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!).

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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.

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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)

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

Right on, ladies.

Oscars time!  Oscars time!  I know lots of you probably hate the Oscars, and think they’re loathsome and boring and last for a good five hours too long, but I care not.  I love them.  I love seeing glorified tv starlets in poor dress choices.  I love seeing all of Rachel Zoe’s clients wear amazing hotstuff outfits and gigantic obnoxious cocktail rings that People magazine totally doesn’t get.  I love that the Oscars will invite Disney’s Zac Efron to present an award and perform on stage, but still refuse to invite Paris Hilton.  She must fucking hate that.

(Needless to say, it makes perfect sense to us that Zef would be invited to the Oscars, because the High School Musical series is some of the greatest cinema in human history.  But most of the world over the age of 15 don’t really seem to get that.  It saddens us. We can only hope that the release of Seventeen Again will open their eyes.)

But most of all, I love it this year because Hugh Jackman is hosting.  Not just because he is – quite clearly – a hot bitch, but have you ever heard a bad word about Senor Jackman?  Of course you haven’t.  He gives me faith that perfect men Do Exist. All I need now is some sort of cosmic indication that perfect men Do Exist and Also Fancy Girls Who Write About Footy And Often Don’t Wear Pants.  ONE DAY!  I BELIEVE!

Know who else rocked a turtleneck? Errol Flynn on the Sirocco. True story.

Even Hugh’s (heterosexual) writers for the Oscars are in mad gay love with him.

The only proof that we really were writing for the Oscars is that Jackman would visit our room for a couple of hours each day. To my surprise, the best kind of boss is a sexy boss. Jackman greeted each of us with a giant hug, which would have been a perfect test of how gay I am, except I was totally focused on making sure I wasn’t crushed to death by his giant lats. So … pretty gay.

Jackman would laugh uproariously at everything we suggested, which is one of the huge advantages of writing for a noncomedian. He acted out all our stuff, belted out our songs while standing on furniture and even watched most of Be Kind Rewind with us for no good reason. He was so omniscient in his niceness that not only did he look sad when we played him the Christian Bale freak-out tape, but he also, after agreeing to record a parody of it, called Bale to make sure it was cool if we put it online.

He even let me try on the real, $18,000 plastic Wolverine claws, which made me want to do a bit about the moon and body hair; the reaction made me realize I probably should have seen an X-Men movie before writing for Jackman.

To summarise … he’s pretty much Jesus.  Jesus with really really amazing lats. And fuck it, let’s just be honest: I’m in mad gay love with him too.

Jesus was a carpenter, so he probably wore chesty bonds.

Sometimes I wonder whether the Errol girls are, in fact, just really spangly gay men trapped in women’s bodies. It would certainly explain why we so often end up kissing shirtless gay boys outside the Stonewall [That's just you two. The gays don't seem to adore me that much. One day I'll win them over. One day - lozzy]. It would also explain why, when I saw Hugh singing the finale of the Boy from Oz while glitter rained down on me from the theatre roof, my first thought was ‘I think this is what heaven looks like’.

Although hopefully in heaven they have found some way to avoid getting glitter rain caught in your cleavage because that was a bitch to get out.

If you’re wondering, by some crazy coincidence, ‘the best kind of boss is a sexy boss‘ is also the motto of Errol HQ.  Before he went home for the holidays, Intern Danny Wicks even cross-stitched it for us on a mint green background surrounded by flowers and gave it to us as a Christmas pressie.  He’s so sweet sometimes.

As for things that aren’t Hugh Jackman, Kiki and I have already talked about the other stuff in store at the Oscars over at http://fox.com.au. Go! Read! Comment!

And then watch Hugh getting ready for the Oscars:

SUP ARMS.

Postscript:  Kiki is under the impression that I made this whole post purely as an excuse to google pictures of Hugh Jackman.  This is patently untrue.  Not least because I google pics of Hugh Jackman anyway.  In fact, I made this post as an excuse to tell you all that when Hugh Jackman was renting a house in Paddington with the fam, he totally pimped out his kids as an excuse to knock on his lesbian neighbours’ door and ask to use their pool.  Like he was all … oh hay, sorry to annoy you, but can my kids possibly use the pool?  Then once the kids had gone back to the States he rocked up anyway all sheepish and … so the kids were kind of a ruse.  Can I use your pool anyway? HE JUST REALLY LIKES SWIMMING POOLS. Plus, that’s what kids are for, right?

The time has come for us to say something about the horrific bushfires in Victoria. But, what can I say? Who has the right words for this sort of disaster? It defies description. I certainly don’t want to revel in the tragedy the way the commercial media has been. I don’t know what makes me feel sicker, the unimaginable loss of life or the way the media is clearly revelling in it.

