I’ll go one better than Daffyd, Tony 😛 – I had Kevin Junee sell me a pair of high cut aspiring-front-row-prodigy boots, at Mick Simmons in George Street, Haymarket, not long before he finished with Easts. I recall his happy smile. 🙂

More importantly I commend you on this article, which I spotted when it appeared and only now had time to read and appreciate it. You drew some fabulous responses from old blokes who had seen and admired them both. I’ll add that Eric Simms, then and now, is the epitome of nature’s gentleman. I saw all of his career (as a Souths man) and both he and Lummie were unassuming, able and reliable. The fans loved them.

As for Les Johns – I remember him mostly as an exciting player in attack and reliable in defence. He came from nowhere to challenge the knights of the rugby league realm – Golden Boots and the Mayor of Parrammatta – which was unthinkable!

A lasting memory other fellas here would have is how, when Les¹ was taking a kick at Belmore Oval, especially towards the northern end goal posts, passenger trains passing along the embankment beyond would slow to a crawl to await the result!

¹ Any kicker actually but I will honour Les! 😁

I commend you, Rhys Bosley, for speaking out against this disgraceful attack on a faithful servant of the game.

Brad Thorn is, by any measure, an admirable young man who has driven himself to succeed and who has used his time well.

Robbie Deans and Todd Blackadder accommodated him readily at the Crusaders, Jamie Joseph at the Highlanders, as did England forwards coach Richard Cockerill when he had Leicester, Joe Schmidt at Leinster, and guru Bennett at the Broncos for nine years and the Kangaroos. Not a word of criticism from them. Nothing adverse from the two most successful All Black coaches either.

He finished playing and wasted no time starting the next bit, in subordinate coaching roles … and playing a couple of matches to make up the numbers. There was no surprise in that.

Thorn had spoken readily years before about his Christianity – that made him no different to Sir John Kirwan, Sean, Keven, Rodney, Bakkies, Liam, Sir Michael Niko … . In the absence of dirty grubby tales people had to start making stuff up.

There is a bloke here, for example, who has written scores of posts about his hypocrisy as a New Zealander wanting to coach Australia, and as an Australian wanting to coach New Zealand. That poster gets quite confused and hysterical. 😛 😛

There are others who are quite astonished that Brad Thorne(sic) has not selected a player they assert, for 4 years now, should be selected. How rude is he?! It’s his bias and hatred and prejudice, clearly it must be. But.

The internecine warfare that is Australian rugby lurches clumsily about in reverse, as always and, on this occasion, it is Brad Thorn’s fault. 😂

Another fine treatise from you Peter, on a worthy subject. Sheek names the other four No 8s we have had, the room agrees, and that Mark Loane was at a superior level.

In explaining the purpose and import of the pursuit of excellence to young graduates in civil and structural design I use an anecdote attributed to Mark Loane.

Evidently a recent selection to the Wallabies arrived at an official function drunk and dishevelled. Loane summarily dismissed him with “Mediocrity ships me!” A man would be afraid to show his face again until next season!

To Sheek: Sally Loane was of New England rural aristocracy, intelligent, educated and measured, the only ABC media operative worth hearing in the past 30 years – they booted her in 2005 when they discovered her conservative wrong-think. She served on the board of NSW Rugby for 7 years.

Charisma. That was Jack.

Walking into the propeller at Kingsford Smith, pithed after a day watching the Swans with his mates from Belmont area, was the greatest shock to us all (there was one more, later). He was in his early 30s and on top of the world. Handsome blonde Jack and his gorgeous wife Jackie had it all before them, with their two infant children – another 20 years of pursuing majors.

Already he had finished just behind the best in the world – Seve Ballesteros, Tom Watson and the greatest man, Jack Nicklaus. He and the “rat pack” were enjoying great success and golf was on a roll in Australia, founded on their fame, Bill Dunk’s successes and so on. Sir Kerry was putting a fortune into the game via The Australian course and the Australian Open, with Greg Norman at the peak of his powers the pair of them were a formidable team who served the game here marvellously.

The rat pack – Ian Stanley, Bob Shearer, Stewart Ginn, Rodger Davis and Newton enjoyed their lives together, a lot! … gurgle, gurgle, gurgle. 😁 😁 … and played well, a bit like John Newcombe and Tony Roche now and then fitting a winning doubles trophy into their busy social and business calendar.

