The Hasler hoo-ha: This definitely isn't in the Dogs' DNA

The stout, all-powerful Family Club going to war with itself? Squabbling over money and ostracising a forefather in the public eye while we feast on the merriment of their despair? What the hell is this, the Rineharts?

As pleasurable it has been to voyeur over Canterbury hanging out their dirty laundry this week, it is time for us all to cease the jeering and the closet envy of their trivial hardship.

There are questions that require posing.

Who are these Bulldogs and where have they buried the originals? Why is the sturdiest of empires now conducting business like they’re being advised by the Tigers and the Eels?

Put simply, Canterbury’s fractious business of the past week has been hyper-puzzling. This is because they’ve always done footy so bloody well it’s just downright obnoxious.

Their proud history of minimal doldrums proves this.

With a granite jaw and sustained practice of challenging for the top, it is obvious they covet a boulder-like blueprint that could circumnavigate a pen lid through the Seven Seas.

The Bulldogs mode is to keep contending for finals, keep their army galvanised, keep their brand steely and most of all, keep their grimy affairs where they belong – under the carpet.

Then just keep puffing on them cigars.

It’s the Dogs way, and it’s better than your way. (Click to Tweet)

But something has gone oily of late. For some reason, they’ve adopted the nerve of their lesser peers by approaching situations with the smarts of a truck tyre and the resilience of a shampoo bubble.

This week’s Des Hasler contract circus is the latest in a line of Bulldogs behaviour which is so un-Dogs you’d think they’re pitching for their own reality TV program.

A club historically so stable, sheltered and enclosed its almost subterranean, the club is mirroring the Trump campaign with internal ructions, leaks, ultimatums – and losing.

On the park, 2017 closed flaccidly. Then instead of rounding the wagons as per protocol, they released a bucket of termites through their foundations by dallying on Hasler’s contract and heave-hoeing his support staff.

Further adding to this, the whole saga was underscored by a symphony of Chinese whispering.

Certain club powerbrokers- obviously stupified by a late Spring without full-blown finals fever- were determined to anonymously front the world to broadcast their unsubstantiated opinions on why Hasler ain’t all that.

Then the piece de resistance.

Steve ‘Turkey’ Mortimer – not a typo – sensationally broke ranks to shatter the club’s number one never-before-broken rule; don’t go against the Family Club.

It’s a crime considered so heinous in The Kennel, he cuffed himself as soon as he realised he’d transgressed.

These Dogs are not the Dogs I know. They are not the tight-lipped, siege-craving ruthless bastards I have come to fear and secretly envy.

But despite exhibiting behaviours seemingly indicating they’ve had a mickey slipped in to their Chum, something tells me this isn’t the start of a lasting period of governmental negligence at Bankstown.

Like they always do, the board rallied on Friday night. Sanity prevailed, with Hasler’s 337-game, two-time premiership-winning, 12-time finals-qualifying record just enough to get him over the line for 2017.

So after a mental week of unidentifiable Bulldog brouhaha, everything was business as usual. For the time being, anyway.

In fact, the week’s controversy really only taught us two things.

One, that Mortimer is a sharp self-disciplinarian, and two, that Hasler owns a red SUV that he drives like a jet-ski so get the hell out of the way if you’re both vying for the same parking spot.

Nevertheless, the week will stand as one of the Dogs’ rare grounding moments. A bloody weird one too.

When the Dogs become embroiled in a stink, its never usually about small fry issues like finishing seventh.

It’s mostly some colossal rort that has been systematically implemented to deceive on a grand scale, which they then usually resolve with a premiership.

Ruthless bastards.