Our answer to Big Mal

Poor old Tommy. Queenslanders die by State of Origin. Some New South Welshman care, others just want to see a decent spectacle. But Wednesday’s loss was the worst night of Tommy Raudonikis’ life.

Frankly, while all I care about from Origin is that Robbie Farah is fit enough to play on Friday night, if Origin is to stay alive as a contest, NSW needs to get the blood boiling again like it was in the 1990’s.

Who is today’s Mark Geyer? Paul Sironen? Chief Harragon? Geoff Toovey? Who?

NSW might not be good enough to find a Johns, Daley or Fittler, but there’s no reason they have to personify the most pathetic nickname in sport – the cockroaches – with a meek surrender.

It might be too farfetched to bring back Tommy.  After all, the man whose tactical sophistication went as far and wide as the “cattle dog” cry (start an all in blue in a scrum) and who initiated Trent Barret into State of Origin in 1997 by making a placid country boy skull three beers on the trot, harks from a bygone era.

But next year the coach has to be independent. Clearly Origin is about passion – Queensland ran out of players and still managed to win. Enough of the the ridiculous country retreats where the players think they are going into a battle for life and death. Let them ride the storm like Grand Final week. Soak it up realise what they are playing for.

Throw out the clipboard and go for the passion.

Next year, throw Laurie Daley and Andrew Johns in as the dream team. Send them into the cauldron. If there wasn’t a risk of Freddie walking into the Maroons hotel waving the game plan, I’d throw him in there too (assuming he’s no longer a Roosters coach by then!)

Imagine those titans of Origin – Meninga v Johns/Daley – going up against each other! Who wouldn’t want to play for them? Who wouldn’t feel obliged to bleed for them?

Wednesday night was rubbish. Origin isn’t dead. But it needs life.

The greatest QLD win, but the worst Origin ever

If the debate on Wednesday morning was why the helpless throngs of desperate League fans in Perth and Adelaide couldn’t watch Origin live, yet the troops in Kabul or Baghdad could, then frankly, by Thursday, I wish I hadn’t been able to watch it either.

The match might have been beamed into squillions of league hot spots around the globe (ah hem), but let’s hope not too many watched – because it was stinker.

An advertisement for Rugby League it was not.

If the crème de la crème of the code cannot catch, pass, tackle nor kick, it doesn’t bode well for the argument of Origin being the greatest show on earth.

I know, I know – this rant isn’t in the spirit of Origin.

What of Queensland’s Origin spirit? What of the way they “Out-Origined” (thanks Gus) New South Wales? What about the guts Queensland’s injured players showed? What about the 4-0 history breaking feat? Aren’t I just being a cockroach with soar grapes!?

What about Queensland, huh! The best ever. Tenacious. Blood spilling, gut wrenching, body on the line, herculean. The Cane toad’s were the proverbial hospital ward and still found enough ticker to win.

Forget injury and illness, what about the referee and field position. Those Queenslanders are hard to topple. They just want Origin.

And that’s great. Origin folklore. Stuff of legends.

But our “Brave Blues”?

Give me a break.

If I saw that in reserve grade, I would’ve considered asking for a refund.

And that’s what makes me feel short changed.

Beyond all the brouhaha about selectors, the coaches and the mistakes, the game was just missing something.

Then as each pedestrian set rolled by, I realised  - the match was showing up the flaws in this sport.

While everyone jumped up and down about how well the referees did not to blow the pea out of the whistle, the players had a field day, getting to know each other, groping around the play the ball.

Suddenly, the modern game’s biggest weapon was gone. Kaput. Dummy half was getting the Blues nowhere.

Then – no one in the Blues line up was adept at kicking the side out of trouble (see Wallace finding himself stuck down short sides, cornered at awkward angles on the last); centres were drifting out wide at the same angles as the sliding defence; wingers didn’t know when to come inside; forwards couldn’t help that temptation to haul the ball out the back at the wrong time.

This was State of Origin. The best we can offer. That’s what they came up with at the crunch?

It proves how critical penalties are in the context of modern rugby league. They decide who dominates field position, and who doesn’t need to find a way to come up with that decisive clutch play.

On Wednesday, our state’s best players were hopelessly exposed. Did the other side show they were much better? Not really. They were exceptionally brave, desperate, and passionate about the concept of State of Origin. But they just accepted the gift-wrapped presents as if their Christmases came at once. Or three times – in the space of 20 minutes.

Timmy loves Aussie Pim, but when will everyone else?

There was certainly a lot of man love (probably illegal in Doha!) after the Roos sealed qualification.