But let’s leave that for another time. Right now we need to concentrate on helping the poor buggers caught up in this. Humans and animals alike. The entire Errol team is donating to as many of these causes as we can, and we hope you do the same. We know no one has much money to spare right now, but every little bit helps darlings. Please, be as generous as you can.

Here’s a list to help you out -

Red Cross Australia – so far they have raised over 26 million dollars from both private and corporate donations. The Red Cross has always been both organised and trustworthy in times of crisis and this time is no different.

Cricket Australia – In conjunction with the Commonwealth Bank and Channel 9, Cricket Australia has set up an appeal which has the Commonwealth Bank donating $100 for every run scored and $5,000 for six hit during the Adelaide game.

Cricket Australia have also donated $100,00 and South Australian Cricket $25,000. All the players from both teams have donated their match fees to the appeal. You know we love our cricket and we are super proud the cricketing community has banded together to make a difference.

Wildlife Victoria- It’s easy to look at the thousands of hectares of burnt out bushland and only see the human tragedy, but don’t forget countless numbers of native animals have lost their homes too. That’s if they even managed to escape in the first place.

Donate to Wildlife Victoria and they will do as much as they can to help the poor little things survive.

RSPCA Victoria- The RSPCA is one of the most worthwhile organisations you can donate to in the best of times, and now they have organised some special services to help all the animals caught up in this crisis.

With your money RSPCA Victoria will medically treat bushfire affected animals including dogs, cats, wildlife and livestock, help find emergency accomodation for displaced animals and reunite families with their lost pets.

Coles- Please do all your weekend grocery shopping at Coles this Friday. They are planning on donating all profits to Red Cross Australia.

Well there you have it kids. We can’t change what’s happened but we can help those in need. Go forth and donate!

Nova 96.9 – For Sydneysiders, the Red Cross/Nova/Linfox are working together on a blanket drive. You can drop off any blankets you wish to donate at:

- Nova 969 reception: Level 5, 33 Saunders St, Pyrmont, 8am – 6pm Weekdays

- Linfox Depot: GSK Warehouse, 1 Decker Place, Huntingwood (at rear of building) between 8am and 3pm on weekdays

(pic from www.ntnews.com.au)

Yes yes I know.  I am a bit late with my comments on the second Australia-New Zealand test.  Yes, the Aussies have won the Trans-Tasman Trophy … by an innings and 62 runs.  Yes, it’s a little sad. I think it even moved Daniel Vettori to swear, which I found tres shocking.

Mainly this is because … have you seen Daniel Vettori?  I feel fairly strongly that the kind of man who won’t even wear contacts when he plays sport is not the man to react badly to losing, no matter how green his team of Kiwi battlers were.

 

Pic: Getty Images

And if you are wondering, that was very green.  And very battlers.  Me speak English good.  If you read our blog over on Triple M about tantric cricket … well draw your own conclusions.  I’m much too much of a lady to spell it out for you.

This test was about a whole different four-letter word: L-O-V-E. Remember the bad patch in Brett Lee and Ricky Ponting’s marriage? How they kept telling you Mummy and Daddy aren’t yelling, they’re just talking about Adult Things?

Well, babies, the counselling worked. Brett starting making an effort again with his appearance and laid off the cake, and Ricky picked up his game and brought back all those little romantic surprises that keep a relationship fresh, like a bunch of flowers on a random Tuesday or a night on the tiles even though he hates dancing.

Just putting in a bit of effort, you know? Taking a catch once in a while. Helping out around the house, so to speak.

Binga totally appreciates it, you can tell:

[Lee] was helped, too, by the lack of fight shown by the New Zealand batsmen with the exception of the pugnacious Brendon McCullum and by a screamer of a slips catch from Ponting to remove opener Jamie How.

“That was the best catch I have seen live,” Lee said. “I actually thought it was past when he stuck his hand out. He couldn’t believe it, I couldn’t believe it, and it goes down as one of the all-time great catches.”

THE ROMANCE IS BACK.

Even Errol’s favourite inflatable fielder Andrew Symonds is in on the love. What’s a pub drama or two between teammates?

And in tribute to our Aussie team, here’s a little Peaches & Herb from the Errol girls:

Reunited and it feels so goooooood.

Australian team Pics: Sebastian Costanzo

Pic: Steve Christo

The Rugby League World Cup is officially over. The final’s been decided.  The boys are all back home either being lauded by the public or eating Easy Mac n Cheese to ease their disappointment.  You can decide for yourselves who is doing what.

