It’s exactly two weeks till the inaugural Indigenous vs All-Stars Gold Coast footy fest, and bitches, the All-Stars have been announced. The people have spoken. It’s pretty much democracy in it’s most fabulous incarnation yet, no?

(Click here to refresh your memory if you can’t remember who the hell the All-Stars are playing. I totally just clicked it then, because I have the memory of a learning-impaired sloth. This has nothing to do with booze, of course).

And before you read them, can I suggest that you imagine them all being announced like debutantes? I did, and the whole scene in my mind was pretty damn awesome. Come on down, boys!

1. Billy Slater – Melbourne Storm

2. Israel Folau – Brisbane Broncos

3. Michael Jennings – Penrith Panthers

4. Matt Cooper – St George Illawarra Dragons

5. Manu Vatuvei – New Zealand Warriors

6. Darren Lockyer – Brisbane Broncos

7. Benji Marshall – Wests Tigers

8. Adam Blair – Melbourne Storm

9. Cameron Smith – Melbourne Storm

10. Dave Taylor – South Sydney Rabbitohs

11. Anthony Watmough – Manly Warringah Sea Eagles

12. Gareth Ellis – Wests Tigers

13. Luke O’Donnell – North Queensland Cowboys

Bench:

Kurt Gidley – Newcastle Knights

Anthony Tupou- Cronulla Sharks

Nate Myles – Sydney Roosters

Alan Tongue – Canberra Raiders

Luke Bailey – Gold Coast Titans

Josh Morris – Canterbury Bulldogs

Jarryd Hayne – Parramatta Eels

You can thank me later for the debutante ball visuals. Especially the one of Nate Myles in a one shouldered dress.

I can’t lie – that’s a damn good team. Australia, you have excellent taste. And by ‘excellent taste’, clearly I mean ‘ way to pick Hotbitch Cooper in the centres’. Sure, he may be 100 in footy years, but for a centenarian he has a fucking great ass … I mean, he’s a brilliant defensive center. Cough. And we all know why a team needs a good defensive centre. It’s called ‘the same reason NSW lose State of Origin’. On behalf of womankind … I mean, footy fans everywhere, thank you, voters of Australia.

The only problem with our nation’s love affair with Hotbitch Cooper – aka the ‘Chanel of men’ – is that thanks to the fascists who designed the voting scheme, there’s only one player voted in from each team. Playing Coops without Brett Morris outside on the wing is like … vodka without tonic. A Judd Apatow film without Paul Rudd. Those two have some Milo and Otis shit going on, and everyone knows that without Milo, Otis is just a lift company.

I’m 99% sure the only thing that could make up for the tragic lack of B.Moz is watching Manu Vatuvei and his fucking sweet gold tooth charge over opposition players. This is convenient.

People seem to be saying that the reason they voted reigning Rexona’s greatest athlete Billy Slater into the team is for his speed in running back the ball from his own tryline, his spontenaity, and, I dunno, the fact that he can score single-man length-of-the-field tries with the ball in one hand or something. But I would like to point out that Billy is also reigning Oh Errol winner of ‘best skin in league’, and his selection in the team means that I have a flimsy excuse to post this picture of him in a giant egg capsule* again:

* this is a technical term.

Awesome.

No offence to Jarryd Hayne but I also find it completely delightful that he’s not in the starting team, because hopefully now I won’t have to hear the phrase HAYNE TRAIN at any point in the next two weeks.

I still have nightmares about that photo, for reals. If there’s one thing I hate as much as Queenslanders, it’s puppets, clowns, and anything that has vaguely to do with people in masks.

Meanwhile if you’re wondering why there are so many Storms and Broncos in the team, it’s because the Captain and Vice-Captain of the Australian and Kiwi national teams automatically quali- … something something purple monkey dishwasher. I can’t be bothered explaining it. Whatever. I care not for anything that involves the Storm or Broncos (unless, of course, we’re talking about the brilliantly- named Kristian Wanka. KRISTIAN WANKA. You heard it here first).