Graham Marsh and David Graham were independent, and Greg Norman was not invited – too serious, Queensland, too young, American accent. Stanley died in ’18 and Shearer last January.

The second great shock was what Jack did next. The physical recovery was nigh impossible, the psychological recovery was beyond the powers of any ordinary man.

Jack got up off the canvas and boxed on, for 40 years, in course design, commentary, golf promotion, writing, establishing a junior golf foundation, and an annual charity tournament which featured the who’s who of politics, commerce, sports and entertainment, raising funds for a charity or several. He found the time to retrain and play with one arm, off 12.

His wife was with him for every part of it. His now adult daughter is a stunner just like her mother – she plays as a professional, his son had some time playing with the Newcastle Knights and has gone on to qualify and work in a club management role. Family is all.

I am aware Graeme Hughes of the Berries has lent his support from early on, using Talkin’ Sport radio program – a good man that one!

On ya Jack, that was a good round you played, eh?

Marvellous stuff that, recognised personally by the Queen and, later, by a thoughtful younger generation. I am delighted that you recall the engine exhibit.

Thanks for responding Tim, now be well, take good care.

“My father was the architect and founder of Questacon”

Well now, they should have hoisted Professor Mike Gore AM onto their shoulders and marched across to Yarralumla to have him thrice knighted! He’s as important a Lancashire man as Alex Murphy OBE!

You will be rightly very proud, and you have been blessed to have that innovation and energy in your life. I lost my father when I was 18, just out of school and I miss him still but keep him present for every decision and question that arises. Like me you have a duty to your father – spare him a tear from time to time – stand straight, smile and stride forward to dignify his gifts to you.

I found Questacon first in the mid ’80s (new or recently renovated?) and stood before a transparent 6 cylinder car engine block in operation, explaining it to my son. The penny dropped for him immediately. It is one of the most important educational tools in the country and so very innovative for its time.

The Museum of Applied Arts & Sciences in Harris Street, Sydney was good, Canberra set a whole new grand new standard! I remember a grand sweeping ramp at the entrance and the wonderful physics exhibits the moment one crosses the threshold.

I took my son and his three sisters to visit from Sydney once or twice annually for years, and their three children each enjoy(ed) the same pilgrimage.

Fabulous stuff, Zezers-Bright Superstars, funny as can be, well done.

Where I grew up in inner western Sydney one aspired to:

1. selection in first grade and a modest payment for doing what one enjoys;

2. a career in the cops; or

3. a term or two at the Malabar Hilton.

For this reason I wouldn’t be sprouting too loudly that I can understand what the good doctor wrote 😂 however I am pleased to say I could have expressed it in 25% of the words she used. 😁

Reading “a panel of a couple of white men discussing the issue is a problem in itself” made me sad and uncomfortable too, sniff, sniff, just like the author. And quite puzzled – I thought I had turned the page to a different subject or something.

On Monday a captioned photo of Scott Morrison appeared in the press with a cancelled sign on his face.

“He gotta go. Get a blak (sic) PM in, do a better job at running a country than unk.”

It came from the NRL’s widely loved and admired, wordly talisman, delivering a brief sermon on being tolerant and includiness.

I understood stuff like this had been declared r-8-chest, but it is the fashion this week, evidently.

Aaarrrggghhh! I did not include a central point, added to the opening sentence of the sixth paragraph, to show:

“… three child prodigies soaking up $2.5 million a year between them, notwithstanding they had played about 5 games in Club rugby, in total!

What, pray, is a “jackle”?

I am trying ever so hard to follow the positions put by Bret, and the counters being offered, but I have no interest in interpreting some insider slang for who knows what.

“apprentice”

We watched and applauded as Matt Burke served his under Marty Roebuck for several seasons at Eastwood. Before he got to the Waratahs and the Wallabies, at age 20, he knew how to tackle, which direction he should run, could kick in play with purpose, use his strength, pass and catch and plan clever things in advance. He continued playing grade throughout his career. That progression then was unremarkable.

Matt had an early opportunity when sometimes Wallaby full back Marty broke his leg and was unable to play for Australia. The following week the members applauded the young fella as he arrived at the dressing sheds at Milner to play Firsts. Marty, his patient Master, hobbled to the member’s verandah rail with the biggest smile you ever did see.

