kiki
sassy
lozzy
interns
Filed under: brett morris, cameron smith, cooper cronk, footy, josh morris, robbie farah | Tags: Posted by Sassy
“It’s just been a weird night … and I’ve had a little bit to drink.”
So here’s the disclaimer: I went to Ladyhawke on Saturday night, and despite being Super Responsible and leaving the pub (I know, amazing right?) at well-maybe-a-little-bit-after-midnight like Cinderella, I was … well, look I was drunk when I watched this. Basically, I take no responsibility for being overexcited or imagining shit. But I think it’s more important to focus on the fact that I left a pub while it was still dark. That’s a massive achievement for me, JUST SO YOU KNOW.
To start with, is it wrong to say that I’m a bit in love with the British League commentators? Cause I am. No, not for their comical accents. Those bitches are insightful. They care about the important things: like explaining to the general European public that back in Australia Robbie Farah has a kebab named after him, but DON’T WORRY GUYS, IT’S A HEALTHY KEBAB! IT HAS CHICKEN AND VEGETABLES IN IT AND EVERYTHING.
God forbid anyone in the United Kingdom mistakenly think that Robbie Farah and his visible abs are schilling for some greasy obesity-inducing second-rate kebab. The commentary team are all about accuracy.
Well, all about accuracy … and historical lolz. After explaining in great detail that Northern Frenchies don’t play league because league was one of the things – along with freedom and equality – that Hitler cared not for, they start calling the French defence ‘the resistance’. It’s funny cause it means two things! *slaps knee*
These people? Yep, defenders of freedom and rugby league fans.
Meanwhile if you ever get heckled by rugby union fans for liking league, you can always ask whether they know that the Nazi collaborators and Vichy government in WWII France banned league and promoted union. Yes, people will think you’re a massive loser, but better that than a union follower, right? WE’RE THE RESISTANCE, BITCHES.
It also makes me happy to know that there are other nerds out there if the commentary team ever stumble onto Errol and read our footy posts from last year, they will totally enjoy Kiki’s jokes about Winston Churchill and Stalin and the Cronulla Sharks.
As for the game: not gonna lie, the Aussies didn’t live up to their potential as a team (and the Frenchies agree) but I care not. They had moustaches, and they entertained me, and that’s what counts.
So let’s talk about the Aussie boys.
MOS WIN MATCHES
Um, you know it’s true. No sooner had I pointed out that Cooper Cronk has one of the greatest moustaches in league history and reminds us of a latter-day 40-20 kicking Errol Flynn:
… really? I look that good?
Than he’s all up in the French’s business filling in for Thurston and Lockyer and generally being awesome. Sure, I’d had about six voddies, but I could still tell that the team looked way better in the second half when Cooper came off the bench. IT’S ALL IN THE MO, DARLINGS.
LESSONS FROM WAYNE PEARCE
And if Cooper’s lucky charm is a mo, then Robbie Farah’s is his headband. Remember way back in July when Robbie Farah rocked the tape headband and got his punch on with Anthony Watts?
Well from what he told us at the Kangaroos media call before the boys left, he’s … well he’s kinda proud. He also promised us that he’d bring back the headband as a rugby league look. After all, there’s nothing more Tigers than a tape headband, is there? Even Wayne Pearce knows the answer to that question.
Anyway, we’re pleased to observe that HE TOTALLY DID. Bitch is a man of his word! And there is no way you will ever convince me he didn’t tape himself up as an act of generosity and charity purely to entertain the Errol girls.
Although I do kinda wonder if Robbie just reserves the tape for special occasions, like when he punches on in the scrum, or when he’s going to appear in the starting Kangaroos team on international television. I say it’s no coincidence that Robbie rocked the shit out of the elastoplast in Paris just as he got his start as hooker, right?
THE ACTION IN THE STANDS
Meanwhile, as Robbie stepped in at dummy half, Cam Smith rested it up and discussed history with Brett White in the stands.
(Apparently Cam Smith totally enjoys history, by the way. That wasn’t just me projecting. I read it on the internet so you know it’s true).
French background dude does not appreciate Movember.
Don’t those handlebar moustaches just make you proud to be Australian? I love knowing I’m from a country that thought, you know what will do wonders for men’s health issues? Facial hair.
And with their schmick green Aussie blazers, I love that the touring Kangaroos kind of look like they’re on tour in Paris in 1975. Devils on horseback, anyone? Maybe a prawn cocktail?
I’m actually a bit offended that the Frenchie in the expensive-looking chocolate brown leather jacket in the background is looking so judgy and unimpressed by Cam Smith and Brett White and their handlebar efforts. IT’S CALLED MOVEMBER. IT’S FOR CHARITY. GOOGLE IT.