Pim mightn’t have been jumping around like our old friend Hiddink, but he certainly earned effusive praise from Timmy Cahill.

 One thing’s for sure, there’s a long way to go before he convinces a lot of other punters.

Pim’s proven he’s a guru of the Asian confederation. A glance at our team sheets for each of the qualifiers shows the pragmatic Verbeek has gone for a ‘horses for courses’ mentality – pick the team to tackle all the variables, from the opposition, to the type of weather.

I’m not going to go over much traversed borrowed ground. The campaign hasn’t been entertaining.

Forget about Wednesday night’s match. No matter what anyone tries to convince themselves, it was a dead rubber against Bahrain, after a marathon flight, qualification in the bag, on a horrible evening in Sydney. The players went through the motions and threw any notion of shape out the window by the end of the match.

I’ve written it before; Verbeek’s challenge is to use the artillery at his disposal to create a team that can dominate and dictate the tempo of matches on their own terms.

He has 12 months to create a legendary team – and it won’t work having Scott McDonald huffing and puffing around all on his lonesome.

There’s a year to go. But I’m going to poke my head into the crystal ball and see who might be heading to South Africa, with an updated and new-look top 50 to boot. Rip in.

 

1. Schwarzer
2. Petkovic                
3. Federici               (gks)
4. Neil
5. Moore
6. Emerton
7. Wilkshere
8. Chipperfield 
9. Spiranovic            
10. Milligan   - a favourite son, who has got his act together. If Pim trusted Coyne, he wouldn’t have cajouled Moore back.                                
11. Grella 
12. Valeri                     
13. Culina
14. Jedinak                                    
15. Bresciano 
16. Cahill   
17. Kewell
18. Garcia                 
19. Holman    - I’d love to see Nick Carle, but I just can’t see it happening. If he couldn’t get half an hour last night, then will we he?            
20. Kennedy
21. McDonald
22. Rukyvytsya  - if he scores a few goals for FC Twente, he could be the joker in the pack. You read it here first.
23. Sterjovski 
    ————————————
24. Viduka ** gets in if available
25. Djite – a big season in Turkey gets him over the line too
26. Carney
27. Coyne
28. B Jones
29. Carle   
30. North
31. Holland – another smokey.
32. J Burns
33. Archie Thompson 
34. Beachamp      – had the spot, but bad luck and poor form has shot him down the pecking order.
35. R Williams
36. Galekovic
37. Vidosic
38. Troisi 
39. Steffanuto 
40. Madaschi
41. Coe 
42. Kisnorbo 
43. Vargas
44. Celeski  
45. N Burns 
46. Aloisi  
47. Porter
48. Theoklitos 
49. Milicevic
50. Vukovic 

Have I missed something? Since when is it a crime to reach the Greatest Show on Earth?

Don’t worry people. The sobriety of my last post on the latest crisis to bedevil Rugby League hasn’t scared me away. A frantic time of year hasn’t kept me from Federer’s historic conquest, the hit and giggle bubble gum dribble otherwise known as the 20/20 World Cup, and the latest SBW hysteria. I haven’t even caught Swine Flu at the footy yet, despite leaving Leichhardt feeling decidedly ill after watching another ill-fated episode of “Marshall #7”; the most headless chook in the NRL since, well, Brad Fittler’s headless chooks.

But I had to jump back on the soapbox to defend Our Socceroos.

Let’s put the Socceroos’ achievement into context. At this stage of the 2005/6 campaign, Frank Farina was still in charge, about to enter his annus horibilis at the Confederations Cup, before Guus Hiddink stole the imagination of the country – but most people don’t remember him launching a disparaging tirade on his team when they stuttered to a 2-1 win in the Solomon Islands.

Yet here we are, comfortably qualified.

On one hand, the level of expectation heaped on the current Socceroos is testament to the ground-breaking pedestal they created for themselves in Germany.

I wrote here last year that through Asia we have avoided a roll of the dice by enjoying the right of qualifying like 95% of the rest of the world. If we were good enough we would be in South Africa.

And baby, we are heading to South Africa. Forget stuttering 2-1 results, the Socceroos have been professional and ruthless in a quest that isn’t easy. Bigger, prouder and more prestigious football countries than humble Australia will be enviously watch the World Cup from home next year.

In a country where international success in games we dominate is a given, one feels the feats of the Socceroos might not quite be grasped.

After 32 years in the wilderness, we’ve gone back to back.

What a fabulous achievement.

Or have I missed something?

The arm chair critics have been noting the anti-climactic whimper with which we sealed qualification. Where was the hurly burly of a heart-wrenching penalty shoot out? How can you be rewarded for being shrewd, tactical and cunning enough to get the result you need in inhumane conditions in the middle of the desert, albeit via a 0-0 draw?

