Dane Eldgridge – The 2013 Saviours Of Sombre Inner-Sydneyites

The City of Sydney. Much like the other filthy and overpopulated municipalities of this earth, it has always had its fair share of the faceless melancholia and alienated futility that any confined human-squash is famous for.

However of late, one locale of ye olde convict hub is bluer than it’s ever been, and to pinpoint the real peak of despair in the state capital, you just have to walk the inner-city projects region around the Surry Hills district, up through the Moore Park precinct and out to the eastern beaches to witness where the faces of the locals really lengthen.

There are many reasons why the natives in these bustling hubs are down on life; the feeling of claustrophobia as they become enclosed inside growing masses of hipster beards, the onset of Scott Cam, the hassle of being forever subject to the questionable business propositions of bum-bagged rodent-featured locals, and the general drop in standards of their beloved café culture where a milk crate now passes as reasonable seating.

However, all of these kicks to the skinny jeans for the well-off dwellers in this CBD-to-ocean belt seem like minor fly bites when compared to the weekly anguish caused by the recent fortunes of their locally-based footy teams, a three-pronged entity which has managed to famously fudge-up 66% of the endless pursuit for professional oval ball glory in the recent past.

The 33% of the trinity made up by the AFL’s Sydney Swans are free to leave this domain of blame, having been reppin’ with valour for their local residents thanks to consistently pissing off Melbournites with a metronomic pattern of success.

Unfortunately, being Onwards to Victory most of the time has barely kept at bay the requirement for Xanax and alcohol that is demanded by being in close proximity to the NRL’s Roosters and Super Rugby’s Waratahs.

Previous seasons for this pair of highly reputed clubs have been badly poisoned with fumbler’s disease, subsequently bringing Monday morning tears with regularity to Moore Park and its surrounds.

New Rooster coach Robinson already has the shits. Good-o.

Sydney pleads that the buck stops in 2013, and the top brass at both clubs have charged two men with the enormous task of putting this shameful sobbing to an end by restoring some energy, pride and most pertinently, more wins than the Reds and Rabbitohs.

Can Michael Cheika and Trent Robinson again make associating with your teams in Eastern Sydney cooler than a Darlinghurst-based organic South Cambodian noodle outlet?

Already the praying to the latest en vogue God has begun.

As for the fortunes in the rah-rah, new Waratahs coach Cheika is a fearless head-stepper blind to paycheque sizes whom certainly will not die wondering.

He has won trophies in the hotbed of European rugby (2007/08 Celtic League trophy and the coveted 2009 Heineken Cup with Leinster) and is Galloping Green royalty, having played over 300 games for the famous Randwick club and coached them to Shute Shield glory in 2004.

More importantly, he’s got the mega-scary crazy eyes of a deputy school principal, and when it comes to the art of communication he shoots straighter than John Wilkes Booth regardless of the target, meaning overpaid down-time and wriggle room for the overshadowing reputation is now in the skip bin in Tah-land.

As for new Roosters boss Robinson, there’s no doubt that a punt has been taken on his services, as well as a dollar or two saved on his contract.

This French-speaking local no-name is not awash with gleaming league hardware, however his record as head coach of Super League club Catalans Dragons finished impressively with 35 wins from 59 games and included two playoff campaigns and Coach of the Year honours in 2011.

Cheika’s evil-eye just burnt a perfect hole through my cranium.

He’s a backroom boy from the blue-collar mould, which will grate with the ethics of recent Rooster seasons, and with an influx of quality arsenal in the off-season, he will be given every opportunity to turn the frowns upside down from Bronte to Paddington.

So can both of these men reawaken the slumbering giants they have been handed the keys to?

There are plenty of morose humans in the region where they ply their trade that will be thankful if they do. The taste of coffee, the tolerance of rodents and the strength to endure a never-ending series of The Block depends on it.

God speed to Michael and Trent in their attempt to re-beautify two-thirds of Sydney footy.

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