I’d much rather take the time I would’ve spent typing and use it to go get a Diet Coke. I can’t even muster the inclination to look up how many votes the top vote-scorer Israel Folau received. Instead, let’s all look at a picture of Neil Patrick Harris riding a unicorn, shall we?

Best of all – the All-Stars team has proven to me that all our Errol weird footy loves are actually universal footy loves. Sir Alan Tongue, noblest man in league! Anthony ‘Sad Clown’ Tupou! Anthony Watmough! Gareth ‘But only gels do ballet!’ Ellis! Goddamn you people have excellent taste.

And surprisingly, no, this whole initiative wasn’t created just so the Errol girls could ogle Hotbitch Cooper and Luke O’Donnell (the Paul Newman of league) in a beachside setting. According to David Gallop, we’re looking at $1.5 million for One Community and Indigenous education programmes. That’s right, $1.5 million cause the game’s already sold out *high kick*

We love you rugby league.

Now – what’s your feedback on the team babies? and WHO VOTED FOR ISRAEL FOLAU?

EXCITING NEWS, DARLINGS! The new edition of Rugby League Player mag came out this Monday, and it’s the 2009 Yearbook issue. And yes, this is pretty exciting on its own, considering it has sweet photo essays and you can win stuff and they have end-of-year awards (sure they’re not as hilarious and amazing as the Errol Awards, but what is? By the way the awards are coming … don’t worry babies!)

The point is: IT ALSO HAS A COLUMN BY US. Kiki and I wrote a double page wrap up of ‘The Year in Review’, complete with hilarious jokes about all the important stuff, like Robbie Farah’s nipples, tap-arse, Wendell, rangas, awkward run ins with Anthony Watmough and State of Origin bloodlust.

SEE? IT’S US! (complete with gratuitous picture of my nerdy reading glasses).

If you haven’t read it already – go! buy! IMMEDIATELY. You won’t regret it.

Oh yeah, in other news the Kangaroos won the Four Nations n stuff. If you missed the game, I can summarise it for you pretty quickly. For 60 minutes it was a competition, then for, um, about 20 minutes or so it just looked like this:

… but repeated over, and over, and over again ad nauseum till the buzzer sounded; then like this:

It was a Billy Slater hattrick, which meant the commentators went on and on incessantly about how well Billy was making up for The Unpleasantness during last years World Cup final against New Zealand. Do you think Billy just cracks it whenever someone brings that up? God knows I would. After all he only did it once, right?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6Z16H6c2NY]

OH MY GOD! THAT WAS ONE TIME!

Of course Brett Morris wasn’t gonna come off empty-handed. You know how it’s not really a State of Origin until someone gest punched? Well, in 2009 IT’S NOT A FOUR NATIONS GAME IF B.MOZ DOESN’T SCORE.

Let me rephrase: it’s not a Four Nations game unless B.Moz scores … then the stadium decides to play ‘Land Down Under’ so we can all rock out like massive nerds. Thanks stadium music selector-man! I love Men at Work! *hippie dance*

I do have to be truthful though: when the Aussie boys shaved their mos off last week, it kind of broke my heart. I was deadset struggling to support them through my sorrow. I couldn’t even manage to bother getting up at 6am on Sunday to watch them. Remember last time I left the pub to watch a game? Now that was dedication. I just can’t muster up that kinda devotion anymore though.

The only man holding onto my love is the consistently awesome Nathan Hindmarsh. Oh, Hindy. I adore you even though last week you totally looked like a serial killer with a shotgun. We also, apparently, have something in common. When we’re happy, we celebrate EXACTLY THE SAME WAY. By cracking open the champas and taking our pants off. No one can celebrate properly with elastic digging into their waist. It’s just Science.

CALL ME HINDY! LET’S BE BESTIES!

