So as I said previously, I am not going to recap this game. However, too much awesome dramaaaz occured for me to ignore it completely.

First of all, let us talk about my boys sporting a pink V. Oh, they looked so LOVELY. Just lovely. The pink V has magical powers because one look at Gasnier in his and the palpable rage I feel for him quickly dissipated.

I did however notice he was a total man island in the changeroom. Everyone was totally ignoring him, even his former husband Hot Bitch Cooper. THEY BE PISSED AT YOU GAZ. By the way, Hornbag is totally Unimpressed by your contributions to the proceedings.

Now lets talk about Hot Bitch in his pink V. Ooooooh mama. On anyone else, pink seems to subdue masculinity, softening it into something benevolent and approachable. Not our Hot Bitch. The juxtaposition of pink on a man stallion of Cooper’s calibre was something quite remarkable. The pink somehow managed to make him seem more virile. I didn’t know that was even possible, but it is. He prowled that field like a lion in the savannah. All rippling muscles, manly potency and carefully controlled aggression. Lets not even talk about when it STARTED TO RAIN. It made my pink V really really happy. See what I did there? Made a dirty joke! Because Pink V is a metaphor for vagina. GET IT?

Okay lets talk about Mick Crocker. Forget headgear, the man needs to invest in a helmet for game days. He is way beyond modern aerodynamic cycling helmets. Mick has suffered so many brain injuries he needs help from the 1980s. Bitch needs a Stack Hat.

While we are talking about Crocker’s head, lets discuss what in Gods name is up with his hair. There is alot of balding men in the NRL, but Crocker doesn’t fit easily into that category. I don’t even think he’s balding. This is an entire new strain of hair weirdness. I have never seen hair like his on another man. Ever ever ever. Let us carefully and professionally examine this oddity -

There is only one conclusion. He suffers from chronic hair thinness and has sought to rectify the situation by using hair in a can. Thankyou Jerome Russell! Sorry Mick baby, but you’re gonna have to surrender your hair to airport security when you leave for England in 09. You know full well aerosols aren’t permitted on international flights.

Ryles getting sent off. Oh dear, Gavin Badger…you really are a twat of epic proportions aren’t you? Referee boss Robert Finch has already come out and said you were wrong, so lucky for you I am going to skip chastising you for now. Thank your lucky stars because I was totally gonna hurt you with my words of poison. Poison words!

Okay, so onto the fight. FIIIIIIIGGGGHT! I love fights. I love how quickly a civilised, professional game of rugby league can descend into mob violence. It makes me happy in my soul. And last nite was an absolute doozy. This shit was Origin worthy. It even had stages, three of them. The whole thing still seems surreal to me. Out of all the people to be involved in biff I cannot believe that it involved Tiny Dancer Soward, Flossy Nightingale and Billy I-Love-Pony-Club Slater. REALLY? You guys? REALLLY??

The best thing about this fight was the fact that PonyClub Slater rushed in from across the field to defend his boyfriend Cooper Cronk. Ain’t nobody be messin with my maaaans! (In my mind he’s a ghettofied black woman). Yes Billy, god forbid the tiny tiny Jamie Soward object to your boyfriend being a dirty little niggler. OH NOES!

You know Billy spent the whole time in the sin bin filing his ghetto nails and combing his fierce weave. Trust.

The second best thing about this dramaz is the way Hot Bitch Cooper stepped in and tried to break it up. Oh, that Coops, hes so measured in his responses. No flying off the handle for this perfect specicmen of a man. Oh no. Together with Hornbag he calmly and steadily grabbed players and steered them away from the fracas. And they obeyed him. Who wouldn’t?

My league loving friend Alex (hi boofhead!) sent me a text saying something like “look at Cooper breaking up the fight. He has such….presence”. Yeh, thats totally straight man code for I WOULD BEND OVER FOR MATT COOPER. It’s okay Alex, we all would.

(The magnificence above is thanks to our new account at Getty Images. I don’t want even want to say how much we paid for it. Lets just say when I turn it into a doona cover it will be totally worth it.)

This won’t be my usual comprehensive (ie rambling) recap. My arm is hurty and broke down. I wore the thing out with my Origin blog and subsequent alcohol fuelled post Origin activities. It’s just SORE okay? And typing makes it sorer. But after the crushing defeat of the Blues I want, no I NEED to write about something positive. DRAGONS VICTORY!