… but French background dude does find Anthony Watmough hilarious.
Meanwhile if you look in the foreground, NRL media manager David ‘D.T.’Taylor is kicking Movember’s ass with his mo, too. AMAZING WORK DAVE!
When the camera panned to the crowd during the game I almost spat out my diet coke in shock/joy, because Spotting D.T. is one of my favourite footy past times. It might even be better than my other favourite footy past time: ‘picking jobs for Nathan Hindmarsh’s kids’ (I’ll explain that one another time).
Wherever there are NRL players, there has to be an NRL media manager. So spotting D.T is like playing Where’s Wally – he has to be there somewhere, it’s just a question of where.
Exhibit A:
HI D.T! WE LOVE YOU!
You get extra points in this game if you manage to find a pic where he’s standing in the background looking sort of like a creep.
IT’S A MOZTRAVAGANZA!
I don’t know if I should mention it but we totally called it! As predicted, the Mozzie twins were a double-act of awesome against the French, racking up two tries each for a total of four. Four tries for their country? Shit is ridiculous!
I actually think while I was watching the game, when the commentators reminded us all they scored four, I may have yelled out FOUR FOR YOU GLEN COCO, YOU GO GLEN COCO! Apologies to my neighbours. (Except the one who practises the flute every weeknight. They deserve it for annoying the hell out of me).
Clearly the French were dazzled by the Mozzie’s long long Bambi legs, super-speed, and general twinniness, those adorable over-achieving bastards.
Best of all? THE MOZZIES SLEDGE EACH OTHER. As they raced each other to ground a kick for a try I am 100% sure I saw B.Moz mocking J.Moz. And when he scored a second try, he made the international sibling expression for – HAH!
It’s all scratched knees and sibling rivalry in the Morris house
See? I have a brother and I totally make that face too. It’s a universal expression loosely translated as ‘I WIN!’ The only thing better was that when J.Moz got his first try on the board, he celebrated by getting caught on camera first giving an ‘I love you’ shout out to his family back home, then saying ‘thank fuck for that’. Bless.
THE SHOWDOWN
So the English shocked everyone by beating the Kiwis (I’d fallen asleep by this point), giving them the chance to play the Kangaroos in the final on the weekend. Allegedly Tim Sheens has told his team the gloves are off, and if anyone plays dirty, they should give it back. JUST DON’T HIT THE MOZZIES. THEY’RE TOO CUTE FOR VIOLENCE!
THE MONEY
Have you sponsored the Kangaroos yet? WELL HAVE YOU? You know you want to:
All pictures Getty Images
Screen caps by the amazing Cronkster, who’s on holiday in Fiji right now. HAVE FUN DARLING!
Filed under: billy slater, brett morris, cooper cronk, david shillington, footy observations, jarryd hayne, josh morris, movember, nathan hindmarsh, robbie farah | Tags: Posted by Sassy
One week into Movember already … I’m so happy/sad/overwhelmed in my pants region. Obviously I’m overjoyed that people are starting to show some dirty facial hair, but kinda heartbroken at the same time that my favourite month of the year is already a quarter over. IF ONLY THERE WAS A WHOLE MO-YEAR. Mo-thousand-and-ten, anyone? Two-thousand-and-beard-leven?
Just think about it, people. That’s all I ask.
Meanwhile the Four Nations is also almost over, which I suppose we should talk about. The Kangaroos held out a spirited comeback by the English last weekend, blah blah blah … the main thing is Adrian Morley didn’t start any fights. This meant I was disappointed, so let’s move on. Even though they won, the boys still have to face off against France before making it to the final.
And there’s been lots of dramz about the fact that Inglis and Cam Smith and Billy Slater weren’t going to be in the team. Instead, (one half of the cutest twins on earth) J. Moz and Michael Jennings were picked to play in the centres, Robbie Farah at hooker, and Cooper Cronk on the bench.
Sexiest coach in league nominee Tim Sheens is Not Pleased.
Everyone was calling them the “B team”, which in my opinion = not really that bad. Call me crazy, but considering my greatest ever sporting achievement was taking out the 50m backstroke final at the Independent Girls Grammar Schools’ Sporting Association swimming carnival in 1993, I reckon being in the B team for the Kangaroos is pretty fucking sweet. Just sayin. Apparently Tim Sheens has higher standards than me, though, because he was tres offended.
Kiki was also offended, because she agrees with whatever Tim Sheens thinks, because, and I quote “HE’S JUST SO DREAMY”. True story.
Personally, I also think reuniting the Mozzie twins on the left side of the field is a stroke of coaching genius. First of all, it will give them a psychological boost to get them over the fact that while everyone else in the Kangaroos is sporting amazing Movember moustaches, they’re sporting … um … skin. Sure you’re hairless, but you’re representing your country! Good for you darlings!
