sassy’s grand final wrap-up: only one errol can win

October 5th, 2010

I won’t lie, there was a point – about 15 minutes into the second half of the grand final – where I cried. Not snotty Marley and Me-type crying. It was more a general Brett Morris-esque welling. I promised Kiki before the game that I wouldn’t weep, and I was determined to keep my promise. I’m nothing if not really petty and really stubborn.


By that point, all was lost and I knew it and it was heartbreaking. More than once I wished I was watching the game at home so at least I’d be able to listen to Rabs Warren commentate. His voice is just really comforting, and boy did I need comfort. Then Flossy Nightingale scored his second try and I got beer all done the back of my 2009 wooden-spoon jersey from over-excited Dragons fans and the sheer cold shock of being covered in mid-strength beer (they were fresh ones) snapped me back from the crying abyss.

So here’s how the game went down from our seats in the stratosphere.

The view from our seats: I should’ve known this was a bad omen.

SO MANY DRAGONS FANS. Those bitches was everywhere! And who was surprised? After last year, they had to Believe. Their team just had to transfer their skills into the finals series. On the other hand, as a Roosters fan, there’s a reason I didn’t have tickets: Because I’m not insane. I’m only that much of an optimist when I’m drunk or take a knock to the head.

I was expecting maybe … seventh or eighth for my boys. Knocked out first or second round of the finals at best. You know, something respectable, but not excessive. Something to inspire them to keep going for next year. Little did I know that Brian Smith – teeny tiny Smithy of the soothing voice and the dry, dry jokes – was a Rooster-whisperer and my team would start pulling Tigers-2005-style wins off as the season went on. It was like coming out of a hellish breakup (also knownas 2009) fat, acne-covered and depressed, and all of a sudden realising you’ve met the most perfect guy EVER. I was shocked and amazed and delighted.

Is it sad that I’m comparing my footy team to a boyfriend? Probably. But considering I spend Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday nights with football, it’s pretty accurate.

In the end, it turned out the 2010 Roosters/my new boyfriend weren’t going to have the whole fairytale package. They lost the grand final/he snores … but whatever. They made me happy, and I’m proud. And here’s why I think my babies couldn’t pull it off and Kiki’s dragons could.

GRAND FINALS NEED GRAND FINAL PERFORMANCES. I’m looking at you, Jason ‘Flossy’ Nightingale. The Dragons left-side is always their go-to attack side (shout out to Brett Morris for making the Kangaroos side again!) but with Gasnier back they started moving the ball to Flossy on the right wing, and the Roosters were too tired/demoralised to keep him out. Flossy you little gun! We always believed in you! It totally helped that he wore his lucky boots: those black ones that make it look like he’s a little kid who forgot his boots and had to play in school shoes. Maybe he could get sponsored by Clarks?

Truthfully, we thought he’d take the Churchill medal, but it turns out Joyce still really loves fullbacks (remember her lolz quotes about Billy Slater?), and I’m pretty sure Flossy doesn’t give a shit anyway cause he’s a grand final-winner.

Instead, we got to see Darius Boyd give one of the most unintentionally nerdy speeches ever when he accepted the Clive Churchill. It started with him standing around awkwardly and yelling ‘WOOO!’ and ended with him saying “now let’s go party!” like an American frat boy. Oh, Darius. It was an appropriate speech to hear when the Whitest Team in the NRL had just won a grand final.

Darius bringin cool back to the locker room whut whut

(For the record, not saying they’re white supremacists n stuff, just that they’re literally WHITE. B.Moz, Hornbag, Benny Creagh, you see where I’m going. There’s a lot of milk in the Dragons fridge and not much coffee).

WHAT’S THAT WAYNE BENNETT QUOTE ABOUT A CHAMPION TEAM NOT A TEAM OF CHAMPIONS? Cause yeah … that. I thought Floss was the best on the field and the most improved on the field but I wouldn’t fault any of the others, bar a few rain-related mistakes. Dean Young killed it. Jeremy Smith killed it, while looking like even more of a complete babe than usual.

Exhibit A. Dean Young congratulates Jeremy Smith on winning a non-tainted premiership and being a dirty spunk.

Weyman killed it, while he was on the field. Which reminds me, I refuse to believe Daniel Conn came in with a swinging arm until I see it. I also plan to never watch the replay, so Daniel Conn is innocent. The end. QED.

And lastly, TWO HOOKERS ARE BETTER THAN ONE. At least that’s what Charlie Sheen says. Boom tish! With the beauty of hindsight, 80 minutes of Jake Friend was no match for Dean Young and Nathan Fien. They were too sharp and speedy and his defence got too soft. Sad but true. I wouldn’t say any of my boys had shockers. They just didn’t bring the spark: they were a six when – at times this year – they’ve been a nine. Two words: next year.