Let me take this opportunity to say I simply cannot believe we (and yes I am part of the team) have won 7 on the trot. Like most Dragons fans I am not taking this winning streak for granted. Us Red V devotees savour every victory as a rare treat. Scratch that…. we savour every error free set of 6. We know all too well our team regularly walks the line between brilliant and abominable. Let’s just say if I was lame enough to have a Gratitude Journal I would have entries dedicated to my boys every week. Probably decorated with red glitter and love heart stickers.

Sadly the awesomeness of the Dragons beating Newcastle has been somewhat tainted by some big time draaaamaz. Some Newie residents have alleged that a number of Dragons Army members started a carpark brawl and a woman was punched in the process.

I read this information with a certain about of incredulity. You see every single Dragons fan I’ve ever come across has been utterly lovely. Even gentlemanly. They are the last fan base I can imagine getting involved in bashing up ladies. Admittedly, I am rather biased … but many non Dragons fans I know have expressed the same sentiment. THEY ARE JUST NICE OKAY?

From what I can tell, The Dragons Army are an awesome bunch of people who are truly dedicated to supporting their team. These kids have spirit! And it’s inspiring. Mostly though…a few of them have been supportive of Oh Errol and that makes me like them. I’m easy what can I say?

Putting sentimentality aside, their version of what happened that night just seems to be far more credible. I mean they have VIDEO. This shit better end up on Today Tonight/A Current Affair or I’m gonna be totally devo. They are bandits for some home video action. Anything that makes actual journalism unnecessary they are alllll over.

Anyway, onto the game.

Sassy and I had numerous invitations to go out on Saturday night, but being the losers we are we decided to get takeaway and watch the footy in our PJs. It was totally worth it though. For the following reasons -

1) Hornbag being a pissy bitch

To the uneducated eye, Ben Hornby can seem quite bland. His physical beigeness combined with his measured and consistent performances means he flies under the radar a bit. Not to us however. I have long had a serious crush on Hornbag. Not in a sexytimes way, more in a…let’s get a hot chocolate (extra marshmallows) and read the cookbooks at Borders sort of way. Exhibit A – the usual benevolent, snuggly Hornbag:

Snuggly Hornbag was absent on Saturday night. He never got on the bus to Newcastle. Instead we were treated to a performance from a rare and different Ben Hornby. This version is filled with an unexplainable rage. Anger in his eyes and wrath in his heart. Bossing everyone around and looking mighty pissed off. Ladies and gentlemen I give you Exhibit B – Despot Hornbag:

To be blunt, this version of Hornbag makes our vajayjays tingle. Terrifying yet erotic. Sassy, never having witnessed Despot Hornbag before was overcome with lust and confusion…mostly lust. KIKI HE’S MAKING ME FEEL FUNNY IN MY PANTS, she yelled.

Me too Sassy, me too.

2) The return of Big Dell take two

I have deadset been trying to come up with my own Wendell nickname for weeks, but inspiration just ain’t comin. ‘Big Dell’ isn’t a hateful moniker by any means, but it just doesn’t feel Right you know? Until my pea brain comes up with an alternative he will have to stay being Big Dell.

Anyway, he was fuck off AWESOME on Saturday night. He was a sledging machine and I totally think they should mike him up on special occasions. Like Gilly at the 20/20. Instant hilarity. He was brilliant under the high ball, strong in defence and sweated profusely despite the chilly night.

See! He’s a perspiration machine. I worry about his health, that can’t possibly be normal.

That break he made down the sideline had us on our feet screaming like halfwits GO YOU OLD BASTARD…RUNNNN! Sadly for all involved the old legs didn’t quite make it, but it was certainly quite the spectacle. More of that please Dell!

My favourite moment however was when he rushed up to join tackle a Knight (whose name escapes me) in the in goal. The other players were satisfied with the Knight being shut down but not Big Dell. He kept pushing and pushing till he was violently projected like a rag doll over the sideline. Dell does nothing by halves, bitches.

3) Hot Bitch Cooper in a hoodie

Hot Bitch was out with ‘knee soreness’. I was pissy because what sort of bullshit injury is that? But I guess carrying the entire NSW backline on Wednesday night can wear out one’s joints. They say everything happens for a reason…and clearly Hot Bitch’s knees chucked a fit purely so the seeing world could receive the gift of him sitting on the sideline in a hoodie.

THANKYOU JESUS.

