You know that feeling that
you get when you wake up in the middle of the night, covered in a cold sweat
following a nightmare, a horrible nightmare that involves the fucking Cronulla
Sharks versus the Melbourne Fucking Storm in the fucking Grand Final and you
still aren’t sure if Cronk got that ball down, and then you fall asleep again
and you dream that you’re Edrick Lee and your hands have been replaced by
paddles?
Yeah, I’ve had that feeling
for a week now.
So here
we are, with the Sharks v the Storm in the big one. The Sharks completely overwhelmed the Cowboys
last week, giving the North Queenslanders a pantsing that will probably take them
a while to recover from. Many people
claimed that the Cowboys were still recovering from their frantic extra-time
win from the week before, but those people are dribbling fuckwits. If a team of professional athletes with
access to the best trainers and conditioners in the country are still tired
from doing a 90-minute workout instead of an 80-minute one seven days previous,
they should be kicked out of the NRL and shot into space. To their credit, the Sharks did play pretty
well, and kept the Cowbs on the back foot, backed by a huge amount of
possession that they haven’t had since Stephen Dank was working for them.
Melbourne,
on the other hand, limped home against a Raiders side that will still be
kicking themselves (and Edrick Lee) for fucking up too many opportunities,
although the turning point was the sin-binning of perennial numbnut Jack
Wighton, who managed to stop a runaway Marika Koroibete (which was good), and
then held onto him for as long as it normally takes him to tie his shoelaces
(which is about eight minutes on a good day).
I don’t have a problem with the decision to sit the muffin down for ten
minutes, but it probably would have been a better result if, you know, he didn’t
get sent off. He probably could have
just let the guy score and stayed on the field.
It might have been better for the team.
Just
sayin’. Poor old Simple Jack. One day, life will make sense to you.
Get used to this sight - Edrick Lee on the bench |
So what about this week?
SHARKIES VS STORMIES
Last week, the Storm wingers made a total of two runs which
were not harmless hit-ups, dummy-half runs or kick returns. The Raiders wingers
made sixteen. That pretty much sums up the difference in style, but at the end of the day
the Storm won and that’s what matters. People may not like how they play the
game (everybody), but the Storm play it better than anyone.
Cronulla are playing the more attractive and more effective
style of league right now, which pains to me say. Like really, I have a weird pain in my left
nut just thinking about them winning a premiership. I don’t like Gallen, I don’t like Maloney, I
don’t like Mick Ennis and I can’t fucking stand the Cronulla fans. Do you get a Southern Cross neck tattoo, pair
of Von Zipper sunglasses and a bumbag with every ticket to Shark Park these
days?
The best case scenario is that the Storm win and then get
stripped of their premiership (again) following another salary cap
investigation.
Grand final drinking game
Drink every time Gus Gould whinges about a refereeing
decision and goes on about it for the next ten minutes.
Drink when Gus Gould complains about the referee’s use of
the bunker.
Drink when Paul Gallen takes a harmless hit up on the
fourth tackle. Have another if it’s
within 20 metres of the try line.
Have a drink whenever there’s some fucking loose unit in
the crowd doing a shoey.
Drink whenever Jarryd Hayne is mentioned.
Drink whenever Melbourne are described as “clinical”
Drink every time a player feigns injury to slow the game
down for the opposition.
Drink when Gus Gould describes a player as being “out on
his feet.” Have a double if it’s the
whole team.
Drink for every forearm to the face that you see. Good luck on Monday.