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1. “Second row!”
Once upon a time, children, scrums were ‘contested’ by two sets of six forwards, who would bind together, lock horns and push.
The gnarly little toothless troll in the middle was known as the ‘hooker’ – today known as the ‘No. 9’ because he’s often not even in the scrum, much less hooking for the ball – from both scrums would strike for the ball with their foot and be something of a chance of hooking it back for their team given their arcane skill set and the brawling weight of their fellow scrummagers.
If their pack was under the pump, halfbacks would feed the ball under the prop’s feet and straight into the second row – like they do now, except then it was illegal.
And thus, people, incensed – for league fans have always been incensed – would yell ‘Second row!’, and sometimes there’d be a penalty, and sometimes not.
So to cease the ambiguity – damned ambiguity – scrums became rituals and penis-less jokes, and contests for the ball were brushed like a fat boy’s belly lint.
‘Penis-less?’ Yes. Scrums are the eunuchs of world sport. Scrums have no penis.
2. “Would the owner of car licence plate XYZ-123 return to your car; you’ve left your lights on.”
Personalised public service announcements were once a thing at the footy. They’d read out raffle ticket winners, names of lost kids and the scores from other games. It was a cool thing about a day at the footy.
You’d be at Seiffert Oval watching the Raiders and the Sharks and the ground announcer man would be telling you, “Wests 18 lead Manly 6”, and there’d be cheers or groans or whatever.
Once at Seiffert an announcement said a driver had left their car running, and there was laughter. Another time Manly winger John Ribot scored a try and the announcer pronounced his name ‘John Ribbut’, and kids pissed themselves and men snorted KB Lager straight out of their nostrils. Funny stuff.
3. “Gee, I love drinking beer from these plastic cups.”
Plastic? What is doing? Worst material ever. I don’t know – I get that it would be best not to arm idiot drunks with projectiles, but they sell tinnies at Brookvale and Leichhardt and dear sweet GIO in Canberra and there’s not mass frothy mortars being hurled about as there famously was at Lang Park in 1987 when the King was sent off by Mick Stone, but my that was funny.
Anyway, beer from plastic is an abomination. Beer in aluminium – when the revolution comes, so shall it be.
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4. “This referee is having a terrific game.”
Said no fan ever. Even when refs do have a good game they get no credit.
It’s a truly thankless task, and when you’re a kid referee there are idiot parents yelling at you because their little prince didn’t knock it on, it was clearly knock-back, and they can’t just cop it because no-one can cop anything in these modern times. The once coveted ethos of ‘cop it sweet’ is just about no more.
And the things refs cop from people who should know better – players, coaches, pundits – do you know what it means? It means rugby league needs to grow up.
The only people who should be allowed to criticise referees are referees or former referees, and that should be it – from Todd Greenberg to James Graham to the blokes in the stands who bring hot dogs in thermos, no more.
People need to cop it sweet.
5. “Geez, these hot dogs are good.”
Now maybe one’s rose-coloured glasses have misted over with memories of the grouse footy tucker from yesteryear, but hot dogs at the footy did once have onions, mustard, dead horse and a buttered, fresh white bun.
Today’s bain-marie-warmed tucker, not so much.
My mate Dredgey takes his own hot dogs. I met him at the Raiders-Warriors game the other night – he digs these hot pink bad boys out of a thermos, plonks them on fresh white buns and covers them in delicious fried dried onions, dead horse and tangy American mustard. And they were so good it gave you a horn.
6. “I wish this game was on at ANZ Stadium.”
The former Olympic precinct remains as unloved as the traffic you spend hours wading through to pay $20 to queue for a park to watch a game in the atmosphere of the moon. Okay, so maybe not the moon, but ANZ can take a flying nude leap at the moon, it’s a dud.
7. “I wish we were watching rugby union.”
Played in the right spirit, old cousin rah-rah can – don’t laugh – be highly entertaining and perhaps, arguably, better than the best rugby league.
The Brumbies scored a try against the Hurricanes last Friday night that was as good as anything you’ll see in 2017 in any sport, but for most league fans the other code is irrelevant, pointless and just about invisible.
That’s what you won’t hear, but five things you might just hear include:
1. “Get ‘em onside!”
Fans have been yelling at refs to get players onside since men first rushed up on Dally Messenger.
The defensive line is integral to the game. Every play a wall of defenders begins roughly in line with the referee and moves out to meet the attack. Sometimes players stray offside, and sometimes they don’t.
If play-the-ball is on their line or it’s golden point, it’s open slather. Whatever, wherever, there’ll be the same advice to please, sir, ensure those chaps are onside.
2. “Forward!”
The flat, straight short ball is no more. If there’s the barest inkling of a flat, much less forward, pass, there’s mass yelling of “Forward!”, and refs usually agree, because whether the ball was forward or not, it’s safer to call it thus, and it’s because people yell this out. Also, see “Knock-on”.
3. “Are your eyes painted on, ref?”
Notice a pattern, fan? Yes, it’s the poor old Malcolms in the middle, our referees, who are so often being yelled at and blamed for all that ills the greatest game of all, rugby league. You should stop it at once.
4. “All we ask from referees is consistency.”
Which means, “All we ask is perfection”. There has never been consistency in rugby league, ever. There never will be in a game controlled by different and fallible human beings. Consistency is a myth. It will never be.
5. “Whose shout is it?”
One would think the equitable Australian ‘shout’ system of drink purchase among groupings of men – I buy, you buy, Macca buys, and repeat – would be simple enough to follow. Instead, people always ask. Sometimes it’s a metaphorical nudge in the ribs to a slowpoke, but other times people genuinely don’t know. Focus, people! Focus!