(screencap from FM Forums)

The Friday night recap is a special edition this week. Since I’m staying at Crippled Kiki’s this weekend, you’ll get double the awesome from us as I blog, and she nurses her broken elbow on the couch and sporadically chimes in with bitchy and hilarious comments.

This Friday sees Cripple’s baby Dragons playing the Penrith Panthers who I am completely indiff …. um, who is that? It seems that over the past fourteen weeks I have failed to notice that there is a completely, insanely, tousle-haired, bedraggled hot bitch of a second-rower playing for Penrith. He’s got a slight gut, a slight stagger, slight stubble, and a slight whiff of woke-up-on-a-pub-floor-and-was-unexpectedly-signed-to-play-league about him. His name is Matthew Bell and he may be our perfect man.

See I had this hole in my heart from when Nathan Hindmarsh lopped off his shaggy hair, but now it is finally filled. The Panthers website tells me his interests include fishing and camping, but I’m sure we can cure him of those.

Where was I? Oh yes, the footy.

Even before the game starts tonight has already been some Champagne football. In the Wests Tigers vs Brisbane Broncos clash we discovered the truly fabulous Daine Laurie. He’s two metres of giant man with a full head of dreadlocks, and his ridiculously long legs may or may not be made of Cadbury Old Gold.

Kiki thinks he’s reminiscent of a pre-Rugby Union (as she puts it ‘PRE-BETRAYAL’) Lote Tuqiri.

According to the Herald, Cadbury Daine almost conceded a penalty when he ‘shoved’ Corey Parker. We’re pretty certain that shit wasn’t no shove. It was a bitch slap. Left hand to the left cheek, left hand to the right cheek on the way back. Bitch. Slap. Everyone says so. And Corey Parker definitely agrees because he grabbed his cheek in shock and made the international mouth-open OH NO YOU DIDN’T BITCHSLAP ME face. Gold.

Now, on to the main event.

The Dragons aren’t messing around tonight and within about five minutes have me face-down with hysterics as Jarrod Sammut lets a kick fly directly into little Jamie Soward’s face and it ricochets from his forehead back into Sammut’s chest to a surprised and delighted Petero Civoneciva.

There is actually an audible smack when it hits Soward’s tiny peanut head and Kiki shudders and flails a little bit due to flashbacks of a football-to-temple incident in the school playground in year nine.

The cobras … the cobras!

Old warhorse Petero can’t manage to turn it into a try and I’m unexpectedly sympathetic because he looks completely fucking exhausted. He’s drenched in sweat and starting to sway a little. Not to mention that ole Oak Tree Petero already has giant beige knee braces on both knees and one elbow strapped. Bitch has enough problems. We also couldn’t handle it if anyone else league-related dies this year.

Crafty Trent Waterhouse breaks through the bewildered Dragons to send Rhys Wesser in for a Penrith try. Go Danny Glover, go! Ray Warren thinks the Panthers are particularly ominous tonight. I like to think ominous is today’s word on Rabs’ word of the day calendar.

And even though the Dragons are now 6-0 down, Jason ‘Flossy’ Nightingale JUST LOVES PLAYING RUGBY LEAGUE! As he tackles a passing Panther we are certain we see him giggle in delight. Kiki christens him the Labrador of rugby league, and if he had a tail he’d be wagging it now.

He even looks a tiny bit joyful when he attempts a left hand sideline run for a try and is tossed into touch. Oh, Flossy.

The commentary team are also sparkling today, and when little Jamie Soward and his headgear clean up a ball in the goal area Andrew Voss chips in “Soward was good skill”. Sage words, Vossy.

Phil Gould refuses to be outdone in the commentary box and decrees that the Dragons’ ball-running remains strong.

“It may have only been eight metres but it was a bloody good run”.

Who knew there were criteria for a run on the field other than how far you run on the field? Not I. Yhat’s amazing, Gus. Gould has also named two Penrith players ‘Big F’ and ‘Big P’ and doesn’t seem to care that no one has any idea which players he’s talking about.

Snuggly Ben Hornby goes down in a tackle and comes up with a bleeding eye. Kiki is distraught that her Hornbag is injured, but one plus is that the trickles of blood are making his usually undefined eyes stand out a lot on screen. Ben Creagh’s head was also broken a little a few tackles ago and is still bleeding. Why does Creagh’s head always break??

It upsets Kiki a lot and she starts reminding me that scientists say brain damage is one of three causative elements in creating serial killers. If he also has a personality disorder we are all in trouble. WATCH OUT FOR BEN CREAGH KIDS.