They’ve given out the trophy and all the participation certificates for the players’ mums to put on the fridge.  Almost time to put on your Peter Wynn’s Rugby League pyjamas and go into footy hibernation for the summer.  But first, one more r-l-w-c wrap-up.  I warn you in advance that this one is going to be weird.  I feel weird already.  It’s not even the usual feeling funny in my pants, which is pretty much my default state and I’ve kinda gotten used to it.

For one thing: Australia Didn’t Win.  The almost-unbackable favourites, the World Cup juggernauts, the team you love to hate … lost.

zomg I know! I can’t believe it either, eh!

Believe me kittens, I was as shocked as you were.  Shocked and overjoyed. Just like Benji Marshall. I said last week I didn’t know who to cheer for, but after seeing the victorious Kiwis leap around like overjoyed schoolchildren I realise I was totally TEAM KIWI the whole time.

Pic: Steve Christo

My head said it didn’t know, but my heart was painted black and white for this game.  What can I say?  I think some part of me just loves seeing an underdog succeed.

I also love that the Kiwis celebrate by drinking beer shirtless. THAT’S HOW I CELEBRATE TOO! It’s why they won’t let me have my birthday in public venues anymore.

Is it possible that I also just enjoy seeing Queenslanders look disappointed?  WELL MAYBE.  AND IS THAT SO WRONG? It probably is, but whatever.

Clearly it’s not completely abnormal to take pleasure from other people’s misery.  If it was, the Germans wouldn’t have bothered to make up a word for it, would they?  Hmmmmm?

And in case the whole 34-20 New Zealand win wasn’t surprising enough for you, I actually have stuff to say about FOOTBALL today.  For serious.  Not just about their hair (well maybe a little bit), or their uniforms, but stuff about what the boys do with the ball (heh, ball).   Let’s get started before I sober up and change my mind.

FREE BILLY!

So I think we all know I’m not Billy Slater’s biggest cheerleader.  I have said less than flattering things about him in the past for a variety of reasons, including but not limited to:

a) Accusing Flossy Nightingale of headbutting him;

b) Playing for the Storm (booo, hisssss);

and,

c) Being a dirty Queenslander.

Also, sometimes I just irrationally dislike public sporting figures.  Obviously Billy, like Roger Federer and Karmichael Hunt, has never done anything to me personally. Everyone tells me he is the Loveliest Man Ever and they are probably right. Nonetheless, I Decided to dislike him for no particular reason. It’s my way.

But Billy is getting a bitch of a rap in the media at the moment, and I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT.  Clearly my love of truth outweighs any silly Slater vendetta.  I’m pretty much Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men.

Except, you know, without the stuff that came afterwards, like the booster shoes and the Scientology and the child-bride.

You see, according to the Herald, a “Billy Slater moment of madness” cost Australia the World Cup.

They mean, of course, that Slater threw a blind pass in from the sideline trying to run the ball back upfield, and it fell into the loving arms of Benji Marshall for a try.  Benji’d been loitering around to Billy’s left instead of jumping back to defend against the oncoming Aussies … and I don’t know whether that makes Benji Marshall an excellent reader of the play, or just a bit out of shape and too tired to get back in defence, but either way it all ended badly.

And yes, it was a really stupid pass.  If I had more energy I would have been frustrated to the point of heartbreak watching it, like I was when Jarryd ‘Baby’ Hayne did the same thing in Origin.  NOOO BABY HAYNE, NOOOOO!

I totally just had a flashback then and bumped my head on the desk. That game was horrifying.

But you know what?  That’s just Billy Slater doin what Billy Slater does, isn’t it?

…oh, he’s just bein’ Billy.*
Pic: Steve Christo

My theory is that if you want a safety-times conservatively-programmed early-days Darren Lockyer kinda fullback, you don’t pick Billy Slater.

Bitch is … a risk-taker.  Some people might say ‘a showpony’, but that’s not really it. More like some fullbacks do predictable things … and Billy Slater doesn’t. He sets up ridiculous and amazing plays out of pretty much nothing. He likes it. And it seems like he likes dramatical individual plays more than anything.

Yes, he does things that might turn into massive fuck-ups, but most of the time they work.  (This, of course, is also part of the reason I can’t stand him. Damn you Queenslanders for being so good!)

So basically most of the time the people (cept the Oh Errol kids) love him. For every other game in the tournament, it has been a full-on Billy Slater soggy sao love-in.  BILLY THE KID! FASTEST GUN IN THE WEST! BEST FULLBACK IN THE WORLD!

Bitches couldn’t get enough of him.  Maybe that imagery was a little bit crude.  But whatever.  You know what I mean.  Everyone was all over Billy Slater and It was really fucking annoying.