Will the Errol girls still love me if I can’t grow hair for charity?
Secondly, it’s totally gonna confuse the Frenchies. Since Setanta folded, I’m guessing the French haven’t been watching much of the NRL. Assuming French television is as backwards as french plumbing, this means all they’ll have had to watch for the past few months is right-wing political talk shows, repeats of Neighbours dubbed into French and old Jane Birkin film clips.
Clearly, this means that they’ll get the shock of their lives when two identical twins run out on the field and they have to mark them.
They’ll be all mais qu’est-ce que c’est? Quelle confusion! Est-ce qu’ils sont des gemelles? Je ne sais pas! Croissant! Ou est-ce qu’on met le table?
(Disclaimer: some of that may have just been random snippets from my year 7 French book. Whatever. Just be grateful I didn’t accidentally explain to you how to get the bus to Creteil to go windsurfing).
The point is Tim Sheens is a Machiavellian genius.
There’s also a lot of talk about the French being niggly in the game, because they have nothing to lose. I also think it would happen, mainly because they are French. Europeans care not for rules! It’s one of my favourite things about them. I almost fell over in shock the first time I got to a Metro station in Paris and realised not only are there no voiceovers warning you to stand back from the track and no yellow lines, they even let you OPEN THE DOOR YOURSELF. Insanity! Who knew there were places where you’re allowed to do as you please and fend for yourself? You can even drink in the street.
As opposed to Australia where there are rules for absolutely everything, because we are considered to be inherently kind of incompetent and untrustworthy and need to be protected from ourselves. IT’S CAUSE WE’RE CONVICTS, ISN’T IT?
Meanwhile if you think we’re excited about footy, you should see the French kids. They’re bandits for the Kangaroos! Apparently they mobbed Jonathon Thurston and trapped him against the side of the team bus with the sheer force of their fandom.
Maybe it’s because he’s a world-famous halfback. But maybe, just maybe, it’s because the French appreciate a good moustache. I’m going with the mo. You know it makes sense! It also explains why there’s that massive flock of kids surrounding David Shillington, because he is growing an especially natty mo, don’t you think?
Aw, stop it you guys! You’re making me blush! (Just kidding, don’t stop).
What can I say? I’m a sucker for a classic mo. As much as I enjoy the way Jonathon Thurston looks as though he was a key player in the Sydney waterfront dispute of 1998:
(Pls feel free to use your imagination to insert and/or photoshop Jonathon Thurston here.)
… I can’t resist a neat little 1930s moustache. Which means that the Sassy prize for the first week goes to Cooper Cronk:
Amazing. It’s almost Errol Flynn-ish. Naturally, we adore it.
Jennings and Thaiday are eager to be considered for next week’s Sassy prize
Yes, yes, we see you too, boys.
And while we’re talking facial hair, shout outs have to go to Billy Slater, for his amazing Super Mario effort:
Nathan Hindmarsh for his ongoing transformation into Russell Hammond:
and, um …. participation awards? Sure, let’s call it that, for Jarryd-with-a-Y and Robbie Farah:
Participation awards, babies! (Also, in Robbie’s defence, he has probably been too busy negotiating with the Unions and transport companies on the waterfront with JT to have time to grow a mo).
Remember to watch the game TONIGHT on channel 9, and come back with your game/mo updates. And to sponsor the boys:
All pics via Getty Images.
Filed under: cooper cronk, cronulla sharks, daniel mortimer, footy, footy observations, melbourne storm, parramatta eels, queensland, state of origin, sydney roosters | Tags: Posted by Sassy
You knew we were gonna say it … didn’t you? After our lengthy discussion last week about whether Queenslanders have trotters instead of feet (they totally do) we finally have proof. Proof in the form of Queenslander Ben Hannant and his positive test for Swine Flu.
WE KNEW IT. WE LOVE BEING RIGHT.
So in the interests of protecting the non-porcine members of the NRL, all the Queensland Origin boys are being quarantined from their regular teammates. No more eating at the same trough, sleeping in the same barn and rolling in the same mud. Instead it’s all face-masks and Tamiflu for the maroons this week.
The NSWRL consider redesigning the Blues’ State of Origin uniforms.
And I would like to take this opportunity to say: You bastards! Usually it’s my favourite thing of all when embarassing things happen to Queenslanders .. but today I found out the adorable Bert from Country Rugby League has been quarantined. THOSE FILTHY QUEENSLANDERS INFECTED NSW TOO! Is this some kind of Queensland sabotage scheme to help them win a fourth Origin series? We always knew all bad things came out of Queensland.
