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?

Last weekend’s footy was a veritable festival of lolz. The Lolz Festival! I would totally go to that. Who am I kidding, I would be straight out performing. No…HEADLINING. Youse are all invited backstage of course. Together we will make that rider our bitch.

Err anyway, because Sassy and I are literally married we have a system where we support each others teams. She has been to the last few Dragons games with me, so this last Friday it was my turn to accompany her to watch the Chooks.  We proceeded to get quite drunk at our friend’s BBQ (hi Denee!) then tottled off to the footy.

To put it mildly, what a crap game. The atmosphere was non existent (sup cricket crowd!) and the first half was like watching a reggies match. The Chooks served up some of their trademark ridiculousness, including a player getting up to play the ball to no one, looking around to find a guy behind him….who was also looking around searching for someone. I squealed in horror and spilt my drink. THANKS CHOOKS. Those drinks deadset cost 15 dollars.

Meanwhile I spent most of the game trying to figure out how to get live scores from the Dragons game on my fone. I gave up and went back to the BBQ, hopped on Denee’s laptop and was delighted to see my babies came up with a win. Not a huge suprise, but god knows I love seeing the boys on the top of the table. I even did my Top Of The Table Dance which is basically star jumps until I get buggered and fall on the floor clutching my side in pain.

In natural light, Kiki’s bronzer looked decidedly greenish

Afterwards we walked stumbled down to the Leagues Club to meet some of the Bondi Rescue boys for a drink (I know, I know, we are such total celebs. Autograph line to left…). After way too many Smirnoff Blacks we decided it would be an awesome idea to accost poor Shaun Kenny-Dowall and ask him vitally important questions like ‘SKD! WHY DID U WEAR THONGS IN YOUR GODS OF FOOTBALL SHOOT? IS IT COZ YOU’RE SCARED OF GETTING TINEA?’

To his credit, he was very gracious and tolerant of our crazy. Also, we would like to apologise for terrorising some of the baby Chooks. Specifically to Sandor Earl for bringing up trimmed man pubes in our first ever conversation.

Back to the Dragons. Sadly Hot Bitch Cooper is STILL out, but obviously Channel 9 read Errol (well duh, who doesn’t) and decided to give me some sideline action to soothe my pain.

Joey - So Coops, how does it feel when Kiki violates you on the internet?
Hot Bitch – Yeh mate…not bad. Wish she would stop doing that heavy breathing thing on my voicemail though.

Tiny Dancer Soward continues to be an amazing human. Going great guns for the Drags, and more importantly for our beloved fantasy teams. His pre goal kicking dance routine is one of the top 5 greatest things about league. Like, ever. Obviously the Parra crowd doesn’t think so, those bitches were all up his business with their boos. Poor ignorant people. Everyone knows you do NOT interrupt Sowie Kapowie.

UM EXCUSE ME FUCKERS…BIT OF SHOOSH FOR MAH DANCE OKAY?

Sassy and I also watched the Cowboys v Titans. We don’t really care about either team, we just didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to watch not one but TWO teams in white shorts. Specially when said teams include Willy Zilly, John John and Luke O’Donnell. Granted, it did take us approximately 20 mins to figure out why the Cowboys looked to be playing in the Newtown Jets strip (hehe…strip), but it was totally worth it.

Onto Monday night footy. I tipped the Bunnies because well… it was Easter. Flawless logic right? WRONG. DAMN YOU RABBITOHS. Thankfully though, this game delivered two things I love: biff and lolz.

The biff was….okay, I wasn’t watching that closely. I’m still not quite sure what started it. But it sure escalated into something kind of amazing pretty quickly. Nothing says celebrating the resurrection of Christ like fisticuffs on the footy field right? We were delighted to see the muchly adorable Benny Lowe right in the middle of it. The man has curls, a sweet tan, great pins and most importantly…dimples. Clearly a new Errol fave.

This brawl’s for you, Jesus!

And then there were the lolz. These lolz stemmed from severe embarassment. Which everyone knows is the best kind of lolz. As the boys ran on for half time, a rain soaked Andy Raymond informed us that Ben Hannant wouldn’t be returning for awhile because he had a, and I quote, “case of the runs”. Oh….my god. As if tap arse isn’t embarassing enough on it’s own, now the poor bloke has to have it reported as news on national television.

