the errol wrap-up: origin prep

May 23rd, 2011

Happy Origin season, Errol-ers! It’s pretty much our favourite time of the year … well, aside from the week when they start releasing naked charity calendars just before Christmas. Is there anything funnier than dudes posing naked while looking serious? No, no there is not. Please see here for proof. And just like we do during Pervy Calendar-mas, this week we will be celebrating hard.

Next to the legalised on field brawls, the best thing about Origin is the fact other NSWelshpeople start sledging Queenslanders as much as we do in our regular lives. Retweeting people burning Queensland and it’s residents never gets old. EVER! It’s eternally awesome like Freddy Fittler’s is-he-drunk-or-what sideline giggles. Also, people create Facebook groups like this:The only good thing to come out of Queensland is a road to NSW

Luckily for us, even though we now have full time jobs in sport (we know, we can’t believe people hired us either) our jobs don’t require us to do any work at Origin. This is mainly because no one wants us too close to the Queensland team in case we kick someone in the shins by “accident”, injure a maroons player and start an inter-state incident. Also, employing lawyers to deal with the restraining orders is more expensive than you’d think.

This also gives us plenty of time during Origin season to drive around with the windows down sledging people in maroon clothing. IF QUEENSLAND’S SO GOOD WHAT ARE YA DOING DOWN HERE?

But let’s talk Origin prep.

For one thing, we have not one, but two, sky blue nailpolishes to choose from on Wednesday. At the moment, we’re thinking we’ll put the decision off until Wednesday morning to make sure we pick the one that matches our outfit best.

And up in Queensland, the enemy have been preparing for the big match at Lang Park (Suncorp, WHATEVER. It’ll always be Lang Park to us) by … grapevining?

It’s not just us, that is a grapevine, right? Cause it looks uncannily like the arm movements Intern John John does when he’s “feeling fat” and wants to burn extra calories on his trips to the work kitchen. We see you Dane Nielsen! Don’t pretend you don’t love it!

And of course Johnathan Thurston is loving it sick. If there’s one thing we learnt on the footy show last week, it’s that JT loves nothing more than a spontaneous dance break. Remember this? Yep, that boy is good at three things: dancin’, playin’ footy, and standin’ with his mouth open. He’s already done two of those this week, and if our plans to drop an anvil on him tomorrow at the Maroons team hotel come off, he won’t be doing the third.

We’re thinking of painting a picture of Dave Williams on it as a pin-up girl, you know, like the bomber planes in WWII. And next to him it’ll say like “… this is for kicking me in the face, Johnny!”

Sammy’s got his own personalised program from the Queensland personal trainer: tone up without losing your curves!

You know who you don’t see in those photos, though? Cooper Cronk. That fierce bitch is nowhere to be seen, and surprisingly, it’s not because he’s busy having his nails filed into points for the big game or telling noisy teens on public transport to ZIP IT.

And even though Billy Slater’s been doing his best to channel the Fierce, we still noticed.

twitpic courtesy of Luttsy

When you think about it, it’s pretty obvious really. While Billy does his best Cooper Cronk impression (see how he tucked his shirt in! it’s all about the styling), the real thing has clearly put his foot down and refused to have any part in this team-photo plaid-shirt boot-scooting uniform fuckery. We all know he’s a well-dressed dude, and apparently he cares not for taking part in group activities where the outfits make you look like you should be handing out menus and refilling empty Coke glasses, saying “welcome to the Outback Steakhouse”.

But while the Queenslanders have been preparing for some kind of boot-scooting Origin face-off (bad choice, by the way, NSW would totally win. We have TAMWORTH, y’all) the Blues have been getting their James Bond on.

Gregg Porteous’ photos don’t lie:

Follow him on twitter here

Look how schmick they look! As our hero Jack Donaghy from 30 Rock always says, “you’ve got to dress for success!”. Followed by: “That’s why I sponsor a charity that gives away tuxedos to homeless people”. What a dude. Our boys are bringing the sexy back to Origin. Mainly, because of the sweet suiting. But also because they all have tiny locks of Matt Cooper’s ratstail sewn inside their suits.

