Australian Sport, Rugby League, NFL, WWE
Fresh from a weekend of NFL coverage, I am stuck wondering why their product is as popular as it is.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the NFL. I soak in as much as Fox Sports and Pretend ESPN will give me on a week to week basis. I play fantasy football, I read Peter King, and I wake up at 6am on Mondays to watch the games live (Remember, I work nights, write columns in the afternoon, and go to Uni twice a week; anything that gets me up before midday must be good).
So even more perplexing than my original reservation—if I can see the flaws, why do I love the product so much?
And there are plenty of flaws. To be concise, American football is boring. Between the plethora of commercial breaks, timeouts, TV timeouts, penalties, replay reviews, measurements, pointless sideline banter, officials meetings, and inane and inexplicable celebrations, watching a 60 minute game—which runs near 3 hours—is a test of patience for anyone.
But people do watch, and in the hundreds of millions each week they do. From what I can gather, those people are watching for two reasons: a strong dose of weekly patriotism, and to follow the leagues story lines.
The first is the biggest draw card for the NFL. The league does everything in its power to associate itself with American life, and it is arguable it has achieved a cultural reach beyond that of any other entity.
Raking in over 6 billion dollars annually, the NFL is [USA] nationally recognized as the biggest sport in America, and one of the single most profitable leagues in the world. Operating in some form since the late 1800’s, the game has been a constant in the ever changing scenery that is American history. Because of this, the game has become more than a weekend activity. It is an integral part of American culture, implementing itself as a stable part of American Sundays, Monday nights, Thanksgivings, Christmas’, and New Years days. The championship game—the super bowl—is nationally accepted as a public holiday.
It bleeds stars and stripes, it supports all the national issues (Katrina, the troops, the fight against childhood obesity), and it projects a image that gives self worth and hope to a wholly depressed and internationally hated nation.
So for a U.S. citizen not to support the NFL, they are basically announcing, they don’t support America. Its sad, but its fact, and in the end most people are watching probably because they feel they should, rather than they want too. Baseball used to command that kind of guilt, and now football does.
The second draw card (and I guess the main reason I watch), the extremely compelling story lines. Excessive, character driven, over-dramatized, and most importantly, never ending, the weekly soap opera that is the NFL is the best show on TV.
Every drama series would love to have the mix of action the NFL provides. A plethora of dynamic stars, the endless pressure of winning, the constant coloration of money, the quantitative squabbles, the notoriety and the trouble that causes, the groupies, the always present threat of drugs, rookies, contracts, coaches, insubordinates, trades and crossed loyalty—it’s all there. Couple that with the violent encounters to settle it all at the end of the week and you are left with the proverb—you cant write this stuff!
Like I said, I can’t get enough. To the point where I feel I enjoy the build up throughout the week more than the actual games themselves. If the NFL were The Usual Suspects, the media frenzy during the week would be the 2 hours prior to the climatic scene (the games) in which we witness Kevin Spacey’s feet blow our minds.
So I guess, now that I have thought about it, I’m just a sucker for great marketing. The NFL knows that advertising money is their bread and butter (that’s why they started the NFL Network); that money is determined by how many ads you run during a specific broadcast, so they found every conceivable way to fit in more ads. This over saturation of ads created their current situation: a game broadcast in-between ads, rather than ads broadcast in-between a game. Realizing the unattractive nature of a diluted product, the NFL set out to distract the viewers from the on field product by embracing everything off the field.
Rather than shying away from off the field incidents, the NFL has positioned itself—while not endorsing the deviant actions of their players—as a rich source of media headlines. The forced press conferences, the unyielding coverage, the locker room access, the loyalty challenging nature of the franchise tag, the obsessive requirement of injury reports, the nakedness of the NFL sideline, sideline reporters, the open principals office nature in which they discipline, the controversial fines, the easily solvable yet remaining-ly over-complicated rule book, HBO’s Hard knocks, NFL.com, Sirus NFL radio…the list goes on. It’s all there to either provoke discussion or preach the discussion. Anything that takes the viewers focus of the field and places it on the sideline, the NFL has a interest in.
By embracing the media, the NFL controls how the stories are going to be released. The league knows those stories will be broken anyway, so they figure: why not break them their way. Like cigarette companies shifted the focus of smokers away from the negative aspects (the health risks) of their product in the 60s, the NFL has done the same. It truly is marketing at its finest.
So what we have learned about the NFL is—it’s popular because it is a great product. The modern pro game isn’t, but the NFL is. I can see the flaws; anyone can if they look hard enough. The NFL just does a great job blocking our view.
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And what is there to learn from the NFL?
EVERYTHING if you are the NRL.
Providing a product that exhibits the same fundamental strengths that the NFL has thrived on (violence, an ingrained history, national stars), the NRL—unfortunately—has the disadvantage of a must faster, free flowing game structure. Primarily that means less opportunity to insert ads—a good thing for fans; a bad thing for the NRL’s bottom line.
The NRL is too reliant on the on field product to attract people to the game. They cannot afford to dilute their product with advertisements. Unlike the NFL, the NRL doesn’t have the same quantitative draw cards (excessive scouting and fantasy football). The nature of a rugby league game means the NRL’s box score has little significance past time of possession, tackles made, and points scored. Not to the public at least.