Because my brother and I are basically 12 yr olds, we dissolved into a fit of giggles and started imagining if Hannant shat his pants whilst on the field. Would he have to go to the….Shit Bin? Would the ref stop the game? YOU…HANNANT..SHIT BIN! GET YOURSELF CLEANED UP! Would the trainers whack him in an adult diaper, give him a change of shorts and send him back on out there? Or maybe even…stitch his ass up?

And on that charming note, I’ll see you next week.

Screencaps from the awesome BS. Shooshing the crowd joke unashamedly stolen from Lozzy.

I have shocking news for you today, babies.  Absolutely fucking shocking.  In fact, I would suggest that before you read this post, you pull up a chair and move away from all sharp edges.  I don’t want someone losing an eye from fainting while they read Oh Errol.  We totes don’t have enough cash to pay off a lawsuit (unless you’re happy to accept sexual favours).

When I found out this morning I involuntarily spat my Mimosa all over Lachie’s school project.

Wait for it … Sonny Bill is unhappy.  AGAIN.  Are you surprised?  God knows I am!  Sonny Bill!  That little ray of sunshine … UNHAPPY?  My ticker almost can’t take the shock.

The only thing more completely gobsmacking is that Sonny Bill Feelings is injured at the moment and not playing.

Williams’ manager, Khoder Nasser, is travelling to France to check on the welfare of his client.

There are rumours Williams is upset at his treatment by Toulon president Mourad Boudjellal.

One source said: “The guy is a tyrant who is giving Sonny Bill hell.”

Williams is out injured at the moment with a leg problem.

Sonny Bill Feelings, INJURED AND SOOKY? What kind of topsy-turvy world is this?

[Lozzy doesn't even think he is injured btw. She thinks he had a tanty that he wasn't getting enough attention and was stuck with another losing side, so he had Mama Williams send over a note saying he had his period to get him out of it. YOU KNOW IT'S LIKELY!]

Word is he may even want to come back to the doggies, and wouldn’t they be glad to have him?

Okay do you know what? I can’t keep up this sarcasm any longer. It’s burning my throat (or is that the Breakfast Margarita I had to get over my faux shock?).  Either way.

Oh, Sonny Bill Feelings.  Sonny, Sonny, Sonny.

He is as steady and predictable as a Pete Murray song.  As repetitive as the Roosters in attack.  As constant as the tides. I’ll say it again: until bitch discovers lithium, he’ll never be happy.

Well, he might be.  The other possibility, of course, is that Sonny is a normal, healthy, functioning young man, and he is only crying over his croissant right now because it just so happens that everyone he comes across happens to be REALLY REALLY MEAN.

Now we Errol girls are nothing if not Dedicated Journalists, determined to bring you the truth at any cost.  So I nipped down to the shops for an international phone card and called up Toulon this morning to get the 411 from Sonny Bill.

Lucky for you I also speak fluent Kiwi, because the Man in Question – also known as ‘the Fugitive‘ – revealed all, and I have translated it for you.  Turns out those rugby frogs are even meaner than Folkesy.  They won’t even let him shoulder charge.  Heartless Frenchies.  And Umaga didn’t even defend him.  Umaga! 

What heppened to Kiwi solidarity? 

But the last straw was when they put the Dummies’ Guide to Rugby in Sonny’s Dora the Explorer Backpack one training session and asked him to learn all those trucky new rules.  It’s pretty much made his life hell over there.  IT’S CAUSE HE’S POLY, ISN’T IT?

But Sonny, my lad, I asked, surely this is no worse than the hell you endured at the hands of those ruthless Bulldogs?  What with their ‘training’ sessions, and constant refusal to use pages from your BIG BOOK OF IDEAS to revolutionise the club?

Oh no, there is something else, isn’t there, Sonny?  You can tell Dr. Sassy. No judgment. You miss your manlove, don’t you?  Ever since he left, it’s just not the same.  I knew it.  You’ve been dumped for Greg Inglis, and it hurts, doesn’t it?

