live from space: the Dally M recap

September 28th, 2015

Would you believe we haven’t recapped the Dally M awards since 2009? Damn that’s a long time! Maybe it’s because we subconsciously thought nothing could ever get better than Jarryd Hayne almost being hit by a glitter cannon and David Gallop being MIA in the bathroom when he was meant to be on stage.

Either way, we back!

This year, if you’re watching on TV, the event starts with the Matty Johns Show, and Jaime Rogers still tells you the TAB odds, but she does it in a formal gown because she is nothing if not a go-getter. Remember that time she wore a cardboard headgear?

The NRL CEO Dave Smith gives a speech that involves him starting a clap from ON STAGE which is seriously ballsy and now we kind of associate him in our minds with the dad from strictly ballroom, so there’s that.

All the players are obviously trying really hard to look Serious and Responsible while they listen to the boss, except Michael Jennings who is laughing uncontrollably at something. NEVER CHANGE JENKO!

Obviously we all know that the North Queensland Cowboys couldn’t make it on the night, so Jonathan Thurston appears live on a video screen from North Queensland. It’s hard to explain exactly what haircut JT is rocking … so let’s just say he looks 50% like Jon Snow and 50% like a schoolkid who just had his fringe brushed to the side by his year four teacher with a regulation black plastic lice-preventing comb.

JT also wins the Captain of the Year award with Matt Scott which means back to the live cross TV screen! Due to the magic of live TV delays we get to watch JT and Matt Scott stand like this for a solid 300 seconds.


Nawww. Aren’t they adorable? Space friends!

Seriously, you can’t imagine how long this delay feels. Go into the kitchen and boil your kettle and imagine that the whole time you’re doing that the two captains of a grand final side are just standing there like … I don’t know what to do with my hands.

It’s possible that Thurston and Scott are literally live crossing to us from space. And space is filled with black curtains and solar-powered outdoor fairy lights from aisle 15 at Bunnings. Also, in space, they are having a very awkward prom tonight and these two took each other as dates.

The Beav – who we totally, unashamedly love – presents an award with Daly Cherry-Evans and if our maths is right, they could basically be father and son. We are SO old. So very old.

In fashion news from the Dally Ms, Jamie Soward’s sleeves are so BIG. Is this a young people’s fashion trend we are unaware of? Aaron Woods is wearing the shiny headband that is his accessory of choice for formal events. You will be unsurprised to know that we find him delightful. Woodsy, let’s hang out, yeah? Bring your dog!


Enjoying the high quality photos we took of the TV? You’re welcome, Errolers!

At this point during the Dally Ms you probably heard Kiki screaming like she was meeting Zac Efron which is because Malcolm Turnbull is there and on stage and wearing a tuxedo. ZOMG IT’S BAE!

She literally tweeted the word “bae”. She has lost her mind.

In a twist that makes us think the music producer at this thing is an Abbott fan, Turnbull has to walk up on stage to music that sounds like he’s Darth Vader. He throws shade at the Cowboys for being 99% made up of former Roosters and seriously, it’s epic. That bitchface tho.

Tessa James presents an award with Shane Watson and legitimately makes a joke about her husband Nate Myles with the punchline “we would’t want his head to get any bigger.” TESSA WE ADORE YOU. Come and eat cheese with us and tell us jokes anytime you elfin queen.

Did we mention that Wayne “Uncle Wayne” Bennett is the coach of the year AND HE’S WEARING A POLKA DOT BOW TIE? What a time to be alive.

As Nathan Hindmarsh gets ready to present the Ken Stephen Medal, the MC Tony Squires tells him “it’s good to hold onto your bitterness”, in which case Tony, mate, you would LOVE Sassy.

Her book of feuds is probably longer than Russell Crowe’s. Right now she is literally adding a new page to it to put Sylvia Jeffreys in purely because she wore a maroon dress to the Dally Ms and walked up on stage and said “I dressed like a winner”. What kind of Queensland demon are you, Sylvia?

Do you know what always puts us back in a good mood? Norm Provan and Arthur Summons. We feel 100% certain that on the weekends Arthur wears long socks and shorts and hoses the nature strip outside his house while he listens to the ponies on a portable radio.

Norm, he’s probably too busy telling people at the shops how young people today have no manners with their ripped trousers and iPods.

old mates

Remember that time they got up on stage at the Dally Ms and literally told the audience they’re not a couple? Well this year tops that. Norm patted Arthur on the head. Then Arthur said the words “WHAT A GREAT FOURSOME”.

Proving that he is basically the most likeable human being on the planet, Johnathan Thurston wins the Provan Summons Medal, and we all watch a tribute to the late Mike Gibson which kind of would be more poignant if it didn’t include a joke about rectal examinations.

Gibbo you were our childhoods, bum jokes included. Never change, Australia.