With this said, the NRL can still benefit from a reformed attitude towards the media. By embracing the marketing platform the media provides, the NRL controls the media. They need to feed the beast. Namely, by embracing—but never endorsing—the off-field antics of their stars. By pretending they don’t exist, the NRL is wasting opportunities to create more headlines, shift the NRL further into the greater social conscience, and give the casual fan an emotional reason to care.
Sure, on the surface this approach draws skepticism, but I would argue “all press is good press”, when you embrace the media.
The best example of the media’s power is the rise to infamous-y (I made that up) experienced by Willie Mason. First the media loved him. He was the new kid on the block—big, strong, the future of rugby league. They built him up high.
Then came the rape allegations, the salary cap scandal, and the gangland associations that began to influence the famed Bulldog culture. Classic drama, the media needed a face to represent the Bulldogs, and Mason was the tallest of poppies. If Australia had been the WWF, the media would be Vince MCMahon (the capitalist puppet master), and Willie Mason would be Hulk Hogan (a notorious “good guy” who turned “evil” when the time was right; namely, the expansion of pro-wrestling with the establishment of the WCW).
Luckily for the media and the NRL (although they would never admit it), Mason embraced his new role. First by bringing the Bulldogs together by embracing a “us against them” mentality, then by subtly telling the media (and the Australian public) to fuck off, before finally defying all odds and beating the golden boys of the NRL (a Brad Fittler led Roosters side) to win the 2004 premiership. At this point he was both the most hated man in the NRL, and their biggest draw card.
His rematches with the bulldogs, his controversial comments on the league, his nightlife behavior, his role within the bulldogs—love him or hate him (and I do hate him despite this column), everyone wanted to know what would happen next.
And that’s what we learn from the NFL. It not just what happens next on the field, it’s what happens next off the field as well. In today’s multi-tasking world, keeping the market’s attention is more complex than playing a competitive game on weekends. A league needs to be in the markets conscience daily. The NRL can’t expect the market to go looking for their product.
And that’s what they need to be: a good product. Not just a good game.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Marketing Opportunities
In todays over saturated market, creating brand awareness is corporate priority no. 1. It’s a world where the average person is exposed to 3000 ads a day, so foregrounding ones self—however it occurs—is paramount. From there its up to selling the product—selling is merely a myriad of innovative campaigns that deceive people into believing they actually need what they desire. Sport is entertainment; entertainment is a desire.
With this in mind, it is arguable that the recent off field actions of Andrew Symonds, Ben Cousins, and Sonny Bill Williams are—converse to what people believe—great promotions for Cricket, AFL, and Rugby League respectively.
Think about it logically.
Each incident has raised questions about the attitudes, values, and character of the individual involved—the public were offended by the notion Symonds would put fishing before the honor of playing for Australia; the public became fed up with Cousins’ disrespect for the game, his life, and the fans; and the public were disgusted with the cowardly manor in which Williams chased the euro and fled the country. The unfortunate part for the leagues—these incidents fuel the existing stigmas that professional athletes are selfish, egocentric, prim donnas. It’s a terribly negative situation for any organization.
However, in marketing and advertising, it is true that where there is a negative, there is opportunity. By exposing the faults in a system, you have the chance to fix them for the better. Sports leagues are judged by the integrity of their shield. If the players don’t respect the league, they announce to the world that the league isn’t important enough to respect. If the league isn’t important to the players, than why should it be important to the public. The excess of media coverage that accompany off the field discrepancies will either kill you by promoting your ineptitude, or it will give you a platform for renaissance.
By using the additional media coverage as a platform for making examples of each player (all marquee players), each league sets a firm precedent. Namely, that no player is above the law, that playing is not a right but a privilege, that the aforementioned behavior will not be tolerated, and that respect (for the game, for the fans, for their teams) is a key value to be upheld by the league. Each incident is a opportunity for the league to show (publically) that they do not endorse the actions of those involved, concurrently marketing itself as a father figure to today’s youth.
The NBA’s firm response to the infamous Pistons-Pacers brawl has put the league in a better position now—image-wise—then it had before the brawl occurred. The latter dealings with the off field actions of Shane Warne is a great example of how a league can respond, and benefit accordingly. Warne was the top player in game, he lost playing time, and came back preaching his new found respect for the game. A catalyst for future action, the dealings with a high profile star like Warne probably encouraged the NRL to offer Andrew Johns his ultimatum.
(Johns had a drug problem. It was a badly kept secret in and around Newcastle. Don’t argue it. Just accept it. Considering that, it’s highly conceivable to believe—and I do—that the NRL came to the point where the story was going to go national, and they would have to suspend Johns. Rather than do so, Johns was given the option to retire, save face, and take up his position in the media without controversy. Of course he took it, channel 9 got a great story by miraculously being on the scene—filming mind you—when Johns “career ending injury” took place, and the rugby league world went on. It was a savvy move by Gallop. I’m convinced of this.)
Like a professional team with strong character will beat a unprofessional team with great skill, a professional league with strong character will thrive against a unprofessional league with skilled players.
Of course there is no opportunity if the league does not act firmly, which is—believably—the action that has been expressed in the past to this point, and subsequently, the reason these leagues have image problems to begin with.