There will never be another moment like this. Chills every time.

But this was a campaign full of clutch moments. Cahill, Chipperfield, Bresciano, Neil, Culina, Kennedy, Wilkshere. The big boys have stepped up when it mattered.

 

On Monday, as I flicked through the paper to find an ode to another one of Australia’s great sporting achievements, I found myself almost as deep as the TAB form guide before a mention of our qualification. Huh?

Then yesterday I woke up to a vitriolic back page rant about how Pim Verbeek is killing Australian football. Add to that Nick Walshaw’s anachronistic homage to the Socceroos, and Phil Rothfield’s blog, and the Socceroos have come in for a heap of vile criticism at one of the most historic moments in the sport’s history.

What have they done wrong, besides upsetting News Limited’s apple cart with rampant success?

Now seriously, I love my league as much as much as the next yobo, or give me a day of test cricket as much as the next Aussie. But I love my football as much as any football aficionado.

Do we send Simon Hill to bag the buffoonery of league matches, or the Bogans that sit in the stand? No.  Does Mike Cockerill write soppy colour pieces ridiculing the mind-numbing pedanticness of a Super 14 referee? No. Those sports are what they are and fans support them for what they are.

So why does The Tele feel the urge to bag this sport? You tell me? I can only think of one reason.

Without harping on the sour grapes, I want to deal briefly with the criticism levelled at the Socceroos:

1)      Verbeek’s media ban. The wily Dutchman is dammed if he does, damned if he doesn’t. Was widely panned last year for giving the next generation a shot, which led to a dismal result against China at home in front of a huge gallery in Sydney. So this time he says there is no let-up, the game is serious – and gets panned for not rolling out his troops for a love-in public relations campaign to give the Tele what they want.

Fair Dinkum. It’s just an excuse for a tabloid headline – when the headline should’ve read: “Pride of the Nation”.

Anyone notice Craig Bellamy hiding his NSW troops in a country retreat the week before the supposed ‘promotional’ Origin match in Melbourne? Did that threaten the future of the sport? Um , I don’t think so.

Should Pim have slapped a media ban on the players? No way in hell. But the public wanted to know if he was taking the match seriously, and he was.

Have media bans threatened the future of other sports? No. So please, spare us the vile agenda.

2)      Resting players:  who didn’t play last night – after a 20 hour trip back from the desert to play a football match two days later on the back of an exhausting season?
Cahill, Kennedy, Neil, Grella, Bresciano, Chipperfield, Valeri. Injured, suspended, on the cusp of a yellow, or club commitments. Simple as that.

Unfortunate, unfair to the paying public, but its the way the cookie crumbles in the big business of international football.

But when the executive sports editor of a major daily says:

“We’ve made the World Cup? Woopy Do! As I said to an earlier blogger, It will be a very exciting couple of weeks then 21 million Australians can get on with their lives and follow the real football codes again.”

The message just hasn’t got through.

But I’ve said enough – what do you reckon?

The Shit has finally hit the fan

“We’ve got a great product, we’ll be fine”

“There’ll always be another star from where he came from”

“Just a bit of fun went wrong”

“I had a few too many”

“No player is bigger than the game”

“It’s that time of year, wait until the footy starts”

And so this list goes on. Excuses. Cover ups. Diversions.

Until now.

“It’s degrading, it’s appalling and we need to educate our players that it is wrong” – David Gallop

“If anyone doesn’t recognise or accept [that David is right] then they need to get out” – NRL Board member John Chalk

“It was disturbing and sad – I felt for the victims, as the father of a daughter” – Bulldogs CEO Todd Greenberg

“What we saw on the program was horrendous and David is spot on” – Storm CEO Brian Waldron

Rugby League loves a scandal. The sport thrives on rebounding, on proving its resilience, and its ability to somehow prosper under the face of adversity.

But scandalous and mischievous behaviour has been denied for far too long. Often, because it involves the best footballers – and what does a club hate more than having to stand down its superstars?

Ask Manly.

But now the ABC’s Code of Silence has confronted the public and the NRL, with no place to hide. The details are there. The accounts are shocking. The ultimate truism – get the footy player back on the field, just doesn’t cut it.

Because the victims have been given a voice.

If the Four Corners program achieved anything, it finally means we can’t skirt around the issues.

Here are, in my view, the major bones of contention:

(1)    What was the point of the program?

The Sydney Morning Herald editorial quite rightly pointed out (13/6/2009): “new revelations about group sex involving rugby league players have not added a great deal, beyond names, to what was previously known – either of the particular incidents or the general trend.”