And to all the people who suspect that the Blues can’t match the Maroons in sweet dancin’ moves, we say:

a) have you MET Akuila Uate? If you have, he was probably dancing at the time. He’s like rugby league’s answer to Seaweed from Hairspray.

and b) Jamie Soward can angry dance the hell out of the music in his head. Exhibit A:

We’re feeling pretty damn confident that when it comes to the dance-off portion of this year’s Origin (crew againzt crew! No rulez! Street-style!) the boys in blue will do us proud.

Oh, also, when it comes to the game. How do we know this? Because Kiki – and this is a direct quote – feels it in her waters. Which is EXACTLY what Glenn Lazarus said, too. You can’t argue with a skinny-legged blogger and the man they call the brick with eyes. Up the blues!

Pics. Getty Images

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welcome to origin season, bitches

May 17th, 2011

Oh, how I’ve missed you Errol-ers. I remember the carefree days of regular blogging, mocking sportsmen far and wide and telling embarassing personal anecdotes whenever I felt like it. But lately, things have been a little … demoralising.

My noble employer has decided to turn One HD from a sports channel to a general entertainment channel, which is actually kind of awesome since it means we get wicked awesome shows like An Idiot Abroad and Sons of Anarchy. But let’s just say that dealing with irate members of the public abusing you via the twitter and the Facebook and threatening to send in bombs to the office (that really happened) can put a dent in a girl’s inspiration to write footy blogs.

Although it did teach me fun facts, like there are at least 8 people on Twitter who want a dedicated A-League show on free-to-air TV, and that, often, people are straight-up nuts. Good to know.

The other thing that can get a blogger mighty depressed is OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME ROOSTERS? Losing to the Sharks at Shark Park is the worst kind of loss. It’s embarassing, it bodes badly for the rest of the season, and it proves that even my successful Nathan Gardner voodoo doll isn’t enough to save my team.

No wonder Nate Myles is leaving to go to the Titans. Up there it’s all sunshine and Jamal Idris and children’s tv, back in Bondi it’s driving Todd Carney to AA meetings and drowning your sorrows at the Maccas near Tom Ugly’s bridge after you lose to Cronulla.

But just when I hit the lowest point and was fighting the urge to put on a snuggie and eat a wheel of cheese as big as my head Liz Lemon-stylez … Mal Meninga inspired me.

But the big story was 25-year-old Nielsen, who has only racked up 42 first grade games since his 2008 NRL debut before getting the Origin call. 

Nielsen comes in for Inglis who is expected to be ruled out for up to a month after again injuring the hip that required pre-season surgery.

North Queensland-bred Nielsen looked overawed facing the huge media contingent in Brisbane on Tuesday but Meninga had no problem throwing him into the Origin deep end.

Asked what Nielsen could offer the side, Meninga said: “He’s a proud Queenslander.”


Apparently in Queensland, pride in your State is the footy equivalent of how mums suddenly get super-strength so they can lift their four-door Yukon SVUs off their squished babies in a Walmart carpark. (Why does that only happen in America, by the way?)

Forget about 15 years of training and dedication and footy education, all you need is pride! Queensland spirit conquers all!

And just like that, I was revived by how irritated Queenslanders make me!

Although I do have to give massive props to Mal for his team selection in general.

1. I find Dane Nielsen’s curly hair completely adorable. If he wasn’t a dirty Queenslander I’d travel back in time to 1993 and put an A4 poster of him from TV Hits on the back of my bedroom door like I used to do with JTT.

Boilers still got it, ladies!

2. Petero! I just like seeing that ole Oak tree out on the field. It reminds me of the time he and Steve Price were bunkmates in the ‘Boiler Room’ and I lol to myself every time.

