The Broncos' bad old days are back

A Wayne Bennett-led Broncos side is relentlessly hole-punching it’s way to yet another grand final appearance. Seriously, have I overslept backwards to the Howard administration? Is this why I’m hankering for a Powers and some Melrose Place?

It appears not. While Heather Locklear’s no longer on the telly, and Powers is only mentioned on poisons info hotlines, Bennett has sadly returned Brisbane to its predictably successful former self.

Damnation! I thought these bad old days were consigned to history, but this feels exactly the same as their chronic prospering from yesteryear that made footy as interesting as listening to your workmate talk about their Supercoach team.

Remember Wayne 1.0 in the first 21 seasons of the Broncos?

It felt like his star-studded side was forever sniffing around the hardware, and that’s because they were. They made six trips to the decider in this time and won the bloody lot of them. It was sheer greed.

Worse still, unlike many southern clubs too cruel to name, not once did they choke at the final hurdle. It was an era of gross hoarding the likes of which rugby league rarely sees outside of the Orr stables.

As a NSWRL fundamentalist who opposed expansion from the get-go, I’ve always struggled to process these two decades. In fact, I was anaemic for days when the establishment decided to include a foreign entity in to ‘our competition’ in 1988.

The Winfield Cup was Sydney’s game, a product to be corrupted and humiliated by the good people of New South Wales only. “Why share the gravy?” I lamented. In my eyes, even Canberra were lucky to be given a start.

Unfortunately, my cries for the game to remain insular and retrograde fell on deaf ears, and when the Broncos consummated their inclusion in to the competition with a maiden premiership within four years of existence… Well, I just took up smoking.

From here, things nosedived.

I endured a recurring nightmare where Steve Renouf planted a winner on my forehead, complete with my legs jerking to coincide with his post-ankle-tap tripping over the tryline. Brad Thorn was always there too, laughing at me while modelling various rep jumpers, while John Plath looked on as he lunged a Camel.

In my search to rediscover functionality, I look back most fondly on the club’s golden period of studious unravelling by Ivan Henjak and Anthony Griffin, those two heroes of rugby league egalitarianism. This has helped me greatly, so much so that I can now smell a mango again without crying.

However, I’m prepared to relapse because the Broncos are baaaaaack.

You can really tell they’ve returned by the gratuitous number of a’s in ‘back’. I’ve included one for each they’ve kicked this year.

In all seriousness, Brisbane’s immediate rediscovery of its mojo unequivocally confirms two things: firstly, Newcastle’s chronic malingering was all them, and secondly, Bennett still remains a black belt in mystical league powers.

Inside the space of nine months and one recruitment spree, his side now mirrors the potential of the 1990s so closely that I can nearly make out a set of Walters brothers. But can the supercoach emulate the golden days and take this new group all the way this season?

My waters – the same ones that have guided me to last place in the tipping comp – tell me this campaign promises more than a cutesy rebound with an honourable-yet-fruitless finale.

They’ve already covered off a couple of crucial September KPIs: success against the Roosters and the Cowboys, highest competition point scorers, biggest losing margin of 11 points, and a defensive display in Melbourne to repel a month’s worth of sets that was bordering on the absurd.

Barring the emergence of any inner-city property portfolios that have changed hands at 1985 rates, Brisbane are certain to secure a supple passage to the grand final with a top-two finish.

And in such close proximity to trophies, Bennett – and anything on his watch – simply can’t be trusted to keep their hands to themselves.

But whatever occurs in 2015, this alarming caper is set to carry on for years.

Darius Boyd (28), Ben Hunt (25), Andrew McCullough (25) and Jordan Kahu (24) are all key position players so young they may nearly outlast Corey Parker. Then there’s Anthony Milford (21) and Kodi Nikorima (21) who are so fresh they may even see off Bennett.

Keep that mango away from me. The bad old days are back.