So what was the point?

Was it a smear campaign? League bashing? Was it gutter journalism?

No. The game deserved a public inquisition after Brett Stewart, the game’s poster boy, delivered one blow too many to the sport.

This exposition set out to look at why it happens, not what happens.

Thanks to the Newcastle Knights, we had an engaging insight into how club’s are trying to change what was an acknowledged flaw, and how they are trying to teach young players about the perils of alcohol in these incidents.

It was interesting.

Then, it became confronting.

We saw the other side of the tale. The silent voice spoke.

It’s forced the heavy hitters in the game, who for so long have avoided confronting the issue head on, to come out and say: this is not on.

It’s forced them to take a stand and say ‘you can’t treat women like this’.

The show has done its job. Clubs must confront the culture.

(2)    Why Matthew Johns?

The court of public opinion has come down on another Johns boy, a character the sport loved and admired.

The arguments for:

• It happened seven years ago. Leave him alone.
• Why drag him through the mud now?
• Why bring his kids and family into it?
• Why make him the fall-guy for the other 10 players?
• Tall poppy syndrome.
• No criminal charges were laid; therefore it’s a matter between man and wife.
• They used him to sell the show. “Exposing Brett Firman” doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?
• Does this man deserve to bear the brunt and become the scapegoat in the fall out from this program?
• Didn’t she consent to have sex with him?

The arguments against:

• He “got away with it” for seven years
• If the biggest name today does it, and one of the biggest games then did it, then we really have a problem. A 30-year-old Johns should’ve been leading the pack in the right direction. This is how you hit the League hard.
• No one, not even the game’s biggest name, can get away with this behaviour. No one is too big to get into trouble.

(3)    But just because we don’t like, does that mean its wrong?

No charges were laid, and by both her and Johns’ recollections, it seems they walked back to the room together.

As one supposedly senior representative player told today’s Herald: who is David Gallop to tell them who they can and can’t sleep with? Especially when women are often the ones throwing themselves at footy players.

But let’s get one thing straight. Matt Johns and all these players are not in strife for just simply getting together and having “group sex”. He’s also not in such public strife just for cheating on his wife alone.

They’re in strife for degrading women. If this naive 19-year-old consented to have sex with Johns, when would she have consented to have been treated like a piece of meat by another ten men? Is it that easy to get up and walk away? Is there not some sort of power imbalance here? Peer pressure that overcomes the situation?

Until Rugby League players identify that you can’t go romping around like a pack of hyenas – and the young Newcastle bloke in the documentary who said it’s all about “how you deal with it afterwards” didn’t help build the myth that the mentality is changing – then the problem persists.

(1)    What now?

Paul “Fatty” Vautin summed this conundrum up when he tapped Matt on the shoulder after his apology and smiled and said: “Well said. Let’s get on with the show”.

Let’s move on. Forget it. Brush it under the carpet.

That’s the problem. It was an innocently made segue. But too many people are trying to find excuses for Johns.

League fans are questioning the credibility of the victim, they’re sympathising with him losing his job, they’re slamming the program.

This is the systemic denial that has allowed players to get away with it until now.

Thankfully Johns has said all the right things. He’s been put through the ringer and shown humility and regret. His interpretation of the night might be different to the young girl, but the recount is essentially the same. He did the wrong thing. You can’t shy away from that.

(1)    The punishment

Reg Reagan is dead. Johns’ role on the Thursday night Footy Show is untenable, because it’s inappropriate.

But Matthew Johns circa 2009 is different to the 30-year-old Johns who cheated on his wife, and was involved in an incident that left a teenager scarred and damaged.

He is ‘rehabilitated’, knows the errors of his ways, and from the lessons he’s learned, can be an asset to the future of the game in teaching kids the errors of his ways. I’d be disappointed if he was lost to the game forever.

(2)    The fallout

First, where are the other players?

Second, this issue cannot be trivialised. Chasing Karmichael Hunt into the dressing sheds to ask if he organised girls to go out with one night, is irrelevant. It isn’t ghastly and just because it might upset some grandmothers, doesn’t make it newsworthy.

Incidents, such as the Broncos’ boozy bender before last year’s finals are frustrating for the fans, but that issue is about the players’ poor attitude and lack of professionalism.

The fallout from this saga means the game has an opportunity to weed out this vile player behaviour, starting with alcohol abuse and disdain for women.

Club’s are starting to pay attention.

No one is asking them to be machines. Just teach them to use their brains, if they have one.

