Conjuring the spirit of Jackie Chiles – surely the most exquisite yet fiendish legal mind ever to have graced the inside of a courtroom – one can but imagine the chatter that ensued last Tuesday, within the dark mahogany walls of Parramatta Leagues Club's boardroom. Yeah, there's gonna be a problem all right – a problem for the NRL, that is. Scrubbing half our board, and our CEO from the game – it's a clear violation of our constitutional rights. Damn Greenberg, it's a public humiliation – it's outrageous; egregious; preposterous!

Why, of course … a smear campaign by stealth, conducted by disaffected warlords, this may be; but a case of ingrained, institutionalised cheating? It's lewd; lascivious; salacious!

Wherever the truth lies, concerning the admittedly untested assertions of rampant salary cap cheating at Parramatta – one must approach any quest for truth with a Mariana Trench level of suspicion, when dealing with the Eels – it's incontrovertible that the biggest loser here is the Eels fan; whatever the crystal ball might foretell. The long-suffering fan, loyally paying their membership each year, yet holding no appreciation of what their team winning a premiership actually feels like. Unless, that is, he or she is at least approaching halfway in the game of life.

The long-suffering fan who, a dozen times each year traipses out to the soulless concrete stadiums of this fair city, invariably in the cold of the night, still burning that flickering glimmer of hope, that this will be the year. The long-suffering fan who, with whatever particular level of discernment, entrusts the good stewardship of their club; their Eels, to a coterie of directors who have campaigned desperately, for election. Right now, amid the fog of recrimination, half-truths and subterfuge; what is that long-suffering fan to do?