Down on the sideline Andrew Johns has also finally reached the conclusion that the Panthers are looking ominous tonight. Yep, definitely the word of the day on the boss’ desk down at Channel Nine. Except when Joey says it it comes out as ‘onimous’. Bless.

Gus Gould continues to up the insanity levels and announces:

“This is an opportunity for Penrith to pull their pants down”.

THAT’S NOT AN EXPRESSION GUS.

I don’t really know what happens then because I am distracted by Wade Graham who has some of the most beautiful eyelashes I’ve ever seen (that’s not a joke, I really was. Kiki was too), but it ends with Luke Lewis scoring another try for the Panthers.

Flossy looks pissed and it’s really unnerving. Like being growled at by a Guinea Pig. Jason Ryles is chewing his nails and I think that explains why the Dragons couldn’t stop Lewis getting across for a try. Pay attention, bitches. Matty Johns reminds me why I am completely in love with him by pointing out ‘LUKE LEWIS IS A FOOTY PLAYER’. Indeed.

12-0. Halftime.

The Dragons prance into the second half breathing fire and bleeding Ben Creagh – now with preventative tape around his skull – stretches an arm around Sammut to score a lovely try. Chesty Bond Gasnier is joyful, but Ben Creagh and the also bleeding Hornbag don’t so much look happy as they do like refugees who’ve just cleared the crest of the hill and realised they still can’t see the border. Those head injuries must be painful.

Jamie Soward marches on the spot in his little soldier dance and converts for a 12-6 score.

Only a moment later Soward passes to Josh Morris of the Amazing Morris Twins who strides through the defence and sets off sprinting for the tryline. With his long long legs he eats up the distance and dives in for a try, his regulation NRL shorts looking like natty little hotpants on his aforementioned long long legs.

Fun fact: Kiki has named her ample boobs after the Morris twins in honour of her team. I believe that lefty is Brett and righty is named Josh, but you may like to confirm that with her.

Another conversion for the Tiny Dancer Jamie Soward. 12-12.

Even more wonderfully, Andrew Johns makes a joke. AND IT’S FUNNY. He watches dancey Soward march on the spot and observes that as a retired player he has plenty of time for leisure activities, and on his last African Safari he realised this looks exactly like the mating dance of the African Love Bird. See! Funny! Good for you Joey darlin.

Flossy. Oh, Flossy. The next play sees precious little Floss kneel and reach out his arms to catch a falling bomb kicked by Penrith. Only, no catch is made. His little arms stay motionless as the ball hits the ground and bounces away. Flossy looks up, looks down at his arms. Looks up, looks down. Somehow, the ball is nowhere to be seen. And when, two minutes later, he stands and sees a slow-motion replay of the moment on the big screen, the tiny cogs in his labrador brain click into place. I DIDN’T CATCH IT. He screams fuck. It’s oddly adorable. Our hearts explode in unison from the cute.

After a slew of ridiculous penalties against the Panthers, Frank Pritchard (could he be the mysterious Big F?) reels out of a tackle to slam the back of his head against Hornbag’s right cheek. A bleeding Big F staggers away as Hornbag grabs his head and realises he now has a bleeding gash under his eye to match the seeping taped one above. MY FRICKIN EYE!

Kiki hugs a pillow and offers to kiss it better. Clearly she worries not about AIDS. Or Hep C.

In what is surely a gift from God to gay men everywhere, Brett Morris is pulled down in a tackle and his whole, bare, shining white arse is de-shorted in all it’s glory to the entire stadium and thousands of TV viewers. FM Forums have already dubbed it THE BEST DAKKING OF THE YEAR.

It really is amazing. I think we might have seen testicle. I’m kind of shocked.

Soward pops in a field goal for 13-12 but the guys from Channel 9 are too busy showing replays of Brett Morris’ arse to care.

Gouldy crows with glee ‘I told you they’d pull their pants down!’

OK I stand corrected Gouldy. But just this once.

Matty Johns skeeves into the microphone that he doesn’t know which beaches in Woollongong Bretty’s been going to but he cerrtainly doesn’t have any tan lines. He also suggests a shot of Bretty’s full moon as a future NRL ad campaign. Oh Matty, you homo. That’s why we love you.

In a final storm of anarchy, and a cutting moment of indignity, Hornbag drops the ball, falls over, and resurfaces with blood pouring from his eyes like a Latin saint.