When it comes to the Under 20s awards, all the photos are so incredibly unflattering. We seriously think the NRL in general should employ an under 20s photo editor to select and appropriately photoshop all photos of the small children before publication because do you know who looks good in photos? NOT TEENS.

We’re just lucky we’re old enough to literally burn all the photos of us from before we turned 20 and since our childhood was in the 90s when we all churned our own butter and no one had the internet that means no one will ever see us wearing denim capri pants and platform slides.

Also, we have no idea who this kid is who wins the under 20s award. So here is a photo of basically what he looks like to us.


FYI there is also an award at the Dally Ms that claims to be about journalism and headlines but is actually about torturing Parramatta fans for about 5 minutes with footage of their team losing to about 10 other teams in various horrifying ways. We weep for you in this moment, Eels fans. We weep for you. Lucky there’s so much booze on those tables at the Star.

Laura Geitz from the Australian diamonds – or as Kiki calls them, the Gumtrees – presents the award for female player of the year. Between Sterlo, who is a little Aussie treasure, and Laura who is like a beautiful musk stick, and ladies doing so well at sports WE ARE OVERWHELMED.

Jenni-Sue you are a weapon and we salute you.

The last part of the night is the Dally M team of the year, you know when they call them up position by position? and obviously Roger Tuivasa-Sheck is fullback of the year, and then Semi Radradra is winger of the year and it’s the cutest thing ever because Semi!

We legitimately know a baby whose first word was “Radradra”. We shit you not. That baby’s middle name is also Danger, so he’s pretty much the greatest human to ever live.

Except then James Roberts is centre of the year and we want to cry because you can’t even imagine how big a deal that is and we’re SO proud and we don’t even care that he has no tie and his real big collar makes him look like a disco dance instructor parents would tell their daughters to stay away from at in 1979.

In North Queensland, or as we like to call it, another galaxy, Thurston is the Dally M player of the year. About 6 other Cowboys players appear from nowhere to give him awkward space hugs, and JT tells the crowd “I can’t explain what this means … “

What? To be standing here in space? Well for one thing it means Queenslanders are waaay more sophisticated than we thought if those bitches can get y’all into orbit.

He goes for kind of a full on pash with his wife, like maybe more a slightly tipsy wedding pash than an awards pash, but hey who are we to judge? If you went to jail for inappropriate pashing this blog would be 99% about making wine in your cellblock toilet.

Happy pashing JT! And never change, rugby league.

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Errol does Origin … presenting our winners!

July 16th, 2013

The time has come darling! We have found our amazing, inspiring, dedicated, unhinged, and willing winners to come and hang out on Wednesday night in the glorious surrounds of ANZ Stadium and watch the game where NSW take back Origin.


Yep, we have found three brave lucky winners to come enjoy the Errol-suite with us. It was meant to be two, but y’all are just too cute to narrow it down!

So please welcome our three Errol legends!

The creator of this (eerily accurate) Errol artwork, Adam:


The best bit is that tiny, tiny QUEENSLAND SUCKS in the bottom corner. Adam, you know us so well.

Next up, the gorgeous and LIMBER Olivia:


And lastly, the incredible human who made us a RAP VIDEO IN NEWCASTLE. Oh man, is there anything more errol? We love regional Australia, ridiculous beanies, and making spectacles of ourselves in public. It’s possible we are soulmates.

Congratulations Violet!

So now the basics are pretty simple – you three legends get to come to ANZ Stadium with us, head up to the Errol Suite and watch the mighty Blues win stuff while you drink champas, eat amazing food and generally live like kings.

But life is also complicated, so there are a couple very important rules our winners need to remember.

1. THE MORE THE MERRIER! You are all invited with a plus one. So bring a pal, and get ready to make friends. 

2. NO QUEENSLANDERS ALLOWED. We warn you now, you cheer for Queensland, we may go Trent Merrin on y’all. And we all know there is no sin bin in the Errol suite. 

3. NO THONGS. There are two times in life when we are willing to make the sacrifice of NOT wearing our havaianas in public and wearing Proper Shoes instead. One of these times in ANZAC Day. The other is when ANZ Stadium gives you the greatest gift of all … a Suite to watch Origin in. Seriously. Wear shoes. Sassy has feet like canoes so unless you’re Sideshow Bob you can’t borrow hers.

4. Last – and most importantly – WHAT HAPPENS IN THE ERROL SUITE … GOES ON THE ERROL TWITTER. We expect gropes and photos. Don’t disappoint us. When we get disappointed, we get punchy.

See you tomorrow night, lovers!

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Errol gets classy for Origin … with a little help.

July 9th, 2013



We are having an Origin shindig thanks to lovely folks at ANZ Stadium … and we want to meet you!

Well, some of you, anyway.

Here’s the deal:

Because they are insane generous, the good people at ANZ Stadium have decided that the best way to celebrate Origin 3 – ONE IN A ROW! WOO! – is by putting on an Oh Errol mini-party in the corporate area of the Stadium.