The message of course is: use the media, don't fight it. It's free advertising. the sooner leagues realise this—and the latest actions against each of the players in question seem to imply they do—the better for Australian sport and our youth.
With this in mind, it is arguable that the recent off field actions of Andrew Symonds, Ben Cousins, and Sonny Bill Williams are—converse to what people believe—great promotions for Cricket, AFL, and Rugby League respectively.
Think about it logically.
Each incident has raised questions about the attitudes, values, and character of the individual involved—the public were offended by the notion Symonds would put fishing before the honor of playing for Australia; the public became fed up with Cousins’ disrespect for the game, his life, and the fans; and the public were disgusted with the cowardly manor in which Williams chased the euro and fled the country. The unfortunate part for the leagues—these incidents fuel the existing stigmas that professional athletes are selfish, egocentric, prim donnas. It’s a terribly negative situation for any organization.
However, in marketing and advertising, it is true that where there is a negative, there is opportunity. By exposing the faults in a system, you have the chance to fix them for the better. Sports leagues are judged by the integrity of their shield. If the players don’t respect the league, they announce to the world that the league isn’t important enough to respect. If the league isn’t important to the players, than why should it be important to the public. The excess of media coverage that accompany off the field discrepancies will either kill you by promoting your ineptitude, or it will give you a platform for renaissance.
By using the additional media coverage as a platform for making examples of each player (all marquee players), each league sets a firm precedent. Namely, that no player is above the law, that playing is not a right but a privilege, that the aforementioned behavior will not be tolerated, and that respect (for the game, for the fans, for their teams) is a key value to be upheld by the league. Each incident is a opportunity for the league to show (publically) that they do not endorse the actions of those involved, concurrently marketing itself as a father figure to today’s youth.
The NBA’s firm response to the infamous Pistons-Pacers brawl has put the league in a better position now—image-wise—then it had before the brawl occurred. The latter dealings with the off field actions of Shane Warne is a great example of how a league can respond, and benefit accordingly. Warne was the top player in game, he lost playing time, and came back preaching his new found respect for the game. A catalyst for future action, the dealings with a high profile star like Warne probably encouraged the NRL to offer Andrew Johns his ultimatum.
(Johns had a drug problem. It was a badly kept secret in and around Newcastle. Don’t argue it. Just accept it. Considering that, it’s highly conceivable to believe—and I do—that the NRL came to the point where the story was going to go national, and they would have to suspend Johns. Rather than do so, Johns was given the option to retire, save face, and take up his position in the media without controversy. Of course he took it, channel 9 got a great story by miraculously being on the scene—filming mind you—when Johns “career ending injury” took place, and the rugby league world went on. It was a savvy move by Gallop. I’m convinced of this.)
Like a professional team with strong character will beat a unprofessional team with great skill, a professional league with strong character will thrive against a unprofessional league with skilled players.
Of course there is no opportunity if the league does not act firmly, which is—believably—the action that has been expressed in the past to this point, and subsequently, the reason these leagues have image problems to begin with.
The message of course is: use the media, don't fight it. It's free advertising. the sooner leagues realise this—and the latest actions against each of the players in question seem to imply they do—the better for Australian sport and our youth.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Australia 18, France 13
In regards to my Giteau: the best 12 in the world piece, this game did little to change my mind. He still doubled down too often, drifted across field on too many set plays, took too many of those hop catches from Burgess, and failed to establish a structured attack. I repeat, he is not a ten.
If anything, his play fueled the argument that he is a great twelve. He tagged the play well, fed off of second phase play, created havoc in the seams during broken play, and helped shut down a deceptively potent French offense with a flawless display of defensive decision making.
Nothing perpetuates this point more than the play he engineered down the blind side to set up Peter Hynes for the try that sealed the win. Giteau, working off the back of quick ball, played the numbers perfectly, exploiting a reeling French defense by sweeping to the weak side and creating the overlap. It reminded me of Ella.
From everything I’ve read, watched, and heard, Ella was part Jedi. I’m convinced of this. His success came from his ability to see where the break was going to happen two or three phases ahead of time. When you watch the tape, you notice he scours the field constantly, seemingly moving slower than everyone else when he doesn’t have the ball. He then quickly attacks one side of the field several times in succession with a flurry of switches and short balls, before fleetly darting to the—now—weak side to exploit the break he saw coming 4 phases ago. He could have been a Podracer.
His greatest asset was his ability to create hesitation in the defense, a skill he possessed because of his incredible acceleration and awareness. Think Chris Paul on a rugby field. Andrew Johns was the only person I ever saw change the speed of a game like Ella. Everything Ella did seemed so calculated, but improvised at the same time. He was ahead of his time. A great rugby mind that will never be seen again.
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More important though than Giteau or the final score, was the new look mantra and confidence that has been lost from Wallabies teams since the departure of Rod McQueen. The brilliance of Deans is finally showing in both how the team plays and presents itself. In Paris the whole team carried itself with a certain swagger. They looked like the Crusaders.
This new found swagger was most evident in the way they handled losing the lead.
