Tag Archives: NRL

Blues, Boos and Barbecues

Thanks for visiting The Lounge today, on this blue day for us Blues supporters.

Link-up below if you wish and check out all the other posts too.

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I’ve just returned from the State of Origin, my first ever Decider match. I donned a blue wig and T-shirt and sat in the Blatchy’s Blues area with 14000 other NSW supporters.  It was loud and fun, exactly how game day should be.  If you’re a footy fan, I’d recommend shelling out the cash for a State of Origin match, at least once.





However, as usual, no night out would be complete without the one or two dickheads who ruin it for the rest of us…



I saw three fights break out.  Three.  These were fights between adults supporting the same team at a game they bothered to travel to, after paying at least $110.  I don’t know who they were, they weren’t wearing the blue wigs like the rest of the cool people.  They were just idiots.  How pathetic are people?  Boo #1.



The vocal, young guy I was sitting next to was the perfect gentleman, apologising in advance for the noise he was going to make when the game started.  That was OK.  What was not OK was his elbow in my jaw when NSW scored their try.  He was so excited, he didn’t even notice.  Now my jaw is clicking when I move it.  Boo #2.



Another adult who, from my spot up in the nosebleeds, looked as though he was dressed up in a lion onesie (but actually turned out to be completely naked), streaked across the field.  Funny but grow up.  Enjoy paying your fine.  Boo #3.






There were a few names that I actually stood there and thought about, while waiting for my $10.30 hot chips and water (which is Boo #4, by the way).  Referee, Shayne Hayne, Queenslander, Cooper Cronk and NSW player Boyd Cordner.  What the actual?  When I named my kids, the first thing I thought about was eliminating the silly name possibilities against my exceptionally long Greek surname. Shayne Hayne?  I’m calling it.  Boo #5.



Which brings me to Boo #6.  This week’s theme, barbecues.



Man is the BBQ expert of the South.  He does a very good job, it goes without saying.  We’ve had many a return visitor at Casa de Robo for our Greek style barbecues.



I don’t doubt that there is a certain level of skill associated with cooking meat.  There are lots of variables – the fire strength, the charcoal, the fat, the type of meat…  



But we all know that cooking is the glory job.  My argument is that the hard work is in the barbecue preparation.  Most of the magic happens in the kitchen, well before the meat hits the grill.



Not only do I buy the best meat I can afford.  I trim it, wash it, marinate it in a special secret recipe and take it out to the barbie.  I wash all the vegetables and make a salad.  I put together other condiments such as cheese platters and home made dips.  I take all the plates, cups, cutlery and drinks out to the barbecue area and then I’m the one bringing everything back into the house.



Why can’t Man help?

He cooked the Barbecue.

Of course.



That aside, the old BBQ is a firm favourite.  It starts out as a regular barbie which then turns into a good old feral, redneck style event where we build a fire and the kids get to chuck in sticks.   Aside from the awesome food, at our place, a fire is the grand finale to a good barbecue.



Our burnt little Weber has seen a few too many Robostyle bonfires.



Do you BBQ?

Link up here:



Robo X


So we went ahead and signed up our four and a half year old son for Rugby League.
Not touch footy.


He trains for an hour twice a week and his games are on Saturday mornings. His only other activity is half an hour of swimming.


I always vowed to never over schedule my kids, especially at a young age.
But my four and a half year old son likes footy. He enjoys watching the games, he admires the players in his favourite team and he has good fun on the field.



I had mixed reactions when I shared his news.


Some people were supportive.
Others kept their opinions to themselves and smiled politely.
Two people grimaced, said that it’s fine to do, but they wouldn’t allow their child do it.
And one person shook their head, said that it is wrong, that they would never let their child play footy and that I shouldn’t either.



jake kedzlie

Image source



Some weeks ago this young teen lost his life playing football. He bumped his head on another boy’s knee, as he was getting up from a routine tackle and he did not regain consciousness.


I will always remember young Jake Kedzlie’s story.


This passionate young footballer lost his life, while playing a sport that coursed through his veins.

I think about his mum, Corryn and I wonder if she was ever on the receiving end of free parenting advice.

I hope to God that she wasn’t.



At our club, Under 6’s Junior Rugby League has two trainers, adult supervision and first aid officers. During matches, there is a referee as well as registered officials, who ensure safe, sportsmanlike play. Each team coach is on the field, within a couple of metres of kids at all times, prepared to break up tackles, within moments.


I do everything to ensure my children’s safety.


I lock my doors and check my windows, so they won’t be taken in the night.

I look at my kids before I go to sleep and adjust their covers, to keep them warm.

Sometimes I stand at their door, just to monitor if they are breathing.
I buckle them in, dress them warmly and apply sunscreen.


I’d do anything to ensure my children’s safety.


This includes allowing my son to play Junior Rugby League.
To properly learn the skills required.
So he can play the game he loves.



Rugby or Thugby?
Mother of the year, or MF crazy?


#IBOT with me.


Robo X

Gaming? No judgement.

This week, My Man uttered the words that I’d been dreading…


“SuperCoach is about to start again.”


The Mother Effing SuperCoach.



I’m first to admit that I faff about on the internet probably a lot more than the average person.  I’m also guilty of watching ridiculous TV, most of the time.  I accept that both pastimes could be deemed by some as pointless or time-wasting.


But I tell you, in my opinion, there is nothing more pointless or time-wasting than SuperCoach.



SuperCoach is exactly like the “Fantasy Football” we hear about in America; buying and selling players to create your ‘team’, which you then ‘manage’ to win rounds and progress through a process of elimination.


It’s not real.  It’s pretend.



The following issues are what annoy me most about SuperCoach:


  • The pressing nature of the game.  It is completed religiously, on Friday afternoons, before the game, like it’s an important business deal that requires urgent action.  “I can’t eat/come/leave yet, I’m doing my SuperCoach”.


  • The sheer effort that goes into it.  It is discussed and strategised, at great length I might add, throughout the week, with an equally committed best mate.  WTF?  I don’t get that.  I would never talk about my make-believe anything with my friends!

I just think…

Talk to your mates as long as you like.  

But talking to your mates about your job as an imaginary Team Manager is kinda pathetic…  Strange.  

You  are forty and you work in an office.  You don’t work on a footy field.


This is Ken Billingham, 2012 Supercoach ‘champion’. He probably pissed his wife off for 6 months  of last year too.

Now, I have played games in the past.

Many years ago, I signed up for Second Life but as soon as someone tried to cyber-romance me, I realised it was definitely NOT my cup of tea.

I also had a short-lived obsession with Bakery Story when I got a new smart phone last year and prior to that, many moons ago, Snake on my Nokia 2100.



Aside from the rubbish TV, my vice is Twitter and I read blogs.

Lots of them.



This post is more an admission, than an attack.

I do not really understanding the enjoyment of gaming.

So I don’t get the thrill of SuperCoach and other such pastimes.

Really I don’t.



Do you get it?  Or like me, are you on the sidelines of a Fantasy Football match?


Linking up with #IBOT today.  Enlighten me!


Robo X