The Cowboys made light work of Brendan Cowell's beloved Sharks last weekend.

"Go ahead, make my day". 

And with that Matt Scott burst through the flimsy defence of the gun-less Sharks, dropping their pants, robbing their banks, and riding bareback out of town yelling 'yippee' – just in time for the 3:10 to Yuma. 

That's right, it may have taken until High Noon, but North Queensland are finally starting to represent their namesake with a Once Upon a Time in the West demolition of my poor little gummy Sharks, with the Cowboys now heading south to Melbourne with nothing but Blazing Saddles. 

Like a good Western plot, both fighters were set at 10 paces, but it will be Cronulla who are once again Unforgiven, proving they are still the Lone Ranger when it comes to holding up a premiership shield. 

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly came out of last week's Red River assault, with Sharks fans wondering if the 48-year plan was indeed just some ludicrous myth fostered by some High Plains Drifter; i.e. an actor who also writes. 

I mean, why did the experienced Ben Barba only come on with the Stagecoach already passed? Who will play in the Magnificent Seven jumper next year? And will the boys from The Shire always be The Searchers? 

It was a game of Cowboys and Aliens with Cronulla looking like they may as well have stayed in outer space and left the earthlings to it. I myself went the Midnight Cowboy approach – wandering down to Flinders Street in search of some Rancho Notorious, but after a Rough Night in Jericho, decided to Bite The Bullet and walked back to my room with five Cool Hand Luke (warm) samosas.

Impressively, the Sharks, with some True Grit, refused to become The Wild Bunch – not attending any Mad Monday festivities, even though the Bulldogs appeared so off-leash one could say they had been Django Unchained.  

On the other side of the weekend it was less The Quick and the Dead and more of a classic piece of cinema, with the Raging Bull attack of the Sydney Roosters being somewhat subdued by the Titanic strength of the Bulldogs. 

There were flickerings of Shawshank Redemption in the end – with audiences baring Witness to a possible surprise escape plan, but after a contentious piece of adjudication made by a Psycho, it was nothing but The Sound of Music for Trent Robinson's Chooks. 

Des Hasler's well-directed West Side Story was truly over for another year, with the only remaining Sydney club, Easts, thinking this might just be The Best Years of Our Lives. 

After three minor premierships in a row, a second trophy in as many years would be bigger than Ben-Hur, the only mystery being: does Mitchell Pearce have the Jaws to be a big stage football Exorcist, or is he just another Tootsie when it comes to playing North by Northwest?

With JT's Moneyball travelling south to take on a very purple-patched version of The Wrestler, the Roosters look upwards to the Broncos, coached by none other than The Godfather himself, Wayne Bennett. 

One can be sure Wayne has been peering through his very own Rear Window at the Chooks over the past six months, and even though it's going to be a Hard Days Night, Citizen Kane himself will be confident his 12 (or 13) Angry Men can claim yet another Lord of the (premiership) Rings. 

For Cronulla and Canterbury it's nothing but The Hurt Locker, with a possible Roman Holiday thrown in to soften life in The Badlands. But for the four remaining squads it's time to get down on the Mean Streets, as we wait to see who really does have a Streetcar Named Desire. 

After last week's Apocalypse Now, I am coming out all Brokeback Mountain and saying 'go the Cowboys'. Johnathan Thurston really does have the looks and the leadership to deserve the lead role in I Am Legend. May the Star Wars align for him.