What he says and what he Minns: Deciphering the premier’s sport-speak

Sydney readers know all about the trains. Or more the missing trains, the crowded and delayed trains. To borrow the song, the trains in Emu Plains fall mainly under commuter pains. The dispute’s been running for weeks, unlike the network, with Chris Minns’ ministry facing down the Rail, Train and Bus Union (RTBU) across the nightly bulletins.

The issue is pay – most notably, a demand for a $4500 sign-on bonus as part of the enterprise bargaining offer. But Minns isn’t budging. At a recent press huddle, the premier said: “You’re talking about hundreds and thousands of public sector workers that the government has struck fair and reasonable wage outcomes with. I reckon it’s a long bow to suggest we’re being harsh when it comes to the RTBU.”

No one loves a sporting metaphor like NSW Premier Chris Minns.Credit: Rhett Wyman

Archers, did you note the nod? Drawing a long bow evokes the siege era: the government garrison versus the blue-shirted marauders, locked in battle. Maybe the mood inspired the mediaevalism, where longbow-drawing denotes truth-stretching, though I think the premier has a keener appetite for sporting allusions.

Proof lies in the sentence to follow his archery reference, with Minns adding: “I’m not going to be played off a break by these guys. I don’t think that’s in the public’s interest.” From bows and arrows to balls and sticks, playing off a break is pure pool hall.

You may deem the idiom benign, where a game’s second player can benefit from his opponent’s chaotic break, potting bigs or smalls after the triangle’s been scattered. But the phrase carries a darker tone, says the Macquarie. The likely backstory involves “Fast Eddie” Felson, or any other chalk-and-talk shark, throwing a game to encourage his mark to gamble more heavily. The break is not a game’s opening shot, in fact, but a contrived break in the shark’s winning sequence.

Applying that metaphor to the railway contest, the tug-of-war between Macquarie Street and the train-stoppers, I’m presuming the premier is disparaging union secretary Toby Warnes, alleging the go-slow strategy is one big arcade hustle. Warnes, in turn, has pushed back, claiming the drivers “all but had a deal”, maybe until the goalposts moved, only for Minns to remind the RTBU that his ministry had “to draw a line in the sand” – which seems a shout out to beach volleyball.

Four sports bundled into one showdown, and that’s a single day of dispatches. Not that we’re shocked, as politicians have long looted the sporting lexicon. Grassroots and mudslinging depict Saturday rugby, while the captain’s pick – as picked by Tony Abbott – landed like a Fosbury flop in the dictionary.

Anthony Sharwood, a seasoned sportswriter across TV and print, loves observing how sporting phrases evolve, many migrating into business and politics. Bring Your A Game (Hachette, 2024), his fond glossary of sport-speak, runs from ball magnet to worm burner, where selection headaches during premiership windows can invite a world of pain.

Injury clouds. Excitement machine. Every cliche is in the fray, including evidence of how boardrooms (much like parliament) are adopting athletes’ dialect, discussing game-changers, ballpark figures, teamwork and a safe pair of hands. Chris Minns, an NRL Bulldogs fan by birth, is only extending the tradition.

Well and good, since sport and politics rely on opposing sides. As long as sport can avoid MP-speak, I’ll be happy. Although if leadership groups are already trusting the process to deliver the right results, I sense that racehorse has bolted.

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