On the back of a period of physical dominating rugby from the French—Australia took their best shot for a good fifteen minutes, and only surrendered a lucky field goal—the Australian pack struck right back, manning up and driving through the teeth of the French pack via a succession of efficient pick-and-drives. It was at this point Giteau engineered Hynes’ score. The aggressive style in which Australia responded probably crushed the French mentally more than anything. It was an intense, identity defining period for the Wallabies. A identity that has been forged by Dean’s highly successful coaching system.
From what I can gather, Deans’ system is built around the instilment of a collective arrogant confidence, with an ultimate goal of creating a team culture where the players always believe they will win. It’s brilliant because once the team buys in, it’s wholly self-sustaining—like a green energy system. Expensive to set up (wins and experience are lost in the beginning), the system turns a profit in the long run. You could argue that beating France was the proverbial ‘breaking even’.
There are three key steps in the Deans manifesto:
1st) A number of young talented players are nurtured into the squad—the young players vibrancy and naïve approach to the game creates a relaxed and confident atmosphere among the team.
2nd) The team—operating in a relaxed environment—begins plays a smarter, more controlled, confident brand of rugby that is built around Deans’ fast break, counter-attack style of game management.
3rd) This style of play leads to more wins, which breeds confidence, and subsequently fuels step two.
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The true test will come in Cardiff this weekend. The wallabies have the mental edge after their success there during the world cup, but Wales is a savvy team. I expect them to cause mechanical trouble for the younger players, especially around the breakdown. With that said, if the team can carry themselves like they did in Paris, and soak in the Deans’ mantra this week, they should win comfortably. Let’s see that swagger.
If anything, his play fueled the argument that he is a great twelve. He tagged the play well, fed off of second phase play, created havoc in the seams during broken play, and helped shut down a deceptively potent French offense with a flawless display of defensive decision making.
Nothing perpetuates this point more than the play he engineered down the blind side to set up Peter Hynes for the try that sealed the win. Giteau, working off the back of quick ball, played the numbers perfectly, exploiting a reeling French defense by sweeping to the weak side and creating the overlap. It reminded me of Ella.
From everything I’ve read, watched, and heard, Ella was part Jedi. I’m convinced of this. His success came from his ability to see where the break was going to happen two or three phases ahead of time. When you watch the tape, you notice he scours the field constantly, seemingly moving slower than everyone else when he doesn’t have the ball. He then quickly attacks one side of the field several times in succession with a flurry of switches and short balls, before fleetly darting to the—now—weak side to exploit the break he saw coming 4 phases ago. He could have been a Podracer.
His greatest asset was his ability to create hesitation in the defense, a skill he possessed because of his incredible acceleration and awareness. Think Chris Paul on a rugby field. Andrew Johns was the only person I ever saw change the speed of a game like Ella. Everything Ella did seemed so calculated, but improvised at the same time. He was ahead of his time. A great rugby mind that will never be seen again.
---
More important though than Giteau or the final score, was the new look mantra and confidence that has been lost from Wallabies teams since the departure of Rod McQueen. The brilliance of Deans is finally showing in both how the team plays and presents itself. In Paris the whole team carried itself with a certain swagger. They looked like the Crusaders.
This new found swagger was most evident in the way they handled losing the lead.
On the back of a period of physical dominating rugby from the French—Australia took their best shot for a good fifteen minutes, and only surrendered a lucky field goal—the Australian pack struck right back, manning up and driving through the teeth of the French pack via a succession of efficient pick-and-drives. It was at this point Giteau engineered Hynes’ score. The aggressive style in which Australia responded probably crushed the French mentally more than anything. It was an intense, identity defining period for the Wallabies. A identity that has been forged by Dean’s highly successful coaching system.
From what I can gather, Deans’ system is built around the instilment of a collective arrogant confidence, with an ultimate goal of creating a team culture where the players always believe they will win. It’s brilliant because once the team buys in, it’s wholly self-sustaining—like a green energy system. Expensive to set up (wins and experience are lost in the beginning), the system turns a profit in the long run. You could argue that beating France was the proverbial ‘breaking even’.
There are three key steps in the Deans manifesto:
1st) A number of young talented players are nurtured into the squad—the young players vibrancy and naïve approach to the game creates a relaxed and confident atmosphere among the team.
2nd) The team—operating in a relaxed environment—begins plays a smarter, more controlled, confident brand of rugby that is built around Deans’ fast break, counter-attack style of game management.
3rd) This style of play leads to more wins, which breeds confidence, and subsequently fuels step two.
---
The true test will come in Cardiff this weekend. The wallabies have the mental edge after their success there during the world cup, but Wales is a savvy team. I expect them to cause mechanical trouble for the younger players, especially around the breakdown. With that said, if the team can carry themselves like they did in Paris, and soak in the Deans’ mantra this week, they should win comfortably. Let’s see that swagger.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Australia 20, New Zealand 34
I do care about rugby league on an international level?
I didn’t think I did. No one I was with thought they did. It shocked me. It shocked us. Sure, I have always caught the games, hoped we would prevail, and proverbially shifted towards the edge of my seat when the tests were close. But cared! Actually cared, like I do when I watch the Socceroos or the Wallabies. I didn’t know I did. I didn’t know you couldn’t know.
