everyone
they've got rich fuckheads for parents.
"I mean, if you're a Pixie, you'd want to mix all the time with a Primrose,
wouldnya?
"But does calling a football team full of shielas Manly make them play
better?"
Blue was getting ahead of me, again. He does that.
"Oh, Bash, you're getting started on your Americanisation of football
monickers high horse, aren't you?"
"And why not, Blue? I've been trying to tell the fuckin' Broncos for
years they should be the Brumbies.
"And what happens? A Canberra rah-rah outfit pinches the name and ends
up having enormous success.
"Brumbies! They're on Moreton Island, not in freezin' fuckin' Canberra.
Snakes and rodents – that's what infests Canberra.
"The Canberra Snakes and Canberra Rodents and the Brisbane Brumbies
and all would be right with rugby league nameology."
Blue frowned: "Nameology?"
"Yeah," I replied, "Nameology. You've got all these hustlers
floggin' numerology and making a fortune. We should start nameology."
You could see Blue was starting to worry. He only took a sip of his drink,
meaning he got only the sars sitting on top.
If that bad taste wasn't enough, he could also taste another Bash business
plan unravelling before his eyes. But to his credit, Blue always plays the
game.
"And the North Queensland Cowboys?"
"Jackaroos, obviously!"
"What about Jillaroos?"
"Even better, Blue, the way they've been playing.
"I like it. We're the North Queensland Jillaroos and we get fucked
over every week. It's a winner. Thousands would turn up every week just
to see them take it up the.."
"What's your feeling on the South Sydney Rabbitohs, Bash?
"I don't get it, Blue."
"I know you don't, Bash, but that's not important right now. What's
your feeling about the Rabbitohs?"
Smart bastard, that Blue. But he did help me out.
"I think it goes back," he said, "to the old days when you
used to have people screaming out "bottle O" and trading bottles.
South Sydney probably had people selling rabbits and calling out "rabbit-O."
I was impressed.
"Well that's good, then, Blue. The Rabbitohs can stay.
"But if we're going to have underground mutton on the menu, we'd better
have that poor man's staple diet – the humble chook.
"But we've already got the Roosters!" Ever the spoiler, that Blue.
"No, Blue, I'm thinking of a team that lays eggs most weekends."
"So it's the Balmain Bantams then?"
"Spot on, Blue. It used to be great when neighbours had chooks in the
backyard. Your dog could always get a feed when you couldn't afford dog
food.
"Bantams it is. Piss off the Tigers monicker."
"Besides, I've been pissed in Balmain heaps of times. I've seen stars,
I've seen spots. I've seen the spinning inside roof of a paddy waggon. I've
obviously seen big bloated pink pigs but I've never seen a bleedin' tiger
in Balmain."
Blue was cooking again.
"The Panthers will have to go, " he said, pausing for a long draught.
"No panthers in this ol' brown land of ours," he mused.
"The Penrith Plovers," I said, quick as a flash.
"Invade our territory and we'll be all over you like a rash!
It was Blue's turn again.
"The St George Dragons will have to go. There's no dragons living in
Sydney."
I reminded Blue that Bronwyn Bishop lived in Sydney and he said the St George
Dragons could stay then.
"But we don't have knights anymore."
"How about the Newcastle Sir James Killens?" I interrupted quickly.
"Sir James Killens?"
"Yeah, Knights on the piss."
"Bejesus, Bash, you love that joke. Gets unfunnier everytime ya tell
it."
I ignored Blue's taunt. More than 15 scotch and sarsaparellie schooners
makes him a bit tetchy.
I went on. "The Magpies can stay but let's make Illawarra new agemen.
The Illawarra Irons. We do the ironing; our wives do the stealing."
Blue had to admit that I had a knack for this nameology stuff.
In fact, I'll stick me shingle up today: Bob Basher Brown – nameologist!
Teams renamed and players' nicknames altered while you wait!
I'm thinking of my first customer right now.
I reckon Oral's the perfect nickname for Ian Roberts and as long as I present
it to him right, he's gonna swallow it for sure.
How about the rhino-like hide of Rupert Mudrake's Super Leekers.
Before the league war started, the Mudrake camp said the ARL could control
any part of the aspect of the game that did not make money.
Now two years later after a series of bullshit negotiations, what's the
Super Leekers fall-back position?
You guessed it, league fans! The ARL can control any aspects of the game
that does not make money.
I'm tickled pink that talks have broken down yet again as we rush this issue
to press.
The ARL boffins need to remember that being partners with Rupert Mudrake
is like going halves in a bloodbank with Dracula.
Cop-u-lata,
The Bash
