BY DAN

It had been a torrid game of footy but the Canberra Raiders were holding on.

The Panthers had attacked their line all game with the repetitive fury and precision of self criticism at 2am. 53 per cent of the ball and 68 per cent of territory but that underscores the assault. In the first twenty minutes of the second half Canberra were simply defending their own line. They didn’t even get the ball into their opposition half until the 17th minute of the half.

They were in the mud holding on for dear life. Canberra were throwing bodies around to hold their line integrity. They were scrambling. They were covering. They were structurally sound – as much as they ever could be in 2024. While it seemed as likely as holding the pass at Thermopolye, they remained in the game.

Courageous isn’t the story. This was insanity. There was no incentive for the Raiders to be so resilient. For years the Panthers had simply worn down teams with more to play for through relentless assault. Ask them time and time again if they were willing to go the mile beyond the extra to compete. With seasons still alive Canberra had failed in the past, as had the rest of the league for near half a decade. But this was just fighting for hope. The finals, while theoretical, were realistically gone. And here was a rag tag bunch of misfits simply too stubborn to accept what the Panthers offered.

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Previous Best Moments of the Year:

2019 (Big Papa),

2020 (Baby Raiders),

2021 (X and Rapa)

2022 (Jimmy Thrills)

2023 (Jarrod’s 300)

The best team of the rugby league life time of this blog is the Penrith Panthers. Since we started this mess back at the end of 2014 they’ve risen to heights not seen since footy players were plumbers and soldiers. They have been dominant in a way we’re not used to. Canberra haven’t been spared – each game against the ‘Riff during this period has felt like trying to kick down a door with a slipper and a broken ankle. Most games ended with me pouring a drink and muttering about what could have been. Even without Nathan Cleary the team was a machine.

Marking yourself against the best is how you get better and Canberra had been going to wrong way. Since their trip to the grand final in 2019 marked the peak of their ascension, and the beginning of the Panthers, the Raiders have never really competed with Penrith. The closest they went was a painful early season loss in 2021 in which Viliame Kikau broke Charnze Nicoll Klokstad’s neck and basically ended his Canberra career (and the Milk’s season). They lost that game by 20. This reached it’s nadir in 2023 when a 53 point drubbing was given the shittest cherry on top courtesy of Jaemon Salmon (he of weak-gutted dog fame) crossing through some of the feeblest defence since the Maginot line.

Canberra had not previously displayed such resolution. Not in previous years against the Panthers. Not even in recent weeks. They were off the back of conceding forty point games to the deeply unserious Manly and Cowboys. It felt more like they were walking face first into a lawn mower. Yet here they were, one hand on the blade, eyes wide with crazy. Holding on, even as the blood rolled down there hand.

Then it happened.

You could say that Matty Timoko’s decision to get in the defensive line came from desperation. Sure the numbers weren’t looking good. On the replay there’s more men outside him than a fancy Melbourne bakery with a new gimmick (it’s part vanilla slice part donut. Pitch a name in the comments. We’ll be rich!). So yeah he didn’t have good options. But by sidling up into the line like Clint Eastwood with a hat and a squint, he chose the right one. Jarome Luai’s pass fired right into his chest and he was off.

Matty T has a lot of things going for him. He’s ferocious running in and around defenders. which is good because he’s asked to that a lot. He’s also good over short distances, with a great ability to hit his top pace within a few steps. That’s his job, theoretically. Catch flat passes from Jamal Fogarty or [insert preferred fullback here], palm Cam Munster, and celebrate. But when faced with 90m of open space he had a look on his face like a Dad faced with a hangover and a toddler with a good morning attitude. He took off because he had to, but he knew as well as we did that he wasn’t going to make the distance.

Quicker than I realised, Xavier Savage’s speed has become a safety blanket. As soon as any player is in space, good or bad, I look to where X might be. He can get anywhere on the ground when he puts his mind (or more accurately, legs) to it. When Timoko hit his top speed it had all the hallmarks of my old Corolla on the Tuggeranong Parkway. It was on there. It was at the speed limit. But it was only just holding on. Savage loomed like a cop car wanting to check out the spectacle before turning on the sirens and zooming off to a real problem. Timoko passed him the ball, and off X went. That moment put Canberra in front and they would never be topped.

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You might have thought that Jordan Rapana’s twin field goals against the Dolphins was a preferred moment of the year. I wouldn’t say that’s wrong. We’re just choosing different things to emphasise. Rapana’s victory was wringing the last bit of blood out of that more monumental stone. It was a single old stager doing it once again, out of pride, out of the grim determination, raging against the dying of the light. It wasn’t so much Jordy keeping his head when all around him people were losing theirs, but more his tendency to Sam Konstas things because he doesn’t know any better. That wasn’t hope. That was a solider jerry-rigging a trench as it was abandoned. Creating a mess more than winning the war. It was a celebration of what had been before it, rather than indicative of anything that might come after.

I’m big on hope these days. Life is draining and sometimes the darkness feels more like an unscalable wall than a feature of sleep. Hope sustains. The smallest light can guide us through the pain. The chance that things might get better. That people might recognise the mess, what needs to be done, and set their brooms to clean and their hearts to the collective. Footy is life is the world we live in. I find myself latching on to moments that others see the same. If enough people want to change this sucker for the better then we could deliver something euphoric.

This game, this courage, this moment was that. Proof that players can learn and grow and change. That this youth won’t always be young. The truth of football has been passed down from generation to generation. Hope. Belief. That little light that we all hold in the depths of our souls that we don’t let on.

Captain Elliott Whitehead said the game made him emotional. It was his last game at home for the club. Maybe for a brief second he got to see the courageous and insane legacy he was passing on was in good hands. That this team can be more and that it might deliver a shining moment of clarity, or even more, and that it started on this day. Maybe one day we’ll get to have something more than hope. Cue up Lazarus Drug, we’ll be happy crying, some day.

That’s the hope talking. But moments like this make me think maybe it can come true.

Do me a favour and like the page on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, or share this on social media because I’m like teenage Rick at this point (this is not a dance). Don’t hesitate to send us feedback (dan@sportress.org) or comment below if you think we are stupid. Or if we’re not. Feature image courtesy of Keegan Carroll.