Meanwhile we are bloggers (ie we have no lives) so if Bert gets lonely he should just call us and we’ll come over with movies and braid his hair and entertain him. We can wear SARS masks in our NRL team colours and everything. We love you, Bert!
Bert works remotely from his Swine Flu bubble.
I’ll admit though, I am starting to feel a little bit sorry for Ben Hannant. First he gets publically outed with the runs, now he’s the NRL’s first Swine Flu casualty. Either there’s someone out there with a Ben Hannant voodoo doll and a really black sense of humour, or he played some really embarassing practical jokes on the other kids in primary school and has some violent humiliation karma stored up in the universe.
Ben Hannant gets increasingly lonely and desperate for friends in quarantine.
If I wasn’t scared of a) getting Swine Flu, and b) getting poked in the eye by one of his trotters, I would totally offer to give him a hug.
This story would also be a whole lot funnier if I wasn’t writing this …. from Queensland. We came up for a little long weekend Errol conference on the Gold Coast, and to see the Titans play the Dragons on Monday night, now we find ourselves in the middle of a fucking rugby league Swine Flu drama. Nothing worse than trying to deal with Swine Flu on a hangover. Right, Robbie Farah?
Lucky for all of us Israel Folau and Sam Thaiday have been holding jumpers over their faces while they walk around being filmed by the press. That’ll save us! Nothing stops disease like a knitted acrylic!
At least the Broncos tried. Apparently no one at the Dragons remembered to tell Darius ‘Astro’ Boyd that he is a Swine Flu pariah and wasn’t meant to be wandering around in the locker room at Skilled Stadium before the Dragons played the Titans.
And yes, that is Astro Boyd loitering in front of a bottle recycling bin, even though he is quite clearly not holding anything even close to a bottle. It’s possible this is because he is poorly informed about recycling, and just doesn’t understand what yellow lids mean. But I am 99% sure it was because he was ronery and just really wanted someone to talk to since the rest of the Dragons keep ignoring him cause he never passes the ball. I guess that’s a good thing, cause it means they probably won’t be infected. Kiki says thanks for being a ball-hog, Darius. V. considerate of you.
Turns out that one good thing about sucking as much as my Roosters do this season is that when you have no players selected for Origin, you get to stay safe from disease. We is healthy, healthy losers. I’m sorry, what did you say? Did you say I am clutching desperately at straws to distract myself from the fact that my team is now at the bottom of the ladder?
Pic. Anthony Johnson / smh.com.au
Well spotted, cause I was. On Sunday night when I was getting my face on for a night on the town in Surfers, Lozzy and Kiki kindly got me out of the shower and into the hall just so they could tell me that the Sharks had won a game … and my team was officially coming last. I literally lay down in the hall in my towel motionless for a good five minutes. Being better than the Sharks was all I had!
To make up for their two wins in a row, though, the Sharks Club mustered up another scandal involving Tony Zappia and his resignation. Well done, Sharkies. David Gallop says the NRL are gonna leave them to their own devices and won’t have an intervention. I say that’s a wasted opportunity.
Have you ever seen Intervention? That show is AMAZING. It’s the most addictive television I’ve ever seen. You know it’s wrong but you just can’t help watching. One time I even cried. If I was in charge I’d totally be holding a Sharks intervention. They could hold it in the Shire and televise it to raise enough money to pay off the Sharks’ ridiculous debt. People love watching other people who have worse problems than they do. It would be a ratings blockbuster. Sigh.
Meanwhile since Brett Finch left the Eels to go to the Storm, it seems like it’s partytime all around. The Eels now have Daniel (Son of Pete) Mortimer and Jeff Robson in the halves and flattened the Knights at home. Turns out Dan Dan Mortimer doesn’t just have the prettiest eyes in league, he also has a fucking nifty kicking game.
And my favourite double-double-named NRL player Fui Fui Moi Moi has taken over from Steve Matai as Ray Warren’s fave hairstyle in the NRL. Rabs never talks about his man Matai’s cornrows anymore … it’s all Fui Fui and his braids. He thinks, and I quote: “It’s a celebration!” And according to the Queensland Channel 9 sports reporter, his ‘hair tips’ match his jersey. HAIR TIPS? Like … a big book of hair tips? God Queenslanders are so weird.
Pic. Darren Pateman
I think it makes him look youthful … no?
And down in Melbourne Finch is working it Johnathan Thurston style:
…. it’s Brett Finch, BITCH.
No wonder he’s so happy. He’s obviously in the honeymoon stages of a Cooper Cronk bromance. Peeing together in the street, and rocking out shirtless in the locker room together. The Melby dressing room is starting to look like Arq (aka shirtless heaven) … so I totally get it. I have had some damn good nights out at Arq in my time.
In my mind they’re dancing to Kelly Rowland and the Cher megamix.
