At some point, we all probably do crazy things in our lives; buy a car with a gasket that’s due to blow, find what we think is the perfect partner until he has one too many beers or maybe have an online rant about the boss believing it’s perfectly justified in the light of a bottle of chardonnay and one reprimand too many. There can be nothing more satisfying than settling back in the weekend, beer in hand and putting on your favourite team and wearing them like a suit of armour, taking a dividend from their on-field success and sticking it in your own little victory piggy bank. But now that chubby little piggy has been turned upside down and gyrated more times than a cocktail shaker at a James Bond convention, the absence of any ceramic rattle indicating that the party has been over for a while. In 2014, a new fullback was named (‘the best fullback in England!’); he was to be the saviour of the club, a man signed on a huge contract who would score tries aplenty. When he eventually left in 2016 with barely a whimper, he was replaced by a man known affectionately as RTS, (‘the quickest fullback in Australia!)’ RTS was complemented the following season to create the holy trinity of the game (‘the best spine in the game!’)/ Despite all the prophetic signings, the team grappled with other cellar dwellers for the ignominy of the wooden spoon.
‘When I die, I want these guys to be the ones to lower me into the grave so they can let me down one more time’ went the internet meme. Black was the colour of the kit and the ashes that remained after a public burning of the jerseys by fans was posted on Facebook. In some quarters it was quietly asked how many partners and spouses indirectly wore the black and blue frustrations of loose fists in the aftermath within the blue collar industrial heartland of the team.
This year no great fanfare, some alterations to the coaching staff were made and the usual post-season player movements that all teams make were enacted like a gypsy day for professional sports people. The disappointments of the previous seasons, while not forgotten, were overshadowed by a lack of expectation on the media’s behalf and other sports stories that garnered more attention.
The first away game was recorded as a win, the first against this team in this distant location in twelve attempts. Heads turned, attention now turning to the first home game of the season. Another win sees the team firmly in the headlights of a now-interested media pack. The third game is won in spectacular fashion, the team now one of only two unbeaten teams. Fans rush to replace the burnt jerseys and buy seats at the next game while police hope for less trade in domestic conflict.
‘Don’t mention the play-offs’ pleads a desperate radio jock.
This could be the year.
Andrew Hawkey
‘When I die, I want these guys to be the ones to lower me into the grave so they can let me down one more time’ went the internet meme. Black was the colour of the kit and the ashes that remained after a public burning of the jerseys by fans was posted on Facebook. In some quarters it was quietly asked how many partners and spouses indirectly wore the black and blue frustrations of loose fists in the aftermath within the blue collar industrial heartland of the team.
This year no great fanfare, some alterations to the coaching staff were made and the usual post-season player movements that all teams make were enacted like a gypsy day for professional sports people. The disappointments of the previous seasons, while not forgotten, were overshadowed by a lack of expectation on the media’s behalf and other sports stories that garnered more attention.
The first away game was recorded as a win, the first against this team in this distant location in twelve attempts. Heads turned, attention now turning to the first home game of the season. Another win sees the team firmly in the headlights of a now-interested media pack. The third game is won in spectacular fashion, the team now one of only two unbeaten teams. Fans rush to replace the burnt jerseys and buy seats at the next game while police hope for less trade in domestic conflict.
‘Don’t mention the play-offs’ pleads a desperate radio jock.
This could be the year.
Andrew Hawkey
No comments:
Post a Comment