I’ma miss seeing that mo on my tv, siiigh. In all honesty, I’m also gonna miss the English commentary team. I didn’t want to like them … but they’re just So Damn Excited. They love life! And Brett Morris! And Sam Burgess! And footy! And the crowd! And ESPECIALLY WHEN THE ENGLISH SCORE A TRY! Their ridiculous excitement for life is totally contagious, and every time they come on I somehow find myself nodding and clapping in agreement with everything that they say, especially when they say things like:

“He is a MAN-MOUNTAIN, Greg Inglis!”

Well-spotted, boys. He really is.

But there is no way I could possibly sum up the glory of the Four Nations as successfully as Nathan Hindmarsh did in the Daily Telegraph:

BIGGEST EATER: David Shillington, hands down. I suspect he might be pregnant, he orders two of everything. And he isn’t shy when dessert comes either.

FUNNIEST STORY: We’d all ordered our food in Paris one night and Trent Waterhouse thought of a joke. He made himself laugh so much he couldn’t spit it out. When he got his mouth working, he asked Ryan “how’s your beef stroganHOFF”. We were all in stitches.

[not gonna lie, I loled. Oh, Trent].

MOST UNTIDY TEAM-MATE: Justin Hodges. I think he unpacks his bag with great vengeance and furious anger. I am pretty sure he wears a pair of undies for four days – forwards, backwards, inside out forwards and inside out backwards. I pity the man rooming with him.

DESCRIBE YOUR ROOM-MATE IN ONE SENTENCE: David Shillington is a softly-spoken 115kg cuddly bear.

[He also pops the collar on his Kangaroos blazer ... ooh, FANCY].

IS THERE ONE PLAYER WHO CHANGED YOUR PERCEPTION OF HIM FOR GOOD OR BAD? Sam Thaiday changed my perception of him for the better. And David Shillington has changed it for the worse – all that food that goes in has to come out and I’m looking forward to breathing fresh air again.

Let’s do the whole thing again in four years, kids. What do you say?

Image credits: All Four Nations pics via Getty Images

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

Johnathan Thurston and his dead mo walking.

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

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

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

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

…. and Robbie helps them finish the job.

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

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

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

a) a miscellaneous Pom

b) some kind of valuable privately-owned pheasant

c) themselves

d) all of the above,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In other news the sky is blue.

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

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

Scotty gets some feedback on his ‘pensive’ face

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

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

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

MADDOG YOU BIG SOFTIE. Wanna hug?

All pics via Getty Images

One week into Movember already … I’m so happy/sad/overwhelmed in my pants region. Obviously I’m overjoyed that people are starting to show some dirty facial hair, but kinda heartbroken at the same time that my favourite month of the year is already a quarter over. IF ONLY THERE WAS A WHOLE MO-YEAR. Mo-thousand-and-ten, anyone? Two-thousand-and-beard-leven?

Just think about it, people. That’s all I ask.

Meanwhile the Four Nations is also almost over, which I suppose we should talk about. The Kangaroos held out a spirited comeback by the English last weekend, blah blah blah … the main thing is Adrian Morley didn’t start any fights. This meant I was disappointed, so let’s move on. Even though they won, the boys still have to face off against France before making it to the final.

And there’s been lots of dramz about the fact that Inglis and Cam Smith and Billy Slater weren’t going to be in the team. Instead, (one half of the cutest twins on earth) J. Moz and Michael Jennings were picked to play in the centres, Robbie Farah at hooker, and Cooper Cronk on the bench.

Sexiest coach in league nominee Tim Sheens is Not Pleased.

Everyone was calling them the “B team”, which in my opinion = not really that bad. Call me crazy, but considering my greatest ever sporting achievement was taking out the 50m backstroke final at the Independent Girls Grammar Schools’ Sporting Association swimming carnival in 1993, I reckon being in the B team for the Kangaroos is pretty fucking sweet. Just sayin. Apparently Tim Sheens has higher standards than me, though, because he was tres offended.