*discos out of the post*
Thanks as always to BS for the fabulous screen caps. Love you!
Filed under: 100% heterosexuality, cameron smith, cooper cronk, cronulla sharks, footy, melbourne storm | Tags: Posted by Sassy
So you already know (if you’ve ever read this site) that we Errol girls aren’t really big fans of the Being Serious. It’s annoying and kills our buzz. But since people just won’t stop discussing the Storm and Cameron Smith’s suspension I guess I should probably say something about it other than A DINGO GRAPPLED SAM THAIDAY.
If you hate serious stuff too, just skip to the picture of the fuzzy lamb and keep going from there.
If not, well, let’s call this my Cameron Smith and Grapple Manifesto. Sadly it’s not the good Yves Saint Laurent kind of Manifesto. It doesn’t involve Gisele or Kate Moss or fierce outfits.
It goes a little something like this.
1) The suspension and the media attention isn’t an anti-Storm persecution conspiracy. Don’t flatter/torture yourselves that it is.
2) The real issue is simply that people don’t like grapples. They slow the game down and bore us all.
3) For years the referee bosses did nothing and teams (yes, including you Melbourne) denied they did it. Something had to give, and it happened to be Cameron Smith who was involved when everything finally came together: a grapple at the perfect angle to be caught on camera, by a high-profile player on a high-profile player, during finals series when everyone was watching, so that the grapple was indisputable. And I think everyone was just glad – finally – for a chance to do something about it.
4) If the media latched onto it, it’s party a reflection of public opinion, but also because they couldn’t ignore it. Smith did it in the most obvious way, he’s from a team that grapples really successfully and was destined for the grand final, and he’s Australian captain. Duh. If that’s not a big story in league I don’t know what is. If it was some nobody grappling some nobody then maybe little Andy Nobody might never have been cited or noticed at all, but that was never gonna happen in this case.
5) And yes it’s unfair when hundreds of other grapples have gone unpunished, but … you just have to get over it. I’m sorry. He did it. If 300 other players have gotten away with grapples in the past, then you can bet that some of them were from the Storm too. Everybody benefited from the refs’ blind eye, including Melbourne and including Cameron Smith.
He also did it really obviously on camera so the judiciary could see exactly what happened. There was no way you could argue that wasn’t neck contact or that it wasn’t intentional. So this time he was suspended. Just accept it and move on. He’s the sacrificial lamb and it sucks but it doesn’t change that he grabbed someone’s head unnecessarily. If it was someone else who was in his position I’d say the same thing.
The end. Let’s all move on. Hopefully to a game with less boring wrestling.
Sadtimes for Lamberon Smith
See? SEE HOW BORING THAT WAS? God I feel all weird now. Let’s talk about the game instead. Just the important bits because a full recap would be too depressing.
ROLL CALL!
Can’t have a drama without characters, can you? In the Globo purple, we had all the usual Melbourne boys, except Cameron (aka Lindy, aka Wolfman) Smith and Jeremy (aka ‘the Other’) Smith who were sitting on the sideline due to suspension, and Ryan Hoffman ruled out with a jimmy ankle. Poor Ry-Ry – I feel your pain. I have a dodgy ankle too! And I suspect, like mine, yours is a result of high school netball. I can just see him in a little GD bib. Three feet! Three feet!
I would like to point out that Cameron has clearly been reading Errol because bitch actually shaved for once. For serious. AMAZING. He almost doesn’t have a Homer Simpson beardshadow. Clearly he has a sense of occasion.
And in the blue and black for Cronulla we had … wait, I know some of them turned up. Anyone? I don’t see any Cronulla names on this attendance list. UNACCEPTABLE.
Oh wait, no, I found two. Misi J Talaupapa rocked up to the SFS, and so did Luke Douglas. That is all.
REPORT CARDS
You know how Luke Douglas actually bothered to show up to the game? Unlike some other players who shall remain nameless? *cough*Covell*cough*
Maybe it woulda been better if he didn’t. Poor bastard. Luke Douglas had a complete shocker, and god didn’t he know it. If you look really really closely in the picture below, you can actually pinpoint the moment where he gives up on life and starts contemplating whether running into the goalpost really really fast might knock him unconscious hard enough to erase the horrible memories of this game.
The answer was no.
The only kid in the 2008 graduating class at Sharks High who even rates a pass is little Misi J Talaupapa. And that’s not for his footy. It’s for his fucking excellent extra-credit report, titled ‘PUNCHING ANTHONY QUINN IN THE FACE’. Oh yeah. The crowd mimed uppercuts and so did I.