Wanna know WHAT WE DID?

The UDL really brings out Yassy’s classy side.

Through a massive stroke of luck, we had tickets to the game, and the always fabulous Yasmin came with us, even though her two favourite players Moonie Vanoodie and Jarrod Yee-Hah weren’t playing. It probably helped that she has dirty crushes on Todd Carney and Ben Creagh, though. She sat between us, and even let me lay my head on her shoulder in despair in the second half. Usually she doesn’t much care for being touched, so thank you Yas!

After the game, while the Indian Roosters fan in front of us openly wept and was consoled by his girlfriend, we decided the best way to celebrate Kiki’s win, drown my sorrows and avoid train queues was to head to the Olympic Park pub and drink UDLs and dance to a covers band. Nothing cures sadness like dancing to Footloose and some comforting hugs from random Roosters fans and kindly Dragons while Kiki can-can dances around the pub. The general theme of the night from Drags fans was: BUT YOU GUYS DID SO WELL THIS YEAR! CONGRATULATIONS!

Kiki’s Grand Final headpiece (she made it herself!) both entertained and confused drunk people.

Next stop: The Beach Road Hotel for Kiki to gloat at Roosters fans. The only problem was that everyone there was so pissed they thought she was wearing Roosters colours.

And lastly: a drink and a pizza with our mate Shorto from the Jacksonville Axemen. Love you Shorto! Say hi to your dad for us!

I can’t express how much I adore every single Rooster for rebuilding us back into a team to be proud of this year. They finished second but it’s not enough of a reward for everything they did. All I can say is that seeing this broke my heart. It hurt even more than seeing Fitzy leave for the English Super League with a wooden spoon and a 16-point loss to the Cowboys, urgh.

And just as I was about to fume about Mark Gasnier sailing back in to get a Premiership ring, he stepped in to comfort Frank-Paul the Wrecking Ball:

Two words: NEXT YEAR. Next year, my darlings.

All pics: Getty Images

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origin wrap-up 2010: baby blues and report cards

July 8th, 2010

Recently, we’ve made a lot of new discoveries.

As part of her ‘Wet July’ campaign*, Sassy discovered that the Beach Road Hotel is exactly one longneck’s walk from her front door. She loves a roadie, and hates drink driving.

Kiki discovered that cleaning out a rabbit hutch is Extremely Unpleasant. Turns out her new pet bunny Preston Campbell is far less hygienic and tidy than the real Preston Campbell.

And after being slightly distressed last night (there may have been a tear or two) we discovered that even when you get maroon-washed you can still feel pretty proud the next morning.

See those big penguins? That’s us. Bein’ proud Origin parents.

Let’s break it down.

Three weeks can make a shitload of difference, huh? Even though the first ten minutes wasn’t exactly all the Blues dreams come true (understatement), the next 60 proved that when you play like you can win and get your blue asses all up in Queensland’s business, then you can win. It was a slightly-less-violent version of last year’s game three attitude. It also reminded us of the game back in 2009 where the bottom-eight Raiders beat the Minor Premiers St George out of nowhere just by gettin all up in their grills. This is also known as The Game Where T.Camps Threw a Ball at Dean Young’s Head. Also known as One Of Our Favourite Games Ever.

Hugging Gidley = v. important part of captain’s duties.
Pic. Getty Images

Straight after full time, we won’t lie, we were desolate. Seeing them come so close, but fall short, was sad sad sad. It may have even caused us to self-medicate with booze. But in retrospect, this is good. We is PROUD.

The last five years for NSW supporters have been like a five-year lesson in parenting. What do you do when you have children who disappoint you? What do you do when they make bad choices, when they get bullied, when they don’t believe in themselves? How do you deal with kids who fail to live up to their potential?

Apparently – and we checked this with our own mums to make sure – you can’t give kids back. It’s called ‘abandonment’ and people frown upon it.

Little Kurt just doesn’t understand.

So we stuck with the boys, just kept telling them we loved them and makin em peanut butter sandwiches or whatever young people eat these days … and last night we finally got the parental payoff. We think they call this feeling … PRIDE?

We get it now when parents say that they don’t care what mark you get “JUST AS LONG AS YOU TRY YOUR BEST DARLING”.

So let’s give some special shoutouts to our kids:

WE’RE SORRY, KURT GIDLEY: After all this drama, turns out you can play like a fucking demon when you want to (and when the selectors put you on the bench, where a good utility belongs). We’re sorry about the time we said on twitter you were ruining our lives. Now who else wants to sign the apology card?

WHAT UP FORMER INTERN GREG BIRD! Birdy, we knew you could do it all along. You’re a tough little nugget of awesome, and you proved it when you went over the line to ground the grubber, and in defence. ORIGIN 4 LYFE.