3. Corey Parker and his AussieBum undies are a fine, fine addition to any team. I assume that the little sewing minions at AB are whipping up a range of Maroon undergarments and speedos for him as we speak. If you’re not sure on the size, maybe just go ahead and assume he wears his speedos like Chris Heighington wears his jerseys … circulation-threateningly small. The ladies and gays of Queensland will be grateful, at least.

4. A+ for effort and improvement on the legitimacy front. Well, mainly it’s probably just the result of bad luck and coincidence. But for whatever reason, the Maroons is now almost entirely made up of men from Queensland. Hurrah! GOLD STAR FOR YOU GLEN COCO. YOU GO GLEN COCO.

And how do you properly pay tribute to this new team of authentic Maroons? By introducing them under a blue spotlight to old-school 90s classics like Jump Around by house of Pain. Oh yessss. If you missed the Queensland team announcement, Imma recap that shit for you, because I think it may be just about as hilarious as that time Nips Farah and Sam Burgess were on Ready, Steady, Cook!

We open on a dimly lit Brisbane conference room. Chairman of selectors Gene Miles says stuff that is boring. He then tells us that the first player named for the Maroons squad will be Billy ‘Pony Club’ Slater.

Birry saunters out and is hit by a crazy blue spotlight as the speakers start blasting a sweet 90s mix of “Whoomp! There is is” AND “Pump Up the Jam”. Did he pick it himself? I like to think so. He carries a little cardboard sign saying ‘Billy Slater’ up to the stage and some girl who is obviously the Queensland Origin version of Adriana Xenedis takes it and puts it in a little slot on the stage backdrop.

Ooh, drama! It’s like Wheel of Fortune! Can I have an ‘M’ for Meninga, please Tony Barber?

Darius Boyd comes out to ‘Raise some hell’ and Dane Nielsen gets P!nk. Huh. Gene reads all the names so sceptically. Like there’s an implied IF THAT’S REALLY YOUR NAME after every person. The [alleged] Willie Tonga comes out and they forget to press play, so he just walks to the stage to give Adraiana his card in silence, then sits in his little seat for a few seconds while we finally get to listen to the intro to House of Pain ‘Jump Around’. Not gonna lie, I enjoyed it.

Jharal Yow Yeh rocks out to the Black Eyed Peas ‘Pump It’. And by ‘rocks out’ clearly I mean ‘walks quickly and nervously while looking at the ground and possibly blushing’.

Finally, the grande dame of Queensland footy Darren Lockyer emerges and it’s time for The Final Countdown. Seriously? I don’t even know. When I try and remember what it looked like all I can see it this:

Hey, do you guys remember the 90s trance-dance-techno hit Here’s Johnny? Well hello there Jonathan Thurston!

Matt Scott! Guns n Roses! More Queenslanders! And what song could suit Cam Smith better than Macho Man?

From now on, he shall be known as ‘The Cop’ … or ‘The Biker’. Depending on my mood. There’s totally a resemblance, right?

No Birdy, that’s not a dig at moustaches. Yours is pretty much our favourite thing in footy right now.

Petero is Bad to the Bone. Sam Thaiday gets Bad Boys. This is all so weird I can’t even explain it. The weirdest thing is that they didn’t pick either ‘Gimme More’ OR ‘Barracuda’ for Cooper Cronk. Big mistake. Huge.

I make all my coworkers watch it approximately five times. We realise Nate Myles is accidentally spelled NATE MILES on his little card.

I know, right?

Sometimes, I think Queenslanders do this shit on purpose to amuse me. The XXXX / spelling jokes write themselves, people!

And just as I start to worry that with the addition of Corey Parker, the Queensland team will be almost as adorable as my boys in blue, I snap back to my senses.

Even our 18th man is slightly oversized, often confused and completely lovable like a labrador puppy. If labrador puppies had sweet dance moves.

Aaah we love our boys. And the rest of you, get back to us at the end of July and we’ll start back up where we left off, yeah?

