NRL Match Fixing: Allegations will eat away at rugby league

MATCH fixing allegations have the potential to eat away at the NRL like a cancer writes the Daily Telegraph’s Nick Walshaw.

SO HAVE you heard about the goalkicker who deliberately shanked them?

No? Well, this didn’t come from us but ...

And so, away it goes.

No proof. No TAB tickets.

Just another ugly whisper about how rugby league, and its annual $1 billion betting turnover, has gone rogue.

Indeed, for more than a couple of months now, the dark scourge of sports match fixing has been continually whispered behind cupped hands, or over quiet schooners at the Imperial Hotel.

Players named. Games outed. But proof? Not bloody likely.

No, like illicit drug use or Player X columns, this issue was one for the shadows.

At least until Thursday morning. When it wasn’t.

And by now you know how the NSW Organised Crime Squad — an organisation whose wining record is far better than those other Blues — is examining allegations of up to six NRL players being paid $50,000 to lose games.

The two matches, each involving Manly in 2015, were against South Sydney and Parramatta, with both said to have involved massive betting plunges.

And the man being investigated over said bets is Eddie Hayson. The former brothel owner who, in the Souths match, allegedly wagered $700,000 on Manly losing by eight or more — which they did, beaten 20-8.

Eddie Hayson is the man at the centre of NRL match fixing allegations.

Currently, it is Mr Hayson’s image who centres the media storm.

But come tomorrow morning, or Sunday? Well, dads may be forced to rip posters from their sons’ bedroom wall.

For while NRL CEO Todd Greenberg demanded on Thursday that journalists tread warily with this scandal — being “careful not to cast a pall over our entire game” — there is no doubting that, as soon as said investigation was announced, that is exactly what has happened.

Don’t believe us?

Well, how about you ask the 21 Manly players whose names are now linked to this unimaginable malaise? Tattooed to the drama by way of names on a team sheet.

Or maybe you speak with Sea Eagles coach Trent Barett who, despite being a Penrith assistant this time last year, was yesterday forced to defend his club while fending off a media scrum.

“I totally understand you have a job to do,’’ Barrett said. “But I won’t be commenting on any of the rumours going around.

“My job is to coach the football team. Their job is to come down and win.”

But will they?

See, what was a ridiculous question 48 hours ago, isn’t anymore.

Indeed, remember when Rabbitohs star Greg Inglis attempted a field goal back in March? With his team down by two?

Geez, we laughed.

Just as League Land nearly wet itself when Terry Lamb, another great, did exactly the same for Canterbury in 1992.

NRL CEO Todd Greenberg. Picture: Phil Hillyard

And no one, of course, would ever suggest anything untoward was behind either incident. Nor did they.

But what if the same happens this afternoon? Or tomorrow?

Undoubtedly, match fixing is now the No. 1 threat to the integrity of all Australian sport — rugby league included.

For sure, the NRL is essentially a pimple on world sport’s backside. But don’t try telling that to the crime syndicate who, only two years ago, made $2 million rorting Victorian soccer games.

Even here at home, statistics suggest Australians are among the most prolific gamblers in the world — with an annual betting expenditure of roughly $5 billion.

And from that figure, at least 20 per cent is wagered on the NRL.

So forget light bulbs, how many men does it take to change a result?

Specifically, in an NRL game.

For getting tennis players to tank? Easy.

Just ask Aussie Nick Lindahl, who back in January pleaded guilty to intentionally losing a match and informing betters of his plans.

Same deal, golf. And cricket, that team sport broken down into countless individual parts.

But the current Crime Squad investigation, it goes way beyond Warnie giving up a pitch report. Further, too, than even the spot fixing for which late Canterbury forward Ryan Tandy was banned from the NRL for life.

Remembering back in 2010, during a game against North Queensland, Tandy made a pair of crucial plays which would have allowed the Cowboys to take a penalty goal and earned punters $100,000. Instead, the Queenslanders ran the ball, ruining said sting.

But the Tandy scandal, that was a spot fix. One mad minute among 80.

So again, how many men are required to rort a league match?

Remembering John Elias, back in 1994, tried to fix a match so that Wests would beat his South Sydney Rabbitohs. Years later in his autobiography, Elias claimed he had another four Bunnies in on the deal — which eventually fell through.

So he reckoned it took five.

Similar to those four Australian soccer players who, along with a coach, were arrested in 2013 for match fixing in the Southern Stars Victoria premier league.

Sure, together, they were more anonymous than a police line-up. Yet still, working through Asian bookmakers, a crime syndicate earned more than $2 million from them.

And you don’t reckon those same types have questioned if leaguies can be bought? Or how many they need?

Which is why the question matters.

Indeed, for a long time, it was figured the numbers required to fix an NRL game — even once — meant the likelihood of it happening was somewhere between zero and buckleys. Just as Hansie Cronje was once considered whiter than Napisan commercials.

Speaking with several footballing types yesterday, no firm number could be attained.

Some reckon the Sea Eagles six was, quite obviously, enough. A couple more, however, said they would need only three, maybe four.

And then there was the fella who reckoned you needed only one. So long as he was the right one.

All of which must surely have Joe Public craving a Dettol bath.

Indeed, the NRL is acutely aware that unlike, say, the Cronulla peptides scandal, this current match fixing drama threatens to tear apart the very fabric of sport.

Sure, fans can quickly shrug off a bunch of footballers who, after being injected with horse juice, still ran closer to last than first.

But the idea of their team, or a chunk therein, throwing games? No, that’s something else entirely.

A sin for which the entire sport pays.

Bet on it.