And blah blah blah you can argue all you want about whether Quinny, recently voted the Pinkest Man in League, went for the tackle on Misi in the in-goal with or without knowing that he had already grounded the ball. Misi didn’t give a shit and neither did I. He just knew HE’S MAD AS HELL AND HE’S NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE.
And that punch was the one good thing you Sharkies did for me that whole game. I wash my hands of you.
If I was feeling nice, I would say that maybe the Sharks were a little overwhelmed by the whole thing, especially after having two weeks with nothing to do but get nervous about being in the semi-finals. I might even admit that when the game ended and Danny Nutley cried I maybe cried too justalittlebit. (DON’T JUDGE ME! HE SEEMS LIKE A REALLY NICE MAN!)
But really all you need to know is that, as always, supercoach Jack Gibson is right.
Waiting for Cronulla to win a Premiership is like leaving the porch light on for Harold Holt.
For all our non-Aussie readers, this is Harold Holt. And in true Aussie fashion he lives on in our memories, and in the HAROLD HOLT MEMORIAL SWIMMING CENTER. Oh, the irony.
BIGGEST BITCH IN CLASS
BILLY: Oh no you did-int, Lima. Did you just say purple washes me out?
COOPER: Just let it go. It’s totes not worth it. Plus he’s right, you know. I always tell you you’re more of a summer.
So with Lamberon Smith out of the picture, who’s the shoo-in to be the new Queen Bee? Oh yeah, Cooper Cronk. Little Cooper got promoted to Captain and doesn’t he absolutely fucking love it?
Archer are you putting me on fashion report? But it’s a MANDIGAN. They are totally in fashion. I SAW THEM IN INDUSTRIE.
See? Fierce.
The only thing he loves more than finally being in charge is getting to tell off Anthony Quinn like an overwrought mother with a misbehaving child. ZIP IT ANTHONY! ZIP IT! ZIP IT! YOU’RE A VIRGIN WHO CAN’T DRIVE.
edit: some fabulous person has now uploaded this special moment to youtube – AMAZING.
(Snaps also to the commentator who observed: Nothing good ever comes of Anthony Quinn getting involved. He’s totally on my Christmas card list).
Ross – you get nothing.
ALL THAT YOU HAVE IS YOUR SOUL
There’s a moral to this game, and I’m gonna tell you what it is. Kiki and I were firmly on Team Sharks for this game, because we figured that our hate for the Storm was so much worse, and we would ally with the Sharks to defeat the evil Storm like Roosevelt and Churchill teaming up with Stalin.
We were wrong. Oh, so wrong. The plan failed. Like the Soviet Union, the communists fell under pressure. WAY TO SCREW US OVER STALIN. And now I just feel really, really generally … icky about the whole thing. Let that be a lesson to you kiddies. You can’t compromise your principles.
Jeffrey likes to buy tiny coffees so he can pretend to the boys they are normal lattes and his muscles are huge.
The worst part is how joyful the Storm are about their whole win. Yes there were some dramas about Brett White being suspended, but just look at them, frolicking with their tiny tiny coffees at recovery. As though they don’t have a care in the world.
Not my Macchiato! I mean … not MY REGULAR SIZED COFFEE.
LOOK, I JUST REALLY HATE SEEING THEM HAPPY, OK? It galls me. If you’re wondering, I also hate them when they’re sad, but mainly, when they’re happy. I don’t like to see the pods beat the humans. It Doesn’t Seem Right. And now they can prance on into the grand final for a repeat of the match they won last year. WILL THE MADNESS NEVER END?
Sigh. Why don’t I just leave you with the boys looking vaguely ridiculous and slightly couplish wearing matching velour towels (I assume they’re embroidered with their initials, too). See ya at Homebush, bitches.
bye Bob … bye Jean! thanks for everything! … best bed and breakfast we’ve ever been to!
All pics: Getty Images
Filed under: ben hornby, billy slater, cooper cronk, footy, jamie soward, mark gasnier, matt cooper, melbourne storm, st george dragons | Tags: Posted by Kiki
So as I said previously, I am not going to recap this game. However, too much awesome dramaaaz occured for me to ignore it completely.
First of all, let us talk about my boys sporting a pink V. Oh, they looked so LOVELY. Just lovely. The pink V has magical powers because one look at Gasnier in his and the palpable rage I feel for him quickly dissipated.
I did however notice he was a total man island in the changeroom. Everyone was totally ignoring him, even his former husband Hot Bitch Cooper. THEY BE PISSED AT YOU GAZ. By the way, Hornbag is totally Unimpressed by your contributions to the proceedings.