Pics. Getty Images

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monday night recap: cowboys v storm

March 29th, 2011


Welcome darlings! It’s the first game recap of 2011, and it should have happened a lot sooner. It couldn’t though, because for the last three weeks I’ve been living with no internet. NO INTERNET. IN MY HOME. It’s straight-up torture. My flattie and I are thisclose to just giving up on modern life and going full Amish, churning our own butter and marrying dudes called Samuel. Then at least I could wear adorable brightly coloured maxi-skirts like whatever that movie is where Kirstie Alley makes over an Amish community while she’s on the run from the law.

What was my point? Oh yes, it’s the Cowboys v the Storm, it’s in Townsville (meet you in the casino after the game) and it’s raining.

The Fox boys tell us this will be a “clash of two great halfbacks”, which I think we all know means “an 80 minute battle to see who’s the best at bitching out referees”.

Warren says “Jonathan Thurston, what a battle it will be against Cooper Cronk”. Luckily, Waz is not referring to a real battle, because I think we all know that if this was a real battle Cooper Cronk would straight up spear someone in the eye, while JT would be the one at the back, hiding in a haystack weeping, and wearing an enemy uniform underneath his own just in case he’s about to get captured.

We know this because Cooper Cronk is a fierce bitch. And even Craig Bellamy agrees:

See? Fierce! (And thanks to Eliescha for finding it xx)

The game starts with Brian Norrie – or as we like to call him, Johnny Anonymous –  losing the ball, the Storm giving away a penalty, and Cam Smith wearing an elastoplast headband. With his stubble and his headband all diagonal and askew, he looks vaguely like a homeless Vietnam Vet.

When he says ‘spare a dollar’, it means ‘kick a field goal’.
Pic. Getty Images

Billy Slater chases up a Storm kick and tackles Matt Bowen and I am overwhelmed by cuteness. What can I say? I have a weakness for fullbacks on the lower end of the neck-length-spectrum.

The Storm fire up another grubbery kick, and if you can take a minute or two to watch this handy YouTube clip, I think TLC sum up my feelings on this game better than any other words could. U-N-P-R-E-T-T-Y.

Kalifa Fai Fai Loa gets his first touch, and as always when I hear his name pronounced ‘Fai Fai Law’ I feel like we’re talking about an obscure maritime treaty and giggle cause I’m a massive nerd.

Little Matty Bowen (yes that is his official name. Feel free to call him LMB) offloads and the ball gets to Will Tupou for a try on the right, but JT misses the conversion cause he’s too busy thinking how much of a bitch I am for saying he’d be a terrible soldier.

Hey, did you remember Anthony Quinn existed? I totally didn’t. Soz Quinny.

Kalifa Fai Fai Loa picks up the a Storm kick from just in front of the try line, runs it back, keeps running, OMG HE’S STILL RUNNING GO KALIFA GO GO GO! He drops it out to LMB for a beautiful try. LMB seems to think about diving in like a showpony, but resists. I like to think it’s cause he just really cares about safety. OH&S, y’all!

JT makes it 10-0, and when Ashley Graham barnstorms past Anthony Quinn I make a conscious effort to forget Anthony Quinn again.

Laurie Daley tells us that you always have to be aware with Cam Smith that he can kick, and that he’s looking to kick 40 …. 20s. In the 8 or 9 mintue pause between saying the words ’40’ and ’20’, Cam Smith kicks a 40-20.

An error to melbourne. An error to NQ. Waz says “it’s a greasy old night”. Mmmm greasy. I could smash a sausage roll.

Ashton Sims is penalised for … who knows, really. He always gets penalised for something, it’s hard to keep track.

Kevin Proctor makes a run of approximately minus 15 metres, Cronk kicks on the 5th tackle, it’s batted off to Sika Manu who .. loses the ball when he’s tackled from behind. It’s bleak. If you didn’t see it, just imagine Sika Manu trying to ground the ball, and replace each hand with one of these:

Yep, it was like that.

