Opposition supporters say they’re chokers. Wayne Bennett said they were unlucky. But I know the real reason St George-Illawarra failed to win the premiership: LONG WHITE SOCKS.

Wearing long white socks never did anyone any good.  They were for scrawny men in safari suits and five year old boys forced to go to Sunday School.  There was a packet of Holeproof  Long White Business Socks (and a couple of Speckled Fawn) that remained unopened while doing the christmas present rounds of our extended family for the entire 1970’s. 

White socks highlight the moving legs which is the aesthetic domain of dancers, football (soccer) players and piston-legged sprinters.  Put them on a rugby league player and he looks like Margot Fonteyn running with the bulls. 

The high number of female spectators at such a masculine game can’t just be explained by unfortunate wives, girlfriends and mothers being dragged along. Many will enjoy the game itself but there must also be those there to stare: the female gaze.

Firm behinds and muscular thighs, arms and chests, not to mention the sculptured calves of Matt Cooper, seem to rate highly on the scale of women’s sexual aesthetics. And these all-white, second-skin kits certainly highlight these regions.

However, as women also know, white jumpers make your torso look bigger. Adding a white jersey to the ensemble may give you a slight  psychological advantage when you’re standing in front of the opposing prop (commentators are often sucked in: “Aren’t they a big team?”) but if you don’t have the svelte muscular frame things are going to get really ugly. 

The muscular but rotund Wendell Sailor looked like a pot roast in white Glad wrap.

And Eorl Crabtree is a hulking 6ft 6in, 122kg prop but wearing his England all-white strip and ponytail he appears to want to be more than that. I can just imagine him in the bar after a match untethering his hair and twirling his head about like Terence Stamp in Priscilla Queen Of  The Desert.

Rugby league has it’s share of exhilarating dancing with the twisting, sidestepping and stomping of Greg Inglis and Jarryd Hayne. Ultimately, though, the game is about power and impact. 

St George should have dressed for that, not Swan Lake.

NEXT WEEK: England’s Underbites: Why Australia Lost The Ashes

The new season of international cricket is almost upon us. It will be a summer cricketfest of 3 Mobile Tests, KFC Twenty20’s, ODIs and STDs. Sorry, what was that last one?

As we know (and wish we didn’t) Shoaib Akhtar missed this year’s World Twenty20 after treatment for die genitalen Warzen

Warts? Surely, as in the recent television ad, you just call the umpire over to apply some Wart Off. 

But apparently not. For genitals, Wart Off is a no-no. So what  type of wart removing procedure is serious enough to put a cricket player out of action? And how do these strutting, rutting sportsmen avoid the  embarrassment of having their transmitted afflictions, some contracted extramaritally on some Trent Bridge toilet floor, from becoming news on Sunrise?

To find out I go along to the  Sexual Health Centre to interview some of the doctors who have the thankless and unsavoury task of dealing with diseased nether regions.

It is situated at a discreet distance from the CBD but close enough to visit a cafe for a double shot espresso after your genital electrofulgration.

Approaching the counter timidly (there’s a sign saying: “Stand back from the counter until called”) I tell the solemn looking chap behind it that I’m here for an interview. He directs me to the waiting room.

It looks like any medical waiting room. But there is no coughing here, just a hot silence. What do people wear to a sexual health clinic? There are varied fashions but mainly casual. Smart clean looking pants belying the ungodly fermenting truth within. Trousers that can be quickly taken off  and then put back on so the wearers can get the hell out of there. There are also  a couple of primly dressed girls and a middle aged woman dressed to the nines in a Mediterranean outfit.

A young student couple arrive with the man off to see the triage nurse while the girl laconically writes up study notes. There are some reddish faces and greasy hair. Up on the wall there is a poster proclaiming: “Anyone can get genital herpes”. I shift uneasily in my overly warm seat.

I’m greeted by the surprisingly cheery Dr ‘No’. “Hello Andrew!”, he chortles, proffering his hand. Mine is wet and hot from nerves but what’s his excuse? As we head off I notice a blond bloke with meaty fingers texting the triage nurse on his Xun Chi 138. We enter the doctor’s office where in the corner there is an examination table with baking paper on it.  

I  mention the Shoaib Akhtar revelations and how embarrassing it must have been for him.

“There really is no need for anyone to be embarrassed by genital warts. It’s a sympton of the the Human Papiloma Virus (HPV) which well over half the population has”, notes Dr ‘No’.

But surely the treatments can’t be serious enough to stop him playing. “Oh yes”, said Dr ‘No’.

“Mr Akhtar had an intense dose of electrofulgration where his warts were basically electrocuted off. He needed ten days to heal and achieve skin cover before resuming playing. Running would have been very painful.” “There is also surgery”, a voice announced behind me. It was the resident dermatologist and cricket fan from India Dr ‘Yes’ who had popped his head into the room. Apparently surgery is only an option if your warts are so bad they resemble one of those multi-coloured models of a molecular structure. But with surgery, Dr ‘Yes’ warned, “you have to watch out for the bleeding!”.

