It’s always a nuisance when they schedule a Raiders game on Mother’s Day. You’d prefer they’d not schedule any matches at all. You know, leave the day free to do your duties as a son, or daughter, or husband, to the mother in question; and coincidentally be able to watch some League guilt-free on another day.
But alas, this isn’t so. Thus, you are obliged to serve your duties as son, or daughter, or husband with that much more distinction and enthusiasm in order to exchange that service for two hours free time to watch the league on that same day.
So the dutiful husband I was. When my 18-month old son woke at 5am I was there. Made him breakfast, read four stories, changed three nappies. Benches were wiped, bins emptied. Breakfast in bed for mum was made.
Now you may say I am being churlish and ungrateful. Yes, she endured hours of painful childbirth, made sacrifices for her career and endured sleep deprivation for the first full year after my son was born. But did she ever score the equalising try in the 1989 Grand Final against the Tigers with minutes to spare?
I think you have your answer.
So after performing my duties with enthusiasm and distinction, I arrived at the Southern Cross Club a few minutes after the game had started. I sat down to see the Knights running in a second try for a 14 – 0 lead.
14 to nil. Good lord, I didn’t get up at 5 am and act like a responsible father for this nonsense.
Nor did I come to watch a team that includes the odious Willie Mason beat my beloved Raiders. Willie Mason – immortalised by Making the Nut’s ‘Willie M Awards’ for the worst player of each regular season – is grinding out the minimum wage these days in Newcastle.
From what I could see of ol’ Willie, he spent much of the game from the sideline, face pensive, watching his team-mates run or tackle or hit the ball up. Interestingly, his time on the field was spent exactly the same way: watching his team mates do the tackling or running or passing. He may have trotted up once or twice to place a hand on a Raider already tackled by three other players, but little else that I saw.
His last touch of the ball in the match was an ill-advised offload that ended up being dribbled forward. I smiled. Good to see Willie earning his minimum wage.
Anyway, the point being it was a grim start to the match. I started to hope that the infamous Canberra Whale hot air balloon would crash onto the field (for those of you who haven’t heard of this, the ‘Booby Whale’ is an unspeakably ugly piece of ‘public art’ that was commissioned by the city of Canberra to celebrate its centenary. It’s a flying whale with ten large saggy breasts. I’m not kidding.)
I briefly hoped for a Hindenburg-like conflagration at Bruce Stadium, which would serve the dual purpose of stopping the game and putting an end to an embarrassing artistic eyesore. Maybe Mason would be flattened by one of the dangling boobs, just to make it that much sweeter.
But it didn’t need to come to that. No divine intervention was required.
Because once the Raiders get going in a game this season (and they always take a while to get going) they look unstoppable. This is the team that beat an undefeated Melbourne Storm at home, after all. Terry Campese had the ball on a string and the Raiders right wing – Ferguson and Earl, shattered the Knights’ left wing. The two scored six tries (count them – six) between them.
Recall they are doing all of this without their highest-paid star player Josh Dugan, who left the club in disgrace and is now apparently set to play with St George. Well, the Raiders are playing like a 600,000 dollar albatross has been lifted from around their necks. They look like a close team, with a great spirit, and a desire to win.
My lovely wife brought my son in for the last few minutes of the game. He saw Wighton score the final try and he clapped along with the rest of the patrons. Some may say he was just copying them; I say the Raiders have their newest fan.
This article will appear in the 2013 NRL Almanac