That’s right, kittens. Without Anthony ‘the Man’ Mundine by his side to remind him that a ruck is a rugby term, and not a person, like Ruck Astley, Sonny Bill Feelings has been wearing his Sonny-Bill-sadface.

… Choc? Where are you Choc?

And if, like me, you are moved by Sonny Bill’s story of trauma and totally sympathise with his plight, you will be pleased to know you can now send him messages of love and support via the Daily Telegraph. 

And that concludes our news update for today.  You stay classy, San Diego.

It’s that time of year! First of all I just have to mention that last night, at the Hordern Pavilion, travel-size Matt Orford took home the Dally M Award for player of the year.

Chris ‘Sonic’ Sandow was Rookie of the Year, and much-loved ginger statesman Alan Tongue was Captain of the Year.

We have to mention it because … um, wait one sec- … oh yes, because it’s prestigious. Very prestigious.  I always forget that there are other Awards shows than the Errols.

The Dally M Awards ceremony is the glamour event of the Rugby League calendar, the night of nights, the Oscars of the NRL.

And of course I don’t mean to be disrespectful at all if, while I’m watching it, I giggle a little bit at how uncomfortable NRL players look in their suits and squeal things like ‘it’s like watching a dog walk on it’s hind-legs! … or a bear ride a BICYCLE!’ every time a player pulled at his tie or squirmed on-stage.

I just really love that they make the boys get dressed up and feel awkward to get their awards.  It’s so cruel.  Like forcing kids to sit through school speech night in their blazers in the middle of December.

Anyway.  Congratulations Matty and Alan and Chris and all the other winners. Love and kisses from the Errol girls for your very fine footballing. I hope that during your reign on the Dally M Throne you do all you can to promote world peace and help alll the children of the world.

In other news, I have been pretty zen so far about this whole Death of Rugby League drama.  There’s a lot of distress about players leaving the NRL, but I kinda figured if players want to go live in Kamp Khoder and play French Rugby or move to Super League then they’re going to do it whether we all have conniptions or not.  Right?

Not any more kittens. That was way back when we were just talking about Mark Gasnier, Luke Rooney, Sonny Bill Feelings, and maaaaaybe Greg Inglis.  Now, it seems, we’re talking about BIG DELL.

Apparently Dell might move to Super League next year.  DELL. SUPER LEAGUE.  This is the last straw bitches!  As if I’m not upset enough already that Willie Mason is injured and won’t play again until halfway through next season.  Because I can handle giving up my totally awesome Sonny Bill Feelings jokes, and I can live without Gasnier’s flashes of brilliance … but Big Dell is hilarious.  Forget about football, bitch makes me laugh.

And unless it’s to the hospital to rub Big Willie Mason’s back while he recovers from knee surgery, then I don’t want Wendell Sailor going anywhere.  DO YOU HEAR THAT DELL?

There’s also the little matter of one Matt ‘Hot Bitch’ Cooper: for years the devoted left centre to Mark Gasnier’s right, the 4 to his 3, the Robin to his Batman, the Albert to his Queen Victoria.

When Monsieur Gaz announced his departure at the end of the season to play Rugby in France we were deeply worried about how our Hot Bitch would fare without his loving manpanion beside him on the field.

We were so worried, in fact, that when it finally started to look like Hot Bitch was moving on into a bromance with the Dell, we were so relieved we didn’t even notice that Lachie had accidentally come to work in his jammies again.

Still, it goes without saying that we are Not Impressed with the prospect of Dell leaving. Hasn’t Hot Bitch been through enough? A heart can only take so much breakin, you know.

WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE HOT BITCH?

I personally think the Roosters Toyota Cup team were all cut up about this issue too, because I don’t quite know how else to explain them going crazy on Friday night. There was KICKING and everything.

The chicks just … lost their shit against the Dragons, and managed a whole new special kind of brawling hat trick when three of them were sent off.  And, um, I guess well done kids?  It is quite impressive to win a game playing 10 men on 13, but in general – honeys no.  Stop that please.  At least until I’ve had a drink.