 What do you think? Start the relpies below. This is one hell of a public debate. Should Matty Johns’ have been named? What about the documentary? Fire away…

Another shameful episode from Didier Drogba as Guus’ magic runs out

Guus the Gambler has finally used up all of his nine lives as his side’s Champions League nightmare lived on for another season, showing Roman Abramovich that you need more than riches to gain reward at the very, very top.

But for all the agony of a last-gasp defeat littered with several debatable refereeing decisions, the match will be mired in controversy as Chelsea proved as graceless and petulant in defeat as ever, with Didier Drogba bringing the game into disrepute for one of the most juvenile reactions seen in recent memory.

Drogba’s histrionics can’t be thrown in the ‘passion spilling over’ basket, or ‘drama is good for the game’ excuse. He’s a repeat offender. From brawling with Michael Ballack against Manchester United a few seasons back, to feigning injuries, to carrying on like a pork-chop every time something goes against him – this can’t be veiled as a sportsman and a brain snap after having his dreams shattered.

After staring down the barrel of the camera, to millions of fans, hundreds and thousands of kids, to tell them the referee was a “f***ing disgrace”, Drogba should be stamped out for the rest of the season – including the F.A Cup Final.

This is arguably the world’s greatest striker – is this the image the game needs beamed across the globe?

Chelsea have failed to reign him in over a long period, and should be held responsible for these scenes at their own home ground, which included Michael Ballack doing everything but decking the referee while protesting one of his dubious decisions.

Referees make mistakes. Sometimes in football they are infuriating. But where was the referee when Drogba’s first touch spurned at least two, maybe three chances tonight?

It’s always the easy out to point the finger at the man in the middle.

What about the fact that Chelsea had chances to close it out? What about the fact Chelsea had the chance to wind the clock down but lost the ball with nonchalant play in the minute before the goal? What about the defending – watertight for the previous 182 minutes – that half-cleared the ball, retreated inside the box, and forgot to shut down Iniesta?

Hiddink might have bullied Guardiola for 182 minutes, stifling his attacking armoury, but this is the UEFA Champions League.

Andrea Iniesta, the unsung magician in Barcelona’s band of superstars, finally gets his time in the spotlight with a goal of the highest order.

It’s what the Champions League is about. Michael Essien, this week playing in a more withdrawn role, proved he is the word’s most durable, versatile, adaptable midfielder with the most astonishing goal to put Chelsea ahead.

It’s not the first time he’s done it either.

 

Some people find Scolari’s departure as the common denominator in Chelsea’s change of fortunes this season I don’t think you can look further than Essien’s return from a 6 month injury lay-off. Forget Chelsea’s glamour boys, Essien is the heart and soul of this football side.

While Chelsea’s pragmatic performance should’ve been enough to see them through to the final, even as a Chelsea fan, I side with the neutrals on one thing:

The stage is set for the match of the decade, and to find the club that will define this generation.

And on another Champions League:

Europe isn’t the only place conjuring magical goals at the moment. There was a great story out of Newcastle last night when 20-year-old Sean Rooney scored a clutch-goal of the highest order – a one-touch curling effort from outside the area – as late as Iniesta.

Comparing the standard of Asia and Europe is, well, apples and oranges, but for clutch goals, Rooney’s was every bit as spectacular as Iniesta’s.

It just proves what a great tactician Gary Van Egmond is – and what a shame Newcastle has been looted since it won the Premiership. The Jets bear no resemblance to the side that won the 2007-8 season, but Van Egmond, very quickly, has brought a side resembling a nursery up to speed and playing something close to what the club deserves.

I couldn’t understand why Sydney let the youth league’s best striker go half way through last year – and it was great to see him show his potential on the continental stage.

The Steven Bradbury Premiership

THIS has been a week where a Mad Dog had the last laugh over Big Del at a packed suburban ground, and the little general Stacey Jones masterminded a 16-point comeback with a hand in every one of his side’s tries. A night where I’ve just come back from a game out at Leichhardt with a thunderous crowd braving the elements to get the side home in a stirring occasion.

Sure, Monday night at Leichhardt versus the Storm is no Sunday arvo against the Bunnies – but it’s better than a morgue out at ANZ Stadium.

All these things – slightly older, slower or stupidly scheduled by the TV networks that run the sport – are a throwback to everything that we used to love about the game and the characters, the flair and the colour that came with it.

That little master Jones must be stewing over a representative comeback – and for the fans, he has to be there in three weeks time when the Kiwis play the Green and Gold. For years, it’s been a tantalising question of what might New Zealand be if they had decent halves.

Benji Marshall & Stacey Jones.

