It’s true, all good things come to an end. Just as everyone’s favourite ironic self-promoter Wendell retired, the Kangaroos shaved off their awesome mos. Apparently they didn’t want to face up to the English in the Four Nations final with giant pimpin 70s moustaches.

Johnathan Thurston and his dead mo walking.

To this I say: that’s fucking insane. If you thought the mozzie twins distracted the Frenchies with their saminess and twinniness, how much do you think moustaches would throw the poms off? Johnathon Thurston held out for just a little bit longer than the rest, but eventually even JT went the shave on his Cheech Marin moustache (thanks to Adge for the pop culture reference!) and went clean-faced.

RIP the mos. My pants and my heart are equally sad.

Although not nearly as sad as they were when I realised that as part of their training in England the boys have been playing soccer.

Shillo and Jarryd-with-a-Y making my ladyparts depressed.

…. and Robbie helps them finish the job.

SOCCER? REALLY? As if I don’t have enough problems, now my national league team is inflicting the most boring of all God’s creations – soccer – on me. And no, I won’t call it football. I refuse. YOU CAN’T MAKE ME. UNLESS YOU’RE EUROPEAN, CALLING SOCCER FOOTBALL IS JUST KINDA PRETENTIOUS KTHANKS.

Billy Slater had limited success. Probably would have done better with a round ball. He may be the Special Child of the Kangaroos.

And according to Kangaroos TV the boys have also been busy doing other-things-that-in-no-way-relate-to-rugby-league. For their day off they went, wait for it …. trap shooting. Really. No offence intended to the Kangaroos squad, but if I was in charge and sitting behind my giant mahogany desk reading my emails and approving requests for the Kangaroos on which activities the ARL was willing to pay for them to do, ones involving WEAPONS would not be high on my list. After the two year scandal-fest that has been the Aussie NRL in 2008 and 2009, I would totally have a nothing that cuts or shoots policy for all footy players at all times. Instead of kitting them out with guns and sending them to a field in England where they might accidentally shoot:

a) a miscellaneous Pom

b) some kind of valuable privately-owned pheasant

c) themselves

d) all of the above,

and end up in the British tabloids, I would have a firmly Soft Objects Only policy. You know, stuff like … sending them to play in the ball room at Ikea. Building forts out of doonas. Eating marshmallows. That kinda thing.

I seriously can’t believe the whole thing didn’t end in tears and/or a lawsuit.

I think it explains why the players had to shave off their moustaches, though. I’ve watched a lot of Crime documentaries in my time, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about creepy serial killer type dudes, it’s that they are bandits for a moustache. I’m not kidding. The Green River Killer, Jeffrey Dahmer, Leonard Lake … it’s moustaches ahoy!

Basically, nothing is creepier than a man with a mo carrying a weapon. Most of the time they are just plain awesome, but with a gun in your hand, all of a sudden you look kinda like you should be driving an unmarked white van and doing something shifty.

I think Nathan Hindmarsh and his few-day’s-growth proves this pretty authoritatively. Swap that microphone for a shotty and he would be TERRIFYING. Moustaches and shooting just don’t mix.

Of course no Kangaroos update would be complete without our Dave Taylor (also moustache-less) spotting for the day. HI DT!

Back in Australia Willie Mason is in trouble for mouthing off.

In other news the sky is blue.

And the Gold Coast Titans have some schmick new uniforms for 2010:

Does anyone else think Scotty Prince has been practising this? His pensive yet content look into the distance is pretty much perfect right here.  Has he secretly been doing catalogue work no one knows about? Cause that shit is GOOD.

Scotty gets some feedback on his ‘pensive’ face

Meanwhile I know y’all love updates on the Errol staff. Work experience boy Lachie has been on light duties since he injured his shoulder and has been hitting the weights to get all bulked up. Clearly we would’ve appreciated it more if he used his newfound strength to make Wendell Sailor stay at St. George, but NO DICE. We’re gonna have to have a talk with him I think.

And I’ll leave you with Adam MacDougall’s thoughts on Wendell leaving:

THE game is going to miss Wendell Sailor – but not as much as I will.

MADDOG YOU BIG SOFTIE. Wanna hug?

All pics via Getty Images

Well, that’s it. MY MIGHTY HEART IS BROKEN. Wendell Jermaine (yes that really is his middle name) Sailor has officially retired from the NRL. Break out the Kleenex bitches, cause we’re gonna need them.

No more NRL back-rubs for Wendell.

I just saw a clip on FoxSports of baby 19-year-old Dell debuting for the Broncos when he was all skinny and didn’t even have the Famous Wendell Arse, and I actually may have had to wipe away a tear.

We have the fairylights on at Errol HQ, and the interns are busy framing pics of our favourite Big Dell moments and putting out little sandwiches and giant tumblers of vodka to get us through this hard time and help us say goodbye to Wendell.

Needless to say we Do Not Approve of Dell leaving us. When we found out he was set to announce his retirement (via twitter, of course, cause that’s where we get all our news) we immediately jumped in the Jeep to head down to St George Leagues Club and convince him to stay the best way we know how: by attaching ourselves to his leg as he tried to give his press conference and refusing to let go until he agreed to stay. It works when little kids do it, right?

Seriously, guys, let go of my leg.

Sadly, we forgot that Wendell is …. Wendell. If he can dump a Taniela Tuiaki over the sideline he can probably manage to walk with three Errol girls attached to his thigh. DAMMIT. We’re sorry everyone, but we did our best.

And before you give us that ‘oh, but he’s getting on a bit’ excuse, yes, yes we know. Dell is 35 now, which, as we all know, is about 89 in footy player years. (Footy player years are pretty much like dog years). But he’s Dell. If he can come back at 33 and play for Shellharbour and make his way back into first grade, bitch can do anything.