The chicks and their 10-man win might make the Raiders feel a little better though.  Apparently the Canberra Raiders have also been to the Springfield Mystery Spot, because like the Bulldogs … they just have no players left. Literally, not enough able-bodied men to make a full first-grade side.

The Queanbeyan library is TOTALLY UNDERSTAFFED.  EMERGENCY! WHO WILL OPERATE THE MICROFICHE?

Little Cy Lasscock (heh, Lasscock) from the Under-20s might even have to try and pull a John Kite and back up from playing the the Toyota Cup semi-finals for the Raiders semi-final against the Sharks.

Either way, my advice to the Canberra kiddies is to take a leaf out of the Bulldog’s book and ease the pain of being in a totally shit situation by having a ridiculous French-themed party.

Oh, those crazy Bulldogs!  Ringing in Mad Monday by dressing as Frenchmen.  Nothing makes you feel better about a complete annus horribilis like a dress-up party does, especially if your costume includes a bitchy dig at Sonny Bill Feelings. (Except for in the case of Reni Maitua, who apparently is Too Cool to dress up.  Bitch please).

Luke Patten and mystery man:

original pics: News Limited

… you are my new heroes.

And lastly I wanna say HAY to all the boys who stayed scoreless this year and were forced to nudie run on Monday.  Hope it wasn’t too cold, kids.

For awhile, I was hopeful. Hopeful that the Olympics would completely blanket the sports pages and we’d be free of stories about THE DEATH OF RUGBY LEAGUE for two or three weeks. Sadly, no. Sonny Bill Feelings’ fugitive saga continues, and now Greg Inglis is apparently considering drinking the Khoder Nasser koolaid and heading to France.

I’m missing something, aren’t I? About the lure of the Nasser, and about Anthony Mundine. They speak and I hear english, everyone else apparently hears the sweet and seductive chimes of silver bells or the stirring roar of a “man with balls” and a rugby league role model.

If the courts ever do find Sonny Bill, will he be dressed in sunshine yellow robes, brushing Khoder Nasser’s hair, chanting “Jesus loves you” and answering only to the biblical name Meschach?

(The Polyphonic Spree are pissed you stole their look, by the way).

And Greg is kind of the last straw. I just can’t bring myself to care anymore. I have a lot of opinions, and even more rage, and even more love for league, but I’m finally spent. I’m happy to say to all the boys that if they want to go to France, just go to France. Off you go babies, on your bikes. I hear the south of France is lovely. Enjoy the scenery! Try the cotes d’agneaux!

Mmmmmmm cotes d’agneaux.

This is why you don’t visit the Springfield Mystery Spot

There is something that we really should be worried about, and I’m ninety percent sure that something is in the water over at Canterbury. Jessica’s beloved Reni Maitua is out for the rest of the season after a shoulder reconstruction. You might have guessed that things were Not Pretty when she heard the news. And after she had finally cried herself to the point of exhaustion and passed out on Intern Greg Bird’s shoulder, I had him move her to the couch and look up the rest of the Bulldogs team.

Turns out Reni’s busted shoulder is in fine company. It joins Willie Tonga’s announcement he’s heading to the Cowboys, Sonny’s defection to the Children of God – I mean, rugby – Arana Taumata being shipped out for punching someone’s jaw, Tim Winitana’s broken rib, and Ben Roberts and Lee Te Maari’s Cronulla punch-up dramaz as just one more reason why Belmore oval is a ghost town. WHAT IS GOING ON? How is it possible to lose so many players without actively knocking them off? Did they piss off the mob or something? Cause this shit is ridiculous.

As far as I can tell, this turn of events leaves only Hazem El Masri and … um, who else is left in the dogs? Nick Youngquest? Can he still play? Or is he still busy rescuing a local resident’s washing machine and household pets from a domestic fire?

I know Jarrad Hickey can’t still be playing, because he was accidentally hypnotised into thinking he’s a chicken; Andrew Holdsworth has been overdoing it on nerve tonic, and Andrew Ryan may or may not be suffering radiation poisoning.

That pretty much leaves us with John Kite, Ben Barba … and Daryl Strawberry. Right?

