The hour is late. The blood in the Canterbury Bulldogs boxing ring is fresh.

Willie Mason sits shoulders slumped in a corner.

Malcolm Noad, his sparring partner and club CEO, is towelling him down.

Willie, in his best Marlon Brando says: “You don’t understand! I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a Dog, which is what I am.”

Mal’s verbal uppercut is: “Willie, class is a very rare commodity around these parts – except threats of class actions from the lowlife lawyers acting for the fans of other clubs. And you were a contender alright – for the biggest bozo since, since … well you, when you had the big, big scary hair. So, why are you so upset?”

“You won’t let me fight no more! Man, I was ready to rumble, to be the greatest!”

“Willie, it was only a charity bout for a lousy 75 gs and anyway, from what I heard, the fix was in.”

“Oh man, what a joint!”

“Hey, tough guy, show this place some respect.”

“You mean the mighty club that got fined $500,000 and lost 37 points for rigging the cap back in ’02 .... where every Friday night is BYO fight night out in the stands? What other club has to pay police protection money so the fans from the opposition clubs might attend our games?”

“Yeah, well who the hell do you think stirs ’em up, you big dope? Last year against the Tigers, Mark O’Meley decides to get it on with Bryce Gibbs and what happens? Some punch drunk fool with the number 10 on his back, wants in!”

“Gibbsie had it coming.”

“And so do you, Willie. After you gave him a gobfull while he was lying down seeing stars, we decided you’re more trouble than you’re worth. So, you’re no longer a Dog. You’re off the leash.”

“What! Six years of busting a gut, a grand final and the Clive Churchill Medal and you cut me, just like that? Fine! I’m not going to cry. I’ll shoot through. But you’ll be sorry...(sob!)”

“Jeez, Willie, I knew you was a softie underneath all that aggro. Soon as you walked in the joint, I said what sort of 114kg idiot gets called Willie and takes it! So what will you do?”

“As if you care.”

“Well, even though you demanded the board sack me, deep down I have feelings for you … pretty ugly ones. So humour me.”

“Actually, I’m getting in touch with my past.”

“Careful Willie ... stay away from Coffs Harbour hotels and women with loose lips.”

“I was thinking of learning to do the haka.”

“Willie, you may have been born in Auckland, but the Warriors weren’t born yesterday. They’ve had enough salary cap problems without forking out 450 big ones for damaged goods.”

“I’ve hung up the boots for a toga. I’ve been recruited for Channel 7’s Gladiators remake, which will be no-holds-barred and un-salary capped. They’re calling me the Mad Maori.”