Burke went on to serve the Mighty Woods, the Waratahs, Australia and Newcastle Falcons with distinction, over 18 years.

By the time he returned home from England, Australian Rugby had dispensed with that old-fashioned nostalgic nonsense.

In 2007 or thereabouts the wunderkind were rushed in to save the day, three child prodigies soaking up $2.5 million a year between them. They went on to play some of the most comical rugby ever seen – couldn’t tackle, had no idea what they were going to do next (neither did the bloke outside) did not like being tackled, ran away from their support, could pass straight as a bullet to Row 4 – or to the linesman – and could be counted on to put the ball out from the kick-off …. and fail to put it out when they needed the line out.

Burke had 15 encounters with the All Blacks and won 8. He featured in 5 of 10 Bledisloe campaigns, including the last win in 2002. The three players who cost so much and offered so little have never won a Bledisloe Cup, have not won a match in New Zealand.

I have read your very good account with interest and thought much about it. What I have offered here is supplemental, to remind that, for a period, the enthusiastic amateurs managed to get player development very right.

Eh? It seems you are lost!

Or you are on an internet shift this morning for multiple campaigns – by Getup, Burn Loot Murder, [insert name] grievance industry or some other political / commercial con job, and you have muddled up your running sheets and default glib responses. 😛 😂

“The comment Kennet(sic) made … was the final straw … it was not a one off.”

Look Kevo – you remind me one of the great features of the Roar is how one can hear from people “in the know”, the custodians of “the true truth”.

We would not otherwise know of Jeff Kennett with his embedded silencing culture, a systemic weaponised supremacist, armed with asymptomatic micro-aggressions, cloaked in unconscious whiteness, all ideological subversion and oldness – yeeeks! (I find that jumbling up all your stock attack pejoratives does not diminish their minimal impact and obviates the need to remember the correct order 😛 ). Learning how to spell the man’s name would lend more authority to your assertions – just a tip for you, for free.

I suspect “lived experience” is a tautology. It does sound intellectual though, I suppose, adds gravity and veracity.

“perpetual realities” is a new addition to the grievance industry¹ default talking points. When I saw your “entrenched systemic brutal” I thought for a moment you were going to enlighten the city kids on the ungentle gang warfare between the Evil Warriors and the Judas Priest boys up in Wadeye. I don’t suppose you know about that – it’s unhelpful to your dogma. You will find “Wadeye” in an atlas.

¹ Cape York aborigine leader Noel Pearson

Which truth is a man to believe?

Cyril’s truth four years ago was comprehensive and unequivocal. The reaction of a supportive Hawthorn organisation was unmistakable, the admiration universal.

July 2018, quoting Rioli as published

‘Rioli has revealed the deeply personal reasons for his shock retirement from the game he loves.

… quitting the AFL, despite two years remaining on a lucrative million-dollar contract.

… the poor health of his father Cyril Senior – who suffered a heart attack in 2017 – was a major factor in his decision to … return home to the Northern Territory.

‘When my dad’s stuff happened, I truly probably lost that fire or that desire to compete or to play, and it’s hard being away from home,’ he told Seven News.

…
‘With all these emotions and my injury and everything… it is the right time for me and my wife to go home.’

‘The decision to retire from football is something that I have thought long and hard about over the past 12 months,’ Rioli said in a statement.

‘I’ve weighed everything up and I am confident the decision I’ve made is the right one for me and my family. I can walk away from the game having achieved everything I could have ever dreamed of and I’m forever grateful for the opportunities I have received. I’ll always be a Hawthorn person …”

The media

McAvaney told 3AW:

‘He told me he really believes it was the right time for him and that he’s leaving in a good frame of mind.’

Hawks teammates were called into club headquarters on their day off for Rioli to personally explain the shock announcement.

‘Cyril said there was a lot of emotion in the room and found it extremely difficult but at the same time, felt a lot of warmth and love,’ McAvaney said.

‘Jarryd Roughhead came over during our interview to give him a big hug.’

The Club

… immediately called his teammates to attend on their day off …

… coach Alastair Clarkson hailed Rioli as one of the most influential players the code has ever seen.

