For those of you with quality memories, go back to those days when you were in your own bedroom as a child. Things were so less complicated then although they didn'’t seem so at the time.
Choices of how to spend your spare time: which friends to play with; rugby league or surfing was a serious social statement; plus having to comply with your parents wishes; all these options conspired to make life seem incredibly complex. And then there were the times when the confluence of those pastimes became all too much.
“"Son, don’t forget to mow the lawn!"” reminded my father, followed by my mum's, "“tidy-up your room before you go out!"” The phone rings and my coach pushily demands, “"c’mon, we need a decent prop this season"” which in fact sounds tempting but my best friend just phoned with, “"far out man, surf's really pumping down at Pottsville, so I’ll pick you up in an hour."” But what about my homework? …Anyway, I'’m sure you get what I mean.
That was then and the inevitable explosion of frustration always took its vengeance out on my little sister. The same way that lava will seek out the soft spot in the earth'’s crust before it rains hell on humanity, I would find my little ‘blister’ and make sure that her life was more horrific than mine.
Then I grew up and things became truly chaotic.
I gravitated through university, had a good shot at playing and coaching rugby league, got married, divorced and married again. Learned about bills and mortgages and parenting. Watched as the entire world went online and political correctness took over from traditional values. Now life was complex all right… and just to add a little spin to this tale, I am doing the whole thing as an executive in the Chinese government in Nanjing.
One lesson life teaches you, though, is that you have choices and from the choices you make your life unfolds. You can’'t blame anybody else and venting, like I used to do so unreasonably on my sister, was totally unfair.
So where is the rugby league part of this rambling soliloquy?
Well, as a real live ‘old fart’ and respected member of the Chinese community there are two constants: the first is I can’'t rant and the second is that I must. An impossible conundrum you may think, however, the solution has always been in rugby league.
First it was on the field. Running, sledging and smashing other people was Vesuvius and Krakatoa combined, to my persona. Later it was from the coaching box. Shouting, scheming and manipulating allowed all that pent-up frustration to be released. And now, you may ask? I think it should be obvious it'’s the Titans. That's right, the NRL franchise perched out at Robina like a pimple on the bum of the Coast.
I am still a member of my childhood club the Burleigh Bears but old enough to have been a member of the original Giants and the Seagulls, I suffered through the joke that was the Gladiators, wept tears of blood when the Chargers were stabbed in the back and now…, now I am faced with a dilemma.
Not that long ago, the Gold Coast rugby league community rejoiced in the re-establishment of an NRL franchise in its backyard. It should have been obvious that something was not quite right when they chose an Americanised name for our mascot. The Titans!… What has that got to do with sun, surf and sand? Maybe it referred to the Japanese investment on the coast, as in “titans of industry”? Or perhaps the size of the majority owner’s ego;… a titan in his own mind?
Now, after seven plus years of mediocrity on the playing field and downright abysmal performances off it, it’s time for me to review my loyalties.
On one hand I am a local in all senses of the word except I live in China. Supporting any other club seems traitorous, however, I am fast coming to realize that my club doesn'’t care about me the member, or me the fan, or even me the paying public.
Once the NRL signed the most recent broadcast megadeal, Searle and his cronies no longer needed even one person to pay through the gate.
And I have voted with my feet.