Sydney Water and Brian Waldron, I want you to get onto this immediately please. Jessica will have a stroke if it goes on much longer. She’s already started cackling at inappropriate moments and collecting cans of beans and foil to make helmets so she can climb into the basement and live as a recluse until the 2009 season starts. Bitch is seriously close to going off the deep end.

In the meantime, Jessica honey, why don’t we go to a happy place for awhile?

Titans Learn Read Good

pic: www.goldcoast.com.au

Oh yeah. That’s the good stuff.

Either Scotty Prince is pretty much an angel from above, or these boys have even better publicists than Big Dell, because it seems he and the Gold Coast Titans are launching an educational program.

An educational program. Called TLC. For little kids who need extra support at school. REALLY? Are you kidding me Scott Prince? Are you trying to kill me with cuteness? DAMMIT SCOTTY! I’M ONLY HUMAN. MY OVARIES, THEY CAN’T TAKE IT.

I was already feeling a little bit woozy when I saw that adorable picture of you with your kids. If this is some kind of late run to win the Snuggliest Man in League award, then all I can say is … it’s working. Tip of the cap to you, Mr. Prince. I don’t think the other bitches stand a chance.

 Oh yeah, the saga continues. Now the Bulldogs have come out guns a-blazing to try and sue Monsieur Feelings and stop him playing for anyone else. But the Supreme Court says they have to find him first.

And I should explain something at this point: If we Errol girls haven’t written anything serious about sbfeelings and his run from tha law it’s because we’re too angry and offended.  We hate this whole thing more than when the jukebox at the Judgy eats our $20 and then refuses to play our T Rex, Whitney Houston and Daryl Braithwaite selections.

I’m also a bit worried that the British process-servers they send after him don’t follow the NRL and won’t know where to look for the fleeing Kiwi. That’s why I’ve decided to do everything I can to help Greenberg and the dogs and prepared a brief and informative Sonny Bill Feelings dossier.

Height: 191cm
Weight: 108kg
DOB: 3rd Aug 1985
Distinguishing features: approx. 95 Polynesian cultural tattoos
approx. 1 x douchebag ‘WILLIAMS’ tattoo across upper back
1 x Dora the Explorer backpack

Appearance: Likely sporting trenchcoat, fedora, look of confusion, and vacant stare.

Artist’s Rendering

Last Sighting: Heathrow Airport, London.

Suggested search areas:

Leicester Square area, central London. Suspect reported to be mesmerised by locations with brightly-coloured and/or flashing lights.

London Aquarium, likely attempting to commune with sea creatures.

Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks. Suspect believed to hold an affinity with David Beckham. May attempt to seek Beckham’s advice before deciding on future movements.

Buckingham Palace Forecourt. May attempt to meet the Queen.

Tate Modern Gallery. Namely, playing in the ‘Embankment’ exhibition. (Wheeee!)

Special case considerations: Target is not fluent in English. Do not try and engage verbally. Sign-language advisable.

I guess we have to say it – Sonny Bill. Sonny Bill has left on a jetplane for France to play rugby. I’ll warn you now, the only good part of this story is that a customs official spotted him leaving and phoned up Ray Hadley on 2GB to pass on the news. I love Australia!

Oh, Sonny Bill. Now his svengali manager Khoder Nassar and professional troublemaker Anthony Mundine want us to think about your feelings.

STOP BEING SO SELFISH GUYS! WHAT ABOUT SONNY?

Well I’ll say it. I’m done with Sonny Bill’s Feelings. And I pity the stewardesses who had to sweep up his mountains of damp tissues on his flight to Paris. He’s the weepy kid in class who cries if he drops his sandwich. He’s the spoiled cousin who steals your Mariah Carey Christmas CD because he didn’t get one and really really wants it. Muuuuum! I bet he even had a tanty when he got off the plane in Singapore and realised he left his Ectivity Peck in the seat pocket.

He will never be happy. At least never while he’s not taking his lithium. Bitch is dead to me.

Also, I lied when I said there was only one good thing about this story. The other one is that Sonny Bill Feelings thought he could creep out of the country unnoticed. Of course! Six foot tall Samoans visit Paris are SO HARD TO SPOT in a city like Paris on a continent with little to no Polynesian migration. Maybe he even wore sunglasses to throw them off his trail. GENIUS! Way to blend in Sonny baby.