But now as soon as he gives away a try he’s reckless Billy the Kid who can’t defend and doesn’t deserve to be in the team.  I might believe y’all about that if he hadn’t just received the player of the tournament award.  Clearly no one thought he was doing so badly in all the other games the Aussies played.

He also got unfairly labelled Billy the Choker who can’t step up in big games (cf the Storm losing the Grand Final). And I would believe y’all about this if he didn’t set up two tries in the first half. It takes a whole team to win/lose a gf, right?

Basically – I CALL BULLSHIT.  Yeah he made one mistake, but bitch didn’t single-handedly lose the game. You can’t be all over him then change your mind all of a sudden. It’s only cute when I am irrational and change my mind and go from loving to hating a footy player in a matter of hours.  Like the way I’m now defending Billy Slater. DON’T YOU MESS WITH HIM, OK? I GOTS HIS BACK.

And that’s all I have to say about that.  I feel all queasy.  I CAN’T BELIEVE I STUCK UP FOR BILLY SLATER.  Someone get the Dettol bath ready cause I need one … stat.

THERE’S NO ‘BLAME THE RANGA’ IN ‘TEAM’

Since I’m already busting Billy Slater out of media jail today, I’ve decided I’m takin’ Joel Mongahan with me.  WHY DO PEOPLE ALWAYS BLAME THE RANGA?

Pic: Steve Christo

Ok, um, what exactly did Monas do wrong?  He got a bad bounce, decided to go the professional foul, and the Kiwis got a penalty try.  As opposed to … Hohaia just scoring the try? Which, incidentally, it totally looks like he would have, at least if you ask me and the video ref.

Call me crazy but I don’t see the difference. Maybe he moved the conversion to the center for an easier shot at the extra 2 points but two points weren’t gonna save the Kangaroos.  In the end I think it comes down to lackluster defence. Lackluster defence from the Australian team, who seemed that way from the start of the game.  Just kind of … surprised by how the NZ team played and on the whole pretty unfocussed.  And every try the Kiwis scored chipped away at that a bit more, not just the ones that Monaghan or Slater were ‘responsible’ for.

It also seems vaguely arrogant when people try and pin the loss on one individual Aussie, as though the Kiwi’s couldn’t have won it, the Aussies had to lose.  The Kiwis  had so much passion, those kids deserved it.

And didn’t those bitches have hustle?  Right up the middle of the field where the Aussies weren’t expecting it.  I like to think they foxed the first snorefest of a game against Australia just so they could build up to this.  I believe Wayne Bennett would be that crafty.

But whatevs. I think I’ve ranted enough.  Let’s just say for both sides there’s a reason they call it a team sport.  Also, the New Zealanders gave 110%, and took it one play at a time, and the best side won on the day.  Or something.

Let’s also say to Ricky Stuart and his conspiracy theories just no.  Really, honey, no.  Let it go.  There is a chapter in my etiquette book about losing World Cup finals and it specifically recommends against suggesting that there was a conspiracy against you.  For reals.

And to Billy and Joel: if you’re feelin down, call me.  Let’s go to the pub and you two can drown your sorrows and get blind and wave your fruity cocktails in the air for emphasis as you slur ‘THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW ME. THOSHE BITCHES DON’T KNOWWW ME.’

… AND NOW LET’S TALK ABOUT HAIR

It’ll be quick. I promise. All I really have to say is that Dave Williams is taking this ‘Wolfman’ image really, really seriously. Like woah. As in, I suspect someone has been watching X-Men and grooming their mutton chops to look like Hugh Jackman’s.  And all that volume in the back of the hair … so Wolvy.  Get it?  WOLVERINE?  You know it’s true.

Camera one … are you getting this?

Don’t worry Dave. Secretly, sometimes, we all pretend we’re movie stars.

What, so I’m not on mark? A little to the right you say?

Like sometimes I prance around the house when no one’s home imagining I’m Dolly Parton in the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.  True story.

And with that completely random confession, it’s goodbye World Cup.  See ya in four years, bitches.

* Just by the way, if you were a Miley Cyrus fan you would find that HILARIOUS.

We have a new favourite journalist over at Errol.  A proper journalist too!  Not a *cough*journalist *cough* like us.  Let me explain.

So we’ve mentioned before, many times, and in great detail, that we feel … awkward about the Australian World Cup team.  ‘Awkward’ in the sense of ‘we don’t like them’.  SORRY.  WE JUST DON’T. 

But even though we can’t cheer for them we still have our faves in the squad, and finally one of them is getting the recognition he deserves.

… people are really talking about me?
Pic: Steve Christo

Kyle Mackey-Laws … well first of all, Kyle Mackey-Laws has a freaking amazing name. 