JARRYD HAYNE: Great game. Your other games weren’t great, but whatevs. That cut out pass to Brett Morris was MAGIC. You’re totally getting a bike for Christmas.

TOM LEAROYD-LAHRS AHOY! What? We have eyes. And as well as being a hot bitch, Tommy LL proved you don’t have to be the kind of player that racks up judiciary points to have enough (that hated word) “mongrel” to play Origin. Bitch is tough.

PAUL GALLEN: We don’t say nice things about Sharks players. You can make up your own complimentary feedback.

Pic. Quentin Jones

And the best bit of it? Not one player in that team played themselves out of a Blues jersey. For New South Welshfolk this feels weird. But we assure you it’s totally normal. We dare you to tell us who shouldn’t get another chance. Not even B.Moz when he cruelly murdered a try. Not even Ennis with his …. poor choice to join in a punch up in his own half. Not even Flash Gordon in his First Ever Origin, playing in the Position of Death. Sure there was that moment where he had some kind of attacking brain snap and ran in-field when the left side was open but whatever, Gidley ended up scoring anyway.

Sure Queensland played through some gaps out wide but that’s not necessarily a wing failure. That’s a whole line failure. And we’re 99% sure it’s the kinda thing that you fix by playing together, no?

They all played like boys who want to wear blues jerseys. Meaning they all played like boys who deserve blue jerseys. Luke Lewis, in the minutes he was on the field played like TWO men who should wear blue jerseys.

The exception was probably the last ten minutes, when they played like guys who all of a sudden realised they might actually win this thing and were so shocked and delighted and confused by the prospect of it happening that they lost their damn minds. But it happens, right? When you’re not used to winning it’s harder to win. Next time, it’ll be a teeny bit easier.

The maroons are good at football, bad at counting. Check out JT, Matt Scott and Darius.
Pic. Getty Images

Meanwhile, this is probably the point where we should discuss Queensland. We don’t like doing this. Yes, you’re all very good at football. Yes, that was a very good kick Darren Lockyer. Yes, Sam Thaiday we know you love fightin’, but stop trying to join in other people’s punch-ups. Also, tie your shorts a bit tighter next time pls.

Yes, letting Israel Folau take the last conversion attempt was kind of gross. (Nothing personal, Izzy). We could have written it off as “a touching farewell” if it wasn’t for the whole matter of Queensland first REFUSING to pick him on moral grounds, then picking him anyway cause he’s one of their two best wingers, then pimping him out as a hero. GROSS.

Do you know what is personal though? B.Moz and his injured knee. We blame you. Kiki in particular blames you. If someone in a balaclava knocks on your door then Tonya Hardings your knee, it’s probably her.

We would like to suggest that any team that would injure Brett Morris – beloved by all – is clearly in league with the powers of darkness.

As opposed to our team, who are on the whole pretty handsome, totally lovable, and wear delightfully short shorts.

And that’s SoO for 2010, over and out.

You stay classy, Origin fanz.
Pic. Cameron Richardson

* Wet July is just like Dry July, except instead of getting sponsored to be sober … you give money to charity yourself, then get drunk. Feel free to join in.

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origin 2010: we’re back bitches!

May 18th, 2010

Have you missed us darlings? I know, I know, it’s been a whole week and a half without any new Errol goodness in your lives.

Surprisingly, no, it’s not cause we were busy in our bunker sitting at a big judging desk, arguing, looking at photos, doing Tyra Banks impersonations, and picking the NSW Origin team. Although, Planet Eels suggested on twitter that we should be on the NSW selection panel, and to that we say YES PLEASE. CALL US ON YOUR COCONUT PHONE LAURIE DALEY, WE CAN FLY OUT IMMEDIATELY.

What we’ve actually been doing is dying slowly. The entire Errol office has come down with a hideous Ebola-like infection of death. We’ve been sleeping roughly 20 hours a day, coughing, wheezing, crying, moaning, and generally not being allowed out of our sanitary bubbles in case we infect the rest of the world. I’m actually kinda surprised no one has bled from the eyes or seen a vision of Jesus.

Needless to say, it’s kind of hard to blog when you can’t even make proper sentences. But thanks to the wonders of horse-strength antibiotics I’m vaguely upright, just in time to talk about Origin.

Come on down the boys in blue!

Kurt Gidley (capt)

Brett Morris

Matt Cooper

Timana Tahu

Jarryd Hayne

Jamie Lyon

Brett Kimmorley

Michael Weyman

Michael Ennis

Josh Perry

Trent Waterhouse

Ben Creagh

Anthony Watmough


Jamal Idris

Tom Learoyd-Lahrs

Luke Lewis

Brett White

… come on down so we can judge you.