According to Dell he was on the downhill slide and thought he had to hit the road to make sure that a) he didn’t play like crap next year, and b) so that all the lil wingers like B.Moz, Flossy Nightingale and Michael Lett didn’t miss out on their chances in the Dragons side.

DAMMIT DELL, WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO NOBLE? I would much prefer if he did the non-noble thing and hung around hogging that right wing until he died/became a senior citizen.

Although in a massively Wendell moment he also said:

“If I’m as popular as I think I am, then I’ll get selected to play in the indigenous game in February”.

Well thank fuck for that! Dell was a vital selection in the Sassy Indigenous all-stars team and I really didn’t want to have to get back to the drawing board and redo that whole team. Don’t you know I’m very busy and important? I really don’t have that kinda time.

There’s my boys!

He also said:

And to the kids, just know that if you dream big and you believe big, you can make it.

OF COURSE HE DID. HE BELIEVES THE CHILDREN ARE OUR FUTURE. DELL YOU ARE AMAZING DON’T LEAVE US.

Who else will smash opponents into touch, then offer them a hand to get back up? Who else is gonna devise cute little post-try celebrations with Jamie Soward and the Dragons mascot? Who else disco dances in the locker room (also known as the Greatest Off-field Moment of 2009)? Who else will be Adam MacDougall’s on-field comedy partner?

I mean we love Dell even though he’s a Queenslander, doesn’t that say it all? He is hands-down the greatest character in league.

Luckily, the Dragons are keeping Wendell on as an ambassador and mentor for another 3 years. Good call Wayne Bennett! This is why they call him a master coach, isn’t it?

Can we humbly suggest that perhaps they build Wendell a giant four-wheeled dragon car to ride on, so at appropriate moments during home games, Dell could maybe dress up as a fierce soldier and ride the dragon around the field brandishing his sword and making the motorised dragon breathe fire?

See where I’m going with this? YOU KNOW IT WOULD BE AMAZING.

Kiki and I came up with this one arvo sitting on the hill at Kogarah, and right now, seeing that dream come to life may be the only thing that will make us feel better.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go grab a tumbler and re-read all my favourite past Wendell Sailor posts.

I may also watch these two videos and sob uncontrollably:

Hit me up with your favourite Dell moments and join in, why don’t ya?

“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:

SPONSOR THE KANGAROOS

All pictures Getty Images

Screen caps by the amazing Cronkster, who’s on holiday in Fiji right now. HAVE FUN DARLING!

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:

GO HERE

All pics via Getty Images.

So you should just about have time to read this before you watch the money you bet slip away the Cup this afternoon. That sounds bitter, right? It’s not meant to. I have a real soft spot for Melbourne Cup (Kiki hates it with the fire of a thousand suns, if you’re wondering. Along with glitter nailpolish, it’s one of the only things we disagree on).

Mainly, this is because I approve of events where you can drink on a Tuesday morning without fear of judgment. Sure, you can drink on regular Tuesdays, but there’s always that nagging voice/narky passerby/priest/boss/therapist who comes along and ruins it by suggesting that maybe you should drink your morning orange juice without champagne in it. UM, IT’S MADE OF GRAPES. HOW IS THAT NOT ACCEPTABLE AS A BREAKFAST BEVERAGE? FASCISTS.

I also have fond memories of my slightly-morally-compromised Nanna picking me up early from primary school every Melbourne Cup day so I could come home and eat tiny tiny sandwiches with her and her silver-haired friends, and see first hand whether my horse won. This mattered because Nan would also put $2 bets on for me at the TAB. Any day when you get to miss school AND WIN EIGHT BUCKS is, needless to say, pretty much the greatest day ever for a six year old. That eight bucks could buy you 800 chocolate freckles. Or a primary school slave for about a week. No wonder I love Melbourne Cup day. It’s just a whole inevitable Pavlovian thing, you know?

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that children love gambling.

And of course Melbourne Cup also involves some of my all-time favourite things as an adult. These things include, but are not limited to:

• Drunk girls buying giant bags of Doritos at the servo on Alison Road opposite the racecourse at 6pm. Nothing goes with Doritos like wilted feathers and a bunyan.
• Fascinators in general. They’re played out and ugly, yet people refuse to let them go, which I find delightful in a really mean and peverse way. Think of it as the headwear equivalent of ‘the Emperor has no clothes’.
• The actual news being replaced by endless montages of horses and people in fancy outfits for me to judge as I eat my dinner. YES PLEASE.
• More importantly: footage on the news of some girl from Melby who got blind and vommed in a sulo. Anything that makes my behaviour in general life look better is something I approve of.
• Awkward office Melbourne Cup functions. When I worked in an office, the prospect of having to make small talk with Sheila from accounts over a glass of slightly warm champas in the foyer, while she rocks a printed wrap dress with her regular day-to-daqy office mules and asks me why I don’t have flowers in my hair made me want to die. Now that I don’t I think they are just peachy.
• Did I mention you can drink in the day? At work?

And because the Australian Kangaroos team are still on their quest to be the most awesome sporting team in Aussie history, they’re not just doing Movember, they’re also on the Bigpond website doing a Melbourne Cup Sweeps.

Of COURSE they’re doing a Melbourne Cup sweeps. It’s part of their big plan to Make Sassy Love Them. And yes, boys, the plan is totally working.

I may have squealed a little bit watching the video. In my defence, I’m only human. If you can watch giant footy players jumping in the air to try and pull tiny bits of paper out of a bowl and exclaiming with glee at their horses without squealing a little bit, then you have no soul.

Here’s my pick out of the footy boys’ tips:

Ben Hannant likes Master O’Reilly, because it’s running as number 4, and his kid is turning 4 today. You can’t argue with that logic! It’s the kind of logic that people have used for centuries to make up PINs for their EFTPOS cards and win lotteries. It’s foolproof.

Disclaimer: May not be actual Ben Hannant.