Kiki was also offended, because she agrees with whatever Tim Sheens thinks, because, and I quote “HE’S JUST SO DREAMY”. True story.

Personally, I also think reuniting the Mozzie twins on the left side of the field is a stroke of coaching genius. First of all, it will give them a psychological boost to get them over the fact that while everyone else in the Kangaroos is sporting amazing Movember moustaches, they’re sporting … um … skin. Sure you’re hairless, but you’re representing your country! Good for you darlings!

Will the Errol girls still love me if I can’t grow hair for charity?

Secondly, it’s totally gonna confuse the Frenchies. Since Setanta folded, I’m guessing the French haven’t been watching much of the NRL. Assuming French television is as backwards as french plumbing, this means all they’ll have had to watch for the past few months is right-wing political talk shows, repeats of Neighbours dubbed into French and old Jane Birkin film clips.

Clearly, this means that they’ll get the shock of their lives when two identical twins run out on the field and they have to mark them.

They’ll be all mais qu’est-ce que c’est? Quelle confusion! Est-ce qu’ils sont des gemelles? Je ne sais pas! Croissant! Ou est-ce qu’on met le table?

(Disclaimer: some of that may have just been random snippets from my year 7 French book. Whatever. Just be grateful I didn’t accidentally explain to you how to get the bus to Creteil to go windsurfing).

The point is Tim Sheens is a Machiavellian genius.

There’s also a lot of talk about the French being niggly in the game, because they have nothing to lose. I also think it would happen, mainly because they are French. Europeans care not for rules! It’s one of my favourite things about them. I almost fell over in shock the first time I got to a Metro station in Paris and realised not only are there no voiceovers warning you to stand back from the track and no yellow lines, they even let you OPEN THE DOOR YOURSELF. Insanity! Who knew there were places where you’re allowed to do as you please and fend for yourself? You can even drink in the street.

As opposed to Australia where there are rules for absolutely everything, because we are considered to be inherently kind of incompetent and untrustworthy and need to be protected from ourselves. IT’S CAUSE WE’RE CONVICTS, ISN’T IT?

Meanwhile if you think we’re excited about footy, you should see the French kids. They’re bandits for the Kangaroos! Apparently they mobbed Jonathon Thurston and trapped him against the side of the team bus with the sheer force of their fandom.

Maybe it’s because he’s a world-famous halfback. But maybe, just maybe, it’s because the French appreciate a good moustache. I’m going with the mo. You know it makes sense! It also explains why there’s that massive flock of kids surrounding David Shillington, because he is growing an especially natty mo, don’t you think?

Aw, stop it you guys! You’re making me blush! (Just kidding, don’t stop).

What can I say? I’m a sucker for a classic mo. As much as I enjoy the way Jonathon Thurston looks as though he was a key player in the Sydney waterfront dispute of 1998:

(Pls feel free to use your imagination to insert and/or photoshop Jonathon Thurston here.)

… I can’t resist a neat little 1930s moustache. Which means that the Sassy prize for the first week goes to Cooper Cronk:

Amazing. It’s almost Errol Flynn-ish. Naturally, we adore it.

Jennings and Thaiday are eager to be considered for next week’s Sassy prize

Yes, yes, we see you too, boys.

And while we’re talking facial hair, shout outs have to go to Billy Slater, for his amazing Super Mario effort:

Nathan Hindmarsh for his ongoing transformation into Russell Hammond:

and, um …. participation awards? Sure, let’s call it that, for Jarryd-with-a-Y and Robbie Farah:

Participation awards, babies! (Also, in Robbie’s defence, he has probably been too busy negotiating with the Unions and transport companies on the waterfront with JT to have time to grow a mo).

Remember to watch the game TONIGHT on channel 9, and come back with your game/mo updates. And to sponsor the boys:

GO HERE

All pics via Getty Images.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Disclaimer: May not be actual Ben Hannant.

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

SEE? Sweet mo indeed.

