And here it is, ladies and gents - this is what the whole season boils down to: The Motherfucking Grand Final, bitches. I'm writing this on my phone, so I apologise for formatting and stupid fucking auto-correct that keeps changing whatever I type to the word "shirt." It''s really passing me off.
Unfortunately, it has boiled down to a contest between the Sydney Roosters and the Manly-Warringah Sea Eagles. Now, I'm not saying that these teams aren't worthy of being in the granny , all I'm inferring is that these teams maybe aren't the most popular teams in all the land, and interest in the biggest game of the season is possibly the lowest it has been since... well, since the last time they played each other. I mean,fuck, the only way people could give less of a shirt about it is if the Gold Coast Titans were playing Penrith.
It is, however, an apt end to the week, which began with the presentation of the Dally M medal to the player voted the best throughout the season. In the end, Cooper Cronk got his hairy, sweaty palms on the award, which once again brought the game into disrepute, especially considering that Todd Carney and Jonathan Thurston were tied for second place. Who the fuck is voting for this nonsense? Obviously Cronk, Carney and Thurston 's mum's have their fingers in some pies, because none of those idiots should have even been invited to the Dally M, let alone consider winning it.
Who should have won, I hear you ask? No one. They should have written this year off and pretended that it never happened. Or given the award to me.
THE GRAND FINAL WOO
To really show the game off, and reward the spectators and supporters for continuing to follow the game through thick and thin, drug allegations, assault charges, sexual misdemeanors, public drunkenness , DUIs, players quitting clubs, coaches being fired, Twitter abuse and interviews with Geoff Toovey, the NRL have their finger right on the pulse, and have organised Tricky Martin to perform at the Grand Final. Because nothing says "rugby league" like a gay, Spanish pop star singing his latest dance track that sounds like his previous eighty dance tracks that weren't successful.
I think it's time for the NRL and Channel 9 to stop giving each other reach-arounds in terms of providing "entertainment" for the toothless masses, and look a bit further than the plethora of shithouse talent shows on the network and maybe do a bit of market research to find someone a bit better suited to sing at the games and Footy Show extravaganzas. I'm just not sure that Mr R. Martin would poll too highly on the typical NRL fan's list of "dickheads I'd like to see at the Grand Final." Just get Barnesy and Farnsey every fucking year. Can't go wrong.
Roosters vs Fucking Manly
Well, you have to go for someone, right?
Look for Mitch Pearce to provide his usual display of awesomeness, and do absolutely nothing for the full 80 minutes.And that, dear readers, will be the highlight of the match. That, and seeing Brent Stewart cry.