But if you really want a good tip, you’d have to go with Billy Slater right? His pick in the sweeps and his pick to win is Alcopop, and you have to admit bitch knows his ponies. If anyone has the inside word from the land of the jockeys, it has to be Billy. Plus, if you look closely, you can also see that he’s well into growing a sweet sweet moustache for Mobember … and if you can’t trust a man growing a mo for charity, who can you trust?

SEE? Sweet mo indeed.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bet on Alcopop. IF IT LOSES YOU OWE ME $20 BILLY.

So you know how we can be narky bitches? Some things make even our black hearts overflow with joy. And two of those things are happening RIGHT NOW. Thanks to some pretty fabulous boys, October and November have quickly become my favourite non-footy time of the year.

TIMMY MANNAH DOES THE WORM

Remember last year we told y’all about Justin Poore, Nathan Hindmarsh and the boys and the awesome work they were doing for Village of Hope in Rwanda?

Pic. Gregg Porteous via news.com.au

Well apparently it was enough to inspire J.Poore to single-handedly try and provide enough content to fill up the Daily Telegraph’s ‘Scandal-Free Back Page’ for the whole of 2009. Because using his giant front-rowers arms to build homes for the Rwandans still suffering from the genocide of the 1990s wasn’t enough, he set up Poore Rwanda, which has already raised more than 30 grand towards the goal of building five homes for families in need, AND has taken another bunch of Eels players over to do their bit.

Um …. are you speechless? Yeah, me too. Pretty sure when I first heard about all of this I had to pause, put my cereal spoon down (why yes, I was having cereal for dinner. What of it?), and the only words I could manage to spit out were: “YOU MAKE ME WANT TO BE A BETTER MAN”.

Seeing the work J.Poore, Joel Reddy, Joe Galuvao, Tim Mannah and Kris Keating were doing on this trip is almost too much, you know?

I’m like a five year old, I don’t handle too much excitement well. Like the time in Las Vegas when I was so drunk excited at the prospect of seeing Elton John live at Caesar’s Palace I almost lost my damn mind. Kiki literally had to tell me to STOP SKIPPING THROUGH THE CASINO. YOU LOOK LIKE AN INSANE PERSON. It may have been because I was wearing a leopard print skirt at the time. I’m not sure. But I do know she was thisclose to giving me a flash of Phenergen and sending me back to the Hard Rock.

So you can imagine what I looked like when I saw the first pics of the boys over in Rwanda. Not just being adorable and doing good … but being fucking hilarious and awesome and Oz. They’re pretty much international ambassadors for Aussie culture.

Which makes sense, really, because if there’s one thing Australian men always ALWAYS do when their overseas, it’s roam in packs. Seeing an Aussie man alone overseas is like spotting a Tasmanian Tiger. And it’s the same with footy players – where there’s one, there’s always more. Usually also wearing screen-printed hoodies or team tracksuit pants. Cause that’s how they roll.

And the Eels boys over in Rwanda didn’t just have the ‘group travel thing down’ … they’re also ambassadors for Aussie fashionz. Check it out:

Joel Reddy displays the national costume of all Aussie boys when overseas: boardshorts.

Timmy Mannah wears his heart on his bucket hat. MATE DID YOU KNOW I’M AUSTRALIAN? IT SAYS SO ON MY HAT/TOWEL/BOARDSHORTS/HAVAIANAS.

And is that a chesty bonds I spy over there on the left on Justin Poore? A CHESTY BONDS LOOKING ON WHILE TIM MANNAH DOES THE WORM?

Excuse me while I die of joy.

So far, Hope Rwanda has built 30 houses for homeless families in three years, and if you wanna give them a little helping hand, maybe head over to HOPE:Rwanda or Poore Rwanda … you know you want to.

ps. Welcome home, boys!

Rwanda pics copyright www.hoperwanda.org

MOUSTACHES ARE FOR WINNERS

And yep, that’s the other reason why October and November make me happy in my heart … and in my pants. ONLY FIVE SLEEPS TILL MOVEMBER!

Nyello, I have an awesome mo on the line … will you accept the charges?

All of us Errol girls are complete bandits for a man with a moustache. Which, to be honest, you should be able to tell considering that we have Errol Flynn and his dapper little moustache rocking out on our website banner. HI EZ!

I love any man who’s willing to give up vanity and be part of Movember. Cause those first two weeks of trying to grow a mo are seriously bleak. They’re the facial hair equivalent of those awkward teenage years, where you have to wander around your workplace trying to look authoritative and competent despite the fact that you have four or five tentative, sad little moustache hairs sitting on your lip, and everyone looking at you like they’re not quite sure whether you’re doing Movember, or have just gone through a bad breakup and given up on life.

Plus you can’t wear a tracksuit of any kind for at least a fortnight cause, with the creepy little half-mo, it makes you look like a teenage meth dealer.

The upside, of course, is that at the end of four weeks you have a fucking sweet moustache that makes me girls go crazy for you, and you get to raise much-needed funds and awareness for men’s depression and prostate cancer. [I'd like to add that this will be our first ever Movember where one of us is actually going out with a mo-grower. That lady is me and I could not be more excited *waves at Suchy* - lozzy]

So any man who signs up for Movember has our respect. Also, they can feel free to come up and say hi if they see me in the street and I’ll give them complimentary gropes.

Last year we celebrated Movember by running our own campaign with everyone’s favourite intern, John Williams … can you believe we raised almost TWO AND A HALF GRAND? I seriously still can’t believe it.

This year, we’re not running our own Mo-team, but we’re doing something almost as good. We’re throwing our support behind the Kangaroos.

Because you all read our blog over on She Knows the Rules (you do … right? RIGHT? Hmmmm?) you already know that this year the Kangaroos are doing Movember.

