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Living in the 70s, rugby league style

Artie Beetson will adorn the Roosters retro jerseys. (Image: Artie Beetson official site)
Roar Guru
28th October, 2015
18
1762 Reads

I went to get my glasses fixed and I’ll be blown over if the optometrist looked young enough to be my son.

As I stewed in the waiting room I came across an old copy of Rugby League Week. This gave me the inspiration to write this article.

So listen up you pampered youngsters because I’m here to tell you about what rugby league was like in the 70s.

As a born and bred Sydney-ite, there was never any question that I would be steeped in the culture of rugby league. We called it ‘footy’ or ‘league’ as there were no fancy names like NRL back then. The only thing we ever envied Victorians for was the name of their footy comp. VFL rolls off the tongue much easier than NSWRFL J.J. Giltinan Shield Premiership.

There were 12 teams, each one representing its own area of Sydney and they played on grounds smack bang in the middle of their districts. There were no nasty ring-in teams from other states. Each team had one jersey. Home or away, colour clash or no colour clash, you knew your own team and didn’t give a stuff what the other team was wearing.

When I started watching it was a four-tackle rule. When it became six was probably when the rot began. Evidently, some of the refs had problems counting past the number of fingers on their hand.

Players had to be back five yards, not metres, and the marker could strike at the ball. Tries (from the French ‘tri’ meaning three, not bloody four) were worth three points and Eric Simms was the undisputed master of the two-point field goal.

Scrums were things of sublime beauty. Rugby league never had the balanced eight-man scrums of union. Dispensing with the two breakaways meant that the scrum became a roiling mass of swirling flotsam, not unlike my stomach after a dodgy curry.

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Hookers used to hook for the ball and very rarely with the feet. Loose arms, dodgy feeds and eye gouges were commonplace. The scrums in those days were debauched cesspits where every vice and wickedness known to mankind was perpetuated.

It’s because winning the ball was only of secondary consideration, the main point being to win a penalty and a shot at two points.

The players worked real jobs during the week. Sure, there were smart fellas but there were a good number of garbologists among them. Yes, they actually had a bunch of blokes that hung onto the side of the truck and when it slowed they would jump off and pick up your metal garbage bin and dump it in the back of the truck while it was still moving.

Cellarman was another occupation that had a disproportionate rate of rugby league players. Moving kegs about all day takes a certain kind of strength. They might not have had the chiselled muscular physiques like they do these days, but those blokes were strong bastards.

Nobody ever tore a bicep back then.

Doorman was a popular job for footy players. One of the joys of getting tossed out of your local leagues club in the 70s was often the bloke doing the tossing was the prop forward from your local team. Many a time you’d hear some bloke saying “mate, before you throw me in the bushes do you mind signing my shirt?”

The game these days is fast and tough but there was a different kind of physicality back then. In the 70s there was a rule that applied in the first ten minutes of every game. There was no mention of it in the official rulebook but it was known as the ‘softening up period.’ During this time, apart from biting and stabbing, it was pretty much open slather.

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The play would generally unfold like this. At a scrum one of the halfbacks would cause a ruckus then jump behind a big forward. Next thing you know the scrum would erupt, players grabbing hold of their opponents by the collar in one hand and swinging like randy possums with the other.

And when it came to unacceptable violence (as opposed to the acceptable variety) the ref wouldn’t pussy-foot around placing players on report or crap like that, he would just would just blow his whistle and point to the sheds.

I remember watching a game at Endeavour Field for the minor premiership between Cronulla and Wests. Cronulla had a bunch of softies such as Paul Khan, Steve Kneen and the Sorenson brothers. The two Wests powder-puffs I remember were Les Boyd and John ‘Dallas’ Donnelly. Let’s just say that one thing led to another and within a few minutes Wests had two players sent off and Cronulla one.

The thing was, that once the softening up period was over, the referees would clamp down on the rough stuff and the play would open up.

The apogee of this legalised violence occurred during the semi-final between Newtown and Manly-Warringah at the Sydney Cricket Ground in 1981. For years Newtown were the skinny weaklings of the premiership. They even had Paramount Shirts as their sponsor.

For some unknown reason they came good in that season. With a group of hard-nosed forwards led by the tricksiest, toughest, cheekiest halfback to have ever played the game in Tommy Raudonikis, Newtown made a spectacular rise from the ashes.

Standing in their way was Manly-Warringah with big Kiwi enforcer Mark Broadhurst in their pack. Broadhurst was a more than decent heavyweight boxer with a New Zealand title to his credit, but that means bugger all in the backstreets of Marrickville.

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Step up Steve Bowden of Newtown, one of those big strong blokes that could lift a horse with one hand. Soon one of the biggest, baddest, rugby league brawls of all time broke out. In the centre of it all was Bowden and Broadhurst slugging it out with the big Kiwi’s face taking the brunt of the punches.

At our house my mother left the room in disgust and as soon as she did me and my brothers jumped off our chairs cheering and shadow boxing. It was an orgy of political incorrectness that left us limp for days.

I’m not sure if the biff ever quite rose (or descended) to those levels again.

I don’t condone that stuff these days but between you and me I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it at the time.

That was footy in the 70s.

My optometrist called me over. “I found out what’s causing you’re problem,” he said.

“I hope so, everything I see has a reddish tinge.”

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“It’s the lenses on your glasses,” he said. “They are rose-coloured.”

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