Kyle Mackey-Laws has also broken down the numbers to explain why Joel Monaghan is – as we suspected all along! HAH! - a legend.

If numbers are anything to go by, Canberra Raiders star Joel Monaghan is a certainty to live out a dream this week.

Monaghan has played in all four of the Kangaroos’ World Cup matches, and statistics released yesterday show he should be one of the first picked for Saturday’s final.

Monaghan has made the second most linebreaks behind Fiji’s Akuila Uate (10) with six, his four tries have him fifth on the try scoring list and he only trails teammate Paul Gallen (9) in offloads with eight.

We always knew Mona was the bidness.  We endured the suspicious looks all through Australia’s first game against New Zealand as we yelled out GO RANGA, GOOOOO! across the footy stadium.  We even nominated him in the Errol Awards.  And now we have have mathematical proof of his awesome.  YOU CAN’T ARGUE WITH NUMBERS.

If you are wondering, Kyle Mackey-Laws works for the Canberra Times. Not a national paper, the Canberra times.  Seriously, are we the only people outside the ACT who appreciate Monaghan, aside from that little kid with the GO RANGA sign at the footy stadium? 

Last week when our gorgeous publicist Marlo saw the Australian team at the Sydney airport and ducked over to accost Monghan and inform him that he is her favourite (he totally is), the rest of the Aussies responded with a chorus of ‘REALLY?’.  That is so depressing.

It’s a travesty, in fact.

So if the Kangaboos take out the Kiwis this weekend in the World Cup grand final, at least our mans Monaghan will get a bit of the glory.  It’s a small comfort.

Even though I can’t manage to muster up any excitement about this game, I am tres dedicated to you all, and I am going to put all my personal disdain aside to give you updates on the the two teams anyway.  I’m even going to do it now, despite the fact that it’s after 12pm on a Friday, which means according to my schedule I should already have transferred my phone line to Lachie’s desk and be making Champagne punch in the kitchen.  SEE WHAT I DO FOR YOU KITTENS? 

The Aussies have taken a slightly unconventional approach – I think inspired by Manly’s preparation for the NRL grand final – and rocked a little dance training:

One. Singular. Sensation.

A little Quiet Time:

… and for Christmas I want a World Cup and a pony.

 
And a little group bonding:

SCOTTY PRINCE JUST LOVES CUDDLES.

New Zealand have … ok I have no idea what they have been doing. Nothing interesting, I imagine, because they are New Zealanders. Is that offensive to Kiwis? It is, eh.

All I really need to know about their team is that Ruben Wiki mixes their Kava, because that is fantastic. It’s also true, because Manu Vatuvei told us so. I don’t believe a man with gold teeth would lie.

And so we lumber and faint into the end of the World Cup.  Kangaroos vs Kiwis, Maroon enemies vs Trans-Tasman enemies. 

May one of the teams win.  Or neither.  I don’t really care.

Aussie training pics: Getty Images

It is my personal belief that Twenty20 cricket is one of mankind’s greatest inventions.  I’m not even exaggerating.  If you ask me, it’s right up there with Penicillin and wireless internet and pikelets and Smirnoff Blacks. 

Apparently I am also the only member of the public and of the sports journalism fraternity (KIDDING! no one actually thinks I am a journalist) who thinks this.  According to everyone else in the world Twenty20 will render test cricket extinct, eliminate New Zealand’s test teams, and is only for the kind of idiot who doesn’t understand Proper Cricket.  I can’t be bothered googling any more but I bet somewhere someone is saying Twenty20 cricket also increases global warming and eats babies.

To that I say, how can something that combines sport with a Def Leppard soundtrack and the Kenny Loggins hit Footloose ever be bad?  If loving that makes me an idiot then I AM PROUD TO BE THAT IDIOT.

Test cricket and Twenty20 are like beer and vodka; St Vinnies and quilted Chanel; Gram Parsons and Cher. There is a time and a place for both.  There is also plennnty of room in my summer cricket schedule and on my couch for both, so let’s all snuggle in the cushions, pour a vodka-ginger-ale, and make out, shall we?

Anyway, let’s talk about the Twenty20 comeback on Friday night.  Australia vs the State cricket All Stars.  It was everything I hoped for and more.  And it’s for charity.  Amazing.

GILLY GILLY GILLY GILLY

As much as I missed Twenty20, I missed Adam Gilchrist more.  I don’t care if he’s playing for Australia or the All*Stars.  (By the way I have had that Smashmouth song in my head for the full three days since I heard that stupid name). 