Of course this realization was not nearly as confusing as what transpired in the second half of the game. Starting with Slater turning into a mix of the ‘02 Justin Hodges and the ‘07 Jarryd Hayne, spiraling when Thurston secretly lathered his hands with soap and/or butter, and ending with Monaghan’s decision to deploy a ‘clothes hanger off the ropes’ special on Lance Hohaia, the last quarter of the game provided the definitive argument for the existence of karma.
The saddest thing is, as a result, I won’t be able to watch a sports movie the same ever again. In all classic sports movies we are reminded that ‘anything is possible’ when the proverbial David defeats the proverbial Goliath. Last night, for the first time in a while, Australia played the role of Goliath. All week the media pumped Goliath with editorial steroids: questioning how a blowout in the final would be good for the game, claiming this team as one of the greatest test sides ever, and even questioning the heart of the Kiwis. The result: Goliath grew bigger and more vulnerable, David found his rock, and suddenly a script was written.
As is traditional, David beat Goliath; New Zealand was the better team on the night. There is no arguing that. They withstood an early flurry, they got in the heads of the Aussie backs, and they exploited the flaws that Wayne Bennett knew all too well. That’s why they play the game.
So why can't I watch sports movies again? Well, for the first time ever, all the fans, parents, players, and coaches of each sports movies Goliath had a face, they had feelings, they existed. i saw it in all the people around me. I was reminded that all those Alabama fans watching the bourbon bowl in The Waterboy would have been absolutely crushed when Adam Sandler threw that perfect touchdown bomb to Adam Dante as time expired. They were innocent like me. They didn’t deserve the cold serving of karma. They didn’t verbally abuse and exploit a young mentally challenged Bobby Boucher; they didn’t spit in his cooler; they didn’t steal Coach Klein’s playbook, and they didn’t ruin a small redneck pep rally. They just supported the team, like so many Australians did last night.
Despite everything: the raw serving of karma, the before-our-eyes demise of a great (Lockyer), the painful flashbacks to 2003 prompted by the English fans celebrating more than the New Zealand fans, and the pending ugliness that will ensue as the media work out who too blame, what happened—a short return to parity—is ultimately a great thing for the game of rugby league. I guarantee David Gallop was rooting for New Zealand to keep it competitive. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a boner for that entire second half……..Wait. Insinuating that the NRL commissioner will need to get his pants dry cleaned? Lets just end here.
I didn’t think I did. No one I was with thought they did. It shocked me. It shocked us. Sure, I have always caught the games, hoped we would prevail, and proverbially shifted towards the edge of my seat when the tests were close. But cared! Actually cared, like I do when I watch the Socceroos or the Wallabies. I didn’t know I did. I didn’t know you couldn’t know.
Of course this realization was not nearly as confusing as what transpired in the second half of the game. Starting with Slater turning into a mix of the ‘02 Justin Hodges and the ‘07 Jarryd Hayne, spiraling when Thurston secretly lathered his hands with soap and/or butter, and ending with Monaghan’s decision to deploy a ‘clothes hanger off the ropes’ special on Lance Hohaia, the last quarter of the game provided the definitive argument for the existence of karma.
The saddest thing is, as a result, I won’t be able to watch a sports movie the same ever again. In all classic sports movies we are reminded that ‘anything is possible’ when the proverbial David defeats the proverbial Goliath. Last night, for the first time in a while, Australia played the role of Goliath. All week the media pumped Goliath with editorial steroids: questioning how a blowout in the final would be good for the game, claiming this team as one of the greatest test sides ever, and even questioning the heart of the Kiwis. The result: Goliath grew bigger and more vulnerable, David found his rock, and suddenly a script was written.
As is traditional, David beat Goliath; New Zealand was the better team on the night. There is no arguing that. They withstood an early flurry, they got in the heads of the Aussie backs, and they exploited the flaws that Wayne Bennett knew all too well. That’s why they play the game.
So why can't I watch sports movies again? Well, for the first time ever, all the fans, parents, players, and coaches of each sports movies Goliath had a face, they had feelings, they existed. i saw it in all the people around me. I was reminded that all those Alabama fans watching the bourbon bowl in The Waterboy would have been absolutely crushed when Adam Sandler threw that perfect touchdown bomb to Adam Dante as time expired. They were innocent like me. They didn’t deserve the cold serving of karma. They didn’t verbally abuse and exploit a young mentally challenged Bobby Boucher; they didn’t spit in his cooler; they didn’t steal Coach Klein’s playbook, and they didn’t ruin a small redneck pep rally. They just supported the team, like so many Australians did last night.
Despite everything: the raw serving of karma, the before-our-eyes demise of a great (Lockyer), the painful flashbacks to 2003 prompted by the English fans celebrating more than the New Zealand fans, and the pending ugliness that will ensue as the media work out who too blame, what happened—a short return to parity—is ultimately a great thing for the game of rugby league. I guarantee David Gallop was rooting for New Zealand to keep it competitive. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a boner for that entire second half……..Wait. Insinuating that the NRL commissioner will need to get his pants dry cleaned? Lets just end here.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Giteau: the best 12 in the world.
In a rugby epoch that is defined by managed brilliance, there is no place for a cowboy flyhalf. Gone are the days of Ella-ian improvisation. Defenses are too quick. Coaching staffs are too smart.
