On Sunday night I went to see the Warriors play. It is only the second time I have done so and it will be a long time before I go again. It's simply too hard on the nerves.
The first time, a couple of years ago, they looked like a
bunch of over-pampered, gelled-up young men who lacked urgency and commitment. They snatched defeat from the jaws of victory that night. On Sunday night it was the same.
My grandfather, who was from Yorkshire, always told me that rugby league is a working man's game. The strongholds of the sport are amongst the working classes of the northwest of England and, more latterly, suburbs inhabited by the same kind of working people in Australia and New Zealand. It is no accident that the young men of Remuera, Kelburn or Fendalton are seldom to be found on league fields. They simply wouldn't survive.
It is a game that is hard, uncompromising and where no quarter is given. In terms of the physical and mental commitment required it leaves most other sports in the shade. When played at full ferocity it makes those who inhabit rugby union fields look like a bunch of nancy boys. Probably they are, now that the real competition seems to be about who can get the next underwear advertising contract or can boast the latest eye liner or hair product.
It was a cold night by Auckland standards when the Warriors took the field against a depleted Bulldogs team. Sitting at the back of the grandstand I was surrounded by hoards of young men with pointy little woolly hats. It was like being in the company of a phalanx of giant condoms. They didn't speak. They communicated by a series of head-nods, eye movements and grunts that all understood and were comfortable with. That's the way it should be at a game of rugby league. When I accidentally spilled beer on one of them he smiled, wiped his sleeve and then licked his hand. My kind of guy.
It was, however, disturbing that the officials for these matches now wear shocking pink shirts. Grandad would have turned in his grave. There are two referees - one to blow the whistle for things that became increasingly unclear as time went on and the other to remind the players how far 10 metres is so that they don't infringe. This is absurd. If players can't identify how far 10 metres is without the aid of an on-field mentor they ought to be sent to a remedial maths class.
No wonder close finishes are a problem for them. It's obviously a maths thing.
During the first half the game ebbed and flowed. Mostly it ebbed for the Warriors who seemed incapable of the urgency and finesse needed to finish off a series of promising attacks. Someone ought to tell them that if you do the same things in the same way over and over again you will usually get the same result. All the opposition needed to do was bide their time and that is precisely what they did.
Halftime was the highlight for me. Twenty or so scantily clad young women braved both the elements and the crowd to do some cheer-leading. They were quite outstanding. Given their agility and speed around the field the pity of it is that they didn't stay out to fight the Bulldogs in the second half rather than rushing back to their heaters indoors. One of them might even have been able to kick.
During the second half the pace of the game picked up slightly. The Warriors sneaked ahead despite a series of bewildering decisions not to take gift points from penalties when they were offered on a platter. The maths thing again.
With about three or four minutes to go the crowd were on their feet with anticipation and conversation was coming around to rushing down to get yet another season ticket. But it wasn't to be.
The Bulldogs knew. They bided their time and pounced with a couple of less than exhilarating attacks aided by tackling that would have seen the coach of the under-5s tear his hair out. Another loss.
As we all sidled out into the carpark to make our way home I was taken by the dedication of those who, week after week, all around the country, go to sporting events in the most inclement weather to support their team. They show resounding good cheer towards those they support and, on the strength of the odd morsel of success, come back for more.
In modern professional sports it is usually the case that players are deified and kowtowed to as though they have actually done something important, which, actually, they haven't. Kicking a ball or swinging a golf club is just that and nothing more.
I wonder, however, how often those same players spare a thought for the good folk who give them their living and provide them with the very affluent lifestyles many of them lead. If those in the Warriors did I would hope that it would be reflected on the field and off in the spirit and commitment that was the founding principle for the game they play and those who support it. It is not about winning every week. It is about looking as though you actually want to.
As Grandad said, league is and always will be a working man's game. Those people who go to the games work hard and may well sacrifice to get there. They deserve the best
* Dr John Langley is chief executive of Cognition Education, an education consulting company.
John Langley says league demands urgency and commitment. Photo / Supplied
Opinion
On Sunday night I went to see the Warriors play. It is only the second time I have done so and it will be a long time before I go again. It's simply too hard on the nerves.
The first time, a couple of years ago, they looked like a
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