Rugby League needs to see them partnered and leading out a full strength Kiwis side to set up the best looking test match we’ve seen this decade.

No modern half-back has the combination of poise, gall, temperament, skill and vision that Jones has. Even at 33, he’s a step ahead of his mind-numb robot contemporaries.

On the other side of the fence, he needs to be pitted against Scott Prince.

The old Rugby League mantra of ‘incumbency’ should get thrown out the window because the incumbents lost the unlosable World Cup! JT proved he’s on the way up, but against a stinker of a Sharks side. Prince deserves a go.

He should be the face of the modern game. He’s the one that struts around with a bag of magic tricks, and in an era lacking the great playmakers of the past, Prince needs to fly the flag.

Even more so when you look back on another week where another player, this time from Penrith, got in trouble for hitting the turps on the weekend. The perfect way to let off some steam, except this bunch of perennial buffoons can’t seem to do so without ending up with some sort of affray or assault charge. Penrith might be a pretty infuriating team to play in, but please…

In the meantime, we’ve turned past six rounds of a competition where the Dragons have made a stirring ascent to Premiership favouritism based on the most rudimentary game-plan seen in recent memory. Can they carve out a premiership off Jamie Soward’s prodigious boot and a diet of one-percenters?

While we can look back at past seasons and define them by a style of play (Tigers ’05) or a dominant force (Broncos 98-00, Eels 01, Roosters 02-04; Storm 06-08), this year looks like being the Steven Bradbury Premiership.

With no team standing out, which team will be the last man standing?

Manly were the un-back-ables, but you can’t bet your house on what seems to be a one-man band.

So you’ve got the entertainers, the Titans, the Knights. Then you’ve got the ‘inconsistent powerhouses’, the Broncos, Warriors, Melbourne – who after tonight’s performance and 13 tries all season, look a shadow of their best. Surely the Cowboys will improve if they let JT actually play, rather than confine him to a rigid structure? Souths will burst, the Raiders will pester, the Panthers will infuriate, the Tigers showed tonight that maybe, just maybe, they can defend, and the rest of the sides leave a lot to be desired.

Except the Dogs. They’re more Beagle than Bulldog with their current Mr Nice Guy roster, but with two of the cleverest schemers in the league running a less-fractured ship, they might just be the smoky to take out the 2009 Premiership. It’s an early call, but you never know.

Team of the First Quarter:

1. Kurt Gidley

2. Antonio Winterstein

3. Michael Jennings

4. Jamal Idris

5. Manu Vatuvai

6. Terry Campese

7. Stacey Jones

8. Ben Hannant

9. Michael Ennis

10. Keith Galloway

11. Matt Prior

12. Bronson Harrison

13. Luke Lewis

14. Jamie Soward

15. Justin Poore

16. Sam Rapira

17. Chris Heignington

The Blog is back – and so is the top 50.

I’m back. No more flying under the radar. Got to apologise to the fans for my performance over the past month. Haven’t turned up to play. Simple as that. I’ll put my hand up. The computer can’t make the tackles for me. No excuses.

No, I haven’t been gagged under a grapple, I haven’t been stood down indefinitely by the blogosphere for bringing the blog into disrepute and the boss hasn’t sent me home for reeking of alcohol after a quiet pizza and a few beers. I just haven’t turned up.

I haven’t been too busy making puppet shows with chickens either…

Well, if that doesn’t sum up the last month, I’ll start up with the sound of an engine gently simmering in the background. Can anyone else hear it?

It’s the bandwagon that’s been sent over from Germany. They’ve dusted it off, and it’s about to turn into a freight train as the Socceroos begin their build up to South Africa 2010.

‘Last to qualify for 2006, first for 2010’ has been the slogan for the week.

But we seem to have taken qualification for granted.

I wrote here, all the way back at the beginning of the campaign, that this campaign would be more arduous, but fairer. If we were good enough, we’d qualify – and we’ve played the perfect qualification.

It doesn’t matter that Uzbekistan wasn’t as exciting as Uruguay.

It’s just as important. Think how the landscape has changed over the last four years. The World Cup was the catalyst. To go back-to-back is of astronomical importance. But that’s a discussion for another day.

The great debate, as most people have noticed, is that it’s been a grind to watch.

Craig Foster has gone on his soapbox about sacking the coach. The cynics have been getting into the age old ‘entertainment v results’ argument.

Regardless, Pim Verbeek has a huge challenge. Historically, the only Asian sides to have made giant strides into a World Cup tournament have been Japan and South Korea when they hosted the event. Success in Asia doesn’t correlate with success on the World stage. Let’s not forget who our only World Cup win is against. Japan. We can’t draw them this time around. So it gets a whole lot tougher.

