BlackWhiteBlue
Jaws
Milf read that short ball to oates perfectly and shut him down
2017 NRL General Discussion Thread
- Thread starter gando2230
- Start date
BlackWhiteBlue
Jaws
Sir Chadley
Jaws
snowman
Total gronk
Why was Braileys played at but Wallace not?
BlackWhiteBlue
Jaws
Aliens
HaroldBishop
Megalodon
Paywall mate.
The ball was 20m away before ref blew the whistle, Alfie was closer than any danger. Should have been play on, Penrith score, Dr already on the field
BlackWhiteBlue
Jaws
Its what the people want
It was when I first hit the DT link, but google allowed me to see this one.
John Quayle is the game’s greatest wasted asset, writes Paul Kent
JACK Gibson walked up to John Quayle one day and, as Jack did, said a few short words.
“If you keep letting these coaches get away with bagging referees,” he said, “that’s all we’ll read about.”
Quayle, the game’s greatest leader, needed nothing more.
He went back to NSW Rugby League headquarters and told ARL chairman Ken Arthurson he was going to fine coaches for criticising referees. Arthurson, always at his side, nodded.
“The first coach I fined was Jack Gibson,” Quayle says. “He didn’t speak to me for 12 months.”
Quayle elevated and protected referees. The referees were employees of the game. It was imperative their integrity, like the game itself, was never questioned.
Right now, Quayle sits on his Hunter Valley farm watching his cows with no more to do in the game than contribute to the Newcastle Knights board.
Usually, to get a lesson the kind Quayle could offer, you need a walk through dusty history books filled with two-dimensional images or to find a guy who knew a guy who once spoke to a guy.
Quayle is a phone call away. So is Arthurson, the game’s other great administrator.
Everything that is happening in this game, both have seen before.
“The fundamentals and the rules and the whole image around individual sports never change, the only thing that changes are the dates,” Quayle says.
He does not say this in some old file copy. He says it on Thursday, from his farm.
The game was in its *pioneering days back in the 1980s, certainly as coaching innovation goes.
Warren Ryan was changing the game, Gibson was taking it another way, Bob Fulton was in the early days of looking for every advantage.
“Our job is to push the rules as far as possible,” one coach told Quayle. “You make them and we will find a way around them.”
So Quayle never got the coaches together for annual conferences on rules, like *happens nowadays.
They had an agenda then as they do now and he realised you don’t ask the cat into the cage to feed the canary.
Quayle and Arthurson’s greatest achievement was taking on the self-interest in the game. They recognised it and understood it. They just did not have to tolerate it.
Right there, you fix 90 per cent of today’s problems.
Today’s management style sways to self-interest. The NRL is convinced it challenges it while it tries to manage it all.
It is worth remembering Quayle and Arko still listened to the coaches. Some had good ideas, as they sometimes do now.
So when the noise that a rule was outdated got loud enough, Quayle slowed the coaches by insisting every suggestion needed to come in written form and it would be sent to the international body for consideration where the knock-on effect of rule changes were considered.
No rule was changed within two years of its suggestion, which guarded against brief trends and coaches driving change to suit their rosters or styles, as happens annually in the NRL now.
It also allowed time to fully consider the knock-on effect of a change.
And Quayle knew the inherent problem with interpretation of the rules, as we have today, was the more people involved the more interpretations you got.
Rules, though, in crisp black and white type, are always rules. Since when do rules need interpretation?
Such simple and clear thinking is missed within the current NRL.
Quayle led the game. He understood leadership had requirements. He did not want to be loved. Instead, he needed to be respected, from the top office down. He commanded it. He learned you had to take everyone on. He spoke to rival leagues and teams. The NFL, NBA, Major League Baseball, Dallas Cowboys, their advice completely relevant to his game.
If you think it is not happening, it is. If you want to sweep it under the carpet, it will bite you.
You have to take them on and be prepared for the fight because sport is emotional.
When the Australian Rugby League realised in the 1980s there were too many teams in Sydney, choking each other, and that the game needed to broaden its market, Quayle and Arthurson identified Newtown, Western Suburbs and Cronulla as teams that needed to make way.
Just the date changes, *remember.
Newtown died, Wests took the game to court to save their future. Cronulla did bucket runs to pay their players, 58c in the dollar.
Yet the game needed to grow. It expanded in 1995 to Perth, Auckland, North Queensland and a second team in Brisbane.
New markets, new money. The game growing.
Sydney clubs complained they were being bullied out. Then raise your game, he said.
He gave them no choice but to get smarter or get dead.
The same conversation should be held today, a gentle pressure for clubs to smarten up.
In the history of the *independent commission, which is no longer independent, the game has been paid $1 billion and yet lost crowds, participation numbers and TV ratings, all the key areas to *future growth.
In another five years, the game will have been given $3bn and will still not own one asset to borrow against, which is why the banks knocked back their recent application for a $30m bridging loan.
What are we doing and where are we going?
Today, the conversations that made Quayle the game’s harshest ever administrator but ultimately its greatest are too difficult to be had.
Too many feelings get hurt. The culture is soft middle management.
And Quayle sits on a Newcastle board that becomes redundant when the club’s ownership is transferred on November 1 and he says he might go back to his cows, just an old farmer, on his Hunter Valley property when the sale is done.
