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After almost six months of disinterest in most things rugby, except for baiting Hansie, (and providing the very valuable benefit of my gratuitous advice), I decided to break my self imposed exile, and attend a pre season match.
What could be more auspicious, what could make a greater statement, than visiting the lesser foreshore, grace Nedlands with my presence, and watch Hansie's mob play the Western Suburbs Silvertails.
I got there halfway through the second grade trial, which appeared to be a reasonably even match, with nothing and nobody being particularly remarkable.
As the players left the field at the conclusion, I overheard one of the Wests lads, a strapping youth of some 20 summers, tell a mate on the sidelines that this had been his third game of the day. Well, I thought, either he was a glutton for punishment, dreadfully keen, or the numbers were pretty ordinary.
It was at this time that I looked around to see if there was anyone there that I knew, and among the crowd of about 35 fervent supporters and spectators present, the only two I recognised to speak to were Carl Greenwood and Westieman, both of whom concluded that I was a spy, and informed me accordingly, and whilst that was true, it was unnecessarily unpleasant of them to bring it up.
I also looked around for a kindred spirit among the Nedlands supporters, hoping to say hello to Hansie, but neither of them were he.
I did however spot Hodgo and his family. He was kitted out in Wests gear, and I thought I would have the opportunity to see him play, but regrettably his mobile phone rang, he answered it, saying "yes" an inordinate number of times, then left, not to be seen again for the rest of the afternoon.
The first grade game, played over two twenty minute halves, was revealing. It revealed to me that the new Wests hooker from Mindaroo was a class act, although inexplicably he was playing on the openside flank.
Their number 8, a new player, not known by the Wests heirarchy, (according to them) was sensational. Whenever he got the ball in hand he drove straight into Nedlands, spreading their players left and right, and making 30 or 40 metres each time, even scoring a try along the way.
I was informed he walked in off the street, being a great mate of AJ Alitimu (also present but not playing, I knew it was him because he was the only player with his name printed on the back of his singlet - must save on lost singlets).
Wests also had a nippy and elusive 5/8 and a hard running centre with a good step on him. The big bearded prop, whose father played for Otago, (O'Loughlin?) was pretty useful too.
I'm afraid there's not much I can report on Nedlands - their defence was occasionally good, although pretty much ineffective against Wests number 8, but they didn't have any of their three Mindaroonies playing, and that may have made a big difference.
Their gangling blond lock did OK, but their scrum pretty much got smashed, and their lineouts proved that they hadn't practiced that facet of play this season.
The dreadlocks guy tried hard, and had a couple of good runs up the middle, but overall it was a below parr effort, even for a scratch match.
Final score was Wests five tries, Nedlands one.
Full credit for effort from both sides. One thing I (begrudgingly) have to admit, both these clubs instill pride in there players, and though the standard and fitness wasn't quite there, the willingness to give it their best shot was.
Glad you made it back to the Rugby Fulvio.
I hope that your attendance and reports will become frequent this coming season.
Exile
Port Macquarie
"Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and nasty place and I don’t care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard ya hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done! Now if you know what you’re worth then go out and get what you’re worth. But ya gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers saying you ain’t where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody! Cowards do that and that ain’t you! You’re better than that!" - Rocky Balboa
You could've come & said hello, mate. Now I've read this I'm slightly gutted.
Sorry, didn't see you, Ecky.
The ref for the main game was a tall youth who I've seen around before, but clearly wasn't you.
I was on the sideline watching the 3 refs. Right at 1/2 way between the two team camps. Except when it rained. Then I wussed out to the clubhouse for a few minutes.
Never mind - I expect our paths shall cross again.
(There were two refs "waxing" each 20 min session: ref 20, rest for the next, then back on)