… dear sassy, I feel the same way

I’ve been looking for a new non-sexual cricket husband to replace Gilly for the full six months since he retired, but no luck yet. I still just love that cheeky bastard.  And I think I love him even more now that he’s been retired for only six months and already started getting a little bit chub.  We all know I love an athlete with a few extra kilos, and those skins you were wearing under your uniform aren’t fooling anyone, Gilly darlin.  You might want to invest in some Nancy Ganz.  They make them for men now, too.

My heart ached a little bit when he came out to bat and announced that he got cramps warming up.  And they say cricket isn’t athletically demanding.   Meanwhile whoever came up with the idea of miking players during Twenty20 is a genius.  I would actually quite like to hear Gilly miked up just in his general life.  Calling people old and chubby, talking about his jimmy back, making bad calls to other drivers/pedestrians/his wife like he does to his running partner on the pitch (YES!  … NO! … SHIT SORRY).

His cheekiness and Mike Hussey’s, well … Husseyness, are endlessly entertaining. 

WE LIKE ROY

Pic: Dave hunt / AAP

Man the selectors went all out for this game.  Those bitches just really know how to push my buttons.  Roy made his comeback and said laconic things into the mike and the crowd went crazy and screamed like he is their God.  Which, at the risk of being blasphemous, he pretty much is.  Who else would turn around mid-game and pull out two little kids named Tom and Tom from the crowd and send them out to field on his boundary?  Oh yeah, I said it: ROY IS JESUS.  When I saw those little kids’ joyful and terrified faces my ovaries all but danced in joy.  And when Roy dressed them in his Australian team cap my ovaries grabbed their drinks and made a little conga line, prancing around singing CRICKET-CRICKET-CRICK-ET!  

Cutest. Moment. Ever.  That’s the magic of Roy. 

MY FRICKEN EYESSS

I have to be completely honest, this Twenty20 wasn’t one giant lovefest.  There was some shititude.  Because even though they were finally giving the State cricketers a chance to shine in the ~*~All*Starz~*~ team, they still kinda stuck the boot in at the same time. 

It’s as though the powers that be said: Yes, state-boys-who-get-no-recognition-from-most-of-the-Australian-public … we agree this state of affairs is depressing and unfair.  So we will let you play against some of the Australian team in a flashy televised Twenty20 match (not all the Australian team, cause they’re kinda tired from playing Proper Test Cricket in India, but a few of them). That’s foine.  No worries, mates.  STAND PROUD AND BE COUNTED.

There’s just one catch.  One teensy, tiny catch that we aren’t going to mention until you get to the locker room to change into your uniforms.  You see … you have to wear this:

DAMN.  That is harsh.  I had thought that the normal Aussie Twenty20 uniforms were some of the ugliest things I’d ever seen.  The reason I say that they’re ugly is because … well, because I have eyes.  I also find them a bit creepy, because they make everyone in the Australian team look like they are lifeless robotic legomen.  (Except I would never say that to Andrew Symonds, obviously, because in his uniform he looks like a robotic dreadlocked legoman who could totally kick your ass if he wanted).

Lego celebration!

The most unfortunate is Brett Geeves, because – thanks to his new Movember moustache – he is the sad Mexican Legoman of the Australian team (sombrero sold separately).  Normally I’m a believer that a Mo rescues any outfit.  Clearly this uniform is the exception, and it makes me angry.   The man is growing a kickass mo for Movember, can’t we all show him a little respect and let him wear a proper shirt?

See? Isn’t that better?

Wait … does the Aussie team have a name when they play Twenty20?  I’m thinking maybe Cricket Australia should just run with the hideous uniform Lego vibe and call them the Legomen.  THE AUSTRALIAN TWENTY20 LEGOMEN. We could get them sponsored by Lego!  They would be all over it as a way to target kids and families. YOU KNOW IT MAKES SENSE.  Feel free to use my idea and pay me in booze.

The kids just love meeting their Twenty20 idols.

But, anyway.  That’s not the point.  The point is this: in the scheme of things, wouldn’t you rather look like a Legoman than a jockey?  It’s just demeaning.  Those poor All*Starzzzz.

Michael Dighton may have captivated us all with 32 runs from 8 balls (heh, balls).  But the reward is being on national television dressed as a contender in the Johnny Walker 2500m stakes.

And if you were wondering about the actual game … the lawn jockeys won.

Oh, kittens.  The Errol office is so sad at the moment.  It’s semi-finals time in the World Cup, which means that all the teams we met and fell in love with on the footy field are gradually packing up their bags of boomerang souvenirs and VB accessories and heading home.  

Papua New Guinea have been booted after coming fourth in the pool of death. Tonga and Samoa have taken their wardances and gone home. The Frenchies are returning to (a probably frosty reception in) France. Perhaps they can use their wooden spoon to make a nice souffle to cheer themselves up?  I hope so.