 The more common and less severe treatments involve freezing (ie burning) with liquid nitrogen or the application of a special cream. In these instances the warts simply drop off after a few days ( “Oh sorry I can’t make the christening. I’m waiting for my warts to drop off”) but do involve some scorching. Was this a health clinic or purgatory? With the electrocutions, the bleeding and the stench of burning papillomas it would be hard to tell.

What measures can a prominent sportsperson take to prevent their condition becoming public knowledge I wonder: “We strictly abide by doctor-patient confidentiality but of course if they want to they can use a false name.”

“Do you have any idea what percentage of clients do this?”, I ask. “About ten to fifteen per cent” .  A Dr ‘Maybe’ enters the room with “Oh I’d guess a lot more!”   

Not expecting an answer I ask if they have treated any cricketers who have used false names. Incredibly, Dr ‘No’ , not being a cricket fan, had got Dr ‘Yes’ to retrieve a number of files for the interview. “Yes, well when I said they could use false names they must have misunderstood because they appear to have given me their nicknames.

“Let’s see now,  there is a Punter here. Oh yes I remember him, a nervous little chap, chewing his fingernails all the time. He thought he may have picked up something from the Caribbean. After I gave him the all-clear he still didn’t relax… he was mumbling something about not knowing she was Chris Gayle’s girlfriend.

“Dr ‘Maybe’ treated someone going by the name of Binga. It was syphilis,with complications. Antibiotics did the trick but he had left it a bit too long and will probably experience a weakening of his joints and have a susceptibility to side strains.

“There are two who had genital herpes….a Mr Cricket and….Pup. Mr Cricket had severe itching and hasn’t been able to keep still for the last two summers. Pup was fuming that he had waited so long to lose his virginity to a model only to get herpes.

Before leaving I ask Dr ‘Yes” if that was Warnie out in the waiting room. “Oh yes, he’s come for his free Hep B shot”

 Glad to be out of there, I step out onto the street trying not to look like I’m leaving a sex health clinic (is that a CCTV?) and go for a nice strong flat white.

After watching the first Four Nations encounter between Australia and England in Wigan I started to wonder if BBC stood for Blatantly  Biased Commentary.

Knowing that the final was to be telecast on Sky Sports I was expecting it to get worse.

And I was right. On Inglis’s first-half try we had a: “There’s a BIG question mark on that. A BIG question mark on that!” It was palpitating with loathing, dread, and wishful thinking.

Now these chaps sounded exactly like the ones calling the Wigan match. Perhaps they were the same commentators but with the accent it’s hard to tell. It was also difficult to tell how many were commentating. There was definitely Sky’s main league commentator Eddie Hemmings known for his biased commentary on Super League. There were also ex players Phil Clarke and, I think, Mike ‘Stevo’ Stephenson who apparently at times has to have the “sense knocked into him” by his fellow commentators.

What is it with this spectator commentary? What makes them carry on with such unashamed barracking?

Throughout, England was referred to as “we” with plenty of: “Australia was VERY, VERY lucky to get away with that”. And a “Did Slater knock on there?”, with a “Was Thurston hanging on then?” thrown in. During England’s early strong showing there was much childlike rejoicing and patriotic fervour: ” Look out Australia I’m coming. Sheer celebrations from England!”.

But of course this annoying bias is a symptom of their awe (not as bad though as the embarrassing awe middle aged Australian men have for Tiger Woods: “He signed my cap, I think I’m going to cry!”) for the Australians.

So when they established a lead, lost it and then regained it  the nervous excitement was tempered with an awful dread of  what Australia’s backs could do to them: “They’ve got the POWER , they’ve got the SPEED!”  As soon as Slater scored in the 56th minute: “It’s not over yet we’re just two points down”. Of course it wasn’t over yet. Unless deep down you believed you weren’t good enough.

Over the next 24 minutes it became obvious that was exactly what they believed.

Praising  St George to high heaven one minute and spouting self abuse the next, the unintentionally comic duo entertained Australian audiences (and the Australian commentary team of Peter Sterling and Phil Gould sitting dutifully silent in the Channel 9 studio) :-

Anon 1: “From a an English point of view it’s disappointing but from a neutral point of view it’s a joy to watch Australia execute their plays”

Anon 2: “No, I’m sorry. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of seeing it. Year after year, time after time. I really am!”

To their credit they are not anti Australian; just pro and anti English at the same time. You almost feel sorry for them and for a moment wish they would win until you realise what nauseating patriotic celebrations that would bring on.

There looking at us after the live coverage ended were the smirking faces of  Sterling and Gould: the men who, with Ray Warren , should have been calling this match. Perhaps in the future Sky Sports can give us the visuals and we’ll supply our own professional (ie passionate, insightful and ultimately objective) commentary.

Referring to the English team, one of the callers lamented: “We’ve still got a long way to go. Sadly we thought we had made up”.

He could easily have been talking about the commentators.