Ultimate humiliation in sad final chapter of Brad Fittler Origin career

If Brad Fittler’s Origin coaching career ends with a win in a dead rubber but no one is around to see it, does it still count as a win?

A Blues win is still a series loss. Photo by Mark Metcalfe/Getty Images

COMMENT

Much like the Sasquatch and the 2005 Tigers premiership, dead rubbers are actually real despite plausible doubts otherwise.

In fact, there’s a reason only seven series whitewashes have been recorded in the history books, and that’s because everybody was asleep by the time the others ended.

But that won’t stop the raving fruit bats of society trying to convince you every Origin is equal regardless of circumstance or poxy TV ratings.

Be aware: there is such thing as a dead rubber — and Brad Fittler’s game three finale in Sydney promises to be one of the deadest of them all.

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While a case has been successfully argued for past dead rubbers, this dead rubber is more dead than the family of possums resting atop Darren Lockyer’s head.

Why?

Because it packs no appeal for anyone of note, i.e. everyone but Queensland.

“ … and then I put Damien Cook in the centres!”. Picture: Richard Dobson

Firstly, there’s nothing alluring about a half-filled stadium featuring a half-arsed side putting in a quarter-arsed performance — and that’s just the Bunker.

And while history beckons for this equally-arsed New South Wales side, it’s only the history of losing a three-game series 5-0, which, if Fittler’s bastardised bench is any indication, could be achieved by his second rotation.

Yep, the game itself will also be an a** because Queensland are so far ahead now, they’re not even exaggerating their fake illnesses anymore.

It was clear the Maroons were no longer challenged by Origin when Cam Munster carved up in game two while s**tting through the eye of a needle and didn’t even reveal it until full time. It means the entire state could be ruled out with Covid Wednesday night and they’ll still do us 13+.

You don’t want to know where that hand’s been. Photo by Bradley Kanaris/Getty Images

This dead rubber is so dead, there’s not even an appetising narrative we can glow-up.

If whispers are anything to go by, there’s virtually no suspense around Fittler’s job, with the coach’s cards marked regardless of result.

And looking at his hodgepodge squad of youth and myopic short-termism, there’s no chance of saving his legacy or his Wikipedia page either.

Even his rhetoric is defeatist, already pinning his hopes on a new look halves combination of Cody Walker and Mitch Moses he’s branded “the odd couple”.

Sure, it might sound like nothing more than a cute nickname, but it’s actually a prudent defendant getting ahead of a public trial by revealing his first mitigating circumstance.

And anyone claiming this dead rubber is still a memorable occasion for the debutants, what’s so memorable about getting 12 minutes on the wing and dropped?

All that’s left is Queensland achieving a rare series whitewash, the greatest mundane predictability of all.

In summary, forget pride, forget Freddy saving his career or sabotaging Walker’s, and most of all, forget the future — it’s for dreamers and economists.

Cody Walker’s had his hand up all year. Photo by Jason McCawley/Getty Images

This dead rubber is a lemon, and if there wasn’t so many spots to sell for The Block, Channel 9 would shift it to Gem or the ABC.

Whatever the result, you’ll have forgotten it before “Fatty” Vautin finishes his head-wobbling, self-saucing victory epilogue.

After all, thanks to smart devices and snackable content, nobody can remember these days what commuted them to work, let alone an inconsequential game three.

By next week, all you’ll recall of this series is a blizzard of colours, shapes and feelings against a still frame of Lindsay Collins outleaping James Tedesco.

Dane Eldridge is a warped cynic yearning for the glory days of rugby league, a time when the sponges were magic and the Mondays were mad. He’s never strapped on a boot in his life, and as such, should be taken with a grain of salt.