[Note - I like to think Sonny went all Get Smart on our asses and wore a fake moustache, fedora and beige trenchcoat to the airport in a desperate attempt to escape unnoticed. I bet Choc Mundine packed all the spy essentials in SBW's Dora the Explorer backpack. - Kiki]

Khoder … is that you? Herro? This shoe phone is hard to use.

You know SBW landed in Singapore and thought he was already in France. He’s probably wondering why all the French are so short and Asian looking. And why are they eating noodles, where are the croissants? AND THE BERETS? I WAS PROMISED BERETS.

Bon-jour? Guys, bon-jour?

All this drama tires me, but at least I had Roosters vs Manly on Sunday afternoon to soothe the soul. Is there anything cuter than family day? I say no. All those little kiddies snuggled in their ponchos staring eagerly at the football, and rushing onto the field to mob Willie Mason. They all love Willie Mason. Who can explain why? I swear my ovaries twinged … just a little bit. Mainly thanks to the six year old boy behind me who announced in the first half:

Manly suck. They are wasting my time.

People don’t say it enough, but this is how football is meant to be. It’s not meant to be a sad mob of the faithful struggling to get to ANZ Stadium to buy $7 beers in the middle of a concrete wind tunnel. It’s meant to be the bottom levels of the footy stadium packed with people, kids in their own Roosters jerseys with their name sewn on the back, dads cuddling their daughters in matching maroon, and little ones getting to meet their idols.

It even warmed my cold black heart. I was so impressed I even managed not to yell out anything pornographic about the Hot Pioneer David Williams or the fact that men playing football in the rain may well be one of the hottest things god ever created. You know, because I didn’t want to corrupt the children. It took a lot of willpower let me tell you. I hope all those parents appreciated it, dammit.

SEE WHAT I WAS DEALING WITH? I’m pretty much Ghandi right now in terms of self-restraint. Also, who would have guessed Matt Ballin and Riley Brown were such snugglers?

While we’re talking about David Williams, can someone from Manly tell me what is this?

Are you doing in-house catalogues for Manly merchandise? Or do you just pay the hot pioneer a really povo salary so he has to resort to posing in Rivers catalogues so he can afford his rent? Will he be selling men’s sweaters and lightweight moccasins (perfect for sailing!) next? I don’t understand. Don’t get me wrong, I kinda love it. But no, I don’t understand. You can totally tell they were using a wind machine.

We’re also prouder than ever of fiesty little intern Brownie. Brian Waldron from the Storm has threatened legal action but Oh Errol is having none of that. Yesterday after the game we took Brownie to Ruby’s for a latte and told him stand strong, baby. The Storm might threaten a defamation suit, but truth is a defence to defamation (thanks, law degree!). More importantly if anyone tries to take you to court we’ll cut them good. I also have a mean right hook (thanks boxing trainer Sandra!).

And Brownie stood strong. OH YEAH, FIGHT THE MAN!

I’m being serious though that I can’t take much more of this. With Gaz leaving, Brownie going postal, and Sonny Bull stealthily leaving the country we’re at our limit for dramz. Calm it down for a little while, will you kids? We’re getting old. Also, we’re rapidly running out of gin.

This is a Big Game. Well, not a big game in the sense of being packed with Big Names, because 85 Bulldogs players are currently out injured, and the Roosters have six boys who are off because they’re busy getting ready for State of Origin. Instead we have lots of little baby Roosters (chicks?) having their first go at first-grade, and lots of Bulldogs I’ve never heard of. Also not really in the sense of a big crowd. I can see two little boys who are supporting the dogs, the regulars over in the chookpen, and … well yes. Let’s not talk about that.

What we do have though is the long-awaited return of Sonny Bill Feelings. I can’t wait to see whether he storms onto the field and single-handedly crushes all the inexperienced chickens for a thousand one-man tries, or whether he comes out wearing his Sonny-Bill-Feelings-sadface and spends eighty minutes rocking and crying on the sideline.