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

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

TIMMY MANNAH DOES THE WORM

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

Pic. Gregg Porteous via news.com.au

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Excuse me while I die of joy.

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

ps. Welcome home, boys!

Rwanda pics copyright www.hoperwanda.org

MOUSTACHES ARE FOR WINNERS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Robbie. 

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

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

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

FOUR NATIONS FOR WITHDRAWALS

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

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

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

Pic. Getty Images

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till next time, kittens x

Intern John John anxiously awaited our return

HI DARLINGS!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiki retreats to 1997 fashionz to ease the off season pain

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

Okay now onto things that aren’t me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(photos from GettyImages)

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

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

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

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

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

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

HOLY PLASTIC NIPPLES BATMAN!

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

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

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

Everyone in this picture loves footy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pic. Gary Graham

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pic. Phil Hillyard

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

Pic. Phil Hillyard

According to Hindy:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t you love it? I love it.

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

Pic. Phil Hillyard

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

Pic. Phil Hillyard

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

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

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

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

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

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

So it has come to my attention that some people who read this blog are …. what’s the word? Queenslanders. Oh, yes. I remember it well from my two trips to Queensland in the last few weeks. Apparently every single ad on tv in the entire state has to mention that word about EIGHT TIMES. Queenslanders … looking after Queensland. The insurance to deal with what Queensland throws at you. The Queensland bank you can trust.

KILL ME NOW.

I’m starting to wonder if they do it for the same reason they invented the infamous State of Origin ‘Queenslander’ chant: so they can remember where the hell they’re from. Those three syllable words can be tricky. OH YES, I SAID IT. I’m a petty NSW girl and making cheap jokes about Queensland is all I have left.

What was my point?

Oh yes, Queenslanders have trotters State of Origin is just days away. So the boys we don’t go for have put on their hideous maroon training gear and are busy getting ready for Origin II. How are they doing this, you ask? Well not, as you would guess, by living in huts they crafted from paperbark and training with footballs they have sewn themselves. Although I’m sure they’re still keepin it real.

Oh no, instead Mal and the crew took them back to the facility to be tuned up and detailed, all shiny and ready to go for the next match.

I KNEW IT. Ever since guest-blogger Bec told me, I knew it! They is robotsssss. Robots with human covers. And greatest athlete Billy Slater is their leader. That’s the only possible way to explain how good he is. He’s a super-human! Can’t you just imagine the day he was born? Bursting forth from his pod like Neo in the Matrix.

IT’S A BOY!

Cam Smith has the new Captaincy learning program installed (Lockyer’s gonna be out of service eventually).

Folds away for easy storage.

Crocker after his yearly buff-n-wax. So shiny!

… the Steve Price even comes with mix-n-match accessories.

Extra aggression apps for JT.

Word on the street is that Mal is also a little bit nervous about Joel ‘Big Red’ Monaghan being added to the NSW team after Michael Jennings was ruled out with injury.

Jennings packs his things and leaves the State of Origin house immediately. He thinks Cassi the bogan will win.
Pic. Brett Costello

“… big Joel, he’s got experience, he’s been there before, he’s a really rock solid player and very good in the air obviously and a good talker.”

NO ARGUMENT THERE, MAL. Monas never shuts up. He especially never shuts up when he’s taking the piss out of me. When I asked him the other night at Magenta Shores if he and Jarrod Croker share a hairdresser with the Aussie cricket team he came back with “… like you and Andrew Symonds?’

DAMMIT. I GOT BURNED BY MONAS AND MARIO FENECH IN ONE DAY. My life sucks.

Like the blues, burned three times by the maroons. FOURTH TIME’S THE CHARM. Till next time, kittens.

So apparently this week, rugby league is brought to you by The West Wing.  Shit is getting political out Parramatta way. The Parra club board elections are coming up and the 3P rebel squad are running for election.  Except apparently CEO Denis Fitzgerald has been busy sitting in his office chair and stroking his fluffy cat and devising an evil and ingenious way to ensure that doesn’t happen.  ELECTORAL FRAUUUUUD.

