Jesus Can't Play Rugby - Tony Allen Gregson

CHAPTER 1 - A New Era.

Please note that this report has been condensed and a time line given to represent the accuracy ofthe length it takes to come up with a decision from an amateur board. Some may view this asincompetence, but with license Tony Allen Gregson has removed much of the infighting andbickering which often delays the decision making process. Some may call it amateur hour,however, when going through the minutes, Tony Allen Gregson has come to the conclusion, it is normally amateur week. Luckily there is a toilet and a pie warmer in the Clubhouse. Any Likeness to real life characters is purely coincidental, and could, in fact be the boardroom of any amateur club in the world.


8pm Wednesday 5th October:
The She Devil banged the boardroom table with her iron fist. Her man servant, and president of the club could take the iron fist of the she devil no more. So much so he couldn’t sit down. He stood facing her from the opposite end of the table. His bald head lighting up like a safety beacon. “We can’t just rub out three years of history woman.” It was true, the last three years of Rugby had been a disaster. The She Devil wanted to rub it from the records. The Head coach for the last three years,
Jock Marlin, wasn’t under fire, he was in the fire. His tenure was going to be wiped. Jack had unsuccessfully led his team to three successive disappointments. It was his fault, and at the very least he would take the blame for the on field and off field indiscretions, that had become apparent during his time as head coach of the most successful club in the Hunter. Happyweather Boags.

6:53am Thursday 6th October:
“Sit back down. We’ll take a vote you pathetic little man.” It was the she devils turn to speak. “This club has lost its culture, it’s lost its way, and everyone here is to blame. I take the motion that we strike the last three from the record and we find ourselves a new coach. And you will second that motion Mr. President.” She glared at her man servant, the rest of the board could see him buckling under her gaze. “Its the only way we can make Jock Marlin accountable for his actions. For his failures.”

4:52pm Friday 7th October:
“I second that motion.” President Bleater slumped in his chair, defeated once again by the she devil.From here it was a non event. On the outside, men like Tod Hood and Tom Partridge were all bravado and one liners, but when it came time to vote, they buckled as usual. No one expected
anything less from Tim Fox, as he jumped up on the she devils lap like a proud house cat. The club was an investment for big time broker Hussain Hussain, so he towed the party line, this would give him the best return. The board followed the pair like sheep, agreeing to strike out the three first grade failures.

3:22am Monday 10th October:
The board even struck from the records the only second grade failure in ten years by coach Justin Encroach, who it seemed had lost interest, and put festivals and poetry before coaching a reserve team full of stars. Justin would be emotional about this reprimand, but for the she devil, this would be fun. Christan Hoff, the newest member of the Happweather Boags Board was the next to speak. “Where do we start? We need a new coach.”

6:15am Friday 15th October:
Jimmy the Greek happened to be passing by like a thief in the night. It wasn’t unusual, as the board worked well into the night, and into the early morning of the following week to discuss options. Jim was helping his mum on some minor concreting works she had at the Clarke stand redevelopment. She was a well respected concretor around town, and on occasions, Jim helped out. He had his Hamilton Olympic jersey on, a gift from the Greek community, for being the first ethnic coach to win a first grade Rugby premiership. In fact, so heralded, they closed down Beaumont Street once a year and held a food and wine festival in honour of the man they called “Tabouli.” They still sold gold chains, and What Would
Jimmy Do bracelets in his honour.

Jimmy was also the last man to win a first grade premiership with Happyweather Boags. He loved the club and had always wanted to stay part of it. Secretly he never wanted to leave. He ducked his head
into the green room where the meeting was taking place. “Whatsa going on?” his thick Greek accent filling the room like fresh baklava.


10:34am Friday 15th October:
The board members all looked at each other. Jimmy flashed his cheesy grin at them. The gold from his chain lit up the room. It was a sign. Even the she devil gave a fleeting smile. Ever the tactician, Tod hood, had drawn up a spreadsheet at the blink of an eye. Professional clubs would find documents like this complex for their needs. Tod’s saving grace was the board had to quiz Jimmy on his thoughts for a new head coach. It had to be done quickly, so in true committee fashion, they decided to use the document after a vote and waste even more time.

It was a series of yes / no questions, which would be collated and correlated into a complex series of answers, giving no meaning, but warranting some justification of the facts presented. The grilling took about half an hour. Tom Partridge was the only one who could understand the data. His dyslexia helped him analyse Tod’s spreadsheet thoroughly. It was decided Hussain would present the information to Jimmy in half an hour, after he had finished a pour with his mother.

Some time into the next week:
“The results you have given us Jimmy, are, how should we say, not what we expected.” Hussain explained as jimmy wiped concrete mud from his hands. “ For example, the results have shown you want a woman coach? We know you started off as a women’s coach, but a woman coach?”

“Ahh Yessa.I didn’t mean woman. I meant feminine. I knowa a girl named Terry, she has a brother named Tracey, he isa gooda coach. Coached in tha country. Juniors only, but he very good. He tolda
me one day. Apparently he also be bodyguard, for little famous man, named Merrick” Jimmy paced the room, animated and using his hands like a Greek boy picking olives for his Ya Ya.