Ah, Gidley, we meet again. Having met Gidley, once, for about 30 seconds, I can confirm he is a human, speaks English and has two arms and two legs. Other than that, I know nothing special about him, but everyone says he is “a good bloke” (which is the greatest compliment an Australian can give) and a great captain and all-around footy-playing champ.

But he’s also Not Jarryd Hayne. Is he?

My flatmate Denee hates football, and all football-related things. They confuse and annoy her. But last night when I saw the Origin announcement and yelled “HOW CAN YOU HAVE A DALLY M WINNING FULLBACK AND NOT PLAY HIM AT FULLBACK?” even she said “… well that just makes no sense”.


And having watched last night’s game, apparently the writers at nrl.com would agree with her. Can’t say anymore than that.


We’re gonna say it, you knew we would. B.MOZZZZZZZ! MOZZIE MOZZIE MOZZIE! Without doubt the best winger right now based on form. Not to mention polite and lovely and all things sunshiney in this world. When B.Moz scores a try, angels lose their necks and get their wings.

And when B.Moz plays outside Hot Bitch Cooper … you can guess that bit. We’re defending this choice all the way, kids. Remember Hot Bitch’s tries at ANZ in 2008? We do. Our pants do too. When he’s in form he’s a menacing defender and massively strong and seeing him in form, in sky blue, restores our faith in the world.

Timana Tahu, on the other hand, makes us feel kinda nervous. As the ever-eloquent Daniel Anderson put it, at the beginning of the season he was “rubbish”. Fair call, coach. He’s an experienced player though, and he’s improved, and God knows he’s stacked like a block of flats. If he lifts to rep level then maybe – just maybe – NSW’s backline has a chance of stopping the rampaging wildebeest Greg Inglis. Maybe.

(We’re already doing our part and sticking pointy little Errol pins into our GI voodoo doll. We made it out of light grey felt. It’s surprisingly life-like).

Which brings us to our Dally M winning fullback. On the wing. He’s a bit unpredictable in the regular season, and lots of people hate him. So he’s kind of  … the Anthony Watmough of outside backs. But he also totally lifts for Origin – like Watmough – and we approve of this.

We can’t say anything else about him except DAMMIT YOU WERE ROBBED FOR THAT TRY LAST YEAR JARRYD-WITH-A-Y. ps our friend Kate thinks you look like Rihanna. She’s right.

What up Jarryd? I like yo bob.


Well, well, what up Jamie Lyon! So your torture at the hands of the blues selectors continues.

Remember when you said you didn’t want to play Origin last year, and they made you play?

And remember when you said you wanted to play in the centres this year, and they put you in the halves?

Every time I say ‘centres’ I think of chocolate. Then I remember I can’t taste anything. MOTHERFUCKER.

Oh, how they must have laughed!

Jamie probably does deserve to be in the team – remember his defence last year? – plus he can kick those pesky goals. We’d rather him in the centres but then … who plays five-eighth? Our beloved Terry Campese isn’t exactly in form (sorry T.Camps!). Maybe Trent Barrett? Brett Finch is Origin kryptonite. And John Sutton … plays for the Rabbitohs. Ugh. If we were in charge we would totally put Barrett in the team just because there’s a chance that he might hit Greg Inglis in the face again.

If anyone wants to run for NSW Parliament on that platform, by the way, I’d totally vote for you.

Meanwhile, when Queensland sit down to pick their halfback, they’re choosing between Johnathan Thurston, Scott Prince and Cooper Cronk. In NSW we choose between Kimmorley (this isn’t meant to be offensive Noddy), crippled Mitchell Pearce, and recently returned from crippledom Jarrod Mullen and Peter Wallace. I won’t even include Todd Carney in contention for any position because I’m too worried about him stressing out and hitting the booze again, and Trent Hodkinson is, like, 12 years old. DAMN that shit is depressing.  Should we put in another centre? Josh Morris, you busy?

While you’re deciding, feel free to sign my petition to bring back Joey Johns. He looks totally match fit!  It’ll totally work!


Where God injures a halfback or three, he replaces them with 85 awesome back rowers. Between Watmough, Waterhouse, Creagh, O’Donnell, Gallen (ew, Sharks),  Hindmarsh, Laffranchi, Lewis, Learoyd-Lahrs, hell even Greg Bird, NSW literally has enough second rowers for three Origin teams.

We woulda put Lewis in the starting side, (and O’Donnell if he was fit cause damn that boy loves to fight) but we are happy x 1000 to see Watmough and Creagh in there. Watmough is MADE for Origin. He’s a sky blue dynamo. And when Ben Creagh runs the ball we deadset get occasional flashbacks of the Beav. Future Origin Hero. Trust.


First of all – WEYMAN! Has there ever been a more deserved first Origin call-up? Weyman’s gone from playing like 30 minutes max to being a blues frontrunner. And we feel weirdly … proud. Proud because we love a big fat footy dynamo, and weird in that the first ever thing he said to us was “I fucking hate journalists”. It was a joke, but still it’s lucky we’re:

a) not actually journalists

b) not easily offended.

