A half decade before PNG gained independence, over a thousand tribesmen caked in white mud and decorated with ferns and bird of paradise feathers streamed down from the Central Highlands into the small valley town of Kerowagi, where a rugby league field had been built on a small level patch of ground.
It was 1970 and I was coach of the NSW CHS nine stone team (57kg) which arrived by minibus after a torturous trip by muddy mountain road.
The match was the centrepiece of a sing-sing, an annual gathering of tribes and villages with separate cultures, yet united by rugby league.
After the match, the crowd raced towards the NSW youngsters, most aged 16, who were terrified and scrambled aboard the bus. The crowd began rocking the bus so violently, I feared it would tip over.
Yet there was nothing warlike in their demeanour and I signalled to step out of the bus. The NSW players followed. The villagers merely wanted to touch our skin.
Forty-two years later, I walked the Kokoda Track and heard stories of how, on a previous trek along the 96km trail, youngsters sought to lift Mal Meninga off the ground, just to prove he was human, as opposed to the God-like creature they believed existed only on TV.
He was showered with flowers as he entered the villages, with the track ahead laid with orchids and staghorn ferns.
Mal Meninga - Immortal
Such is the pull rugby league has on the people of PNG. Many in the remote villages think Origin players are not human, merely living inside TV sets.
The coming of TV has cemented the code as the No.1 sport in the nation and a compulsory subject in schools.
When an Origin match is played, the villagers at the northern end of the 96km track flock to Kokoda, which has the only TV sets in the region, while the villagers at the Ower’s Corner end trek a similar distance to watch the action at Sogeri.
New babies are named after Origin heroes, taking their full name, such as Laurie Daley or Johnathan Thurston, without any local family name attached. In PNG, the people have only two religions: rugby league and religion itself, with the 13-aside code doubling as both for many of its 12 million people.
Tommy Raudonikis and I received a significantly lesser reception than Mal when we trekked the trail in 2012, but we joined in games of touch, along with former Sydney first graders, such as Col Murphy, Phil Sigsworth and John Quayle.
An NRL ball lasts only six months, with the youngsters then using the casing stuffed with fern leaf, or playing with the bladder.
John Singleton, aware that an NRL club jumper is a sign of status, bought one each for our six porters. Singo, who feels the cold, rented one back each night, supplementing the generous tips we gave.
My 1970 and 2012 visits to PNG were punctuated by another trip in 1982. I was invited to coach the Highlands team in the national championships. As coach of St George at the time, I took Rod Reddy as an assistant. We were based at Goroka and were housed, along with the players, in thatched roof huts.
The attacking drills began early each morning before the humidity became too oppressive. There was no need for tacking drills, although teaching how to defend against a quick moving backline was a challenge for the players, most of whom were of the short, muscular Chimbu tribe.
We devised tactics to nullify the taller opposition such as the Xavier Coates-types from the coastal villages. I recall the attention 'Rocket' and I enjoyed from the players and trainers when we talked tactics. Their keen hand/eye coordination meant they absorbed the skill drills with ease, but they were keen to learn strategies and moves, particularly variations of pivot plays.
After two days of round robin games, we reached the final of the national championships against the Tolai, a team from the islands of East New Britain.
They appeared a metre higher than our guys, but we had anticipated this back in Goroka, educating the Highland team with tactics circa Balmain 1969 of frequent stoppages to prevent the tall islanders developing momentum.
Each stoppage in the final resulted in a trainer running out to treat the “injury” with a message, usually to cause further delay to the play-the-ball. It became so repetitive that when we won the final with a flying tackle preventing the Tolai scoring a try in the corner, the earnest trainer in genuine seriousness asked us, after the hooter sounded, “any messages?”
Ben Sabumei, a minister in the PNG government and local member for Goroka, had offered us 1,000 kina each if the Highland team won but we declined the money, then worth more than the Australian dollar, if he shouted us a light plane trip to Madang, a beautiful village on the north coast where my 1970 team played its final game.
The plane trip back was memorable insofar as the native pilot had trouble ascending a valley layered above with colder air. Every 11 minutes, we saw a white scar on a cliff face, an unsettling reminder we were circling. After what seemed an eternity, the pilot successfully flew through a break in the clouds and on to Goroka.
'Rocket' claimed not to be scared but I swear I saw him kiss the tarmac.
He returned to PNG a fortnight later with the 1982 Kangaroos en-route to England and France.
Transport is one problem NRL teams won’t experience when a PNG team enters the NRL, as expected, in 2028 because they will play in Port Moresby.
They will also have their own travelling doctors, something we didn’t have in 1970 when modern medicine took second place to traditional remedies.
I recall landing in Rabaul for a match, with our captain, Paul O’Neill, who had a badly corked thigh and expected to miss the remaining games. The players were billeted and a local white planter offered to take any injured players. I nominated O’Neill.
The next morning, ahead of an early training session, I recall speaking to the players who were seated in a semi-circle away from the rising sun. They appeared to be looking past me, clearly shocked and I turned to see the captain carrying his bag, ready to train. Whatever the old planter used with the juice from local plants clearly worked.
Our opposition on that 1970 tour clearly believed in the power of magic. My opposition coach, an Australian-born school teacher, gave his PNG players a sugared powder, telling them it was a magic potion.
After defeating Papua in Port Moresby 6-5; Rabaul 13-7 and Lae 11-7; we needed some of the potion as well, so I bought some at the local Goroka supermarket and made sure the PNG players saw our NSW lads mixing it into their pre-match drinks.
We defeated PNG in Goroka in the first Test 7-5 and then the Chimbus in Kerawagi 21-17; PNG in the second Test at Mt Hagan 20-7 and Madang 18-8.
Two years later, I took an Australian Schoolboy team to England. Like the 1970 team, most players were from NSW country high schools. The 1972 team was also undefeated and in 11 games scored 402 points for and 17 against, with one try conceded.
Compare that record to the close games in PNG in 1970 and again in 2024 when an Australian Schoolboys team drew 24-24 with the Junior Kumuls.
PNG players have always had the athletic prowess but only a few have succeeded in the NRL. They only need education in tactics and game management, demonstrated by the success 'Rocket' and I had in the short time we were in the highlands in 1982.