It’s almost as if they don’t mind that we are probably going to drink all the good champas and yell at Queenslanders. Is karate-chopping allowed in the corporate area? We’re asking for a friend.

And the best bit is that TWO lucky Errol readers/fans/associates/sympathisers will be in there with us. Yep, inside in the toasty warmth drinking drinks, eating food, high-rolling, probably wearing furs and such.  It’ll be like we’re living the Ignition film clip.

Or for the visual learners out there: kinda like this.

Whoever wins gets to come on in, live it up, meet us (is that a positive or a negative?) and hang out with some of our very favourite footy players.

Even better, the two awesome winners get to bring a friend each.


Here’s what to do to win a spot in the Errol-suite for Origin 3. Aka THE NIGHT WE TAKE BACK THE SHIELD. aka ONE IN A ROW BABY!*

TO BE A PART OF THE ERROL SUITE: Just tweet @oherrol and @ANZStadium a picture or video that shows your dedication to the Blues … with an Errol twist. If you are a Queenslander, and you want to enter – YOU STILL HAVE TO BACK THE BLUES. No excuses!


We’re thinking something like … dancing in a Blues jersey and hotpants to the aussie Crawl classic “Oh Errol.”

Inventing the first ever VB-based Oh Errol cocktail.

Growing a pencil moustache and photographing yourself in a Blues jersey and Robin Hood tights.

Dressing your cattledog in blue sequins.

These are just suggestions, we’re sure you can come up with something even more ridiculous and hilarious. DO YOUR BEST DARLINGS!

We can’t wait to see your awesome entries and eat and drink with y’all xx

* Please send an email if you want a ‘1 in a row’ T shirt. We may pre-order them from China. We are v entrepreneurial.

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one for the ladies

June 19th, 2012

We just watched the Women in League TVC made by the NRL and it’s a bit beautiful, don’t you think?

Beautifully written, beautifully made and a beautiful example of how much people can give to something they love, like their kids, or plain old footy, without being paid big bucks or lavished with attention.

It also says to girls and young women something you’d kinda hope to say to every kid: that what you do with your time is valuable. That even if it doesn’t feel like people care, hard work is its own reward. That sooner or later, the world will notice. That you should and can do whatever you choose to do, even if it doesn’t seem glamorous or impressive.

But for girls, that’s where it gets a bit tricky. If you get what you want, and if what you want is a chance to make a living in rugby league, then all of a sudden there’s a whole lot of can’t in your life.

Can’t buy shoes with peep-toes anymore cause people with spikes are running in the vicinity.
Can’t quite manage to find a unisex polo shirt that fits.
Can’t travel with the team cause there’s no-one to room with.
Can’t pee for the next twenty minutes cause there are naked dudes in there changing.
Can’t go into the sheds with the other journos and interview players because the stadium security guard doesn’t think ladies belong there.
Can’t guarantee I won’t crack it if another person asks me where I “picked up” my workmates when they see us in a pub.
Can’t get drawn into an argument when people say the team’s playing “like fucking girls!”
Can’t remember the last time you got your hair-colour done.
Can’t be bothered answering that question in the press box cause you always just ask my male colleague afterwards anyway.

But the truth is … can’t is not unusual. You can’t find an easy job in footy, no matter how hard you look and no matter what you’re hiding under your team-issue trackies. For most, a full-time job means seven days a week, because footy waits for no man (or woman). It means arriving at 8am to start supervising preparations for a 7.30pm kick-off. It means staying until 1am to film and upload press conferences and interviews. It means coming into the office at 5am to read through all the emails from fans with suggestions for changes to the playing roster: “dear sir, thank you for your email …”

I’ve met the ladies and men who do all those jobs.

For the guys who wear jerseys, it means pushing your body to its limits, a public private life, and the chance that living your dream will leave you in pain for the rest of your life.

So why would you bother? At least the players get fame for a little while, glory if they’re lucky, and riches if they sign up with a media network once they retire.

Everyone else just gets a polo shirt and a party pie on game day.

The real question is how could you NOT bother?

For every johnny anonymous who calls you a slut, there are ten men with the kind of crows feet that come from watching a footy team train every morning who will sit down and have a beer with you and talk about the game. For a girl who’s been more used to being told she doesn’t understand offside and marker defence, that feels like a gold medal.


Or a premiership-winning captain who’ll stick his head in and tell you that you look like a million bucks. Probably because you wore lipstick that day. Fancy!

Best of all, there’s the hug that comes after you win a game you were written-off in and you could swear every one of your 8pm rage-outs in the office actually helped it happen.

There is nothing like it. It’s the closest you can ever hope to get to the game you love. Toilets with no hand soap in them don’t mean much in comparison.