Cooper Cronk is not pleased with this turn of events. He’s screaming wildly for Justin O’Neill to kick the ball, but instead he passes to Billy Slater who … passes to the ground.

Pic. Getty Images

Considering I tipped the Storm this is wildly depressing, so let’s all take a moment to lift our spirits with a glorious picture of Flossy Nightingale …. um, well I don’t really know what he’s doing. Maybe he’s chasing butterflies. Or passing an imaginary football. He’s just Flossy, you know?


The Cowboys reach their fifth tackle, take a kick, every man and his dog chases it in-goal. Dane Nielsen gets kneed in the face and rolls his ankle simultaneously. Ashley Graham somehow decides to go all Paul Mercurio and slides in on both knees, then knee-butts the ball dead. I would explain it but I … I don’t even know.

Everyone at Errol HQ is enjoying the Cowboys’ recent uniform redesign.

To my surprise and delight, someone in the stands reboots the Melbourne mixing desk and the Storm bust out a beautiful set play for Gareth Widdop to score a try. Cam Smith kicks a kick of amazingness for a 10-6 scoreline. Pretty sure I just heard a player yelling ‘what the fuck’ caught on the referee’s mike. I agree, mystery player. I agree.

Pic. Getty Images

Coming back from halftime, Tariq Sims goes for a strip on Billy Slater and is penalised. Of course he is. Sims boys attract penalties like flames attract moths. To explain it in footy terms, the Sims family is to penalties what Luke O’Donnell is to punch-ups. And to hotness. Oh Luke O’Donnell, we miss you already.

Sika Manu is taken off with leg troubles. Tonight is really not his night. It’s possible he’s offended the gods.

I notice Cameron Smith has taken off his headband. Did I offend him?

The Cowboys run in a try through Ash Graham and there is absolutely no doubt of any kind that the tipping gods hate me. This is the worst. 16-6 Cowboys.

I  miss about 10 minutes of the game because I happen to find this article online.

Perhaps it is because of the criticism that Andrew Johns has been ordained the next Immortal by some experts.

In what universe is Andrew Johns getting an easier ride to potential immortality than Darren Lockyer? Excuse me while my head explodes.

When I actually remember there’s footy on, Lozza is telling me Widdop is “a good mover on his feet”. As opposed to not on his feet. I love you, footy commentary. Never, ever change.

Matty Bowen runs in a beautiful try and grounds it with his torso from a JT kick for 22-8, and Ash Graham bags a double for 28-6. Just to clear things up, when the cmmentators say Matty Bowen is “changing his wheels” on the sideline, they are not talking about the “PAUL GALLEN GRABBED ME ON THE WHEELS” kind of wheels. They mean his shoes.

Proctor mounts a massive hit on Bowen, Billy saves a Fai Fai Loa try with a kick to the grandstand. If only my campaign for a rugby league six-and-out rule last year had worked. I won’t even get started on my petition for the shirtless v pantsless All-Stars.

The Fox boys tell me Ash Graham “has 19 runs tonight”. No wonder Billy is confused.

Melby have only one person on the bench, btw. Which is just like the Roosters on Sunday arvo, except that this wasn’t Neil Henry’s fault.

To finish off the rain-soaked tipping carnage, Tariq Sims somehow manages to run in a try without getting penalised, and it’s 34-6. Did that really just happen? Is this a betting scandal game again? Because I am 99% sure I’m not drunk.

Andy Raymond interviews “a very happy Dallas Johnson”, who looks pretty much the same as angry Dallas Johnson, and sad Dallas Johnson, and all other Dallas Johnsons. How could Andy even tell? Maybe Dallas just announces his feelings, like ladies with botox have to do.


Cooper Cronk tells Australia that: “I know this sounds silly, we’re not really focussed on winning games at the moment.” WELL THAT’S LUCKY COOPER CRONK.