And Kiki is busy drying her tears at the moment, but once she manages to stop crying into the keyboard, she’ll also fill you kids in on the Errol trip to the Gold Coast to watch the Irish Wolfhounds play Fiji in the quarter finals, and saying goodbye to our adopted Irish team.  WE MISS YOU ALREADY BABIES.

Sif all that wasn’t bad enough, we also lost Errol favourite Corporal Campese from the Aussie team.

I feel so uncool.
Pic: Ian Hitchcock

In a tres dramatical incident, T Camp was poked in the eye by Neville Costigan in the Australia-PNG match, and had to bow out of the rest of the World Cup.  Poor baby could have gone blind.  I’m not even kidding.  A footy career ended by a poke in the eye.  YOU CAN’T MAKE THIS STUFF UP.  

So now it’s all come down to Australia (sans Terry), New Zealand, England … and Fiji.

It feels a bit like the end of holiday camp. All our friends’ parents have come and picked them up already, except because our mum is running late we’re left sitting on the steps with the kids we weren’t even friends with anyway.  Making awkward conversation about if we’re coming back next year, remembering how someone said they wet the bed and we kind of believe that they do.  Avoiding eye contact, exchanging email addresses even though we’re totally never gonna write to each other. 

Sigh.

I’ve think we all know by now I have a problem cheering for the Australian team. Not even seeing Toops and Fitzy on the bench can change that. And now that Baby Hayne has announced that playing for Fiji has changed his life and chased away his demons I am 100% team Fiji.  What’s not to love about a team that can make the semi-finals and provide informal therapy?

Are you there, God? It’s me, Baby Hayne.
Pic: Phil Hillyard

Remember how I called the World Cup a soap opera? Aside from a good demon possession, there was only one thing the cup was missing: a redemption arc, and someone finding God.  DING-DING-DING JACKPOT!  Thanks to Baby Hayne this is now officially the Most Dramatic World Cup Ever. I love it. GO BABY HAYNE, GO!

And really, how can you not love Fiji? This is the team that sings in harmony on the football field. Those bitches are talented.

They also freely admit to being unfit. ME TOO! Athletic ability is totally overrated.

Darren Lockyer says their biggest danger is that they play ad-lib in attack.  ME TOO!  Well, ok, not in ‘attack’ as such.  And not in any sports of any kind.  But I still think planning is totally overrated in general.  I care not for preparation and gameplans.

While we’re talking Locky, he also doesn’t seem to remember who’s in the Fijian team.  This worries me.  Are you feeling ok Darren, baby?  Just the other day you couldn’t remember who was in the English team either.  Has he taken more knocks to the head than I realised?

Pic: Peter Rae

If I’m not mistaken, Daz also turned up to the Fiji-Australia photocall without his shorts.  At least that’s what the Herald says.  Just look at the ones he had to borrow.  Are they … clown shorts? Oh my god, are they CULOTTES?  Green and gold culottes?  Maybe they had them made when they were making Steve Price’s custom green and gold bucket hats.

I am becoming a bit concerned actually that Darren may be losing his damn mind.  If someone doesn’t get him some Omega 3 and write the boy a list of who he plays for and what to bring to the game I honestly think he we might see him run out to play Fiji completely pantsless, play the ball backwards, then accidentally tackle Billy Slater. 

And if you think I’m a little harsh on Australia, I apologise.  I know Greg Inglis is all put out that the Kangaroos don’t get enough love. 

I think we thoroughly deserve the praise that we should be getting but we’re not.

Firstly, that sentence is intense. Is he using the subjunctive? I think he may have created some new kind of grammatical structure.

But also, I’m sorry, Gregory. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, even though you chose to become a dirty Queenslander. You’re right. It is a little bit unfair. And it is a little bit to do with the team being so good.

The Kangaroos are the Roger Federer of rugby league. Too professional, too efficient, too … Swiss. Footy is all about emotion, and the Aussies just don’t give me any at the moment.

But now that I’ve said that … suck it up Inglis. SUCK IT UP. You’re about to (probably) win a World Cup.   You’ve won a premiership and an Origin series. People have called you the best player in Australia.  Um, what more do you want, mate?  So a few people think the team’s boring. At least you didn’t get POKED IN THE EYE.

There is far too much whinging going on and I don’t loike it. Inglis thinks no one loves him (in at least four tenses). England hate the refs. Ade Gardner hates the grapple (don’t we all?)  Benji Marshall is all offended that the English turned their back on the Haka.

Can’t we all just take a leaf out of Flossy Nightingale and Sam Perrett’s dayplanner and have a nice waterslide?