Sure, maybe because of your ladyparts … you could never have achieved it in an NRL jersey. But you got the next best thing.

And that’s the answer to the final question: why Women in League round?

Because, like men who want to become nurses, or women who want to fix cars, women who make a living in rugby league do it hard. They take second-best to get there from people who don’t think chicks belong anywhere near a footy field, or people who simply think they’re strange.

Sometimes, they take second-best because they think there will never be a chance for them to run out in a women’s rugby league competition for anything more than a bag of peanuts and a few heckles.

And outside the NRL, they do it for love not money. They do it to try and make sure that their own kids can have everything they want, including a chance to put on their size small junior socks and play footy on the weekend.

So why not have a week to stop and say to all the women in league: good job, ladies … and sorry about the polo shirts.

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we can’t help it if we’re popular: a defence of rugby league

January 6th, 2012

People! We have shocking and alarming news. Please, sit. Maybe grab a hanky and hold it to your mouth with a fluttery hand.

Paul Pottinger thinks our beloved rugby league is an atrocity.

First of all, atrocity is not a word to be thrown around lightly, young man. (Old man? Middle-aged man? Who knows. We care not for proper research. Would much prefer to eat crisps and watch cricket).

‘Atrocity’ is Significant. It should be saved for situations where it is warranted, like war crimes, Kardashians and Queensland winning a seventh Origin.

Mysterious-aged-Paul tells us no footy means none of the:

“… stifling tedium of blanket coverage, the grinding banality of match commentary, the sub-trivial parish pump gossip and news of yet another player’s off-field atrocity.”

“The featureless white noise of the mate-against-mate, meathead-against-meathead cavalcade is comfortably distant; just a grim prospect. Like root canal treatment.”

Pretty sure as soon as Robbie Farah comes home from the cricket and Ben Te’o finishes his law readings for the day they will both be OUTRAGED at being called meatheads, Paolo.

(Can we call you Paolo? We think it makes you sound more festive.)

Apparently Paolo has a few gripes with footy.

Number one is that a non-Yank once missed his flight and then played for the Tomahawks.

You know who’s missed a flight and isn’t mentioned in this article? EVERYONE WE KNOW.

You know who has a particularly loose grasp on the concept of international allegiance and isn’t mentioned in this article? EVERYONE IN ENGLISH CRICKET.

It’s probably not even worth pointing out that calling our special brand of footy “a loud provincial oaf let loose upon the big city – obnoxious, flatulent and prone to publicly displaying its genitals” is pretty damn ironic. It’s actually the verbal equivalent of a giant blimp named “the Irony” that flies around in the airspace above rural Victoria filled with pantsless players from St Kilda.

SEE WHAT WE DID THERE? Almost as good as when we put a CRL logo on an orange.

Number two is that we have tackles, and not proper ye olde rucks. This is ‘manufactured’. As opposed to say, NFL. Or penalty goals. Or anything else that happens due to rules and not the natural flow of a bunch of guys holding a ball.

Oh honey, we are sensing a pattern. Despite being pretty much dudes in dresses, we do occasionally do girly things.

We have spent countless hours with our girls getting drunk, eating cheese and analysing why boys do the things they do.

Why does he like her? Why didn’t he call? What does this text mean? HE WROTE AN X AT THE END THAT MEANS HE LOVES ME RIGHT? Yeah, we’re neurotic and stereotypical. We admit it.

But all that experience is why we were able to come up with some special ladylike insight into Paolo’s opinion piece.

He doesn’t really hate league cause of it’s American-football-style corporate sponsorship, the money it – like AFL – gets from booze companies, its rules, how muscly its players are, or the fact that, like Rugby union, there are only four countries with a proper hope in hell of winning each World Cup.

Nope, like he says, he doesn’t dislike it at all.

What he really hates is that other people adore it. It’s just like when your ex-boyfriend gets his next girlfriend. You don’t actually hate this girl, even if she the lady equivalent of rugby league. You don’t hate her cause she’s brassy or loud, hates wearing pants, loves smashing too many cans, tells the same stories or says inappropriate things. Not gonna lie, that was just a description of our worst qualities.

You feel like ya hate her cause he likes her more than you. Just like Paolo hates rugby league, and not other sports with the same sponsors or scandals. Paolo hates that the Sydney papers and his neighbours down the street like it more than … whatever he follows. For some reason it feels like it’s probably rugby union as well as MMA. And even though MMA is objectively AWESOME, the whole thing is still better summed up with a different four-letter word: envy.

Confession: we do all care to a creepy degree. WE JUST REALLY LOVE FOOTY. Why else would we give a shit that Ben Hannant had swine flu? Or that Brett White enjoys Bonsai as a hobby? Dude’s right to be envious of how much passion there is for league, on and off the field. It’s why we like punch-ons. It’s proof they’re feeling as angry as we are.