‘Cyril has been an outstanding servant of this football club for a long period of time and there have been very few players that have brought as much excitement to the game,’ Clarkson said.

The players

Rioli’s former teammates and opponents also paid tribute.

‘Thank you brother for being a champion role model and idol to a lot of us. Congrats on a stellar career, the game won’t be the same without some Cyril magic,’ West Coast Eagles star Nic Naitanui tweeted.

… Shane Crawford “Cyril Rioli’s retirement feels like a death. A sad day for Hawthorn and AFL football lovers”

Jarryd Roughhead came over … to give him a big hug.

$$$

Rioli hated the environment at Hawthorn so much that he stayed for a decade, while his contract grew from $135,000 pa to $750,000 pa – 20% per year for ten years! He had two years to run when he pulled the pin.

Good on yer mate! It’s a cruel injury, that one. 😛

Oh nice work Tia, you have written with candour and real feeling about a young lady who clearly has won the admiration and love of those around her.
You have represented the rugby family outpost at beautiful Woy Woy so very well. May the Good Lord bless you and those good people. Just look at that fine smile in your ID page here! 😁

Some odd looking little bloke, who I’ve never heard of, with a great big toothy, well practised, overdone smile babbles on incomprehensibly about something Americans find hilarious, evidently, and waves his arms about intoning them to “Laugh with me dammit, laugh, I’m ruly, ruly amusing. Laugh!!”

Yanks, to me, are about as spontaneously humourous as popped ribs the morning after Sunday’s game.

Another bloke, who I saw in a pitchahh with Gene Hackman a quarter-century ago, laughs uproariously as does the wymminses next to him. Lots of other people do too (after checking the TV monitors to see how the in crowd is reacting, so they know whether to giggle or frown). But then frowns, stands and strides over to give little-big-toothy one of those awkward, self-conscious NRL player-like “my bro” shoulder to chest hugs.

The crowd goes “OMG, OMG, OMG, OMG” (after checking the monitors again) and it is declared “a belting”! Little-big-toothy repeats “Okay, alright!” several times, indicating the true depth in American “comedy” repartee. It is truly bizarre. 😛 😛

Big Hollywood later declares that it “despises and deplores violence in all its forms.”

The icing on the cake is the odd little thing Hollywood bimbos do as applause – little hand twinkles like 7-year-old schoolgirls, to indicate compassion for victims of r8cism I suppose, as directed by Miss at school. Miss has much to answer for in the “correct conditioning” of minors.

Why I wasted my time being distracted by those two meaningless pointless twerps is a matter of personal shame. 😔

An official exception? … “In the event of an imminent crowd pleasing, exciting try these Laws about injury are suspended for 90 seconds. Officials must have a doctor on call just in case.”

Peter, I think it is clear Banks came in too high and Pulu’s step to his left is incidental – it is an action a first grade tackler can reasonably anticipate from the ball carrier and, given avoiding the head is paramount, something he needs to be ready to counter.

I recognise “you are taught to dip when in close range so you don’t get fended off or stepped”. You have recounted the instructions accurately – we saw them faithfully observed by Lisle, Junee, R_per, Coote, Clay and everyone else from Richie Powell all the way back up the field to Kevin Longbottom.

When I first watched a diminutive Pat Lambie play, a thumping big provincial forward thundered towards him. He watched and waited, at the last moment sat down on his backside and fell backwards wrapping his arms around his thighs and going with his fall. I laughed because I had been taught that years ago, one of three techniques drummed into us all, tall and short, by a bloke who took teams to half a dozen grand finals, well fed on his steady diet of exceptional defence.

As you can see we differ in opinion. Based on what I was taught by the great man, about side on, I say Banks was ill prepared. He should have been in a crouching run (eg. Bradley Clyde) with his arms ready to wrap (not at his side). Entering the hoola hoop his stance would be still too high to effectively fend him off and low enough to end up with his left shoulder into Pulu’s ribs or thigh.

The jigger in the wood pile is that, in all likelihood, neither of these blokes have been taken through that drill again and again and again. Further, Pulu could be introduced to the novel skill of the fend.

What we saw from Gregan in 1994, launching his dive from a body length away with his arms ready and colliding at the hip, had been used for decades before by most competent first-graders and senior juniors. Allowing coaches to lobby for change for spurious reasons is one of the causes of the runaway train we are seeing now.

