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So Stephen Kearney and his selection delegates reckon they want to “build for the future” by “experimenting” with their team for Friday’s trans-Tasman Test?
Well, let me give you some free advice in a disparaging tone, Kearney old son.
By mucking around with your selections for this important match, you’ve also mucked around with the sanctity of Test football. What do you think this is? Your own private Parramatta 2.0?
In these dark days of unpopularity where the global game rocks back and forth in need of a credibility hit, the pointy end of the Test arena is no place for flippant rearranging and a ‘see how she goes’ mentality.
This will be proven tonight when Australia grotesquely thrashes this rag-tag bunch of bad news bros in front of a small crowd with even smaller interest levels. It will be a scene of eye-clawing revulsion to rival the sights under the 2am ugly lights of a regional nightclub, and it will all be the fault of Kearney’s desire to try before he buys.
Let’s not mince words: the coach and his selection boffins have had a Barry. What happened to the sacred nature of Test match football, where you picked the best available players for international duty regardless of form, after-dark proclivities or where they were born?
Sure, pitchforking in a newbie or two is understandable. They’ve got to be internationally coat-hangered at some point, right? But cruelly lobbing six in to the deep end without the calming support of some veteran life buoys? That’s manifestly reckless and a smelly cupcake in the face of all of the great international teams that have gone before him.
It makes me question his ability, his motives and most of all, his sobriety.
C’mon, Stephen. This is supposed to be the jewel in the international crown. The clash of the titans. First versus second. Big brother versus little brother. Where Aussie class and guile meets head-on with an opening 20-minute Kiwi power surge.
Now we’ll be lucky to get even five minutes of fire and brimstone with the lambs he’s sending to the abattoir. Hopefully he gets them to perform the extended Haka and we might get our fill.
Sadly, there’s no amount of valiant spruiking about the Kiwi debutantes’ “fresh enthusiasm” or “youthful exuberance” that will polish this nard. We all know what it will be; the equivalent of a sumo wrestle between Darryl Brohman and Allan Langer.
To make matters worse, the damage of tonight’s eyesore will ripple deeper than the 80 minutes. Have we all heard that the Four Nations is coming up at the end of the year? Are we already desperately grappling for some kind of anticipation for it?
Let’s rate your eager-beaverness with tonight’s lopsided snorefest being the last taste of international footy in your mouth for six months. After being dished up a prolonged tournament of international’s finest’ in the aftermath of the NRL finals euphoria, I can guarantee you won’t be experiencing any personal pandemonium requiring Stilnox.
In saying all of this, contrary to public opinion, international rugby league will not die in front of our eyes tonight. It will just cop a humiliating kick up the bum, thankfully without too many eyewitnesses in attendance.
In all seriousness, the global game has a face like an old hooker’s boot – bashed, oily, mistreated and rather odorous. But also like that tough old piece of leather, it’s weathered a helluva lot over a long period of time and stood to tell its tale – usually around six to eight times per year depending on the obligations of the TV deal of the time.
Thanks to Test footy’s strong foundations built on the fabulous Kangaroo tours of yesteryear, the hideous violence of the grand Pommy teams and the recent occurrences of life-giving Kiwi upsets in major tournaments, world competition still has skin in the game when it comes to the league landscape.
But we must take care; the grand old girl is running as close to the guillotine as she ever has, so we must nurture her like a frightened kitten. The only way to do that is with respect. And cash is good, too.
The honouring of the game’s values starts at the top, and to those at the epicentre of the world game like the Kiwi coach we must say this: Test jerseys aren’t for test-runs. They must be granted to those worthy on each and every occasion, lo that future matches may become like what tonight may be – a dinner date with the missus.
So to Kearney and to anyone else looking to get funky with the game, please put away the dartboard at selection time when your country is on the line.
Otherwise there won’t be a future to build for.