In a highlight of the game so far they whip him off field and send him back like this.

Kiki’s being all precious about immortalising Hornbag’s humiliation, but fuck off cause she can’t type. That is HILARIOUS. Best of all is the pure rage in his eyes. Bitch knows he looks ridiculous, and he is Not Pleased with this turn of events.

MY FRICKIN HEAD!

The whistle blows to give the Dragons a 13-12 win but Hornbag can’t crack a smile. Physically, I mean. That tape looks tight. The draggies hug in their fleecy red robes and might I suggest that Matthew Bell come spend the night consoling himself in my pants, thanks.

Seems I watched the wrong game last night. Everyones been yammering on about the Warriors vs Bunnies and how it was Amazing Football, somehow involved a cancer survivor and was generally exhilirating and special. Well sorry people, but I was watching Law and Order. So this is the recap you get.

I love WIN Stadium. It has water views and people from the Gong tend to get quite hammered and make a shitload of noise. Instant atmosphere. Also unlike the Cavernous Shithole (aka ANZ Stadium) the turf is gloriously pristine. So green, so even. It looks like a billiard table! Nothing I enjoy more than some good grounds keeping.

The game marks the return of Wendell Sailor to rugby league after a seven year absence. Five years were spent playing the devils game (TRAITOR!!), the other two being punished for being a nose candy bandit. It seems the whole world has gone Big Dell crazy. I for one am confused as to why he went his whole career being known as Wendell Sailor and now all of a sudden he is BIIIIG DEEELLLLLL. Who started this phenomenon? Was it him? I like to think so. I do however enjoy an obvious nickname. In fact from now on I will only answer to Drunk Kiki.

First of all, what is going on with the Dragons jerseys?? The sleeves look longer. Why must we further cover up the artfully sculpted guns of our players?? Those AFL fairies already own us in the bicep flashing department, we should be making our jerseys skimpier not more modest. Poor form Dragons management!

Due to Orgin commitments the Broncos line up looks much like an under 20s game but I am okay with that as it may give my boys a fighting chance. About 4 minutes in and ex Dragon Ashton Sims zeros in on Big Dell in attempt to show him whose boss. Unfortunately for Ashton his noggin collides with Dells’s jaw of granite and he drifts off to Disneyland for a few minutes. In a decidedly inappropriate response, I laugh uproariously. Ashton skips about with Mickey Mouse and the game carries on around him.

8 minutes and Soward aims a kick at the goalpost, it rebounds and Hornbag scoops it up to score a try. Magic! I like this new trick of yours Jamie. Perhaps you could use your excellent aim to deliberately aim the ball at players heads? Loathsome players that I detest for petty and insignificant reasons. I’ll send you a hitlist ASAP. Tricksy Soward converts. It’s 6-0.

As thrilled as I am for Hornbag, I am disturbed by his distinct lack of hair. It’s all gone! Shaved off to a number one. Horrific! I thought we talked about this mister? You need definition and shaving ones hair off so your entire head looks exactly the same tone of beige is not the way to achieve it. He looks like one of those hairless cats. A hairless cat suffering a serious case of albinism.

Apparently Hornbag has also attacked Beau Scott with his clippers of doom. Together they look like uninitiated members of the Aryan Brotherhood. Its the stuff nightmares are made of and they must be stopped.

Meanwhile Big Dell seems to be on struggle street. He’s wandering around the park looking sweaty, confused and thisclose to unconciousness. Much like me whenever I attempt physical activity of any kind. 12 minutes in and the ref finds the Broncos offside, the Dragons wisely take the penalty goal and take it to 8-0.

Nothing much happens until the brick shithouse that is Dean Young powers through the Broncos defense using said brick shithouseness. It’s a bit of a schamozzle and I’m unsure if he actually got it down. In the biggest shock of the evening the ref actually blows his whistle and awards the try. Without going to the video ref!! Incredible!! I am shocked and amazed and mostly delighted. Soward converts with a brilliant kick and Dragons lead 14-0.

Gus and Rabs give us some commentary gold and have the following exchange -

Gus – “what would the Dragons do if they won the competition?!”

Rabs – “ummm….celebrate?”

A series of Dragons errors leads to Eastwood scoring for the Broncos at the 27th minute. He looks disturbingly like a Ralph Lauren wearing private school boy who has a girlfriend with a hyphenated surname. Gross. Why isn’t he playing union? Ennis converts and its 14-6.