Prove us right, Michael. Prove. Us. Right.

And secondly … good God, Josh Perry? Is this what we’ve come to? Where the hell are the NSW front rowers? Can someone not hurry up and clone an invincible George Rose so we can play him as a starting prop and on the bench? To quote our mate Greg, “Perry’s a pillow. A marshmallow. And not even a good Pascall one either”.

From now on, he shall be known as Home Brand Perry.


One word. Jamal. Forget where they’re gonna play him, we are currently taking bets on what super-amazing Origin hairstyle he’s gonna rock. I feel like the next progression from his tight pigtails at Country Origin is the full bun:

So what do we think overall? We live in hope. LET’S GO BLUES!

What about you kittens?

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monday funday: meet the morris twins

March 29th, 2010

So way back in 2009, the Errol girls and interns Loz and Butch interviewed a few of the Kangaroos before they set off for the Four Nations tournament in Europe. Because none of us know shorthand, we recorded the interviews, and lucky for y’all we’ve dug up the film of the Morris twins from the vault for a little  Monday pick me up.

Make sure you crank it up – because god knows the sound is terrible – and watch B.Moz tell us he should have been captain of our 2009 fantasy team, the boys suggest Wayne Bennett as a nominee for Sexiest Coach in League, and that Greg Inglis says the Mozzie twins have great legs (well spotted, Greg).

NB: thanks to Kiki’s surprise and delight, this camera work is extra shaky and not recommended for anyone with epilepsy and a hangover.

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friday night recap: dragons vs bulldogs

March 26th, 2010

At Errol HQ, we never like to do things straight away if we can let Future Us look after it instead. So how about a really late recap of the Dragons vs Bulldogs from the weekend? Awesome.

I’m watching this game form the couch. Sure I’d rather be hanging in the gong at WIN Stadium looking at the water views (they really are lovely) and basking in the kind of satisfaction that only comes from being within stalking distance of both Hot Bitch Cooper AND Wendell Sailor, but a girls gotta take what she can get. And what I got … is lazy.

The Bulldogs fans have a sign that says ‘STAGGERING’. Really, guys? Of all the options, you went with a tribute to David Stagg? No offence to Dave, but he’s not really a marquee player, is he? For the mums and gays reading, if you cast him in Beaches, he’d be Barbara Hershey, not Bette Midler, right?

The Dragons play a great first set with a brilliant kick from Tiny Dancer but I’m too busy being shocked that Hornbag has new spanx on. Thery’re all … white! And shiny! I thought Hornbag was gonna hold onto those old manky faded blue-grey spanx until the end of eternity. I always figured when nuclear armageddon came, all that would survive would be cockroaches, and Hornbag’s blue bike pants. Pretty sure Hornbag would love me comparing his crotchal region to insects, just quietly.

Pic. Getty Images

After about ten seconds Darius Boyd throws a great pass right to B.Moz to dive in like superman for a try. Kiki sends me text messages that just say ‘B.MOZZZZZz‘ and ‘FANTASY LEAGUE SUCK IT‘.

I send one back that says ‘F*CK ME THAT’S THE FIRST TIME I’VE EVER SEEN BALL-HOG PASS A FOOTY.’ Dah-rius, honey, if you can pass like that, how come you’ve never done it before, hmmmm?

Brad Fittler gives me updates from the sidelines and I feel like- much as I love Freddy – of all the post-footy jobs you could possibly give him, why would you pick one where you can only hear his voice?

He has a lovable face, relevant things to say, footy cred like woah, and … a voice like a punch-drunk boxer. It’s like listening to Milo Kerrigan tell me about the Dragons.

I swear to god he actually says “I can pretty much guarantee that they’ll end up the other end the bulldogs in not too long time”. I think he’s nervous. DON’T BE NERVOUS FREDDY DARLIN.

There’s some crazy sea mist action on the field and newly-recognised hot bitch Jeremy Smith’s new curly hair is all windswept and drenched, swoon. It makes me sad that he hid his hot under a Storm jersey for so long.

Weyman goes in for a tackle and Rabs cackles “talk about some prime beef coming together there! Hickey into Michael Weyman!” I know when I think of Jarrad Hickey the first thing I think of is beef. Mmmm wagyu.

Dean Young scores, but Sowie can’t convert. I think he got the prance wrong and it put him off.

They have to send in an interchange player for Jarrad Hickey cause Wagyu Jarrad is deadset EXHAUSTED. He’s the dampest, sweatiest man I’ve ever seen and I’m scared he might have a stroke.

Brad ‘Milo Kerrigan’ Fittler gives us a weather report: “there’s a bit of breeze, it’s not too hot. You just get a bit of a lather up.”

