A guide to the real names of our NRL grounds
It is not just history that is flogged off when a sponsor buys naming rights to a ground; it is the present, too, because in sport, where so many of us live in the past, there is no difference.
It is not just history that is flogged off when a sponsor buys naming rights to a ground; it is the present, too, because in sport, where so many of us live in the past, there is no difference.
A century ago, Australian sporting teams left players out of tours to England because they were not the right type of chap. They might be a risk of passing the port the wrong way, blowing their noses too loudly, or otherwise embarrassing the colonials in front of their hosts. Or they might be Irish Catholics. Or they might not "fit in". No official explanation was given, thanks to the convenient cloak of selection-room confidentiality, but everyone heard the rumours and held a theory. Lines in the sand were drawn about off-field behaviour. Omissions were never purely on the basis of form or ability. You were either in or out of the clique.
It's easier to imagine what you have already seen. By 9.30pm on Sunday, history will be made or, more imaginably, repeated. For the Sharks, it is a greater leap to believe in what has never happened: players in black, white and blue holding up the premiership trophy. For the Storm, to believe in it is only to remember it.
Decisions, decisions. For the casual Sydney football fan (which is a tautology, if you ask a Melburnian), the weekend's AFL and NRL grand finals pose the eternal questions: heart or hometown; loyalty to the lyrical versus loyalty to the local; is there blood in the water, or are the Bloods thicker than water?
It will surprise no-one when Strike Force Nuralda, the NSW police investigation into match-fixing in rugby league, discovers that criminal gangs have started issuing breach notices to their members to warn them against consorting with footballers. No self-respecting evil genius can afford to be seen with an NRL player now.  Â
So it's farewell to Jamie Lyon, Benji Marshall and Parramatta Stadium: proof of the great game's ongoing power to mint people and places with personality.
History belongs to those who keep turning up, and durability is its own measure of success.
The rugby league season has been a conduit for a roaming moral vigilantism; a witch-hunt for bad people, from Mitchell Pearce to Corey Norman.
Now all that midseason flim-flam is over, rugby league fans can knuckle down to the serious business of cheering for whichever team offends them least.
Persisting with a dead Origin game exposes the hypocrisy of concerns for 'player welfare'
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