Our saints are like B.Moz, the NSW winger with the broken leg who leaps onto it anyway. Our holy day is when we stop and remember John Sattler’s broken jaw.

And despite what ya might think, Paolo, that passion is why footy is on your back pages eight months a year, not the fact that the sport continued through WWI. Sometimes players punch on, sometimes they get outed on TV for having the runs, sometimes TVs fall apart and Billy Idol happens, but we love our league anyway.

How did the Johnny Come Comparatively Lately code wrest popularity from its parent? By inherent superiority? Crowd-pleasingly open play? Or the fact that for five seasons it was the only game in town?

The NSW and Queensland rugby unions suspended senior competition during World War I. Rugby league did not. When Balmain played Glebe in the 1915 grand final, young men were being sacrificed at Gallipoli. The Queensland Rugby Union was unable to reform until 1929.

By no means do I impugn those who played on or to suggest that many thousands have not worn both khaki and club colours. But it does strike me as a slightly anomalous note when the code wraps itself in the flag and has the Last Post played at its Anzac Day Test.

There are only three paragraphs in your article that make us angry, and there they are! As entertaining as it might be to think league joyfully embraced World War as an opportunity to play more games, grow their brand and conquer the Australian market while the soldier’s backs were turned … BITCH PLEASE.

Yes, and they probably also went back to the sheds afterwards and laughed it up at how funny it was that their friends and countrymen were dying, too, huh?

If you wanna know more about all the OTHER sports that played on through the war, RL1908 can tell you all about ’em.

And if you wanna read a much more smarterer and more eloquent guy explaining why he loves rugby league despite/because of its violence, you should read Murderous Exhibitions by Michael Winkler. It’s AMAZING.

In the meantime, we’re gonna drink some industrial beer and count down to round one, and let Gretchen Weiners sum this whole thing up in one easy sentence:

Love and kisses,
Kiki and Sassy

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Queensland: 6 in a row, to match their toes

July 7th, 2011

Congratulations Queensland! You have 6 Origin victories in a row, all neatly lined up to match your 6 toes. And we don’t want to be sore losers, so we’ve graced Errol with the new Queensland state flag (see above). See! We are totally down with good sportsmanship and giving credit when it’s due.

As for the game, well … it happened. And the world is still turning. Not gonna lie though, that shit hurt. This arvo a bloke came into Kiki’s workplace brazenly wearing a maroon scarf. After she launched a tirade of abuse at him he very nervously squeaked ‘sorry bro, I’m from New Zealand … I didn’t even think! It’s just cold today hey….’

Sorry mate. Speaking of New Zealanders in maroon scarves, what in the hell was Sonny Bill Feelings doing on the sidelines giving his expert commentary? WHY? Why do Channel 9 constantly give air time to other sports during rugby league programming? That shit has to end.

More importantly, why was SBW wearing a maroon scarf? Oh that’s right, coz he’s a hateful turncoat with no soul who sneaks away in the middle of the night because he doesn’t want tell his team mates he’s leaving. YEH WE HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN THAT SONNY BILL. Remember when you played for NSW Schoolboys SBW?

Just imagine us doing this while we type. It is 65% accurate.

And we need to talk about that Darren Lockyer ‘tribute’. It’s taken us almost a whole day to digest that. That was by far the most upsetting thing we’ve ever seen. And we used to be regulars at a certain 24-hour establishment in Taylor Square that shall remain nameless so we have seen THINGS. Trust this.

We would find the video on You Tube and dissect it piece by piece but our constitutions are too delicate to be put through that. We love you guys and all, but not that much.

The bottom line is we love a montage. Absolute BANDITS for one. The music, the slow-mo, the hazy after-effects. Aaaah, bliss! But watching close-ups of Darren Lockyer’s black eye and the town of Roma set to a tinkly piano tune stolen from a serial killer re-enactment on the Crime Investigation channel is not enjoyable.

In other circumstances, we would probably just hate Lockyer like we hate all Queenslanders: when they wear maroon / when they get Queensland tattoos / for three nights a year.

But every time people from North of the Tweed tell us Darren Lockyer is a legend, a Prince, or a hero, it annoys the hell out of us.

So watching creepy video packages about Darren Lockyer’s home town is WORSE THAN THE WORST.  How dare you try and make us Feel Feelings about a man with five Origin series wins in a row!

Yesterday Kiki accidentally saw photos on the interwebz of a smashed up dead body after a car accident. There was visible brain matter. That was less upsetting than the Lockyer tribute.

Remember when Mufasa gets trampled alive after saving Simba in the Lion King? That is less upsetting than the Lockyer tribute.

One time we watched a documentary on Foxtel about people who fall in love with, and have sex with, inaminate objects. One particularly memorable scene shows a lady making out with a rollercoaster.

That is less upsetting than the Lockyer tribute.

