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Last night’s landfill match at Win Stadium proved once again the Dragons are as potent as a potato gun with the safety switch on.
Their matches have now truly earned ‘appointment viewing’ status. Whenever they play, you make an appointment to have your eyes lanced.
The safety-first 12-8 loss to the Broncos in the sludge was their fifth consecutive loss and 51st consecutive percentage-based borefest, a result which now officially classes them as a clinical tranquiliser on the Medicare pharmaceuticals register.
Despite the wonderful news that this now prices the Saints at $5.50 to pension card holders, it is a miserable result that writes the latest chapter in the club’s unending funk that has their heavily-invested supporters fed up.
The weekly hell of watching their stoned attack is why fans have begun protesting for tactfully-implemented strategic reform. They’re demanding club hierarchy produce a fresh vision that will provide the planks for a better future, or alternatively, a boundless barrage of sackings and poachings.
As a supporter base who wants it all and an extra 15 per cent, following last year’s encouraging season with a catatonic 2016 has them particularly ravenous. As a result, their demands have been wide-ranging and mostly bananas.
Sack the coach and sack the CEO, sack the coach and make him CEO, sack the CEO and make him coach, sack the CEO and move on from Wayne Bennett’s style, sack the CEO and return to Wayne Bennett’s style, and best of all, merge with Cronulla and call the team Cronulla, and while you’re there, sack the CEO.
But to their caterwauling fan-base, here is some advice from someone outside of the club with no vested interest or feel for the organisation’s culture.
Even though you are unsettled by the early stages of irrevocable damage that is slowly playing out in front of you, you should wake up to yourselves.
Any Dragons fans wailing about hardship are simply being greedy and ungrateful. If they can’t see why, here is some perspective on genuine poverty and woe.
Put simply, if Parramatta are the Titanic, the Knights are Krakatoa and Souths are The Bunker, then St George’s predicament is like your Kit Kat becoming stuck in a vending machine.
Compared to the competition of box-office bumbling bonehead boners around them, the Dragons are the soft disaster story of 2016.
Like their Spam sets-of-six, St George Illawarra’s sob story is drearily ho-hum.
Sure, they’re a bit short on cabbage and they’re repellent to free agents. Of course, they’ve got blokes showing more fight on the streets than in the wrestle, and there’s a cultural issue with blokes recklessly caressing NRL staff members. Granted, there’s Benji Marshall on the fifth and last.
But besides this, the bulk of their plot line is about actual football matters, most notably an offensive structure as offensive as a shoe full of Parmesan cheese.
Regrettably, their gripes are just so ‘on-field’ and ‘lawful’, and in this rich climate of elite frippery, it’s simply not up to scratch.
If Saints people want to rattle the tin for charity and win their share of circulating sympathy, the entire organisation needs to show more effort at showing less effort, so eventually no effort becomes effortless. Once reached, that’s where you can really achieve some serious crapola.
Until then, their story will remain about as seriously concerning as dandruff and significantly lacking the dereliction of duty required to invoke change. Seriously, they are operating with a full board of directors. It’s almost laughable.
So to those surly Saints supporters, come back to us when your club attracts intervention from City Hall. Hit us up when your saviour defaults on a pact to go rogue Judas in a leopard print g-string. Ask for a shoulder when Tony Archer begins defending you on a weekly basis.
Pushing for change anytime sooner will be like trying to raise money for eczema awareness. Because this is rugby league, where the benchmark snafus are all-time and nothing changes until things turn totally bacterial.
Unfortunately for them, St George Illawarra’s 12th place, mathematically-alive season dotted with honest defence and the occasional redeeming win does not have the smouldering appeal of full-blown catastrophe.
Due to this, it will not be afforded the back page miles required to arouse a coercive campaign for change, especially while ever Jarryd Hayne continues to scratch his arse almost daily.