RUGBY League, how can I stay mad at you? Because I can't.

As much as I might try to push you away when you get into bed late at night (the second Friday night match makes it a long evening), as much as I'm tempted to have a one-night stand with AFL, as much as I feel like packing my bags and throwing the kids in the back of the car and leaving you for good, I can't let go.

Like a Wallabies player at the bar of a Brisbane nightclub around closing time, the greatest game of all refuses to go away. When you think you've fallen out of love with it, you tumble back in like a lovestruck teenager.

It happens to all of us at some point, regardless of the pigskin you worship during the winter months. One minute the game is as essential as oxygen. The next, it's as palatable as those fiends flogging Amex cards at the airport.

You begin to view footy at its basic level. You see a bunch of grown men trying to belt each other in the pursuit of placing a ball over a line or kicking it through a couple of big sticks.

Of course, these foggy moments usually come when your team is going terribly.

But let's keep it real: the NRL has been struggling beyond the emotional roller-coaster of the seasons and the fluctuating fortunes of your team. The Herald said it had lost its heart - and it did. Suddenly, after some years of prospering, the game lacked something.

Why?

Maybe it was the salary cap sucking the marrow out of the competition and spitting half it out in the United Kingdom. A dearth of playmakers. Games swinging on how effectively defenders performed the sleeper hold in the tackle. Dodgy refereeing decisions. Coaches who wouldn't say anything. Players too scared to say anything. The Origin seriezzzzzz…

But for mine, the game truly went pear-shaped on the afternoon of April 10 when Andrew Johns announced his retirement because of a serious neck injury.

As Johns slow-walked around EnergyAustralia Stadium the night he said goodbye to the Knights faithful, with the fans spontaneously busting into a chant of "New-cast-le! New-cast-le!", it hit you like a thunderbolt: league had lost the best thing going for it.

No more bendy kicks. No more spiral cut-outs. No more of the moments that send Rabs into orgasm.

But a champion is someone who gets up when he can't, as boxer Jack Dempsey once said. And you should know that rugby league's a bloody champion, champion. Played by champions.

So, inevitably, somewhere in the past six weeks or so, the game got its groove back.

With the finals looming, teams are investing in innovative and expansive footy again. Every tackle has a drop more venom. Every injury and suspension is another line in the script. Rival coaches are taunting each other in the corridors. The Storm have lost their sheen of invincibility. The comp's wide open. Thurston. Bowen. Sonny Bill. Souths could make it.

And, good Lord, so could the Roosters …

The saddest story of the year has been the demise of Joey - but the story that's lifted league off the canvas has been the emergence of Freddie.

The Roosters' season was as dead as a dodo six weeks ago. The wooden spoon was carved out for them the night Chris Anderson chewed the end off his Chupa Chup as Manly flogged his side 56-0.

Then Brad Fittler was installed as caretaker coach, and he hasn't been beaten since. They have become - inconceivably - the smokeys of the competition. There hasn't been a one-eighty like this since Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo.

It's hard to take your eyes off Fittler in the coach's box during matches. And it isn't so much how he punches the air when his side scores but the glint in his eye when the other team does. Fittler, who accomplished it all as a player, is loving his footy as a coach.

Which brings us back to you, rugby league.

Look, I know we've been going through a rough patch lately. But maybe you could call me some time. Maybe I could take you to the Souths-Roosters game out at Telstra on Saturday night in the last round. Call it a first date.

Because the kids miss you. And we've gone through so much. We've come too far. Why turn back?

And, besides, AFL is such a scrubber.