See where we’re going with this? Darren Lockyer may be a ‘legend’, and he’s had a fantastic career, but he is not OUR legend. Just like how John Howard was never our Prime Minister. Doesn’t matter how many montages we’re forced to watch, or live crosses to his brain (seriously …) or tweets of OMGZ U GUYZ HOW CAN U NOT RESPECT LOCKYER!!111!…..we just don’t get it. And we will never will.

More importantly, Queensland, you may have Lockyer but you will never be this adorable. Hah!

Mainly this is because, for every Queenslander who is normal and functional, there is a Queenslander – a FEMALE Queenslander – who pees on their seat. At Suncorp Stadium. While Lockyer is giving his speech. And y’all wonder why we make fun of you … seriously.


We know that last night’s game wasn’t NSW’s finest moment. As in … we know our boys can do better than this. They HAVE done better than this. Like Parramatta smashing the Bulldogs in the 2009 finals series, we peaked a game too early.

But if the Blues played 95% in game two, we’d call this 80. Don’t ya think? Eighty percent execution, maybe due to nerves. There were still some barnstorming Aku Uate runs, some delightful footwork from Jamie Soward when he carried instead of kicked, and incredible defence. But there were also a lot of kicks straight into Maroons players arms, kicks to places kicks should not go, a few dumb penalties, and that time Minichiello tripped over.

We know Birdy … we feel the same.

It’s possible that Ronnie Palmer also accidentally set the Gallen-bot to just ‘main’ instead of ‘DECIMATE’ which is what he did in game two.

Just because he’s a machine doesn’t mean he can’t feel.

But in the next column over, we give the Blues 100% for heart. Mick Ennis showed so much heart that he broke his sternum.

At times they were majestic to watch. Like when Luke Lewis wove his bogan mojo and the Blues charged through a mess of sprawling Maroons to score our first try.

What can we say except … footyboner.

We is PROUD.

And to prove that we do have hearts, we’ll admit that Sassy was legitimately distressed when Johnathon Thurston was injured. (Kiki had no opinion because she had been banished to her room)

We love watching him laugh his dopey laugh, even when it’s because he’s come back on field in a wheelchair and is completely off his face from the pain medication he’s sucking down on.

Pssst, pass the green whistle, would ya, JT? NSW NEEDS IT TOOOOO.

The bottom line though, is this. We aren’t broken yet. You won’t catch us telling anyone Origin is dead.

Queensland, you’ve won 6 in a row. You may win 7 or even 10 in a row. But know this: it will never be easy. We will fight you for every metre. You will have to earn every inch, every blade of grass.

You will bleed. We will hit you … hard. Bones will break and muscles will tear and we will be there every single year to hurt you again and again and again. No victory will be effortless.

Know this too: we hate you. We hate your maroon jerseys, your smugness and your blatant player stealing. We hate your cheap shots, the bizarre Lockyer worship and your complete lack of irony.

You may dominate on the scoreboard but despite your self mythologizing fantasies, you will never dominate in heart. Don’t you ever get comfortable, because we will never submit.


Game pics. Getty Images

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tick tock, tick tock

June 29th, 2011

Time has been ticking away in so many senses lately. So much work at our regular day-jobs! So many days since we posted! So few days till the Origin III decider!

So until we get twenty minutes to ourselves to sip one of intern John-John’s margaritas and bash out something new, here’s a photo of Beau Scott looking like a hilarious old man:

More here

Or if you really can’t bear to be without us for one more day, why don’t you run out and grab the latest issue of Shop til you Drop (with Samantha Harris on the cover!) for some words of wisdom from Sassy:

And to make sure you know when we update, remember you can add us to your google reader or any other RSS-contraption (the RSS is in the left hand column) OR you can add us on bloglovin:

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

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origin II: rise of the machine … and the #boganboner

June 16th, 2011

Er, well, this is a little awkward. Want to know who won our Cattledog Minutes comp for State of Origin II? Um … no one. The biff was absent. The closest we got to a melee was Michael Ennis opening his mouth and screaming YEAAAAAH like a deranged Eddie Munster into Sam Thaiday’s face. And did we enjoy it? Fuck yes!

We loved it almost as much as this moment:

When Nathan Hindmarsh accidentally walked through shot while Jebediah put on the pre-game entertainment. Oh Hindy, we love you more than life. Especially for tweeting the evidence, because Kiki missed it during the game. There are many things that Would Only Happen In Rugby League. The swine flu outbreak of 2009, brawls in a charity match to raise money for flood victims, heads being stapled up on the sideline…and of course, the moment above. LOVE YA RUGBY LEAGUE!

But back to Ennis: does it count as Cattledog? Sadly, no.

So instead, we’re saving this game’s prize, and next game there will be TWO prizes. One for the closest Queenslander and one for the closest Blue. We are all about fairness.

Luckily, in place of a a biff, we had 80 full minutes of New South Wales glory. Let’s break it down, shall we?