Test matches are a modern day war of attrition. On the test stage flyhalfs only excel when they can do two things:
1) limit their ego
2) buy in to the coaches system, and play within the structure of that system
Just look at the 10s who have directed traffic at a high level for there respective nations since rugby went professional in ’98. (Sure, SANZAR was formed in ‘96, but rugby truly turned professional with the appointment of Rod Macqueen in 1998. The Wallabies weren’t the best team in the world between ’98 and ’01, they were merely the most professional. I’m convinced of this.)
Andrew Mehrtens, David Humphrey, Percy Montgomery (when he filled in), Jonny “heart-breaker” Wilkinson, Ronan O’Gara, Frederick Michalak, and Stephen Jones. All guys who take/took great pride in managing the game, taking what the defense gives them, controlling field position, and helping those around them succeed. Their success cemented the ideology that a modern flyhalf must be wired to pass first, run second.
Nothing accredits this point more than the proverbial Lennon/McCartney paring of George Gregan and Steven Larkam. Larkam was far from a human highlight reel, a smart tougher-than-he-looks lanky fullback when he first broke onto the international scene, he seemed far from the offensive anchor the Wallabies were looking for. Fortunately, Macqueen recognized the importance of a flyhalf who read the game well, was technically sound, new his limits, and would rather set up a try than score it himself. In Larkam he found all of that, and more. Pairing him with a—then—ego-less and like minded Gregan was a greater move in the promotion of rugby in Australia than any desperate big-name signing the ARU have made or will make in the future.
(The worst: Spitting in the face of the next Matt Burke, Peter Hewatt.
The second worst: Crushing the confidence of a Larkam-esque Lauchlan Mackay.
The third worst: Foregoing the extra ten bucks to sew on sticky strips that actually match the Wallaby jersey.)
(Take note ARU: winning on a international level is your biggest priority. Short term investments like Matt Rogers, Lote Tuqiri, and Wendell “sore nose” Sailor, may bring a few extra thousand to the domestic derbies, but a dominate international team—no matter who is playing—will unite a nation and rejuvenate a sport. Just look at the Socceroos and what their success did for the A-League. Rugby’s biggest problem is that it has tried to compete on a domestic level by using the same formula the NRL has thrived on. Fast break action, lots of points, and big names. That won’t work with rugby, they are different games. The focus should be on their biggest edge—a relevant national team. You can be the best on a domestic level like the champions of the NRL are, but what does that mean? Being the best in the world—a competitive world—means something. And I have digressed)
The logical rebuttal to the last 500 words is simple: Dan Carter. It is inarguable that he is by far the most dominate player in world rugby right now. A strong, athletic, All-New Zealand (that doesn’t sound as good as All-American, but you get the idea) poster boy, with a off the charts rugby IQ, and the uncanny ability to find himself in the right place at the right time; carter is a one of a kind talent, I wont argue that.
(We need a name for the always-in-the-right-place-at-the-right-time trait that is immeasurable, yet so important to sports, especially rugby. I knew a coach who would constantly tell his players to ‘tag the play’. That could work, right? He had great ability to tag the play!)
However, what appears to be free spirited improvisation is actually well designed decision making. Carter is a product of a mythical work ethic, a complete understanding of the game (something he learnt from his time behind Mehrtens), and a great system (game plan) that incorporates great athletes. Concisely, his mastering of the fundamentals allows him to understand any given game situation and execute the game plan accordingly. Dan Carter is the Jimi Hendrix of world rugby; uniquely talented, overly self-critical, and obsessive compulsive when it comes to their craft. Like Carter, when Hendrix improvised or jammed, he was selectively displaying the product of years of fundamental practice, not just twiddling his fingers and hoping it made a good sound.
When you break down rugby, it is merely a collection of situations, each with several options for both the offensive and defensive players. For example, at any given time, you can: A. run, B. pass, or C. Kick. The ‘correct’ option is defined by the actions and positioning of the defense. The professionalisation of rugby, and the professionalisation of coaching further expanded those options to A1. Pass long, A2. Pass short, A3. Pass inside, A4. Dummy, and A5. Pass behind etc. A structured thought process was instilled in a new generation of players while game-planning to attack defenses which were deploying rush and umbrella formations designed to cut down on flyhalf’s time. The faster a player can make those decisions the more successful they will be; The players mentioned to this point excel not because they are great athletes but because they consistently make those decisions correctly and quickly.
Giteau does not.
A gifted athlete who plays beyond his size, unfortunately Giteau has failed follow the footsteps of the aforementioned Carter and transition from 12. to 10. On the surface this is puzzling as the two seem to be mirror images of one another; Both are regarded as the future of rugby in their respective nations, both did their super rugby apprenticeships behind great flyhalfs, both have experienced winning at the super rugby level, both illustrate the way the game has evolved, and both have had super hot girl friends. The only conceivable explicit difference is Carter is a better cards player. Nothing screams ‘lost bet’ more than Giteau’s crop circle haircuts of past.
Implicitly, it is a different story. Giteau is just not wired like Carter. Carter is a product of a high rugby IQ and a great structured approach to the defense that always puts him in the best position to succeed; Giteau is the opposite. He has succeeded predominantly on his superior athletic gifts, Ella-esque awareness, and pure instinct. He doesn’t approach a defense with the same structured thought process.