On a positive note, Australia’s outright advantage compared to other Asian nations is that our top players play in Europe. Nothing fazes them. They can adapt. The bumbling A-League XI is a fitting tribute to why our overseas Socceroos are a precious commodity.

But Verbeek has an important challenge to make sure we haven’t dropped the ball.

We’ve been so focused on the ‘1-point away, 3-points home’ philosophy, that the Socceroos have become a ‘horses for courses’ side tailored to playing in ‘Asia’- picked to suit the conditions, opposition and amount of preparation we’ve had.

Take Brett Holman as an example – someone that has revelled because he can still buzz like a bee when playing in Dubai. 

Scott McDonald is another – but he has suffered, because the coach’s first mentality is to make sure the midfield is compact, secure and packed, even if that means playing with virtually no striker.

We’ve become very good in Asia. We know how to physically outlast the opposition until they wilt, we know how to bully and we know how to defend.

But being brutal, fit, stronger and bigger won’t cut it. Having an ‘aura’ against Bahranians or Kuwaitis is history.

What happens when there is no long-term ladder and the side has to go out and show their stuff?

They can’t – unless the manager finds the lock to slash his shackles.

Verbeek has ticked every box so far, and now it’s onto the next challenge: use the next year to mould our Socceroos and get them playing to their strengths.

The first positive sign was the freedom Bresciano had in the second half against Uzbekistan. For once, the Socceroos looked to play a forward ball or a penetrative pass, rather than the dross where the midfield dallies on the ball, without any purpose. With Kennedy, the side had a target they’d been yearning for. With Garcia, Kewell and in the long run, Emerton, Wilkshere and others, the side has width and pace.

The simple equation is that Verbeek has options – and I’d rather see us go down swinging in the World Cup than sitting back timidly, waiting.

Hiddink took it to Japan. He took it to Croatia. He even took it to Brazil! Look at this morning’s Champions League match – Hiddink lulled Liverpool into an open contest, and presto, a cagey rivalry was won with three goals.

Verbeek has to do the same.

It doesn’t necessarily mean playing a 4-4-2. With Cahill, he has a midfielder who can sit in behind a Kennedy. With Culina, he has a holding midfielder that can spray passes and get forward. With Kewell and Emerton, he has high class technicians out wide, with two fullbacks, Wilkshere and Chipperfield, that can overlap, cross, cut inside and distribute.

And unless it’s Viduka, a lone striker will feed the Socceroos to the enemy. It will leave us ruing ‘what if’. 

He will have the timeframe and friendly matches to prepare them and has a core capable of rising to the top.

He’s just got to let them do it.

 

The Socceroos Top 50

The Top 50

Harry, not as important as Emerton? Cahill, less important than Culina?

Kewell and Cahill are the two pin-up boys, but who do we need to pray has a clean bill of health.

The top-50 caused a bit of a stir last time around. Here’s the first version for 2009.

Verbeek will have the luxury of options Hiddink didn’t have. But the tier below the World Cup squad is a bit of a worry.

1.       Neil – Pommies hate him, we love him.  

2.       Schwarzer – No Zjelko. No Worries.

3.       Culina – let’s hope Miron keeps him fit for the World Cup.

4.       Emerton –

5.       Kewell – The Turks sacrifice a pig for luck before the season. Let’s hope they also prayed for H’s limbs.

 

 6.       Cahill – public hero number 1 is a bonus when he’s available.

7.       Kennedy – not quite our saviour, but it sure helps having the big guy up front.

8.       Wilkshere – Mr Fix it. And a bloody good one.

9.       Moore –

10.   Grella

11.   Chipperfield

12.   Bresciano

13.   Valeri

14.   McDonald

15.   Viduka

16.   Petkovic

17.   Garcia

18.   Carney

19.   Djite

20.   Sterjovski

21.   Jedinak – the big mover

22.   Holman

23.   Beachamp 

24.   North

25.   Federici

26.   Spiranovic – a good year should see the youngster leapfrog two of Beachamp, Coyne and North into the Cup squad.

27.   Coyne

28.    Jones

29.   Carle – remember him …

 

30.    Jacob Burns

31.   Rukavytsia – a bolter for 2010. We need another striker to step up. Waiting for Djite to first.

32.   Galekovic 

33.   Kisnorbo

34.   Holland – another project player in midfield.

35.   Steffanuto 

36.   Troisi

37.   Archie Thompson – probably won’t make another first string squad so long as Verbeek is in charge.

38.   Nathan Burns – was good when he used to get games…

39.   Vukovic

 

40.   Celeski 

41.   Covic

42.   Vargas

43.   McKay

44.   Leijer

45.   Kilkenny

46.   Jamieson 

47.   Zullo

48.   Theoklitos

49.   Bouzanis

50.   Milligan – If all went to plan, he should’ve been playing alongside Lucas Neil all WCQ. What a stuff up …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s always the Griffiths’ boys and a host of Olyroos like David Williams, Dario Vidosic, Stu Musialik, Mark Bridge, Ruben Zadkovich that need to step up.

