It's now or never for South Sydney, but what few realise is how it could have been a season of nothing at all.
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Assumptions at this time of year are fraught with danger, but there's no dispute that Souths have emerged from the ashes of the first week of the finals as the side to beat.
Those behind the scenes at Redfern will note the irony. Less than a year ago, this was a side mired in uncertainty and premierships were on the radar of an optimistic few.
During last year's finals series, Sam Burgess and his brothers had been fronted by Greg Inglis and Issac Luke for putting commercial interests ahead of their team as they fronted a Xbox promotion. There wasn't a Manly-like rift, but the stench lingered from the incident.
As spring turned into summer, the heat was turned up. Specifically, it was turned up under halfback Adam Reynolds.
He'd started his career as a possible bolter for a NSW side, in preference for Blues incumbent Mitchell Pearce.
But after failing to drag his side into the grand final last year, the doubts grew within the club.
Reynolds, 24, had the kicking game of Andrew Johns but there were real concerns about his running and passing abilities. They will deny it at Souths now, with Reynolds in career-best form, but he was certainly on the nose heading into this season.
Then there was the coach, Michael Maguire.
Rabbitohs fans would've considered him a lock for a contract extension late last year. But as negotiations meandered along, the patience of owner Russell Crowe and the board was starting to be tested.
The figures being bandied around by his management, and the conditions of the deal, were ludicrous.
When the season started, the Rabbitohs' indifferent form in the opening rounds of the competition suggested all was not right.
Then the bombshell came: Burgess had stitched up a deal with English rugby, and wanted out early.
The shock departure of one of the game's most marketable players, who seemingly had it all, living the dream in old Sydney town, further fuelled the belief that all was not right at Souths.
But this is old news.
And now? Now Souths have never looked more likely to break their premiership drought, which extends back to 1971. They will never have a better chance.
Inglis is again returning the ball like he's a freight train.
Alex Johnston is the form winger of the NRL, with the exception of that spritely 34-year-old on the other wing, Lote Tuqiri, who is playing like he did the last time he had a bald head – as a Bronco in 2000.
Is there a more naturally gifted player in the competition right now than Dylan Walker?
Reynolds has found his mojo again. Actually, he just found Luke Keary.
The injury to John Sutton has been a blessing in disguise, because it forced Souths into the halves combination they've desperately wanted – and seen Sutton become the ball-playing backrower they've always needed.
As for Burgess, he's playing like this is his last season. Ever.
But while Souths might be the fairytale premiership winner, if anyone deserves it most it is surely Penrith Panthers.
They are rugby league's living dead. You cannot kill them.
If anything sums up the desperation of their season, it was that last handful of minutes against the Roosters on Saturday night: a kick down the blind, a miracle flick pass infield from the winger, as he was airborne and over the sideline, and the ball grounded on the edge of the try line; a crunch conversion to level it from Jamie Soward; and then a mongrel, low-flying field goal with 15 seconds remaining that just creeps over the cross-bar, just inside the upright.
Sowie, God love him. His strutting around like a bantam, chest out like he's the king of the bloody world. Good luck to him.
He's got everyone fooled, because the Panthers have no right to be within one match of the grand final with the side they are presently fielding.
It is a side without Isaac John (achilles), Peter Wallace (knee), Tyrone Peachey (pectoral), Elijah Taylor (knee), Bryce Cartwright (ankle) because of season-ending injuries.
There's no greater story in town right now than the little engine that could and still just might. Jamie Soward and the Penny Panthers. Come on, footy gods, let it be.