Wayne Pearce tells us this win will be good for the Cowboys, because it’s like “mental nutrition”. Hello my new favourite phrase.

Stay tuned for a wrap of my all-round terrible tipping and the Erroltips leader board later this week.

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errol’s 12 days of christmas: day four

December 16th, 2010

On the fourth day of Christmas

Oh Errol gave to me

Some photos that are funnnnyyyy

Hi Errol friends. Hope you’re enjoying your daily dose of footy lolz. Our new e-best friend Kate tells us that yesterdays post made her friend cry from laughing at work and now his workmates think he’s a crazy person. This makes me proud. Next time I’ll post some half naked boys and then his colleagues can think he likes the dudes. Sweet.

Today I have the Worst Headache Ever and the only thing my brain can cope with is a) checking my hard drive for funny footy photos and b) posting them for you guyz. ENJOY!

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footy observations: melbourne cup style

November 2nd, 2010

You will all be SHOCKED to know that the Errol girls weren’t invited to any marquees for Melbourne Cup this year. No Birdcage, no Emirates VIP section, no Myer tent. Nothing. We were invited to the Maroubra Bay Hotel for their special day via SMS, but were sadly unable to attend. Apparently Rob ‘Millsy’ Mills is good enough for Flemington but we aren’t. And that pretty much sums up our lives.

Luckily, we … um, well we kind of don’t like the races. We want to like the races: all the mental images of gorgeous men in grey morning suits buying you champagne and sitting on white wrought iron furniture, maybe horrifying some of the more traditional and genteel folk by wearing a skirt above the knee.

Our eternal thanks to the Daily Telegraph and their intrepid photographers for bringing this photo to the world.

But the reality … not quite so charming. It’s all bogans in flammable suits and Oakleys and walking spray tans getting their heels wedged in the grass. Why would we overpay to go to the races in the middle of the day when we could just get pissed with bogans at the greyhound races, after dark, on solid cement ground, wearing whatever we want?

It makes no sense! It’s nonsense!

We do have one thing to thank the horse races for: they invited the Australian Kangaroos to the drawing of the barriers and it was the few moments in the whole of this four nations tournament to make us smile (apart from Bodene Thompson in general, rrrrawr).

If you can look at Cameron Smith playing a horse-riding video game and not laugh, then you may well be dead inside.

Isn’t it sweet that, since he never actually made it as a jockey, they let Billy Slater hold the fancy-schmancy number hats? HE LOOKS SO HAPPY.

Although, on second thoughts, it’s possible that it doesn’t take much at all to make Billy Slater happy. He also looks happy while crushing England’s spirits:

Catching footballs:

AND playing water polo like a joyful spaniel:

In fact, the only thing he doesn’t look happy doing is practising his Broadway high kicks. This is not a surprise, because high kicks are serious goddamn business. You mess that up? Someone loses an eye. YOU WANNA END UP WEARING AN EYE-PATCH, KIDS? DO YA?

Wait, what was my point? I got all distracted doing a kick-ball-change holding an imaginary tophat.

I think it was that the Four Nations game between the Kangas and England was straight up depressing, despite Tom Learoyd-Lahrs sporting a hilarious 90s Backstreet Boy-esque moustache. And it wasn’t just because of rain-related fumbles or the completely INSANE video ref decisions, or even the fact that we all knew Australia was going to smash it in. This poor little English backs had nothin’ against the Australians.

(Wonder if England ever stops and despairs that every time they invent a sport and export it to the colonies, the colonials end up being better at it.)

It’s just not fun seeing Australia play that far below their best. It’s not a spectacle, is it? There was a decided lack of magic. And Luke Lewis played out of his skin but that doesn’t help us now he’s injured. All we have left is Fierce Bitch Cooper Cronk, who also got some shit done on Sunday night.


And if you’re feeling a little tipsy, tired, or just plain blue, we would like to recommend you head over to the England Rugby League site and watch their video summary of the four nations team hosting a skills and drill day for schoolkids in Eden Park in New Zealand.

