Origin Of The Species

By Alasdair McClintock on June 17, 2015 in Other

As far as sporting rivalries go, State of Origin must be up there as one of the best. There are some who will disagree with me, but the fact that for three nights the year these otherwise amicable neighbours bay for the blood of men they might cheer for at any other point in the year gives me inexplicable joy. There is something so incredibly insane about it. It is primal. It is simple. It is sport.

No one can genuinely say that the quality of the football is what they enjoy about Origin. More often than not it is little more than a war of attrition; a battle of wills to see which wall will crack first. For many it is the gladiatorial nature of Origin that appeals to them, but for me, it is the theatre.

Each game has its villains and heroes, plot twists and turns, the most dramatic of climaxes and even the odd bit of humour. How I wish Roy and HG still called it, for they truly seemed to understand just how wonderful the whole folly was.

The rivalry itself is nonsensical. The fact that Luke Keary will end up wearing a blue jersey and Inglis already wears a maroon one shows just how little the word ‘origin’ actually means. And sure, there was probably a sound reason for Queensland’s hatred of NSW back in the 1980s, but if you’re pining for the ‘glory days’ of the QRL it is time for you to step down from society, retire to your porch and start swearing at the neighbourhood kids. You’re done. Any usefulness to the evolution of humankind you may have once had has now ceased.

Furthermore, what use does a bunch of supremely gifted athletes risking life and limb to beat the hell out of each other over an ostensibly meaningless rivalry actually have to do with the furthering of our species? None, probably, but I like to believe that it plays an immensely important role in our society.

For Origin is undoubtedly a bloodsport, and since the dawn of time mankind has revelled in such glorified violence. It is in our DNA. It is showing no sign of abating and therefore we must at least attempt to minimise the damage and control it. With State of Origin, at least, no one is killed, and the new concussion rules have thankfully made it even safer.

Today, we can feed our inner beast for three nights a year and then return to our loved ones, hunger abated, ready to live as peaceful beings for another twelve months. Only occasionally will we let our minds wander to the darker realms, where we fantasise about Gallen or Thaiday getting pummelled into the turf. Then we’ll return calmy to our eggs benedict and single origin coffee, quietly hoping no one saw the evil sneer that briefly flittered across our face.