Finally! Our dream of footy players being forced to participate in Movember has come true. Apparently they’re actually competing to see who can grow the best mo, but I think we all know already that’s gonna be Cameron Smith. There’s no way that bitch is gonna let anyone beat him. THIS IS HIS EVENT. HE FUCKING OWNS IT. If there was a Four Nations Tournament for hair-growing he would be captain, for reals. With Sam Thaiday as his deputy.

Cam Smith has already hinted he plans to grow a handlebar, also known as the Merv Hughes. Good choice, by the way.

But in case the rest of the boys are undecided, I’ve got a few suggestions. 

Robbie Farah is clearly a special for the Errol Flynn. Nothing would go better with his neatest-hair-in-the-world than a dapper little Errol mo.

I think he’s got the fashion sense to pull it off too. When the Wests Tigers media officer asked him about Kangaroos camp, he gave us this gem about Royce Simmons:

Roycey is always Roycey…tries to be funny but really he isn’t. We always laugh but what he doesn’t know is that we are laughing at him, not with him. He has promised me he’ll let me take him shopping while we’re over here because I’m sick of his crap polo shirts and ugly brown shoes that he always wears. He must have 10 pairs of them!

Oh, Robbie. 

I’ve also decided nothing would go better with Nathan Hindmarsh’s Russell Hammond hair than a Dennis Lillee.

And Billy Slater, aka Errol’s Newest Footy Crush … well, my spidey senses tell me he can probably grow about as much of a mo as I can. Which before you ask IS NOT VERY MUCH. God. What kind of girl do you think I am? So instead of suggesting a mo, I’m just gonna FedEx him this:

If you want to sign up, or sponsor the Kangaroos, get over to the Movember site.

FOUR NATIONS FOR WITHDRAWALS

And probably the thing that makes us happiest: THERE’S STILL FOOTY ON. Thank God, cause it means we don’t have to go straight from four days of footy a week to none. Cold turkey is a bitch. Instead we’ve got the Four Nations to ease us out of the regular season.

And if you’re like me, you watched the Four Nations games on replay on Foxtel. The way the lord intended. Unless I’m getting home at 5am … I don’t want anything to do with the sunrise. It’s uncivilised and unhealthy and I refuse to have anything to do with it. Just one of the many reasons why I’m a writer.

To be completely truthful, it was sort of hard to get up at midday, but that’s not the point.

Pic. Getty Images

The point is it was worth it. Errol favourite Brett Morris scoring on debut for the Kangaroos AND first try of the game. GO B.MOZ GO! I can say with full certainty it was our support during the season that made this possible. Some may say it was thanks to Cameron Smith’s brilliant offload and Greg Inglis’ excellent run, but I KNOW BETTER. That shit was all thanks to Errol.

Yes, he also … well, he sort of fell over and missed out on scoring another try earlier in the game:

“I was trying to set up an in and away on the fullback and I went to step off my foot and I fell down a hole. I put my foot down … tripped over and looked like an idiot. It wasn’t too good.”

Whatever. I maintain that was only because his legs are so long. Like Bambi. IT’S NOT HIS FAULT, PEOPLE.

Apparently B.Moz’s appeal is international, too, because the Sky commentators can’t get enough of him. As far as I can tell, the only time they stopped talking about Fui Fui Moi Moi and Jared Warea-Hargreaves was when they spent 10 minutes waxing lyrical about B.Moz. Isn’t he fast? Did you know he started the year in reserve grade? And he’s only only 23! And on debut!

Um, of course we know. We’re way ahead of the curve, bitches.

Till next time, kittens x

Intern John John anxiously awaited our return

HI DARLINGS!

I know, I know…we have been absent of late. We are shit and we know it. People keep harassing us asking for more blogs and are all WHY HAVEN’T YOU WRITTEN ABOUT THE GRAND FINAL YOU LAZY SHITS etc etc. We have no excuses except this one : being writers for a living now is both a blessing and a curse. Amazing because we get to do what we love and get paid for it, but shit because it kinda sucks out our creative juice and leaves us a bit well…dry.

And yes I am aware of how (untintentionally) gross that sentence was. 

Now let’s sum up what’s been happening in mah head lately

a) The Grand Final was bloody awful. And no, not because the Storm won. It was awful because I spent the whole day in deep emotional pain thinking THE BLOODY DRAGONS SHOULD BE HERE GODAMNIT THIS SUCKS. And by ‘thinking’, I mean ‘loudly announcing it to no one in particular then kicking the ground like a small child’.

I was in the middle of a booze ban but I had to down a couple of vodkas to cope. Once again, the Dragons are directly to blame for my alcohol intake. I hope Peter Doust has a special fund set up for my future liver transplant.

Also, I spent most of the day being enraged at the massive amounts of Parra bandwagoners that were milling about just begging to be punched in the face. Look I am all for new people coming to the game, and I truly want league to be really popular, but is there anything worse than tools sporting freshly bought merchandise and being Smuggy Mc Smuggersons? I’ll answer it for you: no, no there is not.

In an ironic twist, Billy Slater decides he hates overexposed fullbacks

On the bus there, we were sitting next to a girl who was wearing…wait for it…a backless bodysuit and a Parramatta scarf. Because her back is so hot but her neck is FREEZING! GO PARRA! She teamed this with skin tight jeans and strappy high heels. ARGH. We were forced to listen to her inane questions which consisted of ’so, like, is there like, a toilet near the seats?’ and ‘do you think the Eels would be like, nervous today?’. I bet her favourite player of all timez is Jarryd Hayne. He’s sooooo hot.

