New South Wales versus Queensland in State of Origin is like Spy vs Spy, road runner vs coyote, that funny little Italian claymation show called the Red and the Blue, in which two ancient enemies fight forever. Except in Origin’s case one side always wins. Queensland. It’s just how it is.
Game 1 of the 2016 series was conservative, physical, intense footy action. Mistakes and flair were kept to a minimum. Both packs belted into each other with gusto and warred to attrition. It was very “Origin”. Robbie Williams mightn’t have called it entertaining. And it wasn’t even what you’d call pulsating. But it was tough. And in the dinkum derby of Origin, neither set of players, coaches nor their hard-core supporters cared what it looked like. It wasn’t about entertainment. It was about winning.
Pre-match storylines abounded. It was old vs new, the champion Maroons – hard-boned pros who are far from done – against new baby Blues, with five debutants. Though that didn’t tell the whole story. Queensland also blooded blokes. The Blues trotted out Paul Gallen. Cooper Cronk had a bung leg. The Blues’ secret weapon was Dylan Walker.
Pre-anthem and Matt Moylan walked out onto ANZ Stadium smiling. In his first State of Origin match. Captain of Penrith at 23. They don’t make young blokes captain of footy clubs unless they’re special. Yet Moylan would have a mixed night. And James Tedesco may nab the gig yet.
Kick-off and spider vision showed Nate Myles shoving Paul Gallen in the back, like a mean kid shoving another over in the schoolyard. Gallen came back at him. And the pair, in their way, bashed each other all match.
The Blues early were feisty, frenetic. They played fast footy, perhaps believing that’s the way it had to be, that that’s how “Origin” footy is. But it seemed in parts headless-chook, hot-potato. They were penalised, gave Queensland ball, expended nervous energy. Josh Morris dropped the ball trying to tap it onto his foot.
The Maroons, meanwhile, as is their way, looked cooler, stronger, even more mature. Greg Inglis looked ominous; the caged power of the man. Johnathan Thurston wasn’t in everything but owned the game when it mattered. Cronk and Cam Smith were understated. But when it mattered they played efficient, hard footy. These people know how to win. They just do.
Early on the Blues fed their speed man Micky Jennings on the left, attacking the Maroons new chums Justin O’Neill and Dane Gagai. Blake Ferguson ran at Inglis. Run at him, make him tackle, make him think. And maybe it worked. But the Maroons had plenty other guns.
Penalties came again. Odd ones. Blues inside the 10. A chest shot by Gallen on Matt Scott. And the Maroons forwards, given fresh sets, bombarded away with their giants. Won a penalty. Took two points. In Origin, take ‘em where you get ‘em.
But the Blues took something from it too. They’d given the Maroons every chance and held them out. Didn’t miss tackles. Executed in defence. They would get plenty of practice.
Queensland came again. Cronk bombed high and oddly. Moylan and Ferguson looked at each other, wondered who’d get it, watched the ball bounce and bobble in-goal, where the irrepressible Thurston, the champion player of his generation, more competitive than the US dollar, screamed in and made the tackle.
And 20 minutes in the Blues had barely attacked.
And then they did. They barged in. Moylan rolled one into the in-goal, tidily. Repeat set. And the Blues bombed away. Won a scrum. Another drop-out. The Maroons girded loins and repelled boarders like it was the north side of the Tweed.
Strange things happened. James Maloney popped a short, flat ball that would’ve likely been called forward in your weekly NRL. Instead the Old Bar Pirate, Boyd Cordner, plunged over, with Gerard Sutton putting the whistle straight to his lips and pointing to the spot in that distinctive and quite cool way of the referee – flat-palm karate-chop. Try-time. Adam Reynolds, 83.5% success rate all career, missed the very kickable goal. After 28 minutes it was 4-2 Blues.
Gallen was strong. Stung by Peter Sterling’s assertion that he couldn’t put Gallen in his XVII, the chunky workhorse took it personally. But he may have taken other criticism on board. His input was less frequent than we’re used to. But what was there was hard and effective. The man has the engine of a Mack Truck.
Fifth tackle, Thurston held the ball in two hands, probed like a surgeon, found Darius Boyd swinging wide out the back behind him. The fullback fed O’Neill who fed Gagai with quick hands for a super-slick, bunker-free four-pointer.
At half-time, there were plenty of players blowing hard. It was Queensland 6-4.
After there restart there was … biffo! Or at least what passes for it in these more sanitised, sensible times. Both sets of forwards crashed in with big bodies. From the sideline it sounds like giant bulls, but head-butting like billy-goats. And the dourness of the match didn’t let up.
“It’s teetering on a knife-edge this game, threatening to break free,” said commentator Phil Gould. And then it did break out. A bit, anyway.
Andrew Fifita had a 10-minute blinder. On fresh for Gallen, he tore in, offloaded, looked to tear the game open. Might this be the masterstroke from Laurie Daley and the Blues brainsmen? David Klemmer took heart from it, running hard and straight, a crazy man, not unlike old mate the Kurgan in Highlander. Michael Morgan became roadkill. He would not play again. There could be only one.
Fifita kept offloading. Moylan ran, Josh Jackson found some space, and the Maroons were run a little ragged around the ruck. The Blues came and came again, with their big bodies – Fifita and Klemmer their best. The Blues probably played the most footy of the two sides second half. But there was no way through.
For even with the tight score, there seemed an inevitability about the result. Even with Morris’s “No Try” in the corner. Adam Reynolds just bombed and bombed again. He needed to run, to threaten with his footwork. When Maloney did he put Cordner over for the try.
And the Maroons just did what the Maroons just do. Thurston passed to Boyd who passed to Sam Thaiday who passed to Inglis. Three different clubs, know each other like brothers. Thurston ripped off a brilliant grubber kick off the outside of his right boot. Cronk scooted after it like a little speed boat. Forced a drop out. The Blues defended like it was the south bank of the Tweed. Ferguson channelled Phil Duke. Pressure can make mugs of us all.
Ten to go and Aiden Guerra nearly lost his shorts, his buttocks yowling at the moon. Walker came on, the impact man, to tear the Maroons open. Seemed a big ask for a debutant. Boyd had no such worries. He hit a hole off a Thurston pass. Both sides were knackered in the first 8-interchange Origin. Seventy-two minutes of physical bash-action was taking its toll.
Five to go. Reynolds bombed again. Was there no other way? Was there no threading through? There was not. Not with a spine that hadn’t played together. Talented, all of them, for sure. But hardened into champions like these Queensland Maroons? These professional, hard-shouldered flat-out winners? No. The Blues came up short because they aren’t the Maroons. Wasn’t the referee or lady luck – both sides had a bit of each. The Blues lost because they don’t know how to win. They don’t believe. They’ll say they do but they don’t. How could they?
No. Game 1 of the 2016 State of Origin Series was won by the Maroons because they were – as they always are – clinical, physical, professional, tough, and infuriatingly good. Theirs is precision, quality footy. Cronk’s grubber at the end to find touch was pure Storm-ball. Thurston’s grubber with 60 seconds to play forced a drop-out, and buried the Blues in ANZ dirt.
