New Zealand Warriors’ arrival is proof dreams are reality
Breakfast with Sally Fitzgibbons. In her kitchen. I think we’re in a relationship. Her father is making it clear he disapproves. One is punching above one’s weight and so on.
She gets a text message from somebody at the World Surf League. Inside info about this year’s world title race. The championship will be conducted over five events, starting soon. She’s getting a heads-up to start preparing, to book flights, etc. Being a good friend and wary of her greatest threat, I say, “Don’t tell Steph”. I am not proud of my behaviour.
That’s the first of three recent dreams I’ve had about sport.
In the next dream, I’m covering the Wimbledon semi-finals. Roger Federer is playing, um, Todd Woodbridge. The All England Club has a beach behind it. This can happen in a dream. Looks nice for a dip. Things are on serve and fairly predictable when a large tree falls onto the court, killing both players. My first thought is that I should probably file a yarn for the paper’s website. Live news, blah, blah, blah. The death of Federer and Woodbridge seems a decent story. But the ocean looks so inviting. The yarn can wait. I’ll go for a swim and then let the office know.
Just a quick dip, I tell myself. But then my learned colleague, Brent Read, telephones me. He keeps calling me dude. He says dude, what happened at the tennis! I tell him a tree fell onto Centre Court, match abandoned, two dead. He says dude, what about that! He says dude, what sort of tree was it? And I say, how would I know? I’m not a bloody arborist! And he says dude, I’m running the website now! He says dude, I’ll write a quick yarn — just tell me the score when it happened. I don’t have my notes because I’m legging it to the beach. I’m busted. I tell him I can’t remember. He says dude, just look at the scoreboard! I turn on my heels to go back to the court. But I don’t have my accreditation pass. They won’t let me back in. I admit all to Brent. He says dude, you can’t go for a swim!
In my third dream, I’m sitting next to my father in Newcastle. In real life and the dream, he has a grand, well-worn armchair next to the living room window. We are giddy with excitement: Friday Night Footy is on. In front of us are two cans of VB. Bottoms up! We’re hugging and backslapping and saying things like hey ho Knights, let’s go! I’m not sure why I’m not at the game. Maybe I’ve been sacked for going for a swim during the Wimbledon semi-finals. The game is about to start on TV. It’s the Knights versus someone. Knights are kicking off. I think it’s Kalyn Ponga putting the ball on the tee. He boots the ball to the stars and we’re pumping our fists and shouting, hoo-ee! The footy’s back!
Of those three dreams, the last may actually be realised. I don’t envisage Sal having me for breakfast any time soon. It will be quite the comeback from Woodbridge if he makes the Wimbledon semi-finals. Mind the tree. Friday Night Footy is a chance for the end of the month if players stop behaving like dumb-arses.
A giant leap was made on Sunday when the New Zealand Warriors landed in Tamworth.
A terrific report on nrl.com.au has said of the Warriors’ journey to Australia: “A plane that actually fits Tamworth airport’s runway, because the original chartered aircraft was too heavy for the town’s airport. A police escort on arrival. Every employee from CEO Cameron George and coach Stephen Kearney accepting pay cuts in a bid to help the club avoid redundancies. Senior players Roger Tuivasa-Sheck, Blake Green, Adam Blair and Tohu Harris turning around and donating their own cash back to the club to help out front-office staff. A month in lockdown. Another two weeks in quarantine. Childcare and school arrangements. Welfare support for family and partners. Immigration departments. Medical officers. The Warriors have cleared each hurdle as though running 3000m of Olympic steeplechase. This will be the greatest story in rugby league when we come to Australia and kick your ass,’ George wrote signing off an email to Peter V’landys earlier this week.”
The Warriors are quite the yarn. A documentary waiting to happen. Bravo to them for saving the comp. Winning it? Dream on.