And yes, if you’re wondering, I am completely aware that I am bitter and resent the fact the Eels found form when my boys lost theirs. But in my defence, Kate, my other-bestie-that-isn’t-Sassy, the biggest Parra fan in the entire universe, also hates the bandwagoners with a passion. When I sent her an sms to describe the Bodysuit Girl she said ‘murder her immediately, I will visit you in jail I promise’.

b) In a twist that is worthy of a Mexican telenovela, I have decided I that I now like Billy Slater. Yes, really. I know, I know…I’m freaked out too.  Next thing you know my evil twin is gonna appear wearing a maroon jersey and stilettos, drinking Bundy rum and yelling QUEENSLANDER in peoples faces.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but I think it started with Rexona’s Greatest Athlete. Then it snowballed when our friend Edwina started to like footy. And by that I mean she started to obsess over Hot Bitch Cooper and Billy and started forcing me to realise Billy has beautiful skin and pretty eyes and oh god…he’s kinda cute. And worst of all, likeable.  I kept telling myself the only reason I was on GettyImages searching for Billy pix was for Eddie but then at the Grand Final I involuntarily yelled GO BILLY. I hate myself so much.

Kiki retreats to 1997 fashionz to ease the off season pain

c) I have literally experienced post season depression. I’ve been massively emo. For ages I couldn’t figure out why I felt like something had stolen my heart and filled my chest with sad sad cement then I realised oh my god, it’s because there’s no footy on. I am simultaneously proud and ashamed of this.

Okay now onto things that aren’t me.

So last week we got to play with the VB Kangaroos. Seriously. Somehow we managed to annoy charm the NRL’s media manager, David Taylor, into letting us come along to their media call and conduct some video interviews. Being the legend that he is, DT asked us who we wanted to speak to and he just made it all happen. Seriously kids, we just sat on our little lounge and superstahs like Billy Slater, Robbie Farah and the Mozzie twins were just brought over to us. Footy player delivery!

Anyway, since JJ and the boys had to hold down the fort at Errol HQ, we brought along our interns for the day, Loz and Butch. They found Errol by googling naked photos of David Williams, which is really quite fitting. They are basically 17 yr old versions of Sassy and myself, which I find both terrifying and delightful. Here is their take on the day (yes these interns actually exist and they wrote this for reals!).

***********************

Last Tuesday was National Nipples Day Out (thankyou Robbie ‘headlights’ Farah, ambassador of this campaign), otherwise known as the Kangaroo’s media call. We are best friends, we love football, the Sea Eagles, Georgie Rose, High School Musical, doing the hoedown throwdown whilst cooking and Big Del (Little Del goes down alright to). We DON’T love dirty dirty Queenslanders, with the exception of Billy Slater.

After 2nd helpings of Maccas breakfast, due to the fact we were an hour early, we met Kiki and Sassy and made our way into the Pullman htel, got settled and dolled ourselves up, ready for Robbie.

From the moment he walked around the corner, Robbie’s  infamous visible nipples were on full display for us (and didn’t we LOVE it). Bitch is also full of lolz, who knew?? When asked about his recent shirtless kebab photo, Robbie seemed….errrrr, slighty….confused, like he’s done it on many occasions……which is AWSOME, coz it means there are more out there. Here’s a preview -

Anyway, turns out Robbie is extremely proud of when he punched Anthony Watts waaaaaaay back in round 19. He was all ‘nobody thought I’d do it……..but I DID!’. Kinda like how kids are when they go to the toilet by themselves for the first time.

Next was Billy Slater. As we all circled around him (after Sassy elegantly kicked over a glass coke bottle that smashed everywhere), Kiki told him that this wasn’t gunna be a normal interview, he replied with (whilst looking slighty nervous) “I can see that”. Pretty AND observant, what’s not to love? Billy didn’t even seem bothered by Butch’s question of how he keeps his skin so radiant. His answer? GENETICS!! However, we did get the goss on who in the Melby (gag) team moisturizes. Cooper Cronk? OF COURSE he does. When one is a fierce bitch like Cooper Cronk, one must look after one’s skin, non?

Also, we are 99% sure that Watmough recognised us from the Manly fan days and shit like that were we have met him…. It may have also been that time when Butch walked past his car and he had ‘DAMN WHO’S A SEXY BITCH’ blaring (don’t even pretend that wasn’t aimed at me Watmough, you sly dog -B). Or, it could have just been in our heads. We have active imaginations, WHAT OF IT?

So while we waited for the Mozzies, we relaxed on the lounges. Apparently we’re relaxed interns (meaning we do nothing). Butch demonstrated how relaxed we were by reclining on the lounge in a slightly provocative manner. That magic moment was caught on tape by some lucky sport channel. Youtube it bitches!

Meanwhile, B.Moz cares not for being top point scorer of the Errol Wildcats, or the top try scoreer for the NRL, bitch just wanted to be captain of the Wildcats!

LOOK HOW UPSET HE IS! It seemed to us that J.Moz was kinda put off that B.Moz knew all about Errol but he didn’t. They also seemed quite please by the fact that they were nominated for the best legs in league, but slightly affronted that Uncy Wayne wasn’t nominated for Sexiest Coach.
 
In conclusion, footy we love you! We also kinda, maybe, probably, defssss love the people that play footy. Oh and Kiki and Sassy, we’ll intern for you anytime and we promise actual communication to the players next time, not just nervous giggles.

***********************

The girls were hilarious and adorable and we will have them intern with us again any time. We love you kittens!  Sassy and I will be writing our own post on the day, including VIDEO INTERVIEWS. Real ones! I know, I can’t believe they let us that close to the players either.

Is this the longest Errol post ever? Possibly. It should shut up you whingers that have been blog-begging for the past month anyway.

PS – MASSIVE thanks to the amazing David Taylor for hooking us up on Kangamaroooooos Day. DT, you are our new favourite person!

PPS -The Errol Awards are coming I swear to God.  We decided this year to leave them until after the season ended so we could stretch out the footy goodness as long as possible.

