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It must be that time of year again. Melbourne are operating with such nasty regimentation that even 7-Eleven and the Soviet Army are offended by their strict working conditions.
I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m prepared to label the Storm as really well-drilled, solidly structured, and any other generalisations that remind you of wearing tan slacks at a risk analysis seminar.
Yep, like death, taxes and Telstra outages, Craig Bellamy’s men are in their usual methodical groove, cutting through the competition’s loose threads like a combine harvester on cruise control.
In an unlikely tick for the concept of totalitarianism, the short-tempered supercoach is again successfully terrifying his men in to a tightly organised unit that wouldn’t dare jeopardise his plans for world domination.
But what is the vital active ingredient in Bellamy’s secret recipe?
It’s a fairly simple and effective method that taps in to the modern footballer’s greatest natural instinct. He encourages them not to think.
Firstly, Bellamy extracts individuality, throws it on the ground and stamps on it, and then replaces it with directions and an ankle monitor.
Then he tunes his charges in to a detailed gameplan so finely rehearsed that their sets can be found on Google Maps, thus resulting in a style of footy that’s as boring as listening to your mate talk about his Supercoach side.
But despite it being predictable, heck it’s reliable. Make no mistake – while you’re sleeping, they are killing it.
No more in recent weeks has the Storm starkly exposed their modus operandi.
Their defence has been stingy, their points have come through pressure, and it’s all been done with such a fastidious level of tidiness that I expected the universe to straighten up Cameron Smith’s diagonal follow-through last weekend by tilting on its axis.
But despite their elaborate matrix of defence, spine, proletarian forwards and Fijian wingers boosting them to the top of the NRL table, nobody is cowering in fear of a po-faced march to stealing the premiership away from it’s rightful home, that being anywhere but Victoria.
Why? Because structures devoid of imagination may take you to the top four, but they won’t take you much further.
Sure, with Cam Smith and Cooper Cronk bringing game management the likes only seen in tough financial times at Manly, right now the Storm are churning through the usual disorganised infantries found in the first half of the season.
As a result, they appear impregnable, like most of their recent years of consistency where they’ve won diddly.
But when opposition teams begin to produce paranormal activity as they approach home, it’s been proven that Bellamy’s style doesn’t stand up much further past the preliminary final stage. And despite all of my slumbering through their workmanlike performances, I’m not seeing anything to convince us this year will be any different.
If I were a fortune cookie, I’d get deep and say the Storm’s greatest strength is also their greatest weakness. They throw effective-yet-predictable daggers that can look like cupcakes come September. Plus they tend to start bricking it when they fall behind, and as a result, they chase points like a mannequin.
So as insistent, consistent and persistent as the Storm are, I’ll put them down for another overachieving final four appearance this year. Yep, I can hear the champagne popping in the south as we speak.
In saying this, despite me casting aspersions on his ability by effectively labelling his side as boring also-rans, I believe Bellamy should be enshrined at Melbourne. I think a fountain would be quite the fitting honour.
The foundations of that organisation are built on his blood, sweat and anger issues. He transforms average players in to bloody-minded troopers, and he’s still got his side humming in 2016 despite the absence of Billy Slater.
His mogul-like methods that have him teetering on cardiac arrest each week are an ornament to the game.
Let’s be honest; the place will probably crater when he leaves.
And there’s no better compliment than that.