Hooked on it.

It is hard to feel passion for hookers. These days anyway. In my view they themselves are less passionate than they were when I first started. They are less committed to their craft, and certainly offer none of the stimulation and challenge that were so part of the enjoyment of playing with them. And I should know: I played with many, used and abused them. Some were good at what they did, others were not. But all, without exception when I was with them, were glad they were there and happy to play with me. In the eyes of some I was the best and it was a privilege to face me, grip me and try to pull me off. And that extended over many years, until I tired of it and settled for a more sedate existence. But I still watch them at work when I can and what I see today is vastly different from what I experienced then. Today's hookers don’t really care. They exhibit no finesse, no skill and, most different of all from my days, no willingness to go down, lie there and be abused incessantly. That is why perhaps, when one analyses “the game” today, anybody can be a hooker. In my days, it was definite skill. And I am still proud, even now, that I was one. Fond memories are all I have now. That and abject despair that those who followed me no longer experience that or the respect that ensued from taking...it all. Watch any NRL game this weekend and you will see what I mean. Being a rugby league hooker is no longer a proud profession. A hooker in that code, today, is sport’s equivalent of erectile dysfunction. So, if you are a masochist by all means watch hookers at play. But, as for me, I’ll be concentrating on hookers of the other variety this weekend. I have three of them at the moment. Together. And they are vastly more skilled, forthcoming, committed and...entertaining. Much more pleasurable in fact. But that is another story, for another time.