Oh, Anthony Minichiello, how we missed you! No one teaches children how to count like you do. If we ever needed proof that old men still got it, Mini brought it. Under the high ball? Safe as houses! He probably has many of them, too, as investment properties, because he’s old. Seriously, he’s in his thirties. That’s like being 80 in regular person years, and we all know old people love real estate. Plus he had to do something with all that spare time while he recuperated from injury.

Mini’s catch of the high ball in-goal was a thing of beauty, and seeing him sail over for a try brought a tear to Sassy’s eye. He’s a recycled fullback but he’s as good as new. Plus, he matches beautifully with our recycled coach, Ricky Stuart, recycled centre, Mark Gasnier, and shiny recycled utility book-ends Kurt Gidley and Luke Lewis.

One of our favourite hobbies is saying Kurt Gidley ruins things. Because, well, he often does. Not necessarily through incompetence or malice, but usually, just by being where he’s asked to be.

Gidley can ruin an Origin game out on the field the same way a whale ruins a picnic table … just by being on it.

Gidley ruins Origin the way a fly ruins a bowl of soup. Or a bird poo ruins a perfectly clean car. It’s all about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And by wrong place, we mean ‘captaining from the bench’, or ‘NSW fullback’. Sure it’s not his fault, but when the bird’s not around, you get angry at the poo. You know?

Know where he doesn’t ruin things? PLAYING INTERCHANGE DUMMY HALF.

Seeing Gidley come off the bench last night was like seeing a whale leap back into the ocean.


He was quick with the ball from the ruck, his off-loads were sneaky and plentiful. It’s not a coincidence that when he came on the NSW attack lifted in intensity. We were approx. 62% more dangerous. It’s just science.

What can a girl say except #BOGANBONER?

And if Free Gidley was responsible for 18% of that made up statistic, our man Luke Lewis was the rest. What a spectacular human. When Josh ‘Hot Bogan’ Dugan was felled by injury we were worried our bogan quota would go unfilled but thankfully for NSW, Luke Lewis came roaring into the side. AND HOW! In years to come, aliens will try and figure out our culture by watching video of him looming from the right of frame, powering like a cannon ball to slam into Cooper Cronk (lucky for Fierce Bitch Cooper he is partly adamantium and therefore uncrushable) and save a Maroons try.

Sassy told Twitter last night that she was starting to have the kind of thoughts about Luke Lewis  that lead to dreams of getting married in Penrith and serving home brew at the reception, and after a night to think about it Kiki’s totally on board too. How can we resist that frosty-haired spunk? LUKE. CALL US YOU HOT ANGRY BOGAN.

Whats that? How can you guys have a crush on a man who proudly sports blonde foils in the year 2011? Pleaaaaase. Everyone knows Australian sporting power prowess has a direct connection to hair bleach and streaking caps. See below.

Now all of you kneel and pay homage to the lord of the #boganboner. Thanks.


Oh good lord, Will Hopoate. What are you doing to us, boy? Playing with so much confidence, scoring a try in the corner like a less-Maroon and less-hateful Justin Hodges, deciding to leave us for two years, LOOKING LIKE THAT. If having dirty thoughts about a 19 year old Mormon is wrong, we don’t wanna be right. Don’t lie, you all did too. Even the straight men.

As much as we respect his choice to go on his mission and spend two years testing young ladies’ ability to concentrate on things other than staring at Hoppa, we can’t wait for him to come back into the loving arms of NSW. Ho.Ju you are a revelation, to the fans AND to newspaper sub-editors who get to make up witty ‘mission’ headlines about you. Also, we hope you enjoyed the slightly smuttier ‘missonary’ jokes we made on Twitter during the game.

At first we were mourning the loss of such a beautiful caramel man to religion, then Errol bestie and generally awesome human, Bec, suggested that we should take advantage of his Mormonism and…wait for it….MARRY HIM! This is the best idea we’ve ever heard and have so far recruited Errol friendz Kaz and Anna to be our sister wives. We love big hair and pastel colours and communal kitchens. This can’t go wrong!

The Hopoate sister wives agree, their husband’s eyelashes really are spectacular.

And come on down, NSW’s new starting five-eighth!

Jamie Soward has long been an Errol fave. We didn’t come late to the party. We are always ahead of the pack, some may call us innovators, cultural zeitgeists and visionaries…. and we have to agree. Much like Uncle Wayne, we’ve always believed in Sowie’s ability. Unlike Uncle Wayne, we say things like ‘fuck all y’all haterz’ when he plays his heart out and proves bitches everywhere wrong.