He merely wings it, twiddling his fingers if you will, backing his ego and hoping for the best. He epitomises the proverb ‘High Risk, High Reward’.
(And who can blame him for playing like a cowboy and backing his ego? The guy ran on for the Wallabies before he played a second of Super 12. He is the anti-Chris Whitaker.)
However, if the actions of Wall Street have taught us anything in recent months, it is that high-risk-high-reward approaches don’t pay off in the long run. He is the Jim Morrison of rugby (to continue the theme). Both found short term success from a free spirited approach, both rose to fame too quickly, both harbored a great sense of entitlement as a result, both improvised to their detriment, and both could have a early death in Paris (a test career death for Giteau at least).
Although his free spirited child-like approach to the game has proven to be his biggest asset, it also stands as his biggest weakness. For every time he has fleetly darted between tackles before artfully twisting his body and offloading to set up a try, there are a plethora of times he has drifted across field, been caught behind the advantage line, or pushed a pass. At the super rugby level these mistakes can be overcome; at the test level they can not. By every measure he is not a ten.
He is however, the perfect twelve.
Essentially, he is a center with the ball skills of a ten, the perfect hybrid of the two positions. Combine those physical assets with a style of play that is built to exploit broken play—this of course is the time a good twelve will find himself at first receiver—and you have a better fit then vegemite and toast. As a great five-eighth does on 4th tackle, or on the back of a quick play-the-ball, Giteau is the most dangerous man in rugby with the defense on the back foot. He runs great lines, has exceptional awareness, puts his body on the line, is defensively sound, is surgical with his kicking, creates great separation with his shoulders, has a motor for a heart, and has experienced his greatest success at twelve. Why a proven coaching genius like Robbie Deans continues to force the marriage between Giteau and ten is beyond me.
(Or is it? It’s out there, but I wouldn’t put it past the ARU. Its clear Giteau wants to play ten. Is it then unreasonable to believe the ARU promised him the position knowing that a) Larkam was retiring from test rugby, and b) there was a good chance he could/would have pulled a Sonny-Bill and chased the euro had they handed the position to the more logical fit—Barnes? I wouldn’t even discount Giteau—a guy with great sense of entitlement—demanding the ten jersey when he was deceptively segueing from the Brumbies to the Force. And if he did, what choice did the ARU have? They couldn’t throw money at Andrew Johns, Mark Gasnier, and Lote Tuqiri, only sign one, and then lose Giteau. It would have been a disaster! And I have digressed.)
For now we must accept him. Giteau is the Australian flyhalf until further notice. It could be worse. All I can hope is that he discredits me completely. Until then: Come on baby, light my fire!
Test matches are a modern day war of attrition. On the test stage flyhalfs only excel when they can do two things:
1) limit their ego
2) buy in to the coaches system, and play within the structure of that system
Just look at the 10s who have directed traffic at a high level for there respective nations since rugby went professional in ’98. (Sure, SANZAR was formed in ‘96, but rugby truly turned professional with the appointment of Rod Macqueen in 1998. The Wallabies weren’t the best team in the world between ’98 and ’01, they were merely the most professional. I’m convinced of this.)
Andrew Mehrtens, David Humphrey, Percy Montgomery (when he filled in), Jonny “heart-breaker” Wilkinson, Ronan O’Gara, Frederick Michalak, and Stephen Jones. All guys who take/took great pride in managing the game, taking what the defense gives them, controlling field position, and helping those around them succeed. Their success cemented the ideology that a modern flyhalf must be wired to pass first, run second.
Nothing accredits this point more than the proverbial Lennon/McCartney paring of George Gregan and Steven Larkam. Larkam was far from a human highlight reel, a smart tougher-than-he-looks lanky fullback when he first broke onto the international scene, he seemed far from the offensive anchor the Wallabies were looking for. Fortunately, Macqueen recognized the importance of a flyhalf who read the game well, was technically sound, new his limits, and would rather set up a try than score it himself. In Larkam he found all of that, and more. Pairing him with a—then—ego-less and like minded Gregan was a greater move in the promotion of rugby in Australia than any desperate big-name signing the ARU have made or will make in the future.
(The worst: Spitting in the face of the next Matt Burke, Peter Hewatt.
The second worst: Crushing the confidence of a Larkam-esque Lauchlan Mackay.
The third worst: Foregoing the extra ten bucks to sew on sticky strips that actually match the Wallaby jersey.)
(Take note ARU: winning on a international level is your biggest priority. Short term investments like Matt Rogers, Lote Tuqiri, and Wendell “sore nose” Sailor, may bring a few extra thousand to the domestic derbies, but a dominate international team—no matter who is playing—will unite a nation and rejuvenate a sport. Just look at the Socceroos and what their success did for the A-League. Rugby’s biggest problem is that it has tried to compete on a domestic level by using the same formula the NRL has thrived on. Fast break action, lots of points, and big names. That won’t work with rugby, they are different games. The focus should be on their biggest edge—a relevant national team. You can be the best on a domestic level like the champions of the NRL are, but what does that mean? Being the best in the world—a competitive world—means something. And I have digressed)
The logical rebuttal to the last 500 words is simple: Dan Carter. It is inarguable that he is by far the most dominate player in world rugby right now. A strong, athletic, All-New Zealand (that doesn’t sound as good as All-American, but you get the idea) poster boy, with a off the charts rugby IQ, and the uncanny ability to find himself in the right place at the right time; carter is a one of a kind talent, I wont argue that.