Then you think of all those millions of dollars the NRL is wasting on out-of-their-depth consultants, a commission which knows none of the lessons, which fumbles in the dark, and it all appears so easily.
He is the game’s greatest wasted asset. Get him a job.
JACK Gibson walked up to John Quayle one day and, as Jack did, said a few short words.
“If you keep letting these coaches get away with bagging referees,” he said, “that’s all we’ll read about.”
Quayle, the game’s greatest leader, needed nothing more.
He went back to NSW Rugby League headquarters and told ARL chairman Ken Arthurson he was going to fine coaches for criticising referees. Arthurson, always at his side, nodded.
“The first coach I fined was Jack Gibson,” Quayle says. “He didn’t speak to me for 12 months.”
Quayle elevated and protected referees. The referees were employees of the game. It was imperative their integrity, like the game itself, was never questioned.
Right now, Quayle sits on his Hunter Valley farm watching his cows with no more to do in the game than contribute to the Newcastle Knights board.
Usually, to get a lesson the kind Quayle could offer, you need a walk through dusty history books filled with two-dimensional images or to find a guy who knew a guy who once spoke to a guy.
Quayle is a phone call away. So is Arthurson, the game’s other great administrator.
Everything that is happening in this game, both have seen before.
“The fundamentals and the rules and the whole image around individual sports never change, the only thing that changes are the dates,” Quayle says.
He does not say this in some old file copy. He says it on Thursday, from his farm.
The game was in its *pioneering days back in the 1980s, certainly as coaching innovation goes.
Warren Ryan was changing the game, Gibson was taking it another way, Bob Fulton was in the early days of looking for every advantage.
“Our job is to push the rules as far as possible,” one coach told Quayle. “You make them and we will find a way around them.”
So Quayle never got the coaches together for annual conferences on rules, like *happens nowadays.
They had an agenda then as they do now and he realised you don’t ask the cat into the cage to feed the canary.
Quayle and Arthurson’s greatest achievement was taking on the self-interest in the game. They recognised it and understood it. They just did not have to tolerate it.
Right there, you fix 90 per cent of today’s problems.
Today’s management style sways to self-interest. The NRL is convinced it challenges it while it tries to manage it all.
It is worth remembering Quayle and Arko still listened to the coaches. Some had good ideas, as they sometimes do now.
So when the noise that a rule was outdated got loud enough, Quayle slowed the coaches by insisting every suggestion needed to come in written form and it would be sent to the international body for consideration where the knock-on effect of rule changes were considered.
No rule was changed within two years of its suggestion, which guarded against brief trends and coaches driving change to suit their rosters or styles, as happens annually in the NRL now.
It also allowed time to fully consider the knock-on effect of a change.
And Quayle knew the inherent problem with interpretation of the rules, as we have today, was the more people involved the more interpretations you got.
Rules, though, in crisp black and white type, are always rules. Since when do rules need interpretation?
Such simple and clear thinking is missed within the current NRL.
Quayle led the game. He understood leadership had requirements. He did not want to be loved. Instead, he needed to be respected, from the top office down. He commanded it. He learned you had to take everyone on. He spoke to rival leagues and teams. The NFL, NBA, Major League Baseball, Dallas Cowboys, their advice completely relevant to his game.
If you think it is not happening, it is. If you want to sweep it under the carpet, it will bite you.
You have to take them on and be prepared for the fight because sport is emotional.
When the Australian Rugby League realised in the 1980s there were too many teams in Sydney, choking each other, and that the game needed to broaden its market, Quayle and Arthurson identified Newtown, Western Suburbs and Cronulla as teams that needed to make way.
Just the date changes, *remember.
Newtown died, Wests took the game to court to save their future. Cronulla did bucket runs to pay their players, 58c in the dollar.
Yet the game needed to grow. It expanded in 1995 to Perth, Auckland, North Queensland and a second team in Brisbane.
New markets, new money. The game growing.
Sydney clubs complained they were being bullied out. Then raise your game, he said.
He gave them no choice but to get smarter or get dead.
The same conversation should be held today, a gentle pressure for clubs to smarten up.
In the history of the *independent commission, which is no longer independent, the game has been paid $1 billion and yet lost crowds, participation numbers and TV ratings, all the key areas to *future growth.
In another five years, the game will have been given $3bn and will still not own one asset to borrow against, which is why the banks knocked back their recent application for a $30m bridging loan.
What are we doing and where are we going?
Today, the conversations that made Quayle the game’s harshest ever administrator but ultimately its greatest are too difficult to be had.
Too many feelings get hurt. The culture is soft middle management.
And Quayle sits on a Newcastle board that becomes redundant when the club’s ownership is transferred on November 1 and he says he might go back to his cows, just an old farmer, on his Hunter Valley property when the sale is done.
Then you think of all those millions of dollars the NRL is wasting on out-of-their-depth consultants, a commission which knows none of the lessons, which fumbles in the dark, and it all appears so easily.
He is the game’s greatest wasted asset. Get him a job.
Probably.
BlackWhiteBlue
Jaws
People = channel 9
That makes you human, logical and intelligent. Scary isn't it?
Hang on - you were an Arthurson fan?
HaroldBishop
Megalodon
Arthurson was a deadset turd burglar. The most bias head honcho this game gas seen.