Sassy can’t wait till Freddy’s known as the Most Trusted Name in Weather.

Is the weather getting messy? Aaa-aaaaaask Freddy!

Benny Creagh puts a hit on David Stagg that is completely massive and Dave takes a quick ride on the Teacups that makes the ‘STAGGERING’ sign in the crowd seem really cruel and ironic.

At this point I really need to pee but apparently I would rather risk internal complications and hold it in than stop watching the footy. Also, is it just me or is Luke Priddis kind of a bizarro Trent Barrett?

The doggies have a chance at a try on the left hand side, but Dah-rius takes Bryson Goodwin over the sideline to stop it, then patronisingly pats him on the head. And when Bryson gets his bitch on and wants to start a fight, Dah-rius runs away. He fights like me!

Beau Scott takes his place, because dammit if Beau isn’t the angriest bitch ever as soon as he steps onto a football field. All of a sudden Hornbag, Ben Hannant, and Flossy nightingale are in the middle of an actual fight and I feel like there is no one in the world less suited to be involved in punchy punchy times. If the camera could show what was actually happening in there Ben Hannant and Flossy would just be nuzzling each other’s necks like giant puppies. J.Moz and B.Moz run away to fake fight each other on the other side of the field, also known as “entertaining the crowd with a show of brotherly love” according to Rabs.

… hasn’t he seen Philadelphia?
Pic. capped by Cronkstaaaah

Rabs, this prase “brotherly love”, it means something that you don’t think it means. Trust me.

Other things Rabs has told us tonight include that Jamal Idris used to do Discus, and that Sterlo is a “whippersnapper”. These things may or may not be true.

At half time Kiki rings me to discuss the fight and to tell me she has run out of clean undies and is freeballing. We are officially way too close.

The boys finish their oranges and the second half starts. This is also known as ‘Rabs being even more fucking hilarious/senile than usual”.

There’s a fiesta of Warriors-esque passes and, on the sideline, Milo Kerrigan the weatherman interviews Michael Ennis. Rabs thinks “the players are really improving … what about Sam Thaiday’s oratory skills!”

The game loses momentum, until Beau Scott brings down a bulldog and Rabs calls him “a bounty hunter! They don’t get away from him!”

I hear his new movie is really shit, though.

The doggies finally get a try in; Gary Warburton is penalised for a high tackle because I think we all know that good things don’t happen to men called Gary Warburton.

No, Gary, NO!

The dragons charge into Green and Hickey in defence. I’m impressed. I’d be too scared they’d eat me. Emmett scores, Kimmorley is enraged, and I am completely confused by whatever is going on with the reffing. For the record, I’m not even drunk.

Also, yes that was very good Nick Emmett but please don’t wink at me through the tv again. It’s unnerving. We hardly know each other.

Meanwhile Kimmorley is still angry and frantically miming obstruction at the ref like a netball umpire in slo-mo.

Kiki phones me again and we declare Hornbag as the Errol man of the match.

Ben Creagh slams Kimmorley and mini-Hoppo takes a looong ride on Space Mountain. I yell out “thanks for comin’ Kimmorley!” like a dirty bogan.

B. Moz runs in for his third try of the noght and I seriously cannot even process how unfair this is. Remember our fantasy experiment? I really REALLY need this kind of talent in my team, but B.Moz refuses to give in and just steal a car or something. He’s so fucking selfish. My fantasy team is so gonna lose this week.

With that the ref blows the whistle, 26-6. I cry a little for my poor unfortunate fantasy team … and did I mention I need to pee again?

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introducing : the great oh errol fantasy experiment of 2010

March 10th, 2010

Yes people, it’s that time again. It’s time for us to up our nerd factor even higher. Because having a blog about rugby league, tweeting live during at least 4 games every weekend and being active members of a footy internet forum just isn’t enough. Nope. What we really need is……FANTASY LEAGUE! NYEEEEH! GLAVEN!

Even nerdier is the fact we cannot just have any old fantasy teams. Oh no. We MUST have a reason for participating. Specifically, a scientific reason. Last year we wanted to know whether the bigger advantage is being really really good looking, or being a generally nice human being. In the end, niceness won out.

This year, we are embarking on a new, even more genius experiment. This years experiment comes directly from the incredible super awesomeness that is Kiki’s brain. Kiki is what one would call ‘an ideas woman’. Like most geniuses, she has trouble with every day living. Examples:

– she’s had the same bank account since Year 4 because she can’t figure out how to change banks.

– one time she, along with her mother and grandma, rocked up the Gold Coast airport to fly home, only to be told by the mean Qantas lady that she had in fact booked flights home from the SUNSHINE COAST.

– her whole time at Uni she could never figure out how to use the library and often took her mum with her so she could borrow books for assignments.

