Holy Cowboys, here we go again!

There’s no mob like our mob for stuffing up sporting trips away. We did it again last weekend. Some months ago, four of us decided that seeing as the Cowboys were doing so well and in second spot on the NRL ladder, it might be a good weekend to head to Townsville for a home semi-final. What could go wrong, I thought. We usually share the chores with such trips, and while Mick booked the flights (well, his sister did actually), I was left with accommodation, Gaz with “catering” and Cocko just had to be there.

We hadn’t even booked anything when I checked the NRL draw, or so I thought, and picked the weekend starting Friday, September 16, (last Friday) which I understood was to be the Cowboys home semi-final, provided they finished second.

Of course, that was a stuff-up and not only was the first semi-final the weekend before, but the Cowboys finished third and ended up playing the Sharks in Sydney that weekend.

So, had I got the right weekend, we’d have been in Townsville with the Cowboys in Sydney.

This was pointed out to me by my co-travellers two weeks before lift-off but, in my defence, I explained that as it turned out, if the Cowboys lost in Sydney they would have the home semi-final in Townsville on the weekend that we were going north, so all would be good.

Of course, a Valentine Holmes 42m extra-time field goal had the Cowboys victorious over the Sharks and so the North Queensland lads got the weekend off – the weekend we were flying to Townsville.

Now, the four of us have a mate in Townsville who became something of a Cowboys legend, and we usually catch up with him. However, I was dreading running into him because my mates would have, in no time at all and with glee, bragged to him about how I’d got the weekends wrong.

Having flown up on the Friday morning and a day in the warmth of a Townsville September day, we rose Saturday morning and had breakfast on The Strand outside our hotel.

Suddenly, some bloke on a pushbike with a little girl perched in a seat on the handlebars rides up and pulls over beside our table, takes off his helmet and sunglasses and says: “Hello boys!”

Yes, it was the Cowboys legend himself with his little three-year-old daughter.

After the usual pleasantries and greetings, he asked: “So, what are you guys doing up here?”

“We stuffed up,” I said.

“We stuffed up?” my three erstwhile “mates” chorused.

“Well, I stuffed up,” I had to come clean.

He just laughed, as he usually does, and recalled a few other “stuffed up” weekends we’d endured.

But hey, we were in North Queensland for the weekend, the weather was fine and warm so it was suggested we head over to Magnetic Island for the day for lunch. What could go wrong? I thought. Well, everything was going well as we jumped onto the ferry for the trip over to “Maggie”, took the bus to our favoured pub on the beach and set up for a hearty lunch.

It was just before 1pm and I said we’d better order lunch.

And, then it happened. The footytrip-away gods struck again.

“I’m sorry, the kitchen is closed,” the girl behind the counter advised.

“What? It’s not even 1 o’clock,” I replied in my best famine-stricken voice.

“The kitchen staff are trying to catch up with orders and so we’ve closed the kitchen,” she said.

Defeated and deflated, Mick and I retired to the bar where the bar attendant advised us they were out of the brand of beer we were drinking.

In the end, we got the ferry back to the mainland for a late lunch.