(photos from GettyImages)

Darlings we have been so busy! Have you been reading us on She Knows the Rules and 2DayFM? I hope so. And in the meantime all of a sudden it’s Grand Final time. We are overjoyed/heartbroken. As in … what do we do when it’s over? I’m already completely baffled about what to do this Saturday night with no Super Saturday on tv. Is this when you’re meant to go out? Like … with the young people? Cause God knows I refuse to start watching soccer. THAT WOULD JUST BE MASOCHISTIC. If that’s the alternative then I’m seriously considering taking up cross-stitch or a valium addiction or something equally thrilling and productive instead.

Sup Papua! (Pic. via News Limited / the Daily Telegraph)

So in the interest of delaying the end of footy season a lil bit longer, let’s talk about the Prime Ministers XIII. Or as Kiki keeps accidentally calling them, the PM’S XI. She cares not for the wingers! 11 players only!

We were all over this business the second it was announced, because apparently we have EXACTLY THE SAME TASTE as K.Rudd. Every time he picks this team he ends up putting in some of our fave boys who we could’ve sworn no one but us had noticed. It’s … serendipity, or something. We are totally psychically connected. Call me Kevin! We can shop together!

This year he picked out Terry ‘T.Camps’ Campese, beloved by everyone at the Errol office, especially after that time he threw a ball at Dean Young’s head. He also picked the frontrunner for Oh Errol’s Neatest Man in League award 2009: Robbie Farah.

HI ROBBIE! So neat! So efficient! So focussed! He’s like some kind of … Robbiebot. A Robbiebot in a Kangaroos training shirt. A Robbiebot … with visible nipples? Evidently they’re using the latex manufacturer to make the Robbiebot as they used to make the Batman outfits back when George Clooney played Batman.

HOLY PLASTIC NIPPLES BATMAN!

And the boys were too good for the Kumuls. They took out the game 42-18, which, to be honest, I’d be pretty damn happy with. The PNG boys are kinda badass. Apparently they’re also a bit prone to a spear tackle, and I can only assume they’re glad they didn’t injure anyone cause we Errol girls can be terrifying when someone messes with one of our Errol boyz.

Luckily, Dimples Dugan came home with his dimples in tact.

Just one teeny tiny problem. Um …. so while the game was going on, they kind of … well, this is awkward. How do you say this, exactly? PNG lost some prisoners. Happens all the time right? A few wardens go on strike, 54 inmates cut a hole in the fence, and all of a sudden they get away because the police are busy guarding a footy match. Whatever. COULD HAPPEN TO ANYONE. Prisoners really wanted to go to the game too, kk?

Everyone in this picture loves footy.

And after captaining the team last year, the awesome that is Nathan Hindmarsh was left out of the PM’s squad. Mainly, this is probably because he has to, you know, play a Grand Final. But something tells me he’s pretty happy to stay in Sydney and chill with his boys. Hindy be pimpinnn.

And yes, by ‘his boys’, I mean Matt Keating and Feleti Mateo. NO, NOT YOU LUKE BURT! YOU STAY OVER THERE IN THE CORNER ALONE. I DON’T CARE IF YOU HAVE A BOO BOO.

Plus it means Hindy gets to enjoy the rampant Parra fever that’s gripped Sydney at the moment.

THE HAYNE TRAIN WILL HAUNT MY DREAMS.
Pic. Justin Lloyd.

Don’t people love a bandwagon? If I was a little bit kinder, I might describe it the way the Herald Sun did:

Astounded by the rush of support from previously latent fans, Parramatta officials are still devising a plan to accommodate an expected throng of 20,000 partygoers should they complete a fairytale premiership.

CEO Paul Osborne is hoping to present the team to the faithful at Parramatta Stadium, which has seating for 22,000 and is capable of hosting thousands more on-field.

PREVIOUSLY LATENT FANS. What a great phrase for all those incredibly annoying people on facebook who haven’t uttered a WORD about footy all year now littering my feed with 85 updates on how they are sooooo happy Parra are in the finals. I’m glad you’re supporting league and all but YOUR STATUS UPDATES ARE ANNOYING. STOP IT IMMEDIATELY.

Pic. Gary Graham

Obviously this doesn’t apply if you are this guy, from the Daily Telegraph website, who has turned his Holden Commodore into a Parra Eels tribute. That is fucking amazing and he can do whatever he likes, even if that involves multiple annoying status updates.

Meanwhile down in Melbourne – as far as I can tell – the Storm threw an open training session so that Melbourne fans from far and wide could come and meet Billy Slater. That’s all that happened, right?

He’s like …. the people’s princess. He’s totally the Princess Di of footy. They love him! Even I have a weird fondness for Billy Slater and we all know that I hate everyone. What can I say? He won me over a) with his lovely skin and b) when everyone hated him for that brief period back in 2008. I am contrary like that.

Father Bob baptises Billy with holy water in a Gatorade bottle. Even God loves Billy Slater!

I can’t wait till Billy starts opening hospital cancer wards and arriving at Gala events in show-stopping one shouldered blue gowns.

Then, of course, there’s the other reason Hindy needed to stay in town: Grand Final breakfast. Also known as A Great Day for Sassy. I’ve already discussed how much I love seeing a footy player in a suit. I’ve said it before but it’s mesmerising. There’s something delightful about seeing someone look so uncomfortable … you know?

Exhibit A: buttons don’t usually go there, right?

Pic. Phil Hillyard

And this year Hindy made the whole thing even more enjoyable with the Nathan Hindmarsh comedy hour. (He’s available for birthdays/functions/corporate retreats if you’re wondering. Deposit non-refundable).

Pic. Phil Hillyard

According to Hindy:

“I think Haynesy wrote in Cosmopolitan magazine that his body is a blessing,” said Hindmarsh at the NRL grand final breakfast on Thursday.

“That is enough motivation for me to try harder on the field.”

And doesn’t Ben Smith love it? He’s an easy laugh, like us. Heart.

