Clichés can be your friend.

When I played rugby for the Griffith University Redbacks, what feels like a hundred years ago, we’d run through a number of clichés during a game.

Before kick-off, we’d go over the pre-match ones of “work hard for the ball” and “got to go forward before we can go wide” and we’d roll out the old favourite of “can’t win without the ball” at half time if we were getting flogged. The team would nod sagely like this actually meant something.

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On special occasions, if we were playing terribly, the coach would mutter “it’s a game of two halves, boys.” This was obviously meant to galvanise the team, spurring us on to make amends for our shoddy first half.

Sometimes it even worked.

It appeared to work during the recent Argentina and Australia match. I have no idea what Michael Cheika said to his charges at half time but something happened to the Wallabies’ mentality.

From viewing the footage, he was either trying to fire his team up or he wanted to passionately share a super recipe for beef bourguignon.

The grabbing of the jerseys seemed to indicate the former but I’ll wait until I see the transcript.

The Wallabies came out in the second half and actually played like they’d trained more than once or twice together. Gone was the dropped ball.



Gone was the shuffling sideways before passing to a player with half a foot of space between him and the try line. Gone was the tackling someone like he was covered in spiders.

It was certainly a game of two halves.

I was banished to the bedroom to watch the match on the small TV because my kids had blockaded the lounge room and were settling into a long campaign of Fortnite on the PlayStation interspersed with snack grazing. I didn’t mind.

I was able to eat a late breakfast in bed while enjoying one of my favourite pastimes: vociferously haranguing the Wallabies via the medium of swear words. I have to admit, I was somewhat shell-shocked for the first 20 minutes but I had an inkling that Australia would come back.

Sure, we were down by 21 points but things would work themselves out. I smugly sent a text message to a mate that all it took would be three quick tries and we’d be in touching distance of the lead.

Then Kurtley Beale dropped the ball cold from a scrum and I said some words so loud my kids thought a truck full of drunk tradies had crashed into the fence. My wife came in and checked to see that I hadn’t suffered a brain aneurysm, looked at me with sympathy in her eyes before gently shutting the door.

Half time came and I ventured out for some more toast. I must admit I thought about not only cooking some toast but also have a nice relaxing bath with the toaster itself, such is the emotional roller-coaster that is being a Wallaby fan.



Still, it’s a game of two halves isn’t it? There’s always hope.

The second half started well with Izack Rodda charging a ball down before snaffling a suspect pass from Hooper and strolling over for a try.

Then there was another try, and another. My smug text message was proving to be prophetic. I called out for more toast.

Then Foley kicked the ball across to Dane Haylett-Petty who passed back to David Pocock who passed it back to the fullback for a cheeky try.

Weirdly, I didn’t swear when Bernard Foley kicked the ball. This in itself is bizarre because I thought I’d developed some Pavlovian response to his cross kicks that normally result in me screaming “don’t kick it you moron!”

I remained calm as the ball soared through the air. Sure, my sphincter may have tightened somewhat when the pass from Pocock appeared to be forward but Jaco Peyper played piper and didn’t ask for a TMO review. I relaxed once the Wallabies were two scores ahead.

I put the toaster back on the kitchen bench and watched the last few minutes of the match. The Wallaby win, to me, was very satisfying.

Sure, it papered over a lot of cracks but the mental kick coming from so far behind to win must have felt like a shot of adrenalin to the players. So, what caused this change in mentality?



Was it Cheika’s halftime spray or was it a collective forging of minds within the Wallabies themselves.

I noted that, during the second half, it appeared that David Pocock was doing most of the talking. He was revving the players up and doing a lot of pointing.

I’m happy with this because I’d follow that man into trench warfare quicker than you can say “what’s mustard gas?” Mike Hooper was obviously still captain but this isn’t the first time Saint David of Pocock has stood up and inspired his troops.

I quite like Hooper as a player. His energy and commitment can never be doubted. But I’ve always had reservations about his ability to lead a team out of the doldrums.

I can overlook the repeated turning down of easy penalties when playing the All Blacks because we all know you need to score lots of tries to defeat those blokes but I can’t overlook the fact that the team doesn’t appear to be behind him as a captain.

When he’s under the posts delivering another wonky-eyed speech to his charges after yet another soft try, I always get the feeling the players just want him to shut up.

When Pocock takes over it’s like the forward pack become inspired. They’ve written their last letters to their families and a ready to go over the top.



There are four more games remaining for the Wallabies this year. A money grabbing exercise against New Zealand in Japan, followed up with matches against Wales, Italy and then England. I’m going to be honest, after losing to Argentina on the Gold Coast, I had essentially pencilled in a large L after these remaining matches.

The Wallabies looked spent both mentally and physically. Now, I’m not so sure. Have they turned a corner? Only time will tell. I’ve been hurt before by this team so I’m not willing to say. Here’s hoping it’s a season of two halves.