- Video
-
Club Roar
Captured a great grassroots sporting moment? We want to see it!Content Collections
The Roar Community
- Join
- Login
When it comes to creating creamy dreamy grand final showdowns stacked with subplots and acrimony, we are all owed a debt from 2013.
Rolling in to last year’s finals, there was a traffic-halting fixture for supremacy that was on track to eventuate and blow our minds at season’s climax. It was the Stinky Rich Roosters versus South Sympathy Rabbitohs, and after a year of dominating all-comers, all signs pointed to these two t-boning on grand final day and producing a multi-faceted dish of the highest order.
Finally it was going to be sorted. Besides rights to the year’s big ornament and the chance to sing derogatory chants about the losing opponent, one solitary match would answer the eternal questions relating to the two clubs and their history.
Who stole who’s players? What wanky seaside suburbs belonged where? And who did Terry Hermansson’s heart actually lie with?
It’s age-old conjecture and it was ready to manifest in a contest of first against second, good against evil, haves against have nots and Sonny Bill Williams against Jason Clark.
The whole thing was going to be blue ribbon bust-ups on a stick, and while not everyone had skin in the game, it couldn’t be denied that it was the combination that was going to pack the heaviest punch come grand final day.
So for the fans of the respective sides, plus the boozehound neutrals who wanted something to keep the party-goers awake after their grand final day lunch, things were looking good with Souths riding high at 14-0 in the first preliminary final. The dream was on track- how could it be blown from here?
Unfortunately though, like most things in modern rugby league, the whole thing was stuffed by Manly. They stormed home to leave Hermansson confused and The Burrow flooded with tears, and the rest is history. The famous rivalry’s turn on the biggest stage was told to nick off and come back next year- if you’re good enough.
So with next year being now and the two clubs waiting towards the front of the line again, the big question is this: will we be getting last year’s gift a year late? Is it still the same sparkling gift as last year? Or did anyone keep the receipt because we don’t know if we even want this gift anymore?
I switched on the telly on Thursday night to watch the two hate-filled step-brothers go at it again, curious to see if the hairs stood up on the back of my shoulders. I wanted to see if the gripping nature of the contest still stood up at the business end. I also wanted to see if Jared Waerea-Hargreaves was going to clock somebody- but that’s not odd, I do that weekly.
Come full time, I was just bloody confused- but in a good way.
The game had the potential to be a fizzer after 65 minutes on a night where archetypal pro-Chookery was wall-to-wall.
With the home crowd moisturised after the emotional send-off for Anthony Minichiello, plus the return of the Hastings name to the famous jumper, the hosts seemed morals to scoop the whole thing at 22-2 to the good. At this point, the chances of the famous contest being a big ticket affair were gasping for air.
Thankfully though, as if knowing this article was to be written and that it needed all the help it could get, Souths sprung to life and turned on 14 unanswered points in as many minutes to spark a grandstand finish.
Of course the Rabbitohs did not prevail, but there was enough in their final dash to realign the psychological seesaw and leave both coaches with plenty to ponder. I was perplexed, the coaches were perplexed, and the contest was back to parity thanks to fifteen mad minutes.
In my opinion, as a man who loves seeing the Roosters win trophies and the Rabbitohs lose them, I believe this is still the contest that will capture the most interest on the big day, not to mention cause the most drunken boxing bouts. However, I’m sure there are many out there who will have designs on having a big say in a different outcome. Most likely referees.
If it is to be Souths and Easts, then I reckon its chances hinge on the interest levels of two men- Mitchell Pearce and Greg Inglis.
Sure, after a performance that was so hot it should’ve been backed with a saxophone, picking Pearce as a potential dangerman is going for the low-hanging analytical fruit. I acknowledge this.
However, the truth of the matter is that he’s been sumptuous for a good month now, and his year overall has been sharp, focused and seemingly spent at home during Happy Hour. If he keeps up his brand new all-action running game, he could carry his team all the way.
As for Inglis, once again it’s a simple call to make, but I make it for this reason; judging by his roping-in by Pearce after streaking downfield on Thursday night, my incisive medical nous tells me he’s carrying some kind of injury. I know this by a) his lack of usual acceleration in the top end, and b) because my medical encyclopedia on fullback leg speed states that ‘those thingos for running are experiencing issues if you get roped-in by a halfback’. It’s a stable diagnosis.
At full strength and full speed, we know Inglis can break the game open for his team on the big stage, but should he continue to be at an output where he can be mowed down by midgets in open spaces, Souths may come up a few shandies short.
Yes, there is a multitude of bridges to cross before we get to this stage, with plenty of other title aspirants and timekeeping blunders that could affect its chances. But the dreamers can only hope.
Now over to my beloved Roarers. With Manly spluttering and a chasing pack of unreliable also-rans, is the Rabbitohs versus Roosters your pick for the creamy dreamy grand final of 2014? Or do you think they should just get stuffed and give someone else a go?