The Roar
The Roar

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Rugby league's lack of love for the Central Coast

25th June, 2015
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Should the Gold Coast Titans be rebranded as the Gold Coast Bears?
Expert
25th June, 2015
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Come Sunday, professional rugby league and the Central Coast will reunite again. Once hot and heavy, they are now a loveless couple who wistfully go through the motions, clinging to the last shards of a fragmenting union just for the benefit of the kids.

As I watch on, my heart bleeds as Jesus weeps and Singo cries. What happened to this potential lifelong romance?

The NRL and the Coast once had a great future on the cards, and I for one had true belief in its possibilities, a rarity in this day of expedited nuptials and dial-a-divorce.

It feels like only yesterday that the region was seemingly the first cab off the rank for the next tentacle of expansion, and now it’s just a province ransacked of juniors by thieving Sydney clubs, degradingly pacified by the occasional coaching clinic and a dwindling handful of relocated fixtures.

Frankly, I can’t believe the hollow shell of a union I see before me, especially after what I envisaged years ago in the heady days of the game’s rapid sprawling.

I firmly believed the NRL and the Central Coast were tailor-made to shack-up because they’ve always had what they both desired. For the game, the region had its exponential growth, unconditional love for league and a culture of attendance, while for the region the game brought footy. It was made to order.

In addition to this, every single other important factor stacked up too. They lived close by, they shared the same ideals and they both could pay their own way. Both families agreed; they were bound to meet eyes across the room and eventually get naked together all for our voyeuristic pleasure.

With a power-couple existence beckoning, they got down to business. Big promises were made, and next thing you know they were necking fervidly in public and steaming up the windows as they hurtled inevitably towards becoming the sport’s next ‘it’ couple. Grouseness was anticipated.

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Fast forward 20 or so years though, and things have headed south, but not in the good, honeymoon way.

The marriage has been neglected and the libido stalled. The locals don’t flock with their usual reliability and the Bears are now a billion-to-one to get off the ground. Despite a couple of visits a year, rugby league doesn’t seem to call as much as it used to.

All’s left is an empty, soulless house they promised to share together – now left behind as a symbol of an abandoned affiliation – and Greg Florimo.

It’s unsure why the relationship has thawed, but the people on the Coast think it could be because the NRL is still embarrassed about the kinky night it tried to get experimental with the Northern Eagles and those promises it made in the throes of passion about the Bears.

Whatever the reason, it’s ugly and should be shielded from the kids. After years as a footy stronghold, one with the gumption to endure the laser removal therapy required to fade the regret of the joint venture, the region has become so brassed-off with the game that they are questioning a love once so deep it couldn’t be extracted by Excalibur. And how do I know?

I don’t have any incisive numbers about participation or memberships or sales of balls, because that stuff is for legitimate debaters. What I do bring is six years as a ratepayer in this fine constituency and a knack at recognising a vibe, and I think I speak for everyone here when I say the joint feels treated these days like nothing more than a rugby league booty call.

Spiralling from potential franchisee to yearly piecemeal games that have gradually wavered from a peak of five per year between 2007-10, the line of thinking is that the game takes the area for granted. I could be wrong, but I have seen people playing soccer up here. That has to tell you something?

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The locals are a hardy, forgiving and unselfish bunch, but they’re also not stupid. They’re resigned to the fact that the Bears won’t be happening, so what about throwing them a regular, reliable number of games per year? And by this, I don’t mean the occasional training camp or Tooth Cup match, I mean real television footy. Can it happen?

We know the Roosters have signed a five-year agreement to play once annually in the area with a commitment to spread the word by pressing the flesh and kissing babies with regular visits, but as admirable as this is, it’s simply not enough to satiate the gnawing hunger or quell the threat of the whole place telling the game to stick it altogether.

Why not put it in the constitution that a minimum of seven games be played at the Central Coast Stadium every year? Meet halfway with the clubs involved and allow them to take their games against interstate teams up the M1, the ones that pull a rank gate at home anyway, and pop them a few dollars so they don’t spit the dummy?

Why stop there? What about creating a specific stadium membership package for the locals? And even just giving me free tickets and hot dogs too?

Take out the part about me and the freebies, and the NRL has a viable, hurriedly-constructed plan for repairing a fractured relationship with one of its most dedicated fan-bases.

Can you imagine losing touch with a region home to great names of league like Eadie, Orford, Hasler, Fairleigh and Singleton? The place deserves better, so throw the Central Coast a bone. Revive a famous romance.

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