Meanwhile Dan Dan Mortimer was apparently writing during the brekkie, and now thanks to Friday’s Daily Telegraph, we know that it is. (Hint: it’s not, as I suspected, a note reading DO YOU WANT TO SKIP DOUBLE P.E. THIS AFTERNOON? with two little ticky-boxes marked ‘yes’ and ’no … cause I’M A LOSER’. 

But the Eels of 2009 looked as though they were headed for a Sunday afternoon barbecue as players joked and giggled their way through yesterday’s Grand Final Breakfast at Darling Harbour’s Convention Centre.

Nathan Hindmarsh pulled faces at the 650-strong audience and laughed about his loose shorts, Jarryd Hayne made gags about Hindmarsh, Fuifui Moimoi smiled as he hid from Fox Sports’ cameras, while Daniel Mortimer wrote a note, which Hindmarsh stole and gave to coach Daniel Anderson.

“Yes, you can have some water, Daniel,” Anderson said.

Don’t you love it? I love it.

In fact, the only person I can think of who loves GF breakfast more than I do is Fui Fui Moi Moi. Just look at him, so full of love!

Pic. Phil Hillyard

Apparently also not really able to tie a tie, but conveniently there’s no tie in a footy uniform, is there? Also BET FELETI TOTALLY LOVES DOING IT. Makes him feel needed.

Pic. Phil Hillyard

Which brings us to tips. You already know who we want to win (or you should know if you’ve been reading She Knows the Rules).

But we mean actual tips. Shit we’d put money on.

Kiki says the Storm. She says they’ve got too much finals experience, they’re soming off the motivation of a stinging lost in last year’s GF, and also, they are pure evil. Her reasoning is that you don’t get a happy ending two years in a row.

I say Parra. And I say this with full disclosure that I’m tipping with my heart, not my head. Parra are – like us – delightfully inconsistent. But like us, sometimes the battlers come out on top. I think that Parramatta are motivated and feeling blessed enough by the Gods and the NRL judiciary to go into the game with enough confidence to throw the ball around and really freak Melbourne out. And with a style of attack that’s only a few weeks old, I think Melbourne might crack.

Lozzy refuses to put in a tip and explanation because she just started a swishy new job yesterday and is “so compeltely fucking exhausted” from being nice to strangers/trying to find the bathroom/getting public transport/dealing with IT that she cannot even talk.

In the meantime, email me with enquiries for the Nathan Hindmarsh comedy hour. I take a 10% commission. Hindy’s totally cool with it.

JOYFUL NEWS, KITTENS! And not just the normal joyous they-wrote-a-post news. We have some sweet sweet loot to show off.

As you may or may not have realised, the Titans have discovered the wonder that is twitter, and hooked up the awesome tattooed Mat Rogers with his own twitter account. And can we just say … GOOD CHOICE TITANS. Because Mat the rat’s introduced a semi-regular shirtless guessing contest, where he posts headless torso shots of his teammates and internet creeps like us win sweet prizes.

Well … IT ARRIVED. In a special little tube with M. Rogers on the back. The thought of the Titans five eighth and his giant tattooed arms rocking up at a post office in the Goldy and demanding a protective tube for a signed Titans poster is straight up amazing. THANKS MAT!

We especially love that it’s been photoshopped so that the Titans are both on Gold Coast beach …. AND several kilometres away from the Gold Coast skyline with a stretch of sea in between. We just wish iPhones took detailed enough pics so that you could see Kevin Gordon’s amazing mullet in the bottom left corner. Maybe we’ll bring it to the errol Chrissie party so you can all luxuriate in it’s brilliance in person … yes? Deal.

In other news Friends star Matthew Perry Jason Taylor has officially been booted from the bunnies for the recent, um, I’m rapidly running out of euphemisms for off-field indiscretions. Let’s just call it … unpleasantness, the way Southerners do when they talk about the Civil War.

Apparently the decision to cut him loose was kinda tricky though, so they made it at a super-top-secret bigshot lockdown powwow at Russell Crowe’s central coast compound. Cause you can’t make these kinda decisions over a coffee at Bill & Toni’s … sometimes you just need a charter flight and an over night stay at Nana Glen.

Look at the boys arriving at the air strip! It’s so … Untouchables. Or President Clinton sitting down by the ping pong table at Camp David with Yasser Arafat and Ehud Barak trying to broker a Middle East peace deal over a game of singles.

Except instead of dealing with decades of ethnic and religious conflict, it’s about Jason Taylor doing (allegedly) drunk Kung Fu.

We also like to think that Rusty adds a bit more flair to the Crowe compound than they have at Camp David. Bet when you arrive at the Nana Glen gates you get a little gift bag, complete with a leather jacket with your name and team logo on the back and an awesome Rabbitohs baseball cap. There’s probably a rabbit-shaped helipad behind the stables, too. And when you get home you get a little note on customised red and green stationery that’s just signed ” …. RUSSELL.”

Just Russell! Like Cher.

While we’re on the topic of fierce bitches … SUP GEORGE ROSE!

We spotted our favourite dynamo with the Kangaroos training squad chilling at the pool the other day. To be completely honest, we thought that with the demise of Shane Warne, the days had long passed when a man carrying a little extra bulk could represent his nation at an elite level in his chosen sport. And we were DEVASTATED. As ladies who love nothing more than a sausage roll and/or a fatlete, we were pretty damn sad. We like to think if you don’t have to be buff to be a blogger, why do you have to be all Matt Cooper-ripped to play sport? Hmmmmm? BODY FASCISTS.

My friends, we were wrong. Gorgeous George (who, by the way, is totally a hit on Twitter. Almost everyone on our followers list is completely enamoured of him) proved us wrong. He’s a wrecking ball of a forward and he cares not for diets.

Look how relaxed he looks! Our man George is so ready for this tour bitches.

