Observations of the Beastly Careless

 

Should pint-size nymphette Miranda Kerr ever venture to the Apple Isle, she will undoubtedly cast a bigger shadow across the state than that left by the rugby league football code.

Sure, that statement may see me excommunicated from the hallowed realms of Making The Nut, but it pales into insignificance given what’s to come.

So, in the spirit of notable pariahs like Fidel Castro, Joe DiMaggio and Sinead O’Connor, I’ll push on.

The annual State of Origin contest, that three-legged beast pitting Cockroaches versus Queenslanders, takes place on my television screen almost every year.

Once I actually attended, but the blur of blue and maroon that flashed before my drunken eyes that fateful Melbourne night in 2009 remains as forgettable as any other Origin I’ve watched.

What is it that captivates the hearts and minds of league people the world over? More to the point, what’s with the hordes of hangers on that feign interest in the sport for three Wednesdays a year?

I for one will stick to my guns. I’m not a league lover week-in nor week-out. I’m not necessarily a knocker, either. I’m just trying to make my apathy clear to you blinkered mugs out there who harbour what I consider an unnatural fixation.

The broadcast of SOOII was relatively painless, I’ll admit. I can appreciate an almost error-free game of football and lashings of guts and determination as much as the next bloke. Sure I’d have loved more points, as would anyone who took the overs on total points scored in the match.

But the spectre of sports betting aside, it was another ‘B’ word that leapt off Phil Gould’s over-worked tongue and hung in the air pre-match at the Olympic stadium.

BELIEVE

The Blues just had to believe.

As did we at home – even the slightest shadow of doubt from the comfort of my couch would be enough to throw the NSW outfit off kilter. It’s true if Gus says so, right?

Pity for Gus was that as soon as he was given the chance, he promptly stopped believing in the Blues. He stopped believing in Jamie Soward and his penalty kicking ability, to be exact.

Soward did miss his only kick of the night, to be fair, but Gould had taken all of 13 minutes to make mincemeat of his own pre-match mantra.

And that was enough to make me think he’d only said it to add a dash of melodrama to the otherwise mundane.

He needn’t have bothered.

It took two minutes for NSW captain Paul Gallen to add a touch of the dramatic by accusing the referee of cheating and not too much longer for the first ‘high shot’ of the night, a dramatic act if only for Ray Warren’s uncanny ability to elevate his voice through the octaves, no doubt gesticulating wildly in the process.

Alongside Warren, Peter Sterling confirmed the tackle as “above the limit”, which, presumably, lies somewhere between the bridge of the nose and the forehead.

This alone is a pointless consideration given that most leaguies sport noses that have become one with a protruding brow given years of what Snorky might term ‘marginal’ tackles. But I digress.

Real ‘excitement’ was to come before long with a Cameron Smith try labelled as ‘soft’ by the commentators as they watched replays to confirm the grounding. Try disgustingly soft.

(While on the subject of video referee decisions, am I alone in wishing there was a feed from the referee in question explaining his decision? It’d make for better listening than the commentary team acting as judge, jury and executioner. Hell, why not get Sly Stallone to reprise his role as Judge Dredd for Origin video ref duties? He’s just been made a member of the International Boxing Hall of Fame and I’m sure he’d make an equally fitting monument to the game of rugby league if given the chance.)

Luke Lewis countered minutes after Smith’s score, but if either of the Queensland defenders nearby bothered to attack the ball in the air, the Blues may well have stayed at nought for the half.

Yep, Billy Slater has got some mad skills marking with his arms outstretched, Gus, but it’s not worth a pinch of shit when he fails to leave the ground.

As the first half drew to an end with Queensland holding a slender lead, my namesake in the commentary box obviously found his mind wandering to other sporting pursuits: “Thoughts of Flemington… we’re live into Melbourne, live into Victoria,” he said.

What about Tasmania, Rabs? Never placed a bet on the Mowbray pacing?

The second half, I imagine, will become one of NSW folklore. Queensland failed to score and they failed to stop the debutant in the corner.

Young William Hopoate gave the men in maroon the proverbial finger, but in a slightly more refined way than his old man may have.

With growing fatigue, errors started creeping in during the second stanza, none more telling than that committed by NSW replacement Anthony Watmough, inches from the Queensland line.

Some might call it a ‘brain fade’, but that implies far more than I'm willing to give him credit for. I prefer to think of it more as a momentary flickering of the kerosene lamp that presumably illuminates the dark recesses of Watmough’s cranium.

With time ticking down, finally an exchange from the commentators I was comfortable with.

Warren: “We’re now midway through the second half.”

Sterling: “Which means we’re into the final quarter.”

Thank you for translating to AFL speak for people like me, Sterlo. And I’m glad to know you’ve got such a firm grip on the concept of fractions, too.

Seconds became minutes as the Blues pushed on and Greg Inglis twice spuffed chances to streak clear and win the series for the Maroons.

People in blue wigs roared themselves hoarse and Gus began to believe again.

Anthony Minichello must barely have believed his luck at going over untouched beside the posts to seal the deal.

Queensland fans didn’t want to believe he’d done so.

I can hardly believe I watched the whole thing without once checking in on proceedings in the Masterchef kitchen.

Fittingly, and because I think it’s the way his ego would want it, I’ll leave the last word to Mr Gould.

“Does footy get any better than this?” he asked as the clock ticked towards full time.

Check in at the MCG on the first Saturday in October and see for yourself, Gus. I believe it does!