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The Roar

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Robinson needs to Nick a settler

Sydney Roosters coach Trent Robinson has copped a huge fine for his spray at the NRL's refs - but he was right about one thing. (Image: AAP)
Expert
18th April, 2014
6

As a record of good behaviour counts for nothing these days, here’s a friendly heads-up for Trent Robinson.

The scratching you hear at the front door of your Eastern Suburbs digs isn’t the howling night breeze, a stray cat mooching for a lamb chop or a bricklaying lock looking for a contract.

What you are hearing for the first time is the evil sounds of the vile and heinous vultures of NRL scrutiny and pressure as they wait to jump you. Plus a Coogee hipster wanting to sell you some organic mud soap.

After three straight losses, an attack struck down with impotency, the lofty expectations for a top-four finish and a crippling Origin period on the horizon, the depraved swarms of negativity are doing their maiden circle around the NRL’s “Mr Perfect”.

After planting a flag at the top of 2013, this year has delivered a few kicks to the gums for Robinson so far. He’s been dished up a flat 2-4 record along with a couple of pertinent life lessons about post-premiership life.

He’s discovered that there’s no perfect bacon and egg roll that can cure a premiership hangover, nor is there a Rick Moranis-commissioned shrinking machine that can reverse the effect of a severely diminished honeymoon period.

While he’s been slaving away over experimental fry-ups and scouring his VHS collection for magical solutions, the pressure has quietly built to the point where it could soon trigger ‘talk’ without a rediscovered mojo post-haste.

To be fair, it should count for something that the Roosters coach has grossly overachieved thus far when it comes to scarecrowing these unholy naysayers. But it won’t.

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By showing the poise and class of a weathered professional in his first year and picking up a handful of trophies in the process, he’s done a terrific job of keeping the haters at bay and the headlines purely about footy.

Any stable prosperity economy would recognise his overflowing bank of credits, but unfortunately, this is the Bank of NRL where the brokers drink scotch at their desk. Fluctuations are always analysed haphazardly, meaning any honest man’s stocks usually ain’t worth diddly.

All of this means one thing after an underwhelming six weeks: unless Robinson’s indigestion is eased with a nice settler against the Sharks tonight, he could be about to discover what life is like as back page burley.

Now I acknowledge that many may say that the train isn’t quite at the panic station for the Roosters supercoach just yet, and to those people I applaud your level-headed reasoning and sobriety.

However, I also implore these people to remind themselves of who Robinson works for.

The Roosters as a footy club have long held a store policy that is broken for no man except Gus Gould. Shop-a-dockets of freebies earned as a successful coach are not recognised here. Keep winning stuff or we’ll call the cops.

The tri-colours disdain for a quiet spring is a guideline that has been shaped and driven by club chairman and sedan peddler Nick Politis, a man who didn’t make his millions of clams by being nice.

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It goes like this: when you’re a winning coach at Bondi, you can call Politis by his cuddly moniker of ‘Uncle Nick’. On the other hand, set an expectation and then suck at your job for one minute while collecting a salary from him and you’ll see why he’s referred to as ‘The Godfather.’

Basically, if the Rooster Don sees you twiddling your thumbs in September, he’ll cut them off proverbially. Then fire you literally.

His whack list speaks for itself.

What about the late great Graham Murray, a man who took the Roosters to a long-awaited grand final appearance in his first year of tenure in 2000?

Just twelve months later, it was deemed that he had gone against the family by overseeing a heavy loss to the Knights in the first week of the playoffs, and it was toodles.

Then there was Ricky Stuart, a man who broke the premiership drought at Bondi in his maiden voyage in to top-line coaching in 2002, before seemingly locking down top office with further successive grand final appearances in 2003 and 2004.

Fast forward through two consecutive years of September Mad Mondays, and he had been ferried out to the backwaters of Cronulla Correctional in the boot of a Lexus and unceremoniously dumped.

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Even club blood isn’t immune. Club stalwart Brad Fittler found himself back on the streets after reviving the sloppy mob he inherited from Chris Anderson in to a 2008 top four team. There wasn’t even a single year’s grace granted for him to stink and he was gone by 2009.

Basically, Politis runs business at Eastern Suburbs as uniformly tight as his clean-slick Pacino side-part.

While Robinson isn’t just yet in requirement of protective custody like the above disposed, he sure would be happy to give up a pinkie or two for a few pumps to the ‘win’ column over the coming weeks. Just to be sure.

But if the hangover can’t be shaken and the high standards maintained?

Not only will he be dealing with the vultures, he might find himself with the full support of the board.

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