“Also, it comes up strongly that you should be involved again. Times have changed Jimmy. Coaching isn’t what it used to be. It also says you want to change the culture. This we like, but you coaching again, we don’t think so.” The other board members nodded their heads.

“Noo, no, no. I meana, that Iwill be manager. Ifa we get a newa coach, I will helpa with tha boys. The younger boys, to help them understand what its like to be involved ina football club. We will go and see my Argentinian cousin. He will show them the ropes in Buenos Aires. Make them come back with a good sense of the world. They might even get to smell some different roses in the park. Make them open up a bit. Make them men.”

“It all sounds good jimmy, but you have also said the coach needs to be local. This Tracey man you talk of, it sounds like he is from the country?” Hussain looked concerned at this, as it was a Boags
tradition that the coach had actually played for the club. They would never, in the past, consider a coach from another club in the competition.

“He fits in, I tell him to get some blonde highlights, and buy a house opposite the oval. I can call him now. We cana get it sorted. Aussie Ryan Peters has offered him some surf lessons. The boys will love him.” Deep down jimmy was a cunning Greek. He had seen his father do shady deals his whole life,at the fruit markets. Tim Fox, could see this was a planned move by Jimmy the Greek, to get himself involved back in the club. It was unfortunate Tim Fox, was to an A – grade chicken too afraid to say anything at this point. It seemed “Tabouli” had the board wrapped around his finger.

“One last thing Jimmy.” Hussain had the piece of paper with the data written on it. “The data has also said, that you want to get rid of all eastern Europeans in the side, Surely they will be picked on
form?”

“Ahh, Hussain, my friend, we need to get the team more local. I no trust the filthy Pole, Gareth Wasik,I no trust that Jimmy Vegas, after I find out he is from Crete, and that Spiteri boy, he is Maltese, the
worst of them all. We need to purge the club, like a Greek tragedy.

We need more men like the short hooker, Mick Dill, the ever silent Wade Marks, and the bumblebee Oliver Strichan. We need more Aussies, like the red heads Adrian Kelso and Eddie Mack. Of course, Fabian Eriks, the tiler, and carpenter Adam Nolan. We need more players like this. Local boys.”

The she devil got up it was the first time in days she had moved from her seat at the head of the table. “Bring me this man called Tracey.”

A few hours Later:
A few hours later a man arrived. He had platinum blonde hair, to go with his brown eyes and dark eyebrows. He was wearing board shorts, which looked a size to small, but showed he was definitely male. He had on boat shoes, which looked a little out of place, but were uniquely colour coordinated with a jersey that was Red and Black, bearing the number 9 on the back. The signature on it was hard to make out, but the First Initial of S, and the second initial of M was scrawled across his chest. It could have meant superman. Jimmy was standing in front of him.


“Please meet your First grade coach.” The Greek presented the new coach like he was unveiling a one armed statue. As Stacey threw out his right hand to shake, only Tim Fox noticed the band on his left arm, and saw the inscription WWJD. He didn’t dare say anything, but he had his doubts on
who would be really driving this ship in 2011. Would it be a boy named Tracey, or a Greek who won’t let go? Tracey stood at the head of the table, bundling the she devil out of the way.


“Thank you for having faith in me. I respect that you run this board, but I will be picking my own coaching staff, and playing roster. I have been advised that it is hard to fit in for an out of towner,
but I am doing my best. I have chosen Jimmy as my manager, and my good friend Demtel Shaw, as my assistant coach. I have also put in place a contingency plan for when I choose to leave in 3 years.

Kurt Plant is being groomed as my successor as A and B division head coach. Justin Encroach will be second grade coach, for the next six years. I have given you your only wish woman,” Tracey was looking directly at the she devil, “This is my club now miss secretary.”


All the board members were transfixed by Sykes’ oration. It seemed like the she devil had been made to listen, her man servant holding her shoulders as she squirmed in her chair. Tom Partridge had a smile like a Cheshire Cat, he had an idea. Hussain and Tod hood, gave polite little claps, like alter boys learning a new song. Christan Hoff was updating the website, a chore which he had neglected in the past few months. Tim Wolf could only help but look at The Greek, who was nodding his head and holding up Tracey’s hand in his own as if to Laud the new prize fighter in Town. The oration kept going for a good ten more minutes. Tracey’s undersized shorts were becoming more apparent the more he spoke about Rugby. He was the man for the job, and as the oration climaxed,
Tim Partridge was the first to revel in it, giving a resounding “Yes” to the coaches application.

It was a new era, yet it was like jimmy the greek had never left. With the last three years erased from the clubs history, essentially, he hadn’t. If only Jock Marlin had done a better job as head coach. After a week and a half of deliberating, the she devil called for the smoke signal to be let out of the clubhouse. It was a signifigant day for Happyweather Boags, they had finally got a new coach, and the committee could now take a back seat.