KEY POINTS:
There are few more futile exercises in sport than picking a team of all-time greats - the redeeming feature being that it at least invites debate.
And since lively debate should be at the core of sport, all-time teams do perhaps have a place.
This topic came to mind on seeing the Australian rugby league's recent team of the century announcement.
I attempted an all-star selection once in these columns, choosing the end of Colin Meads' career as the starting point in picking All Blacks.
The Meads kick-off point was convenient. Meads is an automatic in any All Black selection - to pick a team without him would be to pick the team to pieces.
The end of Meads' career ushered in the rugby eras I knew first hand, and made the number of players to judge more manageable.
It also removed the nigh-on impossible task of comparing blokes who jet around in space age boots on bone-dry fields kicking Nasa-quality footballs against the fellas of yesteryear who spent their careers chucking a slippery dead weight around in a swamp.
After the initial excitement of trying to compare Buck Shelford with Zinzan Brooke, or Tana Umaga with Joe Stanley and Frank Bunce, the realistic pitfalls of the exercise loomed large.
If the entire job had been as easy as plonking Sean Fitzpatrick at No 2, okay and dandy. But separating absolute greats - as in Michael Jones and Richie McCaw at No 7 - is another matter.
One was a super athlete, a glorious runner, link man and open-field tackler in less demanding days. The other is the ultimate modern-day warrior and grappler, battling away with an enormous work rate against teams who have backs as big as olden-day forwards.
McCaw was just too good to ignore, but turning in a team without Michael Jones is almost as bad as leaving the mighty Pinetree out. It is around this point that you start to think, "Why bother?"
(In some positions, notably second five-eighths, the opposite quality problem applied.)
Australian rugby league took on this impossible task in naming a team to celebrate the first 100 years of "Our Wonderful Game" as their commentators love to call the code.
Some of the choices were easy. Andrew Johns and Wally Lewis in the halves, Arthur Beetson at prop. As for most of the rest - who would know.
Instead of honouring history, the team of the century even cheapened it by ranking men who should forever be remembered as peerless on their great days.
Headlines even screamed that Mal Meninga was a shock selection. Are you kidding? Did you see that man play? He was a colossus, a giant, a prototype, a winner, a one-man tower block on wheels. You'd crawl over broken glass - otherwise known as going to Canberra on a winter's night - to watch him. Big Mal didn't deserve the slur of being called a shock.
The Team of the Century was even more of an exercise in futility given that the interchange has taken personality out of the game - especially among the forwards of today. I doubt if any modern-day running forward will ever hold the allure of a Beetson - it's just not possible any more.
In reality, these things become projects in which you compare the reputations of players, where myths and legends creep in. There aren't, after all, pundits who actually saw Dally Messenger running around in 1908.
Halls of Fame - now they are more worthwhile because they honour all the greats rather than rank and exclude them.
Halls of Fame are living tributes to the present and past, the trouble being that they are hard to organise and maintain. Only the Americans nail the Hall of Fame concept right because their enormous nation is glued together by a love of myths and legends.
Anyway, I've got a new candidate for an honours board, and he hasn't even played an international yet.
There is simply nothing better to watch in football than Billy Slater, the boyish hero from rugby league's Melbourne Storm. Slater is a head-spinner and turnstile-turner par excellence and he leads you to make a special point of watching the Storm each weekend.
Hit-up counts and error tallies have their place, sadly, but the thrill of witnessing individual football genius, men like Bryan Williams, Christian Cullen, David Campese and Stacey Jones, is the real footy ticket.
The nerves jangle every time the lightning-quick Slater gets the ball, he hunts opportunities, and backs up brilliantly through the middle of the field.
Slater can also hit the ball at high pace then fling a pass to an unmarked player on the outside - although he doesn't always cut out short defensive lines with Freddy Fittler precision.
He was on his matchwinning game against Canberra, including a flying corner-flag tackle to turn the game the Storm's way on Monday night. What makes Slater so special is the way he pings through gaps like a pinball, leaving defenders in the dark and lighting up the crowd.
His legs are like pistons on pogo sticks - he is a miracle of smoothly bulging muscles hanging on a frame naturally small enough to have ridden trackwork in younger days
Australian rugby league produces extraordinary players in the No 1 jersey - Anthony Minichiello and Matt Bowen are just two and the Warriors have boasted Brent Webb and Wade McKinnon.
Slater is the king for now. He's untested at test level and may lack real physical grunt. Slater may never make any team of any century either.
Frankly though, that means diddly squat. The fabulous game of Billy Slater is what watching great sport has always been about.
IF THE NAME FITZ EDEN PARK, USE IT
Canterbury are on the ball yet again.
The decision to name a section of their home ground the Deans Stand is a fabulous one - although it does mean that the only major New Zealand rugby stand named after anyone is done so in the honour of an Australian coach.
What is the world coming to?
The ground once known as Lancaster Park already honours the Hadlee family, although let's face it, to most of us the Hadlee Stand is for Sir Richard rather than anyone else in that cricket clan.
Now, it has been decided the new east stand under construction will honour the Deans family. While Canterbury has put the Deans family up in lights, Robbie Deans is the man who has undoubtedly inspired the accolade. There was plenty of time to recognise Bob Deans before this and even the most ardent of Bruce Deans fans would struggle to raise a case for putting his name on a ticket stall, let alone an entire grandstand.
"Bruce and Robbie's father Tony has played cricket on the ground too," stated the press release, revealing a detail that had escaped almost all of us until now.
The release also points out that the Deans family are original settlers, and mentions that a Millie Deans is in the Canterbury women's rugby team.
But no, brave pilgrims, this is all about Robbie.
Deans' achievements are peerless in New Zealand rugby. After a stellar career for the province, Deans has organised this country's one truly successful professional sports outfit, inspiring an absolutely remarkable record in Super rugby.
Strangely, the honouring of great figures has bypassed Eden Park - Sean Fitzpatrick would be a good starting point if they had a change of heart.
If Auckland needs a stadium role model they could look across the ditch. Australia finds all sorts of ways to honour its greats. A statue of Wally Lewis was erected at the old Lang Park in Brisbane, and Queensland's State of Origin players are remembered on paving stones at what is now Suncorp Stadium. Go to Perth's Waca ground, and cricket names hang from just about every gate and building.
Can you imagine Sydney being able to look itself in the mirror if there wasn't a Bradman Stand?
There is no obvious emotional nod to history at all when you visit Eden Park, unless you get all misty eyed about your first Panasonic television or like toilets 1960s-style.
As for Fitzy - wasn't he a bloke who won a World Cup at Eden Park, was central to an era of Auckland and Blues invincibility, captained the All Blacks forever, and played a record number of tests? How about the Fitzpatrick Gates then?