Now lets talk about Hot Bitch in his pink V. Ooooooh mama. On anyone else, pink seems to subdue masculinity, softening it into something benevolent and approachable. Not our Hot Bitch. The juxtaposition of pink on a man stallion of Cooper’s calibre was something quite remarkable. The pink somehow managed to make him seem more virile. I didn’t know that was even possible, but it is. He prowled that field like a lion in the savannah. All rippling muscles, manly potency and carefully controlled aggression. Lets not even talk about when it STARTED TO RAIN. It made my pink V really really happy. See what I did there? Made a dirty joke! Because Pink V is a metaphor for vagina. GET IT?
Okay lets talk about Mick Crocker. Forget headgear, the man needs to invest in a helmet for game days. He is way beyond modern aerodynamic cycling helmets. Mick has suffered so many brain injuries he needs help from the 1980s. Bitch needs a Stack Hat.
While we are talking about Crocker’s head, lets discuss what in Gods name is up with his hair. There is alot of balding men in the NRL, but Crocker doesn’t fit easily into that category. I don’t even think he’s balding. This is an entire new strain of hair weirdness. I have never seen hair like his on another man. Ever ever ever. Let us carefully and professionally examine this oddity -
There is only one conclusion. He suffers from chronic hair thinness and has sought to rectify the situation by using hair in a can. Thankyou Jerome Russell! Sorry Mick baby, but you’re gonna have to surrender your hair to airport security when you leave for England in 09. You know full well aerosols aren’t permitted on international flights.
Ryles getting sent off. Oh dear, Gavin Badger…you really are a twat of epic proportions aren’t you? Referee boss Robert Finch has already come out and said you were wrong, so lucky for you I am going to skip chastising you for now. Thank your lucky stars because I was totally gonna hurt you with my words of poison. Poison words!
Okay, so onto the fight. FIIIIIIIGGGGHT! I love fights. I love how quickly a civilised, professional game of rugby league can descend into mob violence. It makes me happy in my soul. And last nite was an absolute doozy. This shit was Origin worthy. It even had stages, three of them. The whole thing still seems surreal to me. Out of all the people to be involved in biff I cannot believe that it involved Tiny Dancer Soward, Flossy Nightingale and Billy I-Love-Pony-Club Slater. REALLY? You guys? REALLLY??
The best thing about this fight was the fact that PonyClub Slater rushed in from across the field to defend his boyfriend Cooper Cronk. Ain’t nobody be messin with my maaaans! (In my mind he’s a ghettofied black woman). Yes Billy, god forbid the tiny tiny Jamie Soward object to your boyfriend being a dirty little niggler. OH NOES!
You know Billy spent the whole time in the sin bin filing his ghetto nails and combing his fierce weave. Trust.
The second best thing about this dramaz is the way Hot Bitch Cooper stepped in and tried to break it up. Oh, that Coops, hes so measured in his responses. No flying off the handle for this perfect specicmen of a man. Oh no. Together with Hornbag he calmly and steadily grabbed players and steered them away from the fracas. And they obeyed him. Who wouldn’t?
My league loving friend Alex (hi boofhead!) sent me a text saying something like “look at Cooper breaking up the fight. He has such….presence”. Yeh, thats totally straight man code for I WOULD BEND OVER FOR MATT COOPER. It’s okay Alex, we all would.
(The magnificence above is thanks to our new account at Getty Images. I don’t want even want to say how much we paid for it. Lets just say when I turn it into a doona cover it will be totally worth it.)
Filed under: 100% heterosexuality, cooper cronk, footy, mans, melbourne storm, men we love, sonny bill williams | Tags: Posted by Jessica
In my defense, i am from Melbourne. AFL is the only football here (unless you’re what my grandmother likes to call “an ethnic”) and if you don’t follow it you’re seen as a bit peculiar. A bit, dare i say it? Suspicious. Or, as i was asked by two veterans of the VFL after confessing i didnt follow footy (during getting taught how to make good coffee of all things – how Melbourne) “you’re not a communist are ya?” Well, no, i just didn’t have the heart to tell them after 24 years of not being engaged in sport (aside from badminton) i was starting to consider rugby league an option.
You see, it all started when Kiki noticed my love of the stocky man. And i can’t deny it, i do love them built like squat brick shithouses – unashamedly so. And upon realising i didn’t follow any code of football decided, logically, “I know! I’ll recruit her into my cult!” Oh yes, the cult of NRL. Looks about as enticing as Scientology at first. So foreign so, exotic … so un-Melbourne. Polynesians, Islanders, Queenslanders? OH WOW!