Kiki likes her juice in box form.

But none of this embarassment matters, because her brain came up with the following.

“SASSY OMG I HAVE THE BEST IDEA! What about you have a team with all the naughty boys in footy, called Sassy’s Second Chances? And then I have one with all the good boys called Kiki’s Lil Angels and we can MAKE THEM PLAY AGAINST EACH OTHER. TO SEE WHO WILL WIN IN THE END!!!”

What’s that you say? Adrian Proszenko had a similar idea about having a fantasy team filled with league’s bad boys? Oh, we know. We also know that he published that article a good WEEK after we committed to our experiment. We are 76% sure he has ripped us off directly, as we got drunk after the All Stars game and told pretty much everyone in rugby league, including journos, about our Awesome Experiment. If his next article includes something about Jamal Idris starring in Citizen Kane, our suspicions will be confirmed. We are watching you Proszenko.

Now, on with the show.

Coach : Kiki
Captain : Robbie ‘Nips’ Farah
Criteria for selection: players must be well known good boys, church goers, generally adorable, make us wanna squish their little faces, or just have managed to play for years and never got into any nasty business.
Why we’re doing it : to see if having a peaceful off field life contributes to on field sucess. Also, so we can photoshop Brett Morris’s head onto a creepy cartoon of a boy angel.


As you can see, Kiki lost her inspiration (and money) by the time she got to the bench and ended up picking players that cost a certain amount and haven’t publicly messed up. CLUTCHING….STRAWS….ETC.

[Please note the overwhelming amount of my beloved Dragons in there. There woulda been more but the rules say I can only have four. DISCRIMINATION. It’s not my fault I follow a team filled to the brim with good boys. Geez – Kiki]

Coach : Sassy
Captain : Paul Gallen
Criteria for selection : have been involved in at least one public scandal, ranging from criminal charges to pissing in the streets.
Why we’re doing it: to see if being a mischievous drunk does actually affect your footy. Also, because if rugby league is about anything it’s about second chances. Rugby league : because everyone makes mistakes.

BEHOLD! The Second Chances :

The best thing about the Second Chances is that a man called ‘Bronx GOLDWIN’ is on the bench. Everyone loves a mysterious Jewish winger!

[you may also notice that my team has a strong Rooster contingent and PRETTY MUCH THE ENTIRE AUSTRALIAN BACK ROW. Awesome. – Sassy]

And now all we need is the season to start and the experiment will have begun. If you want to join our league, as many awesome people already have, go HERE . Our league number is – 18923-2717.

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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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four nations recap: … I've had a little bit to drink

November 9th, 2009

“It’s just been a weird night … and I’ve had a little bit to drink.”

So here’s the disclaimer: I went to Ladyhawke on Saturday night, and despite being Super Responsible and leaving the pub (I know, amazing right?) at well-maybe-a-little-bit-after-midnight like Cinderella, I was … well, look I was drunk when I watched this. Basically, I take no responsibility for being overexcited or imagining shit. But I think it’s more important to focus on the fact that I left a pub while it was still dark. That’s a massive achievement for me, JUST SO YOU KNOW.

To start with, is it wrong to say that I’m a bit in love with the British League commentators? Cause I am. No, not for their comical accents. Those bitches are insightful. They care about the important things: like explaining to the general European public that back in Australia Robbie Farah has a kebab named after him, but DON’T WORRY GUYS, IT’S A HEALTHY KEBAB! IT HAS CHICKEN AND VEGETABLES IN IT AND EVERYTHING.

God forbid anyone in the United Kingdom mistakenly think that Robbie Farah and his visible abs are schilling for some greasy obesity-inducing second-rate kebab. The commentary team are all about accuracy.

Well, all about accuracy … and historical lolz. After explaining in great detail that Northern Frenchies don’t play league because league was one of the things – along with freedom and equality – that Hitler cared not for, they start calling the French defence ‘the resistance’. It’s funny cause it means two things! *slaps knee*

These people? Yep, defenders of freedom and rugby league fans.

Meanwhile if you ever get heckled by rugby union fans for liking league, you can always ask whether they know that the Nazi collaborators and Vichy government in WWII France banned league and promoted union. Yes, people will think you’re a massive loser, but better that than a union follower, right? WE’RE THE RESISTANCE, BITCHES.

It also makes me happy to know that there are other nerds out there if the commentary team ever stumble onto Errol and read our footy posts from last year, they will totally enjoy Kiki’s jokes about Winston Churchill and Stalin and the Cronulla Sharks.

As for the game: not gonna lie, the Aussies didn’t live up to their potential as a team (and the Frenchies agree) but I care not. They had moustaches, and they entertained me, and that’s what counts.

So let’s talk about the Aussie boys.


