Tag Archives: Canterbury-Bankstown Bulldogs

Second Glance

More than ten years ago now, I visited San Francisco’s Museum of Modern Art, affectionately known as the SFMOMA. I’m no art buff and definitely couldn’t identify a Monet from a Manet, but it was well worth the visit. There were wacky sculptures, impressive photos of things both old and new, and even a triple-barrel Elvis with guns drawn.

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The Cost of Doing Business

It’s only in the minutes after the final whistle blows, when you lean back from the edge of your seat, mute the TV and take a deep breath, that you realise how fast your heart is beating. Very briefly you consider whether this kind of carry-on is doing any long term damage to your health.

As you wait for the after-match interviews — your reward of sorts, a few moments both to bask in the glory and suck in the big ones — the rhythm slows, although it will be some time before your heart gets back to its normal resting speed.

The two points are in the bank, the camera focuses in on Monty Betham’s shiny head and you soak in the highlights. Rewind. Play. Pause. How did he do that? Play. You beauty! Rewind. Play. Rewind. Play.

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This is the Moment

Remember this date: 16 April 2016. It’s a date we look forward to as I write these words, but one day — maybe later this year, next year or whenever Ryan Hoffman is lifting the Provan-Summons Trophy surrounded by Simon Mannering, Shaun Johnson and Co. — we’ll look back at this date with hindsight and remember that 16 April 2016 was the day when everything changed, when the Warriors released the shackles, went all-in on their season, all-in on their future and backed themselves to come up with the best hand.

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Fond farewell . . . almost

You couldn’t just let us have it, could you?

Would it really have made a difference if you’d lost? You’d be playing the Rabbitohs instead of the Dragons. You’d have even had another day to recover, 24 more precious hours to prepare for finals footy.

But you didn’t have it in you, did you Mr Graham? Continue reading Fond farewell . . . almost