Tony Clubb saying “I’m still young” when he is clearly 45 in human years? Every man and his dog making fun of Luke Robinson for being tiny like a tiny teddy? Sam Burgess getting squirted in the ear with water by what I’m 99% sure is Robbie Farah? IT’S CHAMPAGNE TELEVISION.

Now bring on Australia vs New Zealand. Team Kiwi!

All Kangaroos pics: Getty Images

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man-kissing, hot chips and adventures in canberra

June 13th, 2010

Well, that was an eventful few weeks. We leave the internet for 10 days and all hell breaks loose.

What was meant to happen in the last week was this: we would head down to our nation’s capital for the Raiders vs Titans, do a little bit of work, relax a little, maybe hit up Questacon or ride bikes around Lake Burley-Griffin, and head home. Then we’d do some typey-typey for some new projects we’re working on and come back to Errol as if nothing had happened.


In the interim league went fucking insane. First Billy Slater and Jarryd Hayne got involved in a Melbourne vs Parramatta headbutt spite-fest at Parramatta Stadium. This, as we all know led to the Gayest Fight in Football History.

No, we don’t mean ‘gay’ as a derogatory term. We love gays. We mean it literally. Fierce bitch Cooper Cronk was not having any of this, and ran in to protect his fullback Billy Slater. Have you seen his face? We wouldn’t want anyone headbutting it either. He’s adorable. So far, so logical.

We saw Cooper running in … then Cooper diving onto Headbutt Hayne, and then ….

ARE THEY MAKING OUT? (yes, we did actually yell that at the tv).

Apparently the internet was equally confused/amused, because a complete genius came up with this:

Oh internet, how we love you.

We also especially enjoyed when Cam Smith gave the world a lesson in sportsmanship. First he yelled at the ref “WE CAN’T WIN THE PREMIERSHIP, WHO CARES WHAT WE DO?” He then threw an Errol-worthy tantrum and quit that whole shit.

Can’t win? Don’t try.

We can’t wait till that image is used in motivational posters in offices all over Melbourne.

And, of course, the tension resulted in two of the prettiest boys in history to ever share the sin-bin: Dan Dan Mortimer and Billy Slater. Surely people that pretty don’t belong in the bin? Evidently Billy agrees, because bitch was pissed.

The dramas didn’t stop at Parra vs Storm, though. There have feelingz happening all over the NRL. At Brookie, injury is taking it’s toll on Dave Williams. The man that … well, people who aren’t us like to call ‘the Wolfman’, is not dealing well with being a sideline fixture.

We interviewed Daveypants 2 weeks ago for the NRL and he seems so, so sad. His poor little arm is still in a sling and he is the saddest panda of all pandas in history. It took all our strength not to hug him.

It’s no suprise he has turned to comfort eating. Specifically, comfort eating chips on the sideline. The saddest part of all was when he offered one to Jamie Lyon and was brutally rebuffed. WAY TO MAKE HIM FEEL LIKE A PIG, JAMIE.

Meanwhile we were down in the Nation’s capital hustling and getting ready to watch the Raiders vs Titans. In a moment of perfect timing by the universe, we needed to interview the baby Raiders AND Titan’s coach John Cartwright. So on Sunday morning we headed off the pick up Carty and take him for a coffee and a chat. The only problem? Literally NOTHING is open in Canberra at 9.30am in Canberra.

What the hell, ACT? It was like a nuclear apocalypse took place and no one told us.

Not even WANGS massage was open, although at least it gave us a few lolz.

In the end, intrepid Carty led us into a food court, to find a tiny tiny window called the House of Vitality. Kiki ordered a diet coke, to which Carty said “a Diet Coke? …. for breakfast? Shouldn’t you at least have a normal coke for nutritional value?”

Kiki’s only answer was SHUT UP I’M HUNGOVER. She ordered the Diet Coke anyway.