So I have an apology to make. There has been no World Cup news from me for aaaages, and I’m sorry kittens. I know, I know, you’re all jonesing. But you see I have been extremely busy doing Important and Urgent things, like giving myself pedicures, buying spangly cardigans from St Vincent de Paul, and getting drunk and going to see Richard E. Grant in My Fair Lady. By the way yes, I LIKE MUSICALS. MUSICALS AND RUGBY LEAGUE. I’m pretty much a renaissance woman.

And now cause I’m sleepy from sunbaking, let’s just go over the important bits, shall we?

AUSTRALIA … NOT LIKABLE ENOUGH FOR A DECENT TITLE

New Zealand played England. Australia played England. England lost. Twice. And the truth is … we didn’t really care.  About any of them.

But I’m kinda starting to think maybe someone has tipped off the Aussie team in particular that the kids here at Errol HQ care not for the Kangaroos, because it seems like those bitches have been working overtime to win us back.

After trying to lure us back by pimping out the adorableness of Prince Scotty the Caramel on the field (… almost worked, but not quite. HI SCOTTY!), they upped the lovable factor by naming Terry Campese in the squad to play Papua New Guinea tonight. Or, as we like to call him, Corporal Campese of the Light Horse.

When we suggested Terry can rock a hat, this isn’t what we had in mind.

And in what is kind of like the footy equivalent of sewing knives in your suit sleeves or hitting below the belt in boxing, then those crafty bitches went and did this:

DO THE JITTERBUG!

Damn you Kangaroos! LOOK HOW CUTE THAT IS. Four Kangaroos cruisin’ around in their tiny pink jeep, like Derek Zoolander and his freewheeling model pals. Drinking orange mocha frappaccinos. Singing to Wham, frolicking in petrol stations.

The only difference is that I’m pretty sure that little pink Jeepy, or mini-moke, or whatever those crazy Queensland folk call it, is working a wholllle lot harder than Derek Zoolander’s Jeep.  That poor little engine is pushing around four International league forwards.  WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CARBON EMISSIONS?  In other news, is Brent Kite throwing gang signs? For serious?

Either way, I’m almost starting to … care. This is horrifying. But fear not children, everything will be ok. Just trust Aunty Sassy and look at the Queenslanders. FOCUS ON THE QUEENSLANDERS.

… gasoline fight!

ABORT ABORT! Ok, I’m back to mild distaste and indifference now. That’s more like it. Let’s have a quick gin and get back to things we actually care about.

THE WOLFHOUNDS GET THEIR ROAR ON

We’ve been on Team Wolfhound since the World Cup started, and now that the Irish boys have decimated Samoa and topped their pool, everyone else is too. ABOUT TIME, BITCHES. You know it’s lonely out here sometimes, being totally cutting edge like we are. *flicks hair*

And WE ARE SO PROUD OF OUR MANS. Not just because that was some fucking entertaining footy, but because they had a blinder.  WE KNEW YOU COULD DO IT, BABIES.  Pat Richards grounded three tries, and kicked enough goals that I’m actually rethinking whether the Irish will have to bring in some kind of Priest to exorcise the bad spirits from his goal-kicking Leg of Doom.

As we suspected, Wayne Kerr is a foolproof good luck charm whenever he’s named in the team.  At the very least he has a 100% success rate so far.

And everyone’s favourite hot ginge (sorry, Prince Harry) Sean Gleeson almost made Kiki spill her drink in excitement when he ran in his try.  We’re only a lil bit sad that we couldn’t make the trek out to sit with the Blarney Army again.  We love those crazy kids.

Disclaimer: may not in fact be Sean Gleeson

I would love to analyse the game for you, but I was a little nervous on the boys’ behalf, and I may have been drunk SO THIS IS WHAT YOU GET. And the end result is that Lozzy and Kiki are jetting up to the Gold Coast on Monday night to watch the Errol-approved Wolfhounds take on Fiji for a spot in the semi-finals.

I have a weird feeling that watching the game back at Errol HQ with Intern Danny Wicks and work experience boy Lachie while we hold the fort is gonna be stressful. As if it’s not tricky enough on a normal night trying to make sure Danny Wicks doesn’t eat all the chalk from the stationery cupboard again and deflecting Lachie’s questions about why people call Intern John John ‘hotdog’ and where babies come from. Now I have to choose between our Irish and the Fijians.

HOW CAN YOU CHEER AGAINST BABY HAYNE? It just Doesn’t Seem Right. I also have to make a really tough decision between whether we go for Irish Whiskey or vodka pineapple (my Fiji happy hour drink) for after-work bevvies. My life is so hard.  Perhaps I shall have both.

Game pics: Getty Images

Jeepy pics: news.com.au