Um, you know it’s true. No sooner had I pointed out that Cooper Cronk has one of the greatest moustaches in league history and reminds us of a latter-day 40-20 kicking Errol Flynn:

… really? I look that good?

Than he’s all up in the French’s business filling in for Thurston and Lockyer and generally being awesome. Sure, I’d had about six voddies, but I could still tell that the team looked way better in the second half when Cooper came off the bench. IT’S ALL IN THE MO, DARLINGS.


And if Cooper’s lucky charm is a mo, then Robbie Farah’s is his headband. Remember way back in July when Robbie Farah rocked the tape headband and got his punch on with Anthony Watts?

Well from what he told us at the Kangaroos media call before the boys left, he’s … well he’s kinda proud. He also promised us that he’d bring back the headband as a rugby league look. After all, there’s nothing more Tigers than a tape headband, is there? Even Wayne Pearce knows the answer to that question.

Anyway, we’re pleased to observe that HE TOTALLY DID. Bitch is a man of his word! And there is no way you will ever convince me he didn’t tape himself up as an act of generosity and charity purely to entertain the Errol girls.

Although I do kinda wonder if Robbie just reserves the tape for special occasions, like when he punches on in the scrum, or when he’s going to appear in the starting Kangaroos team on international television. I say it’s no coincidence that Robbie rocked the shit out of the elastoplast in Paris just as he got his start as hooker, right?


Meanwhile, as Robbie stepped in at dummy half, Cam Smith rested it up and discussed history with Brett White in the stands.

(Apparently Cam Smith totally enjoys history, by the way. That wasn’t just me projecting. I read it on the internet so you know it’s true).

French background dude does not appreciate Movember.

Don’t those handlebar moustaches just make you proud to be Australian? I love knowing I’m from a country that thought, you know what will do wonders for men’s health issues? Facial hair.

And with their schmick green Aussie blazers, I love that the touring Kangaroos kind of look like they’re on tour in Paris in 1975. Devils on horseback, anyone? Maybe a prawn cocktail?

I’m actually a bit offended that the Frenchie in the expensive-looking chocolate brown leather jacket in the background is looking so judgy and unimpressed by Cam Smith and Brett White and their handlebar efforts. IT’S CALLED MOVEMBER. IT’S FOR CHARITY. GOOGLE IT.

… but French background dude does find Anthony Watmough hilarious.

Meanwhile if you look in the foreground, NRL media manager David ‘D.T.’Taylor is kicking Movember’s ass with his mo, too. AMAZING WORK DAVE!

When the camera panned to the crowd during the game I almost spat out my diet coke in shock/joy, because Spotting D.T. is one of my favourite footy past times. It might even be better than my other favourite footy past time: ‘picking jobs for Nathan Hindmarsh’s kids’ (I’ll explain that one another time).

Wherever there are NRL players, there has to be an NRL media manager. So spotting D.T is like playing Where’s Wally – he has to be there somewhere, it’s just a question of where.

Exhibit A:


You get extra points in this game if you manage to find a pic where he’s standing in the background looking sort of like a creep.


I don’t know if I should mention it but we totally called it! As predicted, the Mozzie twins were a double-act of awesome against the French, racking up two tries each for a total of four. Four tries for their country? Shit is ridiculous!

I actually think while I was watching the game, when the commentators reminded us all they scored four, I may have yelled out FOUR FOR YOU GLEN COCO, YOU GO GLEN COCO!  Apologies to my neighbours. (Except the one who practises the flute every weeknight. They deserve it for annoying the hell out of me).

Clearly the French were dazzled by the Mozzie’s long long Bambi legs, super-speed, and general twinniness, those adorable over-achieving bastards.

Best of all? THE MOZZIES SLEDGE EACH OTHER. As they raced each other to ground a kick for a try I am 100% sure I saw B.Moz mocking J.Moz. And when he scored a second try, he made the international sibling expression for – HAH!

It’s all scratched knees and sibling rivalry in the Morris house

See? I have a brother and I totally make that face too. It’s a universal expression loosely translated as ‘I WIN!’ The only thing better was that when J.Moz got his first try on the board, he celebrated by getting caught on camera first giving an ‘I love you’ shout out to his family back home, then saying ‘thank fuck for that’. Bless.


So the English shocked everyone by beating the Kiwis (I’d fallen asleep by this point), giving them the chance to play the Kangaroos in the final on the weekend. Allegedly Tim Sheens has told his team the gloves are off, and if anyone plays dirty, they should give it back. JUST DON’T HIT THE MOZZIES. THEY’RE TOO CUTE FOR VIOLENCE!


Have you sponsored the Kangaroos yet? WELL HAVE YOU? You know you want to:


All pictures Getty Images

Screen caps by the amazing Cronkster, who’s on holiday in Fiji right now. HAVE FUN DARLING!

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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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