What’s more glamorous than doing an interview with an NRL coach in a food court? Pretty much nothing. For reals.

Next stop was Bruce Stadium for Raiders vs Titans. For Sydney girls, going to Bruce Stadium is so … so weird. Actually, Canberra is weird to us. It’s all organised, and tidy, and convenient. All the suburbs have different names, but they’re only like two blocks apart and EVERYTHING IS SO CHEAP.

Two voddies and a beer for $12? $5 parking at the footy? $13 for a pizza and two Diet Cokes? Yes, please. It’s developing world prices without all the pesky airline travel and vaccinations.

As we drove into the Bruce Stadium carpark a friendly dude pointed out that Sassy’s bonnet was askew and maybe not closed properly. When she admitted it was just wonky from her bad driving, he came out with I HIT A KANGAROO ONCE. IT’S HEAD POPPED RIGHT OFF. I KILLED IT, BY THE WAY. Oh, Canberra. Nothing cheers us up like an animal decapitation story. Turns out it really did make Sassy feel better about her driving.

That, and a stadium with seats close enough to hear the OOF when two men tackles.

Wait, make that a decapitation, Bruce Stadium, and our new bestie in the next row down.

We asked Josh McCrone about this: “… definitely from Queanbeyan. He’s probably Campo’s neighbour”.

Then as a farewell to the ‘Berra, we met a few of the baby Raiders for interviews after recovery on Monday: Jarrod Croker, Daniel Vidot, Josh McCrone and Shaun Fensom. WE ARE IN LOVE. Four of the most hilarious, humble footy players you’ll meet (if you ignore Dan Vidot’s love for a glamorous self-portrait. He really, really loves them. Especially if they involve shirtlessness, which is fair enough. Have you seen him? He’s a total spunk).

McCrone and Crokes – actually all the boys really – are fucking hilarious. Shaun Fensom managed to burn Kiki within ten seconds of meeting her. We like his hustle. We also especially enjoyed Croker and Vidot taking the piss out of each other about their Adventures in Hair Highlights.

Apologies to the boys for springing it ON TAPE that some of them are gay icons, and to Shaun Fensom in particular for Kiki stroking his pretty hair like a massive creep. The trickiest part was convincing them to have their photos taken to go with the story – Dan Vidot only wanted pre-approved images that he’d had taken earlier included in the mag. He’s so J.Lo. We loves him

And Crokes was traumatised because his hair looked ‘shit’ (it didn’t, it looked messy and cute…bed hair!), he hadn’t shaved, and his shorts were soaking wet. “But I’ve got a beard! Can’t you come back another day and take them?”


But probably the highlight of our trip was telling Trevor Thurling of the huge section of his fan base who refer to him as Trevor “Sex Machine” Thurling.

According to google, this is what a Sex Machine looks like:

Trevor, is that you?

This story led to us hearing Shaun Fensom utter the words “yeah, I lived with a family when I first got here, now I live with Sex Machine”. Awesome.

Try not to die waiting, but the story will be out in the next issue of Rugby League Player mag. and in the meantime, here’s a picture of Josh McCrone being a hilarious human and posing comically in front of a palm tree. So awesome. Doesn’t he look like Prince Harry? He totally looks like Prince Harry. Till next time kittens! xx

Big thanks to our favourite media manager and one of our favourite humans, Ben Pollack, for hooking us up the whole weekend. And thankyou to the boys for being generally awesome. WE LOVE YOU RAIDERS!

Thanks to the brilliant Cronkster for the caps. LEGEND!

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all-stars vs indigenous: the final countdown

January 29th, 2010

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


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.


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?

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four nations, getting your pants off, and why rugby league player kicks ass

November 17th, 2009

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?


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.


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

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footy observations: serial killers and soccer

November 13th, 2009

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.



All pics via Getty Images

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footy observations: kangaroos and movember

November 7th, 2009

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:


All pics via Getty Images.

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