Dave Williams, on the other hand, looks like he’s at what Tim Sheens calls “wrist-cutting situation”. WHY SO SAD DAVEY?

All the other Kangaroos are busy leaping in the pool and bonding like fishes, but not Dave.

IS IT THE BEARD? That may just be the face of a man who is realising that without a giant beard, he’s not a wolfman (yeuch) anymore. He’s just. a. man. It may also be the face of a man who has frequent and intense State of Origin flashback nightmares. Who can say? Either way, Davey’s still our Errol patron saint and we don’t like seeing our mans sad.

STOP TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE HELL YOUR GOGGLES ARE AND COMFORT THE MAN, GIDLEY!

Apparently they don’t have swimming pools in Newcastle, cause Chris Houston looks fucking baffled, too. I can’t believe that there can be a city that has multiple Henny Penny outlets but whose residents can’t use swimming goggles … or remember to take their t shirts off before swimming. Oh, Newie.

Ricky Stuart’s coaching loss is also our eyes’ pervy gain cause the new Kangaroos coach is that dapper old man Tim Sheens. I’m not kidding. We love his swagger. One afternoon at Leichhardt he sauntered past in his rockin leather jacket and Kiki almost fell off her chair.

In conclusion: yes we have awesome taste.

In case you’re wondering: yes we WILL be at the double-header at Leichhardt this weekend … come say hi Mr. Sheens.

Kangaroo image credits: Getty Images

Wanna know what this post is about? IT’S ALL. ABOUT. GEORGE. ROSE.

Hi George! If you read this, feel free to stop by Errol HQ and we will give you Errol snuggles.

Ok, so there may be some other things later on. For instance, if you follow us on twitter you’ll know we all went to the Dragons game on Sunday at Kogarah, so I should probably write about Jarryd Hayne being a freak of nature, and what he has in common with Beyonce (hint: it’s not a big arse).

This photo needs more George Rose.

But mainly, it’s about George Rose. A few weeks ago the Errol girls hit up Brookvale Oval with our american besties Jay and Suellen to watch Manly thrash the Titans. They are huuuge NFL and college football fans, and all around great humans, so we thought they would enjoy an authentic Aussie league experience. … They totally did. Their faces basically lit up when Igor the Eagle came out to dance on the field and I reenacted told them the story of him beating down a heckler who invaded the field. Go Igor go! Bet you don’t get that in college football, hmmmm?

But the best thing about our trip to the Northern beaches was realising that everyone in the whole of Manly loves George Rose as much as we do.

God those bitches have good taste. And it’s not them. Know who agrees? The Aussie selectors.

Big Georgie Rose is in the training sqaud for the next Kangaroos tour of Europe.

And okay, maybe he’s not the most ripped man in the NRL … but what’s wrong with that? We’ve already got one Hot Bitch Cooper, right? Down with body fascism! Bottom line is everyone knows Georgie’s a dynamo. As Homer Simpson would say, George Rose you are a BIG FAT DYNAMO.

(Just quietly, that’s what Kiki calls me. Just one of the many reasons why George and I should be besties).

Meanwhile, why we were drawing up our list of Reasonz We Luv George, there were semi-finals happening. Melbourne demolished a flat Manly, the Dogs took out the Knights, and up in Queensland there was one of the most amazing games of semis footy in aaages.

Carty does not agree with that assessment.

There was Broncos magic, a massive Titans comeback, and John Cartwright barely managed not to bust out of his shirt and tie with rage like the Hulk, or (thankfully) have a stroke. WELU CARTY! PLEASE DON’T DIE BEFORE WE GIVE YOU YOUR 2009 ERROL AWARD!

Turns out Carty did verbally smack a bitch down at halftime … and get fined $10,000.00. I just hope it was as hilarious as Scotty Prince’s post-game interviews. No one is a better pissed off captain that Scott Prince. NO ONE.

Pic. Richard Gosling

Remember last year, when he accused the ref of having his Wests Tigers undies on?

Or “… you sent off their dumb forward and our smart hooker!”

Well on Sunday he stuck the boot into Darren Lockyer for milking a penalty on the field: ”Have they given out awards for the Logies this year?”

Oh, Scotty.

And on Sunday afternoon at Kogarah, Jarryd-with-a-Y Hayne decided to show all the haters why he won the Dally M medal. Kittens, this is why:

FREAK. HE IS A FREAK. I mean obviously there were other reasons. Jamie Soward just wasn’t Jamie Soward. I dunno who was kicking out there, but it wasn’t our usual Tiny Dancer. The touchies filled me with rage, and the Dragons’ fifth tackle options were …. let’s just say they reminded me of the Roosters. And that’s not a good thing. THERE ARE ONLY SO MANY TIMES YOU CAN KICK THE SAME BOMB.

But not all the awesome Dragons fans could stop Jarryd-with-a-Y and his ridiculous form. Now that he’s found God, bitch is on fire.  I mean, I have no idea what kind of God he’s found, but apparently he was rocking a giant set of wooden rosary beads in the locker room, so I’m gonna go with Catholic.

Even Ray Warren sounds biblical in the commentary from the game. “Look at this in delight! Look at this in wonderment!” That’s a quote straight from the gospel of Rabs.

And thanks to the hooked-up Jessica Halloran we found out that Jarryd-with-a-Y has “an on-field alter ego.”

Seriously. JUST LIKE BEYONCE.

And if Ms Halloran’s dictaphone hadn’t died, I’m pretty sure he would have kept going and told us all exactly what Beyonce said when she revealed she has an alter ego.

“I turn into Sasha. I wouldn’t like Sasha if I met her … she’s too aggressive, too strong, too sassy, too sexy! I’m not like her in real life at all. I’m not flirtatious and super-confident and fearless like her.”

Jarryd Hayne is …. SASHA FIERCE.