We honestly don’t understand the Sowie hate. He is adorable. A bossy little bitch who kicks like an angel and yells at us for running in a water park (long story). The biggest criticism he cops is that he doesn’t run at the line enough. Or that when the game is on the line he doesn’t make the big plays. Well now…take one look at that try he set up for Mini and you tell us….IS THAT A LINE RUN OR WHAT? HUH? BIG PLAY YES? Yeh, thought so. Now all of you eat your words while we watch and clap with delight, confirming once again : we are always right.



Usually, this section would be about Greg Inglis.


But GI was surprisingly quiet last night. Quiet, and fumbly. Is he okay? (Serious question … is he?)

Machines don’t smile.

So instead, we’re gonna borrow a nickname from our idols Roy and HG, and give it to the the mighty Blues captain … O Gallen, our Captain!

We crown him the new Brick with Eyes. He’s completely rectangular and he can play Origin like a demon for a full 80 minutes. He is a straight up FREAK.

Last year (or maybe the year before, we’re bloggers not historians people!) in an argument about Toyota Park and the Sharks in general (you know we love hating them) we said the road to redemption for Gallen was to forget about the media and just focus on cleaning up his game on the field. He has. And he’s better, no? You don’t need to fuck around when you can play like that.

Luke Lewis agrees.


Or, 17 something blues. Plus Tommy Learoyd-Lahrs. And Ronnie Palmer. And Jim Dym .. LOOK WE’RE JUST REALLY PROUD. OF ALL OF YOU.

To paraphrase Mitchell Pearce, it was the one of the Best Origins EVER. Greg Bird was so happy! Anthony Watmough actually broke up a fight instead of starting one! Aku Uate ran the ball as hard as Paul Gallen! Trent Merrin existed and/or was adorable:

(that one’s from Gregg Porteous)

Next step: to win the series-slash-ruin Darren Lockyer’s farewell. Like that time we stopped Queensland getting a tropical holiday. Oh man that was sweet.

Here’s to New South Wales, bogans, pettiness and victory!

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origin II … it’s time

June 14th, 2011

Only one sleep till Origin II, babies! And before we all lose our damn minds tomorrow, we need to tell you two important things.

1. Clear your schedules cause we’re gonna be on the wireless on Triple J after 3.30pm on Wednesday, talking all things Origin. Wheee!

2. As the Blues head to victory at ANZ Stadium tomorrow night, we will be playing the second round of the legendary* Cattledog Minutes.

So what’s the deal? It’s easy. You guess the minute of the game when a Blues player first throws a punch or generally creates some argy-bargy. The way we decide whether Cattledog occurs is that the argy-bargy has to be argy and/or bargy enough to attract the referee’s attention. Too easy!

The prize for the person who gets closest is some seriously chocolatey M&M goodness in the team colour of their choice. To enter, you just have to comment here, or tell us your guess on our Facebook page or Twitter. Mmmmmmmm tastes like winning.

Thank you AGAIN to the dudes over at M&Ms for sending through some tasty Origin M&Ms for the winner. They get to pick whether they would prefer to eat their team or the opposition and we’ll post them out. Although, if you guys want some of your own and can’t mange to wait a whole day, you can get ’em at Coles for $12.50.

The best thing about doing that is that then you can throw them at the screen and scream cattledog. Good luck!


* may not actually be legendary.

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erroltips update: now with added cancer

June 2nd, 2011

Time to check in on tips! Where am I, you may ask? NOWHERE. THAT’S WHERE.

Shaggy owned last week with a perfect round (does that still get you a Whopper?) and the bestest margin:

And the omnipresent BroncoBaby is still sitting on top of the overall leaderboard with voodoorock:

Amazing work guys. In no way am I bitter at my own terrible for- … HEY! IS THAT A SHIRTLESS MAN WITH CLIPPERS?

via Gregg Porteous

Indeed it is. It’s a shirtless Jeremy Smith weilding clippers at Shark Park. And if you speak Spanish, you’ll already know that ‘Shark Park’ translates roughly to ‘graveyard of halfbacks’. We learned that from Anchorman.

The reason for the clippers? It’s call to arms week in the NRL, so the clubs and the boys are finding crafty ways to raise money and awareness for men’s cancer.

via Reece Carter

I was trying to explain this at work the other day and may have accidentally referred to it as “YOU KNOW, CANCER WEEK”, but you know what I mean. My idiot heart was in the right place. (Mainly, that’s with my burly, hilarious, polo-shirted menace of an uncle who’s having chemo for cancer at the moment … love you uncle Linden! He even had to give up drinking, which we all know is the absolute worst. Cancer, you Machiavellian bastard.)

Luckily for all of us, the Sharks decided to do this by shaving moustaches and taking their shirts off. It’s our favourite kind of fundraising. Next, we would like to suggest they wear hotpants and hold a carwash. Pretty sure Jeremy Smith would rock the hell out of a pair of American Apparel running shorts, and it’s common knowledge that everyone loves a carwash set to disco classics.

Wanna help? Here’s the list of everything happening this weekend.

Happy tipping, kids!

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