Raiders to beat up on swaggering Storm
It'll be tight, it always is. But the Canberra Raiders are looking at fourth spot on the ladder and six wins on the trot over Melbourne down there. Also: more on Fergy and Duges' famous Roof Party
And so to Melbourne and their Storm for a very ‘Raiders’ game, one we’re not expected to win but could easily for we have, for reasons unknown, the wood on Melbourne Storm.
Actually I do know why. It’s because we are a bunch of fucking kooks.
How else to explain being two points ahead against Wests Tigers with 60 seconds to go – looking at you Emre Guler - and being somehow unaware, however gassed, that an opponent may attempt to ‘strip’ you of possession.
I mean, with 60 seconds on the clock and no other way of taking back the ball because rugby league doesn’t greatly value contests for possession, the only play Wests Tigers had was the strip.
It was coming. It had already come on previous hit-ups.
It was the only play Wests Tigers had.
And, of course, they played it. And, of course, our old mate Turkish Delight wasn’t holding onto The Precious with requisite strength and the pill was soon enough Wests Tigers’, and they were still in there swinging and kicked for the corner and Jack Wighton took old mate into touch.
And lo, did we sit back on couches and take a bite from the lamb kebab we’d paused pregnantly at our open, gaping maws and we thought through that sweet-meaty fugue of hummus and mystery meat from a vertical carvery shaped like an elephant leg: Sweet Bejeebus but they’ll try you, these our Canberra Raiders.
But wait, as the guy called Tim from the ads for knives who’s now on Canberra radio would say, there would be more: Wighton had taken old mate high and the Tigers had another crack and the ball pin-balled about and there was another kick and … eventually, the referee ended the damnable game let us never speak of it again.
Win’s a win though right? Well, yes. After a fashion. If you don’t count the years lost off your life.
Regardless, still, we sit T4 on the NRL Telstra premiership ladder, two points behind Warriors and equal with Storm and Sharks, though sixth outright because of a quite humorous minus 74 points differential.
We are, of course, ahead of 11 teams including Roosters, Rabbitohs, Sea Eagles, Cowboys, Eels, Knights, Titans, Dolphins, Tigers, Bulldogs and Dragons, and 100 per cent all of their fans would rather be where the Canberra Raiders are, believe it.
Believe this also: we are still right in this competition. And, true fact, we can beat Storm (in Melbourne), Bulldogs and Broncos (in Canberra) and the stuttering Cronulla Sharks on their patch the old Endeavour Field at Woolooware.
Do that and we would finish fourth or even third if the Warriors choke, don’t rule anything out, the Cowboys ran third in 2008 with minus 71 points, and we’re not above all those other teams because of a mathematical glitch, we’re there because of the accumulation of ‘W’s and the associated premiership points.
Yes, lot of close games. But they don’t paint pictures on the JJ Giltinan Shields, peeps, though they pluck your little plaque off, don’t they Melbourne Storm, if you rorted the salary cap, fancy parading those premiership trophies stripped from you like Ben Johnson’s medals.
And so! To Bleak City and Bellyache’s Storm, and I believe we are a very, very, very good show.
It’s a bummer about Seb Kris, he’s been having many whales, but perhaps a blessing four weeks out from the finals, rest that ham-bone, Champion.
But what an opportunity for The New Doctor, Ethan Strange, who is going to know the sound of the mighty hooves of Nelson Asafa-Solomona, the Frankenstein’s Monster of our age, you’d have to be pissed and stupid to fight him in Bali, that’s all I’ll say on the matter.
Nelson, though, is but one man. And good as Christian Welch is, Storm miss the Bromwich Brothers more than they’ll ever admit.
Yes, they have three guns: Jahrome Hughes, Harry Grant and the nutter Cameron Munster. And Xavier Coates can leap like Billy Elliott when he’s a grown-up ballet dancer at the end of Billy Elliott.
Decent foundation, these people can ruin you. And there’s the rub. If we restrict how much ball they have in our half of the footy field – kick long and often, Jacky Boi, Jamal Fogarty and anyone else up for a roost– then their skills become impotent. Immaterial. Sungjae Im.
No, like us. Our backs are better. Our forwards are better. They reckon Adrian Trevilyan is the best No.9 in the club even if wearing No.14.
And thus! This game, for me is $1.90 the field given it’s $1.01 for a margin two points or less. I’d even have us favourites, slightly. We’re five on the trot down there.
Believe it!
Up The Milk!
And up the following extract from The Milk about Josh Dugan and Blake Ferguson’s Night On The Tiles - told by the Raiders man who turned up their house the next day - for the champions who subscribe for $1 a week, I swear to you people there is merch coming, too, love youse all. x
***
While enjoying a night out that was still going at breakfast time the next day, Josh Dugan and Blake Ferguson climbed onto a roof in Belconnen and took a photo of themselves making obscene finger gestures and drinking pineapple-infused Vodka Cruisers.
Then, full of piss and the vinegary, mad fun of it, they posted the photo on social media, laid back and cackled at their reckless enterprise, effectively saying publicly to their employers, the brothers David and Don Furner (respectively coach and chief executive of Canberra Raiders), men who held the not unreasonable expectation that well-paid professionals would nurse injuries otherwise: Screw you Hans Brix!
The next day Canberra Raiders Football Manager John Bonasera knocked on Dugan’s door and
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