Johnny Member wrote:But yours aren't mere opinions - they're borderline slanderous suggestions of a rogue coach gone mad with power who has railroaded the club. It's ludicrous stuff.
PELCHEN: Your mission Captain Bluthy is to proceed up the Nepean Highway to Seaford. Pick up Coach Richo’s path at Linen House Centre, follow it and learn what you can along the way. When you find the Coach, infiltrate his team by whatever means available and terminate the Coach’s command.
BLUTHY: Terminate the Coach?
PELCHEN: He's out there operating without any decent tactics or complex game plan, totally beyond the pale of any acceptable coaching conduct. And he is still in the field commanding players to do nothing but tackle and run hard. And he forced me out even though I had a totally brilliant spreadsheet that would have filled the team with great kicking players!!!!! Terminate with extreme prejudice Bluthy!
[BLUTHY voice-over] I was going to the worst place in the world – Seaford - and I didn't even know it yet. Weeks away and hundreds of miles up a highway that snaked through the state like a main circuit cable plugged straight into Richo. It was no accident that I got to be the caretaker of Alan Richardson’s memory any more than being back in Seaford was an accident. There is no way to tell his story without telling my own. And if his story really is a confession, then so is mine
As I arrived at Linen House Centre, I could see \ what the madness of rogue Coach Richo had delivered. Injured players were everywhere - broken shoulders, concussion, shin soreness. Players could barely move from exhaustion from having to run so hard and do nothing but tackle and pressure. I knew I had to stop Richo before he destroyed the club. In front of the entrance to the club stood a crazed looking man who was building a whole series of huge straw man before knocking them down and screaming “I love the smell of straw in the morning!!”
BLUTHY: Could I, uh... talk to Coach Richo?
JOHNNY STRAWMAN: Hey, man, you don't talk to the Coach. You listen to him. The man's enlarged my mind. He's a poet warrior in the classic sense. I mean sometimes he'll... uh... well, you'll say "hello" to him, right? And he'll just walk right by you. He won't even notice you. And suddenly he'll grab you, and he'll throw you in a corner, and he'll say, "Do you know that 'if' is the middle word in life? If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you"... I mean I'm... no, I can't... I'm a little man, I'm a little man, he's... he's a great man! I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across floors of silent seas...Your arguments man – they don’t make sense – they’re guff, they’re s***. You say he relies on nothing but pressure – well he eats pressure for breakfast GT style. You say all he does is say “tackle” and “pressure” and “run hard”. You don’t get it man, you don’t get the nightmare in your own head
BLUTHY: Er ok Johnny. I’m going to walk away from you now avoiding eye contact. You should get some rest
[BLUTHY voice-over] Coach Richo was lying down in the corner, slowly dripping water onto his shaved head (it was shave your head for cancer week) On the highway, I thought that the minute I looked at him, I'd know what to do, but it didn't happen. I was in there with him for days, not under guard; I was free, but he knew I wasn't going anywhere. He knew more about what I was going to do than I did. And what would his people back home want if they ever learned just how far from them he'd really gone – obsessed with nothing but pressure and tackling? He broke from them, and then he broke from himself. I'd never seen a man so broken up and ripped apart.
RICHO: Did they say why, why they want to terminate my coaching?
BLUTHY: I was sent on a classified mission, sir.
RICHO: It's no longer classified, is it? Did they tell you?
BLUTHY: They told me that you had gone totally insane, and that your tactics were unsound and too simple
RICHO: Is my game plan unsound?
BLUTHY: I don't see any game plan at all, sir.
RICHO: I expected someone like you. What did you expect? Are you an assassin?
BLUTHY: Well I sometimes question you on a discussion board called Saintsational so you could say I’m a sniper
RICHO: You're neither. You're an errand boy, sent by grocery clerks, to collect a bill. I've seen pressure... pressure that you've seen. But you have no right to call me a simple coach. You have a right to talk s*** about me on a meaningless internet board. You have a right to do that... but you have no right to judge me. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what pressure means. Pressure... Pressure has a face... Nathan’s Wrights. And you must make a friend of pressure. Pressure and tackling are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies! I remember when I was with Port Adelaide... seems a thousand centuries ago. We made them run hard every day, pushing them to their limits. And then I realized... like I was shot... like I was shot with a diamond... a diamond bullet right through my forehead. Tackling and pressure! And I thought, my God... the genius of that! The genius! The will to do that! Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure. All I need them to do is tackle and put on pressure. Nothing else. Well maybe be strong. Yeah need them to be strong. That would be significantly pleasing.
BLUTHY: Er ok. You know what Richo. Now I’ve met you, I realise you are the bat-s*** crazy type that the best coaches are. I’ll leave you be
RICHO [whispering]: The pressure….the pressure
(All apologies to Francis Coppola)