Rabbitohs and Bulldogs ready to slug it out in rugby league showpiece

The Australian sporting calendar turns over another page this weekend and it’s rugby league’s opportunity to take centre stage. Let’s hope the NRL grand final between South Sydney and Canterbury produces more of a spectacle than last week’s one-sided AFL affair when my Sydney Swans mysteriously decided not to turn up performance-wise against Hawthorn, who must have been pleasantly surprised at the ease of their victory. I’ve always has a healthy respect for rugby league as a sport, even if I have never been a passionate watcher. I hail from Blackburn, a town just up the M6 from Wigan, which is deep in the heart of rugby league territory in England. But in reality it could be a million miles away in emotional terms, because rugby league just isn’t on the map in that area of Lancashire. Odd isn’t it. In essence rugby league is a minority sport in the UK. It’s basically played across a trans-Pennine corridor of South Lancashire and South Yorkshire. The Super League now embraces a token French team and down the years, there have been numerous attempts to establish a side in London, I guess with a view to attracting Northern and Antipodean expats in the capital. I remember going to a game at Brentford’s football ground with the Daily Telegraph’s Gary Slater, who was reporting on the match for whichever London incarnation existed at that time. Gary hails from Warrington and is an avid Wolves fan, so he knows the ropes. Plus, Griffin Park is an unusual venue in that it has a pub on all four corners of the ground. Very handy for thirsty journalists. And I can appreciate rugby league greatness when I come across it. I reckon Queensland legend Wally Lewis is the best player I have ever seen. He seemed to have so much time when he had his hands on the ball that time almost appeared to stand still until he decided where he would distribute the pigskin. It could almost have been like a frozen moment from The Magic Boomerang. I saw Lewis in the flesh once when the touring Australians of the mid-80s played Wigan at their old Central Park ground. There was a packed house, hopeful of the Cherries causing the much-lauded Aussies some grief. But Wally and his mates simply blew Wigan away. Arriving to live and work in Sydney in the mid-80s I was astonished at the amount of pages devoted to rugby league I had to edit for the old Sun newspaper. The Sydney teams all still played at their suburban bases back then. But in my eyes their crowd numbers were pitiful. Eastern Suburbs, as they were called then, played in front of audiences that would not have been much bigger than Rochdale and Halifax attendances in the lower tiers of the English Football League. But as sport’s chief sub and Scottish legend Brian ‘Doc’ Gregor simply told me: “It’s what they play here, Davy. So stop moaning and just sub the stuff.” When in Rome … and all the rest. But I was in Sydney so I decided to adopt the nearest team to my abode in Glebe. Which meant Balmain. I used to make it to the midweek Panasonic Cup games via a few ales in the Orange Grove pub up the hill from Leichardt Oval. They were entertaining evenings, especially when I was joined by Sydney Morning Herald sports reporter John Macdonald. John was such a genius with words that he could file his stuff from the halfway line stood as a spectator with me. Alas Balmain have since mutated into some entity known as West-Tigers, merging with the former Western Suburbs, which has meant that my interest has been diluted somewhat. Plus, I now live in Adelaide which is serious AFL territory. Strange how the two codes mutually exist but have little time for each other. If you board a plane in Adelaide talking about “football”, you mean Aussie Rules. Step off the flight in Sydney and mention “football’ and people would suddenly assume you are referring to rugby league. Sydney rugby league fans would routinely dismiss Aussie Rules as “aerial ping-pong”, while I’ve heard Aussie Rules aficionados deride the rugby league players as “bum sniffers’ in reference to the scrums. But the Sunday showdown will grab my attention especially with two English powerhouses as genuine stars in their respective teams. Step forward Sam Burgess for the Rabbitohs and James Graham for the Bulldogs. And I know my old mate Mike “Stevo” Stephenson will be watching from afar in the UK. Stevo, a son of Dewsbury, came out to Oz many years ago and did his stuff for Penrith. In his post-playing days, he was a columnist for The Sun when I was there and has now gone on to great things as a commentator on Super League with Sky in the UK. It should be a stirring contest between two of Sydney’s traditional bedrock teams, who are closely attached to their expectant communities. It should also be one helluva party for whoever wins in either Redfern or Belmore. I shall look on with interest as the conflict unfolds…