Ricky Stuart and the Raiders' last crusade

When the curtain came down on the 1994 rugby league season, two things happened.

One, that staple of the a tradesman’s morning-tea, the Winnie Red, was extinguished out of rugby league and flicked from the premiership silverware. Ashes to ashes, butts to butts.

Two, the Canberra Raiders popped the Moet in celebration of the last of their three titles to date.

Twenty years later, your modern tradie has kicked the habit, replacing Winnies with a protein shake and a tuna wrap, and the Raiders are saving the furniture as their season sinks to the bottom of the NRL ladder.

One thing looks as certain as a tattoo sleeve on a labourer – the Raiders will miss the finals for the first time in consecutive years since 1986.

So where to now for the once mighty Green Machine?

After signing a former son from their glory days in Ricky Stuart, there was optimism they had a coach with a feel for the capital and the local produce. Like a desert dowser using a forked twig to unearth the untapped spring, Rick would unleash the well just beneath the surface.

On top of that, they believed that they had a coach with the magnetism to pull in one or two of the game’s stars.

It all seemed logical to those at Canberra HQ, a local lad with coaching experience, a recent affiliation with high profile players through his Origin duties, and the 2002 premiership to boot.

Add water, the soup is in the cup.

But 13 rounds into the season and Canberra are in a rising creek without a paddle, and their boat has a hole in it.

Stuart’s decision to jump ship from Parramatta at the end of last year was surprising, especially when you consider his talk of pride in the jumper, the long road ahead for Parra fans, the three-year plan, blah blah, blah.

Stuart took credit for Parra’s short-lived early success, claiming his trick was to make enigmatic playmaker Chris Sandow ‘happy’. A couple of horrendous pumpings later and Rick was shifting the un-wanted bad press onto referees and his ‘broken’ squad.

At that point, Rick made a beeline to Home Hardware and Office Works and purchased a broom and an over-head projector. It was ‘out with the old and in with the new’ at Parramata. Only problem was the old got mad and the new weren’t coming.

So Chrissy went from happy to sad in the space of a few short weeks.

By the time the final third of the season rolled around, Stuart was pushing a barrow so full up the hill it was bound to tip, so he decided to get choppered off the mountain.

It was the Parramatta club’s fault they couldn’t attract any players, not the coach’s wasn’t it? The old saying of “you must get your back of house in order first if you want your front to work” surely held true?

With Parra’s ordinary roster playing like busteds and its backhouse issues affecting player interest in the market, Rick saw it as an easy and almost rightful decision to leave a burning wreck and join a club that appeared to have most of it going for them. A decent setup, no noise about in-fighting, a large and talented junior base to draw from, and a roster that had made the finals the year prior.

Not to mention the turf where he cut his teeth as a player and drank the Moet on no less than three occasions. It was perfect.

All the pre-season hype surrounding the Raiders’ positive boot camps to Batemans Bay, working for each other and training the house down were ashen memories come Round 9 after back-to-back hidings. Whispers of the old axe and block being dusted off at Raiders HQ started to infiltrate the NRL rumour mills, and it wasn’t even mid-year.

Rick caught wind and acted swiftly.

He reacquainted himself with some old scripture from his days at Bondi, gathered D. Furner and Co. together and preached from the gospel according to Politis. The commandments were digested by the faithful at Canberra Head Office, with a public denouncing of their old, sinful ways in junior development shortly following. The men at the Raiders office were now baptised and converted cardinals in Saint Rick’s new plan to lead them out of the NRL wilderness.

Halleluiah!

Michael Ennis, Josh Masour, Kevin Proctor and James Tedesco were invited to the Capital and came via the angel Ayoub, who organised a tour to see what the new kingdom could offer them.

They sat, broke bread and sipped wine with their would-be new Messiah, only to each shelve the idea once they got back to their respective camps after some of their follow atheists slapped some sense into them.

Praise the Lord!

All of sudden, a seemingly decent club was crying woe, proclaiming it has mega issues attracting players due to the lack of beaches and vitamin D.

The roster that had made the finals in 2010 and 2012 and deemed half capable is now a bumbling bunch that are either over the hill or future recruits for the Wagga Wombats.

I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to see a bit of a pattern form here with Saint Rick.

This season looks a right off and 2015 doesn’t look like it’ll be much chop either. At this point it will be a similar roster minus Anthony Milford. That’s got to be scary if you’re a Raiders fan.

On behalf of the NRL supporters, let us pray.