Terror from above: Milk to smoke Sharkies in bash-fest at Bruce
Both teams are two-and-two heading into this 8pm Thursday night round five fixture at GIO Stadium, and there's nothing between the teams outside the thundering boot of Jamal Fogarty
And so, after a bright start of intense physicality and subjugation of Warriors and Broncs, there followed an outlier game at Brookvale vs the Birds, and a loss in the Townsville soup that was what sometimes happens in a season of footy, the other mob plays better.
When the other mob land their bombs on your fullback’s head and the chasers come with a running leap, done right, it’s hard to stop. Their halfback, Jake Clifford, did it to Kaeo Weekes, Xavier Savage did it at the death to Scott Drinkwater.
Clifford had his best ever game, there was a three-try burst in eight minutes, and they made nine line-breaks to the Canberra Raiders’ four.
In all the other statistics, it was a tight-enough fixture. They actually missed more tackles (44 to 31) and recorded more ineffective ones (19 to 12). We nudged them for effective tackles (89 percent to 84 per cent) though made more errors (14 to 11). They conceded more ruck infringements (6 to 4).
Even kick defusal was 40 percent each indicating that they just did to us better than we did to them, at the right end of the field, with factors including the vagaries of the oval-shaped ball, the harum-scarum nature of the game and their halfback leaping like Rudolf Nureyev, give him a Google, kids, he was once on The Muppets.
Only stat that really stood out was the Cowboys’ sale of 34 dummy passes to the visitors’ six. Not sure how it’s pertinent given there’s no stat for how many dummies were actually bought, but there it is. Maybe they thought that if you throw enough offers, you’ll eventually land a score, in the time-honoured way of the late-night chancer.
Regardless, the Cows won the moments, won the game. And in a long season of greatest game of all rugby league, you will lose greatest games of all rugby league. And it was not a disaster, recency bias be buggered, we remain very much in this hard-boned, injury-riddled rugby league competition.
And so! Two-and-two and hosting the Sharks of the Shire at sweet home in Bruce, and, as ever, I like us.
They’ve lost to Panthers in Vegas and Bulldogs at Woolooware; and beaten busted Rabbitohs and inconsistent Cows. And, for mine, our wins were more impressive than theirs, and our losses about the same, particularly the Manly game, that was Crazy Town.
Now, the Sharkies are good. Mobile beefcake. Canny play-makers. A coach that drills in discipline like Madam Lash. Nicho Hynes is called inconsistent and over-rated but that’s only because he’s good looking. Braith Anasta and Craig Wing copped the same gibber while Matt Johns did not, it is a Thing.
Another Thing is the Sharks’ long-legged outside backs propensity to rain tries from downtown. Long ones. Eighty metre ones. With interchange of passing, and skilful endeavour at speed. And it’s sexy stuff, for sure. But the tries aren’t worth an extra point because they’re pretty.
And you’ll get more of them from the time-honoured ploy of kicking it long or high, chasing like savages and bashing shit out of them. You just can’t bash too much shit out of them, lest you are penalised or infringe at the ruck in the opinion of the pea-blower of the day, see above re: vagaries.
But that’ll be the plan.
We do miss Zac Hosking. He’s something of the glue in the middle, though Morgan Smithies’ return will allay that. Missed him against the Cows, too.
We’ll need some foot-work at the line from Matt Timoko, Seb Kris and Ethan Strange. Kaeo Weekes needs to hunt up around the middle of the ruck where Joe Tapine will break tackles and free arms, and where Corey Horsburgh’s been bopping about like Andrew Fifita used to.
I wouldn’t mind Jamal Fogarty throwing a dummy or two and having a dart. Ditto our man Tom Starling, whose form following the signing of Knights nine Jayden Brailey has been telling. Josh Papali’i? Just keep doing you, champion. Keep doing you.
And everyone else? Hold the ball, limit the six-agains, and up the ante on cloying, suffocating and vigorous defensive intensity. And when the No.7 launches terror from above, scream through like super-athletic, big-smiling Maasai Warriors, those nomadic herdsmen from the Great Lakes region of Kenya and Tanzania who jump up and down, and smile to impress Maasai ladies, and so on.
Enough.
Half-time draw. Us by seven.
Up the Milk.