Paul Kent: Melbourne Storm keeping the peace as Cameron Smith takes time over decision
With Harry Grant and Brandon Smith waiting in the wings, Melbourne Storm would love a resolution from Cameron Smith about his future. But that one is not yet forthcoming shouldn’t be too surprising.
Opinion
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Three weeks has become five weeks, then six weeks and more in the retirement saga of Cameron Smith.
It is Smith’s decision and, in many ways, a decision he must make in his own time, but after telling the Storm he would make his decision “in three weeks” back in mid-July, the Storm are still waiting.
And waiting.
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The Storm are becoming increasingly frustrated at the time it is taking but are acutely aware not to upset Smith, even though there are widespread ramifications.
Harry Grant, currently on loan at Wests Tigers, has a clause in his contract allowing a release if Smith plays in 2021 but is restricted from exploring it because he still has no idea what Smith is doing.
This, as salary cap space at rival clubs slowly fills up.
The manager for the Storm’s other international hooker, Brandon Smith, has also recently written to the club stating that if Cameron Smith plays on then he would like to explore his options elsewhere.
Adding to the intrigue is the opinion of former teammate Cooper Cronk who believes Smith is preparing to retire and his silence, given the Smith he knows, is Smith retreating to steel himself for one final assault at a premiership.
Smith, who was celebrated with a testimonial match almost three full seasons ago, that raised for him a substantial six-figure sum not included in the cap, has a habit of making important decisions in his own time.
He waited until just weeks before the Origin series kicked off in 2018 before calling coach Kevin Walters to tell him he was retiring from rep footy and would not play.
Walters, already dealing with the representative retirement of Cronk and the injury to Billy Slater, had set up all his preparation around Smith leading the team.
Now the Storm get a dose.
Rushton didn’t know when to give up the fight
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When Johnny Lewis was making his way into the Boxing International Hall of Fame he was asked the obvious question; what makes a great trainer?
“Great fighters,” he said.
Lewis, 76, began training at Newtown Police Boys when still a teenager after the trainer, Dick O’Connor, called him aside one day and told him he was going to be missing for a while.
Some months later he was helping a trainer in the corner at South Sydney Juniors, a second pair of hands, when their fighter got the short end of it and walked to the corner with a look in his eyes that was far from good.
“Are you all right?” Johnny asked the fighter.
The referee, Jimmy Carruthers, walked over.
“How you going, mate?” Carruthers asked.
The fighter didn’t answer Carruthers either but, without even looking up, the trainer did: “He’s all right mate, he’s all right.”
Carruthers ignored the trainer and asked the fighter again.
“How are you, mate?”
Again the fighter said nothing.
Lewis saw the fighters’ silence and that look in his eyes and said to Carruthers, “He’s got a cut there. It’s no good.”
Carruthers looked at Lewis and back at the fighter.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, and turned and walked across the ring to put his hand on the other fighter’s head to crown him the winner.
Later that night, the fights over, Johnny Lewis was walking through the club past the poker machines when a hand reached out from a Four Reel Special and grabbed him.
It was Carruthers.
“Son, how old are you?” he asked.
“Eighteen.”
“Well, son, let me say what you done there tonight was a fine act. That kid didn’t want to be in there. For someone so young to show such maturity, good on you, son.”
Knowing when a fighter has had enough is the first job of any good trainer.
In the pressure of the corner, with noise and hope and all that is at stake, there is much to consider.
But the fighter’s health always remains the priority.
The sport is filled with such stories.
Jeff Horn’s trainer, Glenn Rushton, had several chances to stop Horn from taking more punishment Wednesday night but instead wanted him to keep fighting and keep taking punishment. He was unable to see what everyone could see.
For Horn, the Manny Pacquiao fight is now a memory. It still vibrates and rattles the heart of all who witnessed it but is a memory all the same.
None of the fighter that defeated Pacquiao survives anymore and, after admitting after Wednesday’s loss to Tim Tszyu that he was staying in the game just for the big fights, it is time for Horn to acknowledge, for his own welfare, that he is no longer capable of even that.
His trainer has shown he is unable to protect him.
He failed to throw in the towel when Horn was getting a hiding against Michael Zerafa, he claimed all they needed was another round when Horn was entirely outclassed by Terence Crawford.
For reasons no one can explain, and which should be investigated, he was slow ending the fight on Wednesday when Horn had not won a round and was gassed as early as the second round.
The fight drew the fifth largest pay-per-view audience in Australia and Australian boxing should be concerned, with what happened, whether they will all be back again.
No explanation has been given for why Horn was so underdone.
Horn lost his voice before the fight and some wondered whether the cause was a punch to the throat in sparring, or a virus brought on by being rundown while cutting weight, both of which circulated before the fight and were denied.
That the boxing game moves on, with little trust now left in the trainer to present his fighter in peak condition, with a suspicion should be a concern for the fight game and the promoters involved.
Tszyu stalked Horn from round three on and thankfully for Horn he is still young in his career and is still learning how to properly finish an opponent.
It allowed Horn to end it on his stool, but even then only after more poor management.
Horn was gone as he sat down at the end of the eighth.
“What do you want to do?” Rushton asked him.
Horn’s cornerman, Adam Copland, saw the vacancy in Horn’s eyes and said, “He’s had enough.”
Horn either couldn’t raise his voice or didn’t want to say he wanted to quit.
“Well that says it all,” said Copland.
But Rushton was urgent. He failed to see the vacant eyes.
“Have you got a punch left in you?” Rushton asked, now hopeful.
Again, nothing from Horn. The rest of his corner signalled to Rushton he was done.
“Give us a minute?” Rushton asked one last time, ignoring them.
Again nothing, and then the corner told referee Phil Austin he was done and the referee signalled it was over.
Whitey Bimstein, the great American trainer who, at one time in the 1930s, had every recognised champion in the world, who trained more than 25 world champions, used to call some trainers “towel wavers.”
They taught their fighters nothing and were good for little more than waving the towel in their face between rounds.
The sport has changed. The long-term effect of concussions is no longer arguable.
Boxing authorities are too casual with their standards and the fighters still risk being unnecessarily hurt.
It is time for boxing to get rid of the towel wavers.