COMMENT
With his ability to break hearts and tackles, Reece Walsh is the Preston Campbell/Tom Jones hybrid we’ve always craved.
The all-action fullback is the hottest property in the NRL right now, with every Broncos game unmissable on account of his slippery hips and box office eyebrows.
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While Nathan Cleary fans might say otherwise, Walsh now stands as the undisputed number one drawcard in the game.
That’s because he’s as dangerous as he is random, plus he captures the same amount of attention without dating a Matilda or needing his dad as coach.
Everywhere you look, rugby league is in the grip of Walsh Mania.
Women are cancelling their manicures not to miss him, and men are booking them in case they get to shake his hand.
The scenes at Campbelltown Stadium on Saturday night were a classic example of his turnstile-clicking power, with the boyish Bronco dominating the limelight before a hungry crowd of groupies.
Despite being a Wests Tigers home game, the attendance was 50% Broncos fans and 200% ‘Reeciples’, with fans lining up as far as the eye could see in the hope of a selfie, a sock or even a kiss – and that was just the dads.
And the fullback didn’t disappoint.
Walsh turned on a five-star performance in Brisbane’s 34-10 victory, serving up a tasting plate replete with blinding speed, cheeky winks and cramping so dramatic it deserved an orchestral composition.
Speaking on SEN, Andrew Voss agreed Walsh has become “the biggest thing the game’s ever had” – and this is why the NRL needs to act immediately.
Whether he’s stepping, limping, spewing, complaining or simply batting his eyelids, Walsh glues eyeballs to the game because nobody wants to miss the next swan dive or subsequent cut-away vision of an enraged boomer.
This makes him virtual money in the bank, and that’s why Peter V’landys needs to intervene before the 21 year old does something stupid, like sign with rugby.
Currently tied to Brisbane until the end of 2025 on a modest deal, rumours abounded last month of Walsh signing a five year upgrade worth $1.2m per year, but these were shot down by the man himself.
Either way, even though this amount could easily buy him a suburb in Brisbane, it’s chump change compared to the beefed-up contracts offered in global rugby.
Put simply, European rugby print their own money and Rugby Australia neglect theirs, and that’s what makes the rival code so dangerous.
French clubs have the advantage of no salary cap, and even though 80% of their turnover is funnelled to Israel Folau and Eddie Jones, Rugby Australia won’t hesitate to starve grassroots or a Super Rugby club to fund a unicorn raid.
This is why the NRL needs to restore a controversial rule from season’s past to save Walsh from these nefarious forces.
The Marquee Player Allowance was the brainchild of NRL CEO David Smith in 2013, a rule which gave the game’s boss a hall pass to issue a blank cheque to any player linked to London Harlequins or somewhere similarly frigid.
With names like Mark Gasnier, Sonny Bill-Williams and Folau shunning idyllic locations like Brookvale Oval for favourable exchange rates and delicious Merlot, Smith wanted the option of paying a marquee player’s wage outside the salary cap to bolster the game against rugby’s thicket chequebook.
The idea was slammed as controversial by the game’s establishmentarians, with Smith eventually run out of town for not being “rugby league” enough, mainly because he was innovative about finances.
But while the concept was never called upon by Smith nor been seen since his departure, now it’s finally found its purpose.
With Walsh yet to extend with the Broncos – and contracts worth three-fifths of stuff-all anyway – now’s the time to dust off the marquee allowance and let it flourish.
And if we don’t?
It’s only a matter of time before Walsh’s earning power outgrows the game, unless the Broncos can strike a third party agreement with some place like Amazon for a Bezos-sized wedge.
V’Landys must free up centralised cash for Walsh before it’s too late.
Or at the very least, give him one his pubs.
– 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.