What do you reckon?

Onto more trivial matters …

With all the talk of the lynch mob waiting to hijack Sonny Bill Williams on his return to Australia to play for the Barbarians just under a year living a life of mysterious excess alongside the French canal, it’s hard not to pay attention to the ARU’s promotion of a match that otherwise is really just a waste of time.

Fans are hardly turning up to the Super 14 in their droves, their own chief executive John O’Neil keeps talking about re-invigorating the competition and its rules – yet they want fans to turn up to watch penalty kicks in a match of little to no significance?

So invite the sporting fugitive at the centre of one of the biggest stories in the past decade to play. Brilliant.

I’ve been surprised to hear all the talk from league greats calling for a boycott of the match – I thought Tommy Raudonikis would rather stand on the sideline throwing tomatoes (or yelling something much more insightful) at the league’s scorned Judas.  As Laurie Daley pointed out, shouldn’t the league fraternity revel in the fact that a league convert is still needed in NSW to spark up interest in a Rugby contest?

But all this misses the real question to be asked!  Where the hell is a Barbarian from anyway? Of course the answer is nowhere, a bunch of nomads brought together for the sake of tradition, an exhibition contest that might, hopefully, be worth savouring for the rare treat of attacking rugby. But it’s not exactly a full blown all-star match, so what’s the point.

It’s a great gimmick. Let him play and move right along. Maybe the Bulldogs army will re-appear, although let’s hope they’re only throwing tomatoes.

Two decisions that won’t wash away in the Breeze

One person who needs to steer clear of tomato throwers is A-League grand final referee Matthew Breeze. It seems anyone and everyone has had their say on the A-League grand final and the brouhaha it became – but I can’t resist having my own.

The decision was a disgrace.

Even the FFA’s match review panel rescinded both red cards – no harsher kick in the teeth for a referee.

It’s one thing to champion referee’s rights – which he does so well. It’s one thing to make a mistake, miss a penalty, misjudge a dive etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

But the ‘best official in the land’ should have the poise and gumption to realise the consequences of a 10^th minute send-off in the sport’s decider. Is it worth ruining a contest when there is still doubt?

Breeze ought to have seen Cristiano pull out a sledge hammer and hack away at Vargas before having the certainty to make Adelaide play the sport’s show-piece match one player short for 80 minutes. Instead, he saw his assistant run on the field like a deer in head lights and flung out the red card like it was a dance move he’d been practicing to pull off for years.

Adelaide looked like they were going to step up to the plate to deliver one of the A-League’s memorable performances, perhaps one of the greatest upsets. Instead, they were lauded for trying hard in the face of adversity. Scant consolation.

And the second send off was even more of a farce. It was a proverbial square-up, a red-card for an imaginative head butt. Really, Eugene Galekovic’s imitation of Kevin Muscat was a much worse offence.

The video killed the umpire’s star

So, a quick chat with the fourth official or eye-in-the-sky might have spared Breeze’s blushes if he had those resources available to him in football. A quick chat upstairs so the referee can see what we saw, and we move on.

Overall, I’m a fence sitter about technology. Great in tennis, so the old chaps in the stand can make a fuss about the trajectory of the ball as it gets replayed on the screen. Used properly in league, it was a revolution for the better. In NFL? They don’t know any better, but, really, its zzzzzzzzzzz.

In cricket? It’s got a long way to go.

1)      The old saying ‘it all evens out’ is one of the beauties of the game. Cricket isn’t perfect; people drop catches, batsmen get nicks, bowlers bowl no-balls. Umpires make mistakes. It gives the commentators something to talk about and provides colour and controversy to five-days of constant play.

2)      Unless hot-spot, snicko and all of Tony Greig’s other marvellous contraptions are used, what’s the point? Television cameras create illusions and the third ump is merely going square eyed. One minute he snicked it, the next minute, fresh air between bat and ball! Nothing’s more subjective than a cricket wicket decision – commentators are often at odds, so why should 1 third umpire over turn 1 on-field umpire’s decision?

3)      Most important, Punter can barely finish a day’s play on time as it is. Why drag it out any longer.