First she tried tempting me with the history of the game trying to appeal to my sense of patriotism and (buried) working class pride.
basically in 1908 there was only rugby union. it was amateur and no one got paid. about half the players were educated and just playing it for fun so didnt need the money. the rest of them were working class and if they were injured in a game that meant they couldnt work and their family didnt eat. they demanded to be compensated for injuries and to be paid some money for their playing but the union told them it wont ever happen.
so basically they went well fuck you you posh bastards and then went and formed their own brand of footy…RUGBY LEAAAGUE!! they changed the rules to make it faster, more exciting and a better spectator sport. it took off straight away and clubs were formed and they were soon getting massive massive crowds of working class people who wanted their own game.
and thats why theres such a huge gap between league and union fans. it was even instituionalised after WW1 when the state government said all private schools were to play union, all public and catholic schools to play league. and its like that today! thats why union fans think league people are filthy bogans and we think they are posh idiots.
And as a proud bogan this DID appeal to me. You’re right, i thought! FUCK YOU, POSH BASTARDS! and all that heartfelt shit. I could empathise, i suppose. And so i ruminated on this for a while.
Now, as a nation founded on sodomy you can’t really ignore the pure poetry of it that League is, basically, our national sport (don’t tell me you don’t think unpure thoughts, I know you do, you dirty bitches.) Sure we may not have invented it, but we took to it with gusto and made it our own. Just like rugby. And that’s something I can totally get behind.
Then, slowly but surely, she started feeding snippets of mancandy. Built guys in satiny shorts, with their shirts off. I was resistant at first. I wasnt sure i wanted to drink the Kool-Aid (who does?) but as of this past week or so something changed in me. Something just SNAPPED AND BROKE FREE. And i realised … OH. I COULD TOTALLY LOVE THIS GAME!
You see, as i said elsewhere, from an outsiders perspective league is just a ball on a field. And you don’t understand the rules of that field so why the fuck bother caring about where the ball ends up? But i forgot one key factor in the game. One element without which with the game would cease to exist and just be a weird looking ball in a grassy stadium alone somewhere in NSW.
Oh right, THE PLAYERS!
It all started with Ryan Girdler yonks ago. I ignored the fact while crushing on him that he was a rugby league player whatever that was and just focused on the fact he was deadset cute. But he was buried away in the back of my mind until recently.
Then this week it all came rushing at me.
Hazem El Masri!
Sonny Bill Williams! (CHEER UP, SUNSHINE.)
Matt (Kiki’s Hot Bitch) Cooper! (I respect his writing ability. As i say, he’d make a great Age journalist. Cough.)
Reni Maitua! (Rapey eyes and questionable morals aside.)
Billy Slater! (I believe you still can be beautiful with no neck thankyouverymuch.)
AND. AND … THE LOVE OF MY LEAGUE LIFE
Drumroll …
Cooper Cronk! (Who at the thought of anyone finding him sexual in that way is probably vomitting in the corner with embarrassment. Sorry, Cooper. I apologise. Between you and me i’m just trying to save face. I really like you for your playing ability, intelligence, wit, charm, and smile. I respect you, Cooper. Don’t feel bad. It’s OK. One day i’ll take you to the zoo and have a latte by the elephants and we’ll talk about sensible things. Maybe even visit a pet store after.)
And, thanks to the gays and their dedicated foruming i have now learnt a substantial amount of players names (arse first, face last i should add) and can now actually watch a game at 2 o’clock in the morning (the fuck’s that about, by the way?) with some vague idea of what’s going on. Sort of.
Yes. A big shout out to the gays because sure i read the articles, watch the sports reports, watch The Footy Show, read blogs, listen to podcasts, try to understand the Wikipedia rules page but none of it truly makes sense without being put in a sexual context. Even if my thoughts remain purely (PURELY) above the waist about them. (Ok, i lie. I did entertain the thought of touching Billy’s willy but only through his underwear and only with, like, the innocence of my thigh accidentally on purpose.)
But i must say this … thanks to the gays i have seen enough arse to last me a lifetime. So it’ll be truly magic and titillating when i actually get to see these guys i now recognise run, jump, fumble with the ball, smash, hurt, bruise, fuck up, scrum, get into trouble, score pointy things (tries you say?), win, lose, get involved in dramarama, scandals and best of all! Cuddles, leg wraps and kisses!
For more photos like this head here.
And if anyone is interested to know (if you’ve managed to read this far) what team i have chosen to follow because, really, i have no connection with Sydney at all, nothing was handed down to me, i’m at a complete and utter loss (or was) well … It was a toss up between Melbourne Storm and Canterbury Bulldogs and … i chose the Bulldogs. Why? Because how can i be truly happy if i don’t have something to piss and moan about? With Batman and Robin, Melbourne Storm seem to be a little bit too la di da and nice in my eyes and and far too content for my liking. Where’s the struggle there? Where’s the fun in that?
Billy and Cooper make celebrating look like such fun!
Oh, and after 160+ pages i think Cooper Cronk and I need to go on a little break for a while. I love you, but i need my space. I’ll see you in the game.