If you’re wondering, the Board is supposed to be securing victory by mailing out $30 vouchers for the Parra Leagues Chinese restaurant to any member who sounds vaguely Asian, valid for the night of the election, to try and lure them into the club and get them to vote. Who knew that Chinese people were such fans of Denis Fitzgerald? Not I.

May not be actual Parramatta CEO

First of all, what kind of hack is the person who came up with this? *cough Denis*cough* Couldn’t they at least have come up with something original?  At least two Fijian coups, one US impeachment and the Bolshevik revolution were made possible by the mass distribution of Chicken Chow Mein. Plus this is quite clearly identical to the plot George W. Bush ran in Florida to shonkily defeat Al Gore in 2000. You know it’s true.

Anyway, if I was a 3P supporter, instead of getting riled up, I’d just rest easy. Sif the plan is going to work. When have you ever seen an Chinese person eating Chinese food at a leagues club? I’ve been to many a leagues club in my time, and never have I ever seen an Asian person of any kind putting down their laminated menu and ordering the Sweet and Sour Pork.  Those places are straight up for whities.

I kinda love them though, so if anyone who doesn’t enjoy Leagues Club Sang Choi Bow got one of those babies in the mail, or there are any lurking around Parra, feel free to send it on to Errol HQ. The boys love an outing. Plus better they come to us than end up with the players. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. STOP GIVING JARRYD HAYNE FOOD VOUCHERS.

Meanwhile know what we’re gonna talk about next? Not the Roosters.  Come on down … Tigers!  I kind of enjoy seeing the Storm get beaten. I like to pretend that it’s really Queensland, and they’re being beaten by the Blues. Siiiiigh. The crowd at Leichhardt was going crazy, and at the very last moment ‘the colt from Campbelltown’ Chris Lawrence ran in a truly surprising try.

Benji Marshall does what we all want to.
Pic. Steve Christo

You see Billy Slater is apparently the world’s fastest man, strongest man, best man at driving hatchbacks, best fry cook and possibly Jesus. TV told me so. And I accepted this because I adore TV and don’t believe it would ever lie to me, but apparently … TV WAS WRONG. There is something faster than Billy the Kid and that something is Chris Lawrence.

Chris adopts the downward dog pose to express his joy
Pic. Steve Christo

Even Robbie Farah lifted after his struggles of an effort in Round 5 and gave us an amazing score for our fantasy team.

Do I get to stay in the Wildcats now?

I hope the boys keep up their winning streak too. If nothing else so that Tim Sheens can keep his coaching job.

Meanwhile, Tigers coach Tim Sheens said while his team had suffered two disappointing losses after a reasonable start to the season it was “not at wrist-cutting situation or anything like that”.

Is that a technical footy term, Tim? This is a man who does not have a future in counselling and psychology.

I do have future careers picked out for a few of the boys thought. Craig Fitzgibbon is already Frank-Paul Nuuausala’s recipe-advisor and organic food guru … if he can get Frank-Paul slimmed down, I will be all over the Fitzy’s Cooking range of books and dvds.  Just like Paula Deen! But bald!

I also can’t wait till Steve Price quits footy and hits the road as a deadpan, self-deprecating, Stephen wright-esque comedian:

When captain Steve Price pointed to the posts for Kemp’s penalty, he thought they had done enough. “Then we went in a huddle [for full-time], and I realised it was 16-16,” he said. “Maybe not enough oxygen getting to the brain. It’s funny … but it’s not really funny.”

Oh, Steve.

Meanwhile the other day we announced on Twitter that Michael Gordon is totally in the running for a nomination as Hottest Bitch in League, 2009. And like, actually in the running, not just alive and breathing, which seems to be the only requirement for being in the NSW State of Origin squad.

… we think that counts as a seconding of that nomination. Thanks Joshie Morris.

Screencap from the lovely Art1e.