31 minutes and we are treated to an amazing display from the telepathic Morris twins. Joshy offloads brilliantly to his brother without even looking and Brett sprints 50 metres to score a breathtaking try. It’s like he knew he was theeeere! It’s ESP! TWINTASTIC! They further cement the awesome by running towards each other and doing some sort of secret twin hand move. The cuteness is overwhelming…it’s kittens and puppies and rainbows and lollipops. LOVE!

Meanwhile Gus has decided they call each other ‘BraBra’. I love that his nicknames are a) lame and b) totally made up….just like mine!

Soward converts and the Dragons lead 20- 6. The ref infuriates both players and viewers by continually blowing penalties for the markers not being square. Ryles looks like he’s about to cut a bitch and Gus is blowing up in the commentary box. Matty Johns announces ‘it’s hip to be square’. The sort of commentary insight I feel I would offer if they ever gave me a microphone.

35 minutes and Big Dell gets an elbow to the face. It doesn’t look good. Apparently his cheek isn’t made of granite like I previously thought. Bitch looks groggy as all hell.

We go to halftime and the Dragons are leading. Comfortably. And have been playing with minimal errors and fairly good ball control. I feel weird. My heart isn’t my throat and I’m not filled with rage and frustration. My team is playing…well. I feel calm and confident. WHAT IS GOING ON? Is this how Storm supporters feel every week?? Lucky bastards.

Ben Ikin informs us that the Dragons usually play like ‘kids in a candy store’ as they tend to get over excited and drop the ball. Um…in no way does that metaphor apply. Bloody Queenslanders.

The second half begins. In the anti climax of the year, Big Dell doesn’t run back out on the field. Instead his wife drives him to hospital to get that cheek looked at. I try to care but struggle to summon a genuine emotion. 42 minutes in and Broncos newbie Hoffman gets hammered by Setu and it results in a penalty. Hoffman is far more likeable than usual fullback K.Hunt. He’s all sunshine and milk chocolatey goodness.

47 minutes and Tonie Carroll lamely pretends he scored a try. BITCH PLEASE. Also…isn’t Tonie a girls name? Just sayin. We go the video ref and we see an obvious knock on from 87 different angles. Clearly a no try right? Apparently not. The VR incomprehensibly rules a try and jaws drop across Australia. Even Tonie knows that ain’t a try.

The next phase of the game is to put it bluntly, boring as shit. Both teams are flat in attack and lethargic in defence. SNOOOORE. My slumber is awoken by Flossy (short for Florence) Nightingale going in for a try in the corner. Hooray! Something’s happening! Sowards conversion is unsuccessful, the Dragons lead 24-10.

75 minutes and Flossy twists and swivels and lunges and scores a cracker of a try. GO FLOSSY GO! I love him. He’s all dimples and determination. Gus launches into a monologue of sorts about why Flossy isn’t the greatest player to watch. Apparently he’s not graceful and lacks the traditional long strides of a winger. He goes so far to describe him as ‘an ungainly looking thing’. BLASPHEMY! I care not for strides…look at this face!

Sowards conversion is unsuccessful. The game winds up. Dragons victory 28-10. HURRAH! Ben Creagh receives man of the match. He is also the only strawberry blonde in the league. Winner on both fronts!

GO DRAGONS!

Hot Bitch Cooper is out with a niggling back injury and seems rather miffed at his inelegant surroundings. Those cheap ass chairs look mighty uncomfortable and I worry about his fragile back cramping up in the chilly air. I immediately wish I was there to lie underneath him and act as a human pillow. I never go cold Coops! A constant 37 degrees! It’s good for your muscles. Keeps them limber.

The game kicks off. Rabs informs us that Baby Chase is turning 19 years old next week. I for one am thrilled because this means I can stop feeling guilty for thinking hes a bit of alright. About 6 minutes in Anthony Watmough charges in to join a tackle and manages to knock himself out using his team mate Josh Perry’s skull. It’s quite an achievement and he floats off to Disneyland for a good few minutes.

While hes busy riding the giant teacups Beau Scott sneakily shoots through and scores a try for the Dragons. The commentators discuss whether BeauBeau deliberately targeted Woozy Watmough or it was just a lucky coincidence. I like to think it was deliberate because thats what footy is all about – taking advantage of your semi concious opposition.