In any event I am not inclined to let the coaches, judiciaries, officials, media and players off the hook at all. Tim Horan, who could defend in the manner you have detailed, ought to know better than “But five metres out, there’s got to be some sort of mitigating factor” … what does he intend I wonder?

An official exception? … “In the event of an imminent crowd pleasing, exciting try these Laws about injury are suspended for 90 seconds. Officials must have a doctor on call just in case.”

Another fine account Peter – in the past few months you have written good pieces on men I have enjoyed watching, with researched background material and reasoned opinions – excellent stuff.

I see them, have marked them for comment and have not yet returned to study them (a busy period for me) but I will. Zin Zan, Hayman, Eales and Ella, King Carlos … .

I watched Roger Gould through my NSW glasses and he was alright – as most here have noted he could kick a lonnngg way, attack strongly, trample defenders, defend reliably. He set a standard which others did not reach, then and later.

He had the job pretty much to himself, Campese replaced him several times against the All Blacks, and Andrew Leeds twice (presumably injury). My mate Mick Ellem preceded him, he had plenty of cheek, but he was much smaller; David Campese learned from him, as a newcomer – his full back style was much different, all sparkling talent but Gould was better. Greg Martin and our Marty Roebuck from the Mighty Woods were after his time and not as gifted. Marty’s protégé Matt Burke came through with my son – he was sixteen years younger than Gould, like Latham, and I see no point in comparison.

The assessments by Mark Ella and Alan Jones, both typically descriptive and articulate, are accurate.

That photo you have dug up is a splendid reminder of the Wallaby talent in the ’80s!

“My son and I went to … . The walk from the harbour fan zone to the stadium was superb.”

I had a similar experience with my bloke in 2009 at a Bledisloe match in Wellington. Walking up the long ramp from the CBD to the south I turned to see a sea of happy faces advancing, the mood was really joyous and relaxed.

At half-time, downstairs for a lazy beer, we were approached by a pretty young lady who commented on watching two fellas with “the same front rower’s rolling gait” 😛 and suggested we attend the pub close by where she and her husband were off to after the game. “You are father and son and there are a couple of bars to suit both age groups” she offered, with a big grin. It was as hospitable a gesture as you would find, and good advice. At 1:00am or so she tracked me down to put me in a taxi back to the Copthorne, let my son know and he turned up at sunrise.

It’s a good tribe with wide spreading roots.

With that unsuspecting crowd in the background I believe Harry looks rather like one of Fagin’s supervising pickpockets in Oliver, a colleague of Bill Sikes and The Artful Dodger – a rough fellow up to no good! 😛

A fine tome Harry, well done. 😁

That’s a cracker alright!

Randwick were all class and style for years, the same coaches and the same personnel, unrelenting, excellent, consistent through the grades – if a first grader was injured his replacement from second grade fell easily into place and no-one knew the difference, they were as automatons.

John Maxwell at No 8 was as tough as they came, with a boxer’s face and an intimidating gaze, but they were always too busy winning the game to get involved in a blue. Michael Cheika was there learning his craft from John and he had plenty to back up his gobby manner on the field. Poidevin, Warwick Waugh, Ewen – they were all big, fit and strong but no-one called them on.

Eddie was there from 1981 to 1991, their best combination I reckon, all big shin pads and always the dirtiest jersey – he just motored throughout every match.

In 10 seasons from ’65 – Randwick won 6 grand finals; from ’75 – 6 grand final wins and 2 placed second; from ’85 – 7 grand final wins, 2 placed second (on the field for 23 of 30 grand finals!); from ’95 – 3 wins and one silver medal.

They gave our Mighty Woods a sniff for about 15 minutes at Concord in ’89 – we were convinced we were in with a good show, but no. ????

Now, poetic licence is a legitimate tool, but I say Sir Clive laid it on with a steel trowel in his piece! 😁 I don’t recall him at Manly in the second half of the ’80s, but we didn’t pay much attention to the northern beaches. Our boys went from their Catholic school nurseries to Colts and Grade at the Woods and Two Blues. Parramatta was then the only club that met his “tough part of town” description. Peter Kay was a favourite of mine – strong, strong, tough front rower.

“standing with a team at anthem time is funny”

I suppose it is when you are eight years old