Loud, Boorish and Irritating. Is this the Gold Coast or its football team?

The Gold Coast. Interesting place, right? A fun place at first. Quite intoxicating. But it takes about five days. The realization. The Gold Coast is constantly loud, its inhabitants out of step with regular society with their white loafer extra fake tan thing, and generally the joint is filled with a heightened sense of self-importance.

Seems the Titans are fitting in perfectly.

The Gold Coast Titans have won zero premierships, played in no finals, for God’s sake they haven’t even played a game. Yet they’re already so annoying.

Their latest kafuffle comes from this weeks grand final. What has the grand final ever had to do with the Gold Coast, you ask? Valid question. Well, for some reason the Titans were paraded before the crowd. Don’t remember the Giants getting paraded, nor the Seagulls, nor the Chargers, nor the only Gladiators (That team didn’t even get to play a game. The only Gold Coast franchise to have as many wins as losses.).

No, the problem though wasn’t the unnecessary recognition of a team that hasn’t achieved anything yet, it was surrounding a troupe of dancers, who apparently didn’t fit the image of the town. The locals complained that the stretched gold lycra outfits was a throwback to the 80s, and didn’t reflect the today’s Gold Coast. You know, the new and improved Gold Coast. The 2 point 3 children Gold Coast. You might not be aware of this, but while the most famous person from Goldie regaling the nation was Bree from Big Brother, the Gold Coast secretly closed down every nightclub and strip joint on Cavill Avenue and replaced them with Christian Science reading centres.

Geez, maybe we were wrong about this place.

The complaints about the dancers didn’t end at the outfits. The local paper quoted an expert who was disgusted that “Their skin was too white�?. Aah yes, the Gold Coast. Don’t ever change.

On further inspection though, the locals were right. The dancers in question didn’t reflect the town at all. Those dancers were a bit artsy to be honest, when really they should have been moving in and around the crowd, strangely declaring their undying love for each and every person in attendance, pausing briefly for sips of bottled water, then moving back to the arena, jumping around uncontrollably, like a fly that’s just been hit with Baygon. Then in the corner of the stadium we could have had sand shipped in, as well as a dozen teenagers, with the boys plying the girls full of alcohol, the teens performing their own routine: vomiting in sync. And to finish, a routine from the Meter Maids, in string bikinis, dancing to ‘She Works Hard For The Money’.

Now, that would be a routine to make the locals happy.

Back to the Titans. This incarnation has promised to do things differently. No duds this time around. No players at the end of their career looking at a retirement package. In short, no repeat of Ronnie Gibbs. This time they’d do it with vision. They certainly weren’t kidding. They’ve got the vision to see that in 2008, a constantly injured player from another code, who will be 32 when he pulls on that delightful aqua jumper for real, is worth the bargain basement price of $300k a season. Sure, they forget the small detail of getting young Steve Turner to actually sign a contract, but they do manage to remember the dry ice for the big Mat Rogers press conference. Now that’s vision.

Will this club be a success? Who knows. They sure can talk a good game, with their bigger population, better demographics and higher topography, but guys, just shut up and win some games.

Then we’ll be interested.

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