So now what? Now what for the Blues, now what for State of Origin, now what for the showpiece chunk of rugby league super-action? Because while we’ll never not watch - it’s just what we do on three Wednesday nights in winter - one team’s dominance has reduced the contest to champions versus try-hards. Put simply: the Blues cannot win.
They can’t. They cannot beat these people. They are not good enough. The other team is just so much better. Better players, better team. They’ve played together longer and have worked out how to win. And win again, and again, until there’s been only one blip in 11 years. And that’s just how it is. Champion team and team of champions. A heady combination.
And thus the Blues need to dig about in the darkest recesses of their souls. They need the mother of all truth sessions. They need to stare into the abyss where they will wonder, “What the hell more can we do?” And then they need to do this: sack them all. Players, coach, gear stewards, that fit guy with the moustache.
Sack them bloody all.
But they won’t sack them all. Because that would be silly. But they do need change. Wholesale, structural, root-and-branch ch-ch-change. And they need it before game three. Desperate times demand desperate measures. Which means it’s time to bring back… Jarryd Hayne.
Yes, the fabled Hayne Plane, sucked back into the fold from wherever it is he’s playing whatever at the moment. And the only way to do it is with cold hard cash money. NSW authorities need to open that fabled war chest, and put the hard word on those corporate swinging dicks who call themselves “Friends of the Blues” or whatever – those types who support the club with company money, which buys “access” to the dressing shed and sideline where they wear lanyards, sports jackets and jeans. It’s time for these people to pony on up.
Really? Jarryd Hayne? Yes. Jarryd Hayne. He needn’t even play in the NRL. It may even be preferable that he doesn’t. Let him do whatever he likes and run about in France or Peru or Nigeria playing futsal, and he can become the champion of all Nigeria in the sport of futsal. But three times a year he’s back in blue, the first of his kind: the State of Origin specialist. Tell me that wouldn’t appeal to Jarryd’s sense of self.
Same thing with Semi Radradra. These swinging dick denim pants men need to use their considerable cash and political clout to lobby and/or bribe whoever needs lobbying and/or bribing and hence make it clear that the circumstance in which a player can represent the national team of Australia but not one of the states of Australia is very silly when you think about it. There are no All Blacks who can’t turn out for Waikato. There’s no anyone in any sport who can play for their country but not for one of that country’s provinces.
So yes, eligibility laws need a-changing again. And NSW needs to actively recruit whoever they can just as Queensland did with Greg Inglis and Israel Folau, which turned the Origin axis on its head.
Queensland has too many good players. Of course Queensland doesn’t think that. They’re sweet with it. But NSW, rugby league and State of bloody Origin can’t wait until they bloody go away. The Storm’s big three have a couple of years left. Billy Slater may have more because he didn’t even play this year or much of last year. And there are more on the way. There always are.
Look at dangerous Darius Boyd, popped into fullback. He carved up the Blues like your old man going hard on the Sunday roast with the Kitchener stay-sharp. Boyd’s been awesome. Maybe not awesome. He’s a fullback, not Krakatoa. But he’s high-skilled, high-functioning professional footy player, fast and damned good. And he’s been better than whoever the Blues have put against him. Dane Gagai has five tries in three Origins running outside Boyd. He’s a factor, Darius.
And NSW can’t win. They can’t beat this. It’s not possible for the NSW Blues in their current configuration of human beings to beat this current team of Queensland Maroons. If it wasn’t clear after the Blues snuck off with a series in 2014 then it is clear now. NSW can’t win. They could play 30 games and the Maroons would win 25.
NSW may as well blood all the kids now. Stuff being ready. Make them ready in the furnace of fire. Robbie Farah? Greg Bird? The great chunk of granite Paul Gallen? Thanks very much, brave warriors, noble steeds. Thanks for all the blood and bark. But time’s up. The English have a nice thing in cricket – the testimonial year. State of Origin should have no such sentimentality.
Yet it appears it does. Blues coach Laurie Daley is universally described as a nice man. I had a big feed of Chinese food with him once, and we spun the lazy Susan on many issues around State of Origin rugby league. And it’s clear that Our Loz is a nice man who values loyalty. It’s his thing, except when it isn’t. And The Gal and Robbie have benefited from Nice Loz.
But it’s over.
The coach? Phil Gould! The great Augustus, the smartest man in rugby league, perhaps the smartest man in all of NSW. Just about invented rugby league. Dip into that war chest, Friends of League, and get him back. Origin coach Gould, the greatest one NSW’s ever had.
Because the new Baby Blues will need the fear. They need the wind up them. They need the great bulbous eyes and ’tood of Gus Gould – a man who actually looks half cane toad – telling them how things are. Being mean to them. Ripping in. Hurting feelings. Instilling steel with hard truth.
Laurie can hang around and be a good bloke. He’ll be one of those blokes around footy clubs with no specific role other than be a good bloke. Every team needs one of them. But the figure-head and chief up front should be Augustus. And Gus can bring in Brad Fittler and Andrew Johns because players think they’re good blokes and they were astonishingly good at rugby league and their opinion is highly sought.
Oh? Players? You mean should Hayne Plane and Semi Trailer not be eligible in time for Game Three? For mine, Jimmy Tedesco wears the No1. Matt Moylan stays but shifts to five-eighth or the bench, even the wing. Jimmy Maloney? Well played, sir. Josh Mansour? Can’t argue. The rest? Won’t like hearing this.
Blake Ferguson? We’ve rissoled you from the XVII. Micky Jennings? Time’s up. You’ve been good. Occasionally great. But if you were gonna, you woulda. Thanks, Jet Shoes. But it’s over. It’s over. Jack Bird goes into the centres or five-eighth or rides the pine. Dylan Walker? We’re undecided. Pretty close to rissoling you but youth is on your side and we’ve seen what you can do with Manly and Souths. So dashing Dylan wins a stay of execution and half-a-buttock on the bench.
Adam Reynolds? Sorry. But Maloney is now NSW’s No7 for as long as he wants. And if he goes down then it’s Aiden Sezar. We want Bryce Cartwright and Wade Graham and Blake Austin in there somewhere too. This current mob can’t win. They just can’t. And something must be done.
Would any of that work? Maybe not. Your magic ball is no better than mine. But they’ve got to do something, anything, to staunch the inevitability of these contests that were once so even it was widely remarked how even they were. For so many years, the stats were so even. For 25 years there were single tries in it. So close was it that Queenslanders argued whether history should count that funny game in Los Angeles or Long Beach or wherever it was, when Peter Sterling got stuck in the banner. Now they’d just about give it to the Blues out of sympathy.
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