(We need a name for the always-in-the-right-place-at-the-right-time trait that is immeasurable, yet so important to sports, especially rugby. I knew a coach who would constantly tell his players to ‘tag the play’. That could work, right? He had great ability to tag the play!)
However, what appears to be free spirited improvisation is actually well designed decision making. Carter is a product of a mythical work ethic, a complete understanding of the game (something he learnt from his time behind Mehrtens), and a great system (game plan) that incorporates great athletes. Concisely, his mastering of the fundamentals allows him to understand any given game situation and execute the game plan accordingly. Dan Carter is the Jimi Hendrix of world rugby; uniquely talented, overly self-critical, and obsessive compulsive when it comes to their craft. Like Carter, when Hendrix improvised or jammed, he was selectively displaying the product of years of fundamental practice, not just twiddling his fingers and hoping it made a good sound.
When you break down rugby, it is merely a collection of situations, each with several options for both the offensive and defensive players. For example, at any given time, you can: A. run, B. pass, or C. Kick. The ‘correct’ option is defined by the actions and positioning of the defense. The professionalisation of rugby, and the professionalisation of coaching further expanded those options to A1. Pass long, A2. Pass short, A3. Pass inside, A4. Dummy, and A5. Pass behind etc. A structured thought process was instilled in a new generation of players while game-planning to attack defenses which were deploying rush and umbrella formations designed to cut down on flyhalf’s time. The faster a player can make those decisions the more successful they will be; The players mentioned to this point excel not because they are great athletes but because they consistently make those decisions correctly and quickly.
Giteau does not.
A gifted athlete who plays beyond his size, unfortunately Giteau has failed follow the footsteps of the aforementioned Carter and transition from 12. to 10. On the surface this is puzzling as the two seem to be mirror images of one another; Both are regarded as the future of rugby in their respective nations, both did their super rugby apprenticeships behind great flyhalfs, both have experienced winning at the super rugby level, both illustrate the way the game has evolved, and both have had super hot girl friends. The only conceivable explicit difference is Carter is a better cards player. Nothing screams ‘lost bet’ more than Giteau’s crop circle haircuts of past.
Implicitly, it is a different story. Giteau is just not wired like Carter. Carter is a product of a high rugby IQ and a great structured approach to the defense that always puts him in the best position to succeed; Giteau is the opposite. He has succeeded predominantly on his superior athletic gifts, Ella-esque awareness, and pure instinct. He doesn’t approach a defense with the same structured thought process.
He merely wings it, twiddling his fingers if you will, backing his ego and hoping for the best. He epitomises the proverb ‘High Risk, High Reward’.
(And who can blame him for playing like a cowboy and backing his ego? The guy ran on for the Wallabies before he played a second of Super 12. He is the anti-Chris Whitaker.)
However, if the actions of Wall Street have taught us anything in recent months, it is that high-risk-high-reward approaches don’t pay off in the long run. He is the Jim Morrison of rugby (to continue the theme). Both found short term success from a free spirited approach, both rose to fame too quickly, both harbored a great sense of entitlement as a result, both improvised to their detriment, and both could have a early death in Paris (a test career death for Giteau at least).
Although his free spirited child-like approach to the game has proven to be his biggest asset, it also stands as his biggest weakness. For every time he has fleetly darted between tackles before artfully twisting his body and offloading to set up a try, there are a plethora of times he has drifted across field, been caught behind the advantage line, or pushed a pass. At the super rugby level these mistakes can be overcome; at the test level they can not. By every measure he is not a ten.
He is however, the perfect twelve.
Essentially, he is a center with the ball skills of a ten, the perfect hybrid of the two positions. Combine those physical assets with a style of play that is built to exploit broken play—this of course is the time a good twelve will find himself at first receiver—and you have a better fit then vegemite and toast. As a great five-eighth does on 4th tackle, or on the back of a quick play-the-ball, Giteau is the most dangerous man in rugby with the defense on the back foot. He runs great lines, has exceptional awareness, puts his body on the line, is defensively sound, is surgical with his kicking, creates great separation with his shoulders, has a motor for a heart, and has experienced his greatest success at twelve. Why a proven coaching genius like Robbie Deans continues to force the marriage between Giteau and ten is beyond me.
(Or is it? It’s out there, but I wouldn’t put it past the ARU. Its clear Giteau wants to play ten. Is it then unreasonable to believe the ARU promised him the position knowing that a) Larkam was retiring from test rugby, and b) there was a good chance he could/would have pulled a Sonny-Bill and chased the euro had they handed the position to the more logical fit—Barnes? I wouldn’t even discount Giteau—a guy with great sense of entitlement—demanding the ten jersey when he was deceptively segueing from the Brumbies to the Force. And if he did, what choice did the ARU have? They couldn’t throw money at Andrew Johns, Mark Gasnier, and Lote Tuqiri, only sign one, and then lose Giteau. It would have been a disaster! And I have digressed.)
For now we must accept him. Giteau is the Australian flyhalf until further notice. It could be worse. All I can hope is that he discredits me completely. Until then: Come on baby, light my fire!
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