There’s inordinate amounts of negative stereotypes about the Roosters, most of them true.
But whether it’s their love of skinny caps, organic wraps or dodging salary caps, none is as damning as their latest — The Roosters have become whingers.
We all remember the time when “Roosters Footy” was about embodying the game’s finest virtues.
Stuff like playing for premierships, the relentless pursuit of excellence, and stealing Souths’ best players, just to name a few.
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But nowadays, “Roosters Footy” is solely about self-puncturing their own hype and blaming it on three nerds in a caravan.
Yep, seldom is any recent Chooks defeat not followed by Bunker bashing or refs criticism- and it’s primarily lead by their head coach.
Trent Robinson is a modern day NRL colossus, but his habit of blasting officials is earning the Bondi boys a reputation as sore losers who can’t rise above the game’s variables, like the bouncing ball and Ashley Klein.
And if he continues focusing on nitpicking hairline decisions rather than his team’s inability to record a line break, he risks being remembered less as a triple premiership coach and more like Des Hasler and Ricky Stuart, men who spend most Mondays passing kidney stones on the phone to the ref’s boss.
Fair enough, Robinson’s confusion over the disrupter rule after Thursday night’s loss to the Storm was warranted, but only because nobody understands the rule, refs included.
But in the tumble-dryer of a spirited match, his gripe about Nelson Asofa-Solomona shunting Eliesa Katoa across for a try was petty hair-splitting, much like being charged 30 years of late fees for a DVD and complaining about the trailers.
Of course, Robinson isn’t Crusoe when it comes to deflecting from failure by giving it large to the officials.
But if there’s one thing more galling than a losing coach bleating about referees, it’s a losing coach bleating about referees despite a squad valued at half the ASX.
And when this team runs second best on the night because it can’t exploit a man advantage with Cam Munster binned – all while James Tedesco was pardoned for a leg sweep on Ryan Papenhuyzen that belonged in the dojo – it was the sourest of grapes.
Thursday’s blow-up wasn’t Robinson’s first crook take of the year either.
Not only did he get uber-defensive over a journalist’s question about SuperCoach, who could forget him clutching his pearls over Dom Young’s send-off against the Bulldogs after the winger belted Blake Taafe and left him in origami pose?
It was a comment almost as icky as his bizarre defence of Michael Jennings’ chequered past, especially after losing to a Canterbury side that only played one half of footy.
As a coach celebrated as a pioneer for speaking eruditely and telling the truth, many are wondering at what point did Robinson become such a prickly cactus.
Sure, the strains of a decade’s coaching are partially to blame, as is Andrew Webster stealing his mantle as the new Cool Relief Teacher of coaching.
But at the heart of the 291-gamer’s transformation from wizard to whinger lies a burning frustration that he may be out of answers.
With his sabre-toothed side failing to qualify for the top four since 2020, Robinson is grappling with a side that has become irrelevant; not good enough to challenge the top dogs, and not bad enough to warrant a petition.
Add to this another sluggish start to the season, a closing premiership window and an attack structured like sideways cabbage, and it’s no wonder he’s lost the plot.
But it isn’t the ref’s fault you can’t find the tryline and all your gun players are nicking off to rugby, nor is it the fault of someone asking about fantasy football.
— 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.