Illustration: Edd Aragon
THE black-tie dress code at the university formal was supposed to encourage the perversely egalitarian notion that those in the penguin parade were equally privileged. Yet there were always three distinctive styles. The old-money types wore tailor-made dinner suits with hand-knotted ties. We tag-alongs turned up in crumpled op-shop suits, and risked asphyxiation from elastic bowies. And the campus anarchist wore a T-shirt tuxedo.
As the growing crowds and impressive television ratings for the first round emphasised, there is a lot to like about the NRL. The strength, the speed, the athleticism, the fact there was something on the tele other than Bangladesh versus Ireland at the seemingly endless Cricket World Cup.
However, the modern jersey is not one of these great features. Indeed, as a hulking forward whose team is identifiable mainly because of a fiercely prominent advertising logo barges into another muscular human billboard, it is apparent the NRL jersey has become the T-shirt tuxedo of modern sport.
A facsimile of the real thing. Ugly, messy, undistinguished and often indistinguishable. Loved still, perhaps, by the diehards and kids whose sense of fashion is informed by Lady Gaga. But an insipid abomination compared with the bold, iconic jerseys of the past.
The reason for the decline of the NRL jersey is well known and, in an economic sense, entirely justifiable. Many of the design features that made the old jerseys so striking have been removed or diminished in order to make way for bigger and bolder advertising. Manly’s horizontal white stripes are mostly concealed. The classic blue V on the Canterbury jersey is cut in half by the sponsors logo. St George Illawarra’s red V is obscured. Balmain and Wests turned two wonderful designs into a hot-potch compromise.
At the same time, new clubs such as Gold Coast don’t bother to include bold symbols. They instead produce a colourful mono-coloured advertising backdrop with a few trims. The Raiders at least chose a distinctive colour upon which to plug their major benefactor. Thus Canberra’s jersey now bearing the label of The Tradies is similar to the one 20 years ago that sold Video Ezy. The Storm’s predominant purple makes a similar statement. If you never had style, you can’t lose it.
A few clubs, such as Souths and the Roosters, have produced decent replicas of their famous jerseys. But the stretchy fibres and collar-free designs that make modern jerseys more comfortable for the players make them far less aesthetically pleasing. The flat, shiny surfaces exaggerate the T-shirt tuxedo look.
Of course, it would be unrealistic to ask Braith Anasta or Roy Asotasi to sweat and tug at the buttoned collars of heavy cotton jerseys, just so we can admire their uniform’s flowing form. But I would do it anyway.
The NRL argues, with annoyingly sound logic, that classic jerseys are victims of the need to raise revenue, which, in turn, has allowed the game to reach its current heights. Clubs are entitled to sell sponsorship on the front, both sleeves, above and below the number and on the front and back of shorts.
That all 16 clubs have filled their jerseys, and only a few have space for hire on their shorts is, with those record round-one television and crowd figures, a measure of the game’s popularity and prosperity. In the US, most major professional leagues demand that jerseys be ”clean” of advertising”. But its easy to be a traditionalist when the revenue from television, stadiums and (more attractive) merchandise is vast. For NRL clubs operating on tight margins, if earning precious sponsorship dollars means making their shirt fronts their shopfronts and parading proud warriors in stretch-fabric sandwich boards, it’s a no-brainer. And so long as the fans can tell one team from another, why does it matter what they look like?
Well, it matters because the jersey is supposed to be a proud symbol of a club’s history. Something that endures as those who wear the colours come and go.
Yet if an NRL coach was to exhort a player to ”bleed for the jersey” now? Who would put themselves in the way of the rampaging Frank ”The Tank” Pritchard to uphold the honour of Parramatta’s comparatively anaemic blue jersey, upon which the once bold gold is now a sad afterthought? Even if the ”transfer solutions” prominently spruiked by sponsor Pirtek proved to be as ”fluid” as the jersey promises.
What fullback is going to keep his eyes on that high ball because he is proud to defend the insipid descendant of Cronulla’s once striking blue, black and white jersey? OK, wearing a more traditional jersey might not solve all – or any – of the Sharks’ problems. But at least in the old days when they struggled, they looked good doing it.
rhinds@smh.com.au
