To plagiarise Kerry O’Keefe, ‘When George Rose is going well, rugby league is going well.’
It’s not incidental that Rose’s only appearances in the St George jumper coincided with the Dragons’ run of seven straight losses.
Should the Dragons miss the top eight, it will be all they deserve for neglecting the finest figure in the game.
Forget the sculptured, gymnasium-chiselled identikit front-rowers every club has.
Rose looks like a front-rower should look, plays like a front-rower should play.
He embodies the figure and spirit of the late, great George Piper, who for some will always remain the finest exponent of the bargers’ art.
As his media appearances have shown, Rose is a man of taste, refinement and distinction.
Humorous, self-deprecating, modest to a fault, principled, generous of spirit, insightful – that is the Rose we know.
Forget the pretty-boy, flashy steppers.
The NRL should make wee George the face – and body – of rugby league.
There are those among us who would pay just to watch George in full flight.
Who would be in a George Rose XIII?
Chris Sandow is the obvious halfback. Is there a greater entertainer in the game? The player who not only keeps the opposition but his teammates guessing.
Will we get five minutes of inspiration or five minutes of insurrection? He’s on the field but is he playing tonight?
What a character.
The NRL should pay Sandow’s salary, give him a roving commission to join the annual wooden spooners and give the team six competition-points start to compensate for the entertainment ahead.
And it should bring back the Sandow shoulder charge. The game’s not the same without it and since he only comes up to opponent’s navels, the worse that can happen is a few broken ribs.
That’ll bring the crowds back to rugby league.
Josh Dugan is the closest in running style to Graeme Langlands, Roger Tuivasa Sheck may be the matchless stepper but James Tedesco is fullback for the sheer joy he has in breaking the line.
Semi Radradra is one wing and though Pat Richards, Akuila Uate, Josh Mansour, Edrik Lee and Marika Koribete all have claims, the smiling wrecking ball Manu Vatuvei goes on the other flank.
Michael Jennings and James Roberts define the old-fashioned pacy, elusive centre – and so does the treacherous Jamie Lyon.
Parramatta fans might will Lyon to break a leg every time he plays and he’s not flashy in the Jennings-Roberts way, but he has more than just every physical skill available to the born footballer.
He always makes the right decision – where to run, when to kick, when to pass, where to be – in a fraction of a second.
Lyon has so much football intelligence, he could start his own supermensa group.
Blake Austin gets a start because he is such a non-structured enthusiast, playing what’s in front of him and with the attacking skills to match.
Shaun Johnson and Benji Marshall are obvious choices, the former in his prime and the latter with regular reminders of what he was like in his prime.
Aaron Woods, the free spirit having fun in the toughest area of the game can join George in the front row.
James Segeyaro, another free spirit full of on-field joi de vivre, can be dummy half, just beating Issac Luke and Michael Ennis, who can be on the bench to come on in any forward position.
David Taylor answers to the name Enigma. He has more talent in one substantial little finger than an entire opposing pack of forwards, but his multiple skills are seldom released.
When he hangs up the boots, Taylor might have sent an entire team of coaches into despairing early retirements because they couldn’t release the true Dave.
Martin Taupau picks himself.
He is the aggressive, ruthless, pitiless warrior without peer. Taupau plays as though he receives one instruction before taking the field – kill.
The roly-poly James Graham has stepped out of a touring Great Britain team of the sixties and the George Piper era.
Graham doesn’t so much run as employ a leaning half-stagger. He looks like he’s about to collapse after every burst and tackle, yet plays almost 80 minutes every game.
He’s the one chasing a runaway winger the length of the field when his backs are way back.
Appearances can be deceptive. Graham’s a freak.
Feleti Mateo is a freak too, with basketball skills he sometimes employs with discretion. Andrew Johns is one admirer in awe.
But like Taylor, Mateo might supply a ward of coaches in a retirement home. When he’s on, few provide as much pleasure.
Shannon Boyd might well plan to study for a Ph D when he retires. It’s just that the Canberra forward has the priceless “me Shannon, me prop” look on the charge.
What a team – and you wouldn’t want to spoil the individuality by having them train.
George can give a dressing-room team talk, and here’s the x-factor.
The inspirational Mark Tookey can be the water boy, relaying the coach’s tactics while George is having a spell.
Another x-factor? FuiFui Moimoi to make a full-on, leave-nothing-in-the-tank, five-minute, two-burst appearance.
It is a roll-call of champions not seen since the immortal Parramatta third-grade premiers of 1964.
Who plays what position? Who wins? Who cares?
They’ll bring the crowds back to rugby league.
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