Soward misses the conversion with an absolute shocker of a kick. I shake my fist in anger. Nothing much happens until the 15th minute when Speedy Stewart gets on the outside of Nightingale and sends David Williams over for a Manly try. I am horrified to find myself deeply attracted to Williams despite his horrendous Ned Kelly beard. Orford (who I’m sure is technically a little person) easily converts. Manly leads 6-4.

23 minutes in and Soward sends a kick across field, Manly fumbles and Ben Hornbag Hornby cleans it up and triumphantly scores a try for the Dragons. I really really love Hornbag. He is one of the most lovable players in the NRL. He is also vastly underrated. I’m not talking about his footy either. Fact is, he suffers the major injustice of never being recognised as one of the HotPlayers eventhough to the trained eye he totally is. I can see your hidden cute Hornbag! I’m the cute whisperer.

You see, up close he is super adorable but due to his extreme blondness he looks kind of well…beige on TV. This upsets me and I strongly suggest eyelash tinting. Maybe eyebrows too. Hell, I’ll even do it for him! We can make a night of it.

 

Hornbag being beige from a distance

Being adorable close up. SEE! ADORABLE PEOPLE!

Okay back to the action. Soward converts and performs a rather hilarious dance routine whilst doing so. Rabs likens it to a jazz waltz but Gouldy insists it looks like his cat when its about to take a shit. I maintain he is simply auditioning for the position of head baton twirler in the Dragons marching band. A few more jazz hands and hes pretty much there.

The next phase of the game is marked by shocking incompetence by the Dragons. They manage to screw up seven sets of 6 in a row. SEVEN SETS! By this time I’m left with no cushions on the lounge as I’ve thrown them all at the TV in a fit of rage. Manly take advantage of the Dragons ineptitude and Beaver Menzies shimmies through for a fantastic try. I adore Steve Menzies. 34 years old and bitch plays like a guy half his age. And he’s just so damn nice. He also hasn’t aged since about 1997. It must be the headgear, its keeping his skin supple!

Orford converts and we go to halftime with Manly leading 12-10.

Second half! The Dragons start by dropping the ball. Hooray! Something new and different for them! 51 minutes and Steve Matai decides to take out Soward about 5 minutes after he kicked the ball. Soward lies prone on the ground and I fill with rage. Matai you dirty bastard! I want to rip out that ridiculous rats tail and strangle you with it. Why is it a foot long? Gross. Well deserved penalty to the Dragons.

Soward recovers from the late hit and manages to launch a cross field kick resulting in about a million leaping bodies clamouring for the ball. Nightingale somehow finds the ball and gets it down. The try looks doubtful and predictably goes to the video ref. The VR literally looks at the try for about 5 minutes. JUST MAKE A CALL FOR CHRISSAKE. Gouldy hates the ridiculousness as much as me, remarking that people have gotten bored and gone off for a pie. Mmmm….pie.

Finally the VR does the unthinkable and rewards the try due to benefit of the doubt. YAAAY! I love this ruling. It’s the rule equivelant of a participation medal. You tryed so you deserve some love! Have the 4 points! Soward misses the conversion. Damn!

64 minutes and Menzies looks to go in for another try but drops the ball. 69 minutes and technical little person Orford sends a kick across field. Michael Robertson seems to defy gravity and retrieves it for an awesome try in the corner. Orford converts. Manly leads 18-14. My heart is in my mouth. COME ON DRAGONS! Speedy Stewart momentarily breaks my heart by appearing to get a try in the 72nd minute. It’s ruled a no try due to a knock on. I praise Jesus.

75 minutes and Bretty Morris pulls some brilliance from no where and puts his twin Joshy in for a beautiful try.Its twintastic! Its 18 all. Come on Soward, do your dance! Jazz hands baby! His crazy dance pays off and he converts with a phenomenal kick. My heart returns to my chest. I think we might win!

FULLTIME! Inexplicable Dragons victory!

Despite their general atrociousness my boys somehow pull off a win. Gouldy announces that the Dragons must be ‘absolutely brain snapping’ for their supporters. It’s true, they are. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love you boys!

 

So! The game is being played at that lovable old stalwart of suburban grounds – Brookvale Oval. Tribalism is an important part of rugby league and I love going to and watching games at ye olde ovals but daaaamn Brookie is looking tired. I’m pretty sure the injured players and their entourage are being forced to sit on plastic school chairs underneath a large piece of corrugated iron encased by a chain link fence.