And it should be a big game in terms of grudge, if nothing else. We all remember the dogs-chooks ‘bred not bought’ fiasco, and even though former Bulldogs Braith Anasta and Big Willie aren’t playing tonight, I still think there’ll be some tension on the field. I settle in and send up a little prayer for some grudge-match biff. If they all play nice, I will be so disappointed.

The boys kick off and get started, and within 90 seconds the Bulldogs have christened the game and given away a penalty with a forward pass to the always-concerned Andrew Ryan. He always looks so very, very sad. It troubles me.

A little comic relief comes from the sidelines in the form of the Roosters Origin recruits sitting in the stands in what certainly look like some snappy little rental suits. Braith Anasta looks like nothing so much as a Hammerhead shark wearing a suit. Willie Mason looks like a schoolboy on human growth hormone and he turns and waves to the camera like a moron who’s never been on television before. OH HAI MUM! Anthony Tupou and Craig Fitzgibbon have that vague air of confusion about them that they always have when they’re together. It’s very endearing.

Roosters scrum feed, Roosters lose the ball. Bulldogs lose the ball. James Aubusson crushes Nick Youngquest in a monster of a tackle as he catches a long kick from Amos Roberts. It’s fantastic. Especially fantastic because I suspect Nick Youngquest may be a total douchebag and I like watching him suffer. More of that please!

More penalties. More intense tackling. Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff.

Someone single-handedly tackles the voluminous Jarrad Hickey and I’m a little amazed. That must be like felling a redwood, or moving a mountain. Sonny Bill loses the ball and Laurie ‘Jolie Laide’ Daley announces that whichever team plays the simplest tonight will win. I think whoever can actually hold the ball in their actual hands will win. It’s not even raining so bitches have no excuses. Maybe they need to use something on their palms before they play. Do they do that already? When I learned pole dancing we used hairspray and it works a treat. What was my point again?

Clearly the bulldogs care not for Laurie’s advice, because when they’re awarded another set of six they do not elect to ‘play simple’. Instead, they go absolutely insane. Hickey attempts to cross the line for a try but is held up and ends up smashed against the goal post vertically. The ball then heads back to Ben Roberts who spins erratically in a tackle and manages to kick the ball BACKWARDS. Awesome. Well done guys.

That reminds me – not only are Ben Roberts and Amos Roberts both playing tonight for different teams – we also have both Aubussons and both Paeas playing in the Roosters team tonight. I have trouble telling the Aubussons apart normally because they have similar haircuts (and I’m an idiot) so god knows what will happen tonight. At least Mickey and Lopini Paea have the decency to have radically different heads. God. Way to make my job difficult NRL.

When a knock on gives the Roosters a penalty, Reni Maitua cracks it, throws down the ball and stares daggers at the world in general. It is honestly terrifying. I feel like his piercing reptile eyes are burning through my skin.

When the Bulldogs regain possession Sonny Bill Feelings makes a beautiful break towards the right of the field and – facing five chickens in defence – offloads to our beloved Hazem El Masri on the right wing for a try. Aw Sonny Bill! Looks like a little boy somewhere has been taking his meds! Good for you bb.

The always serene Hazem converts for a 6-0 lead but SBFeelings isn’t having any of it. He stalks off downfield flushed-cheeked and enraged, arm veins protruding, grass plastered to his forehead, and my pants explode.

And while I will admit that the brooding thing is kinda hot, but would it kill you to crack a smile? Maybe I was wrong about those meds after all.

The chicklets counter with J Aub putting up a bomb from 30 metres out. Soliola rushes towards Douchequest and Heka Nanai in the race for the ball and there is a bit of confusion about what happens now so I will give you my version, which is obviously the right one. Douchequest leaps for the ball, misses with his hands, and kinda forearm butts it in a knock on. At this point Nanai is standing in front of him, doing nothing. Soliola is leaping over Nanai, arms outstretched, towards the ball. He knocks it sideways in the in goal and an Aubusson of some description collects it for a try.

Sadly the video ref calls Soliola’s bat a second knock on and denies the try, and I have to live with it. Bah.

More penalties, many bombs from the Bulldogs towards the chicks’ line, lovely takes from little Shaun Kenny-Dowall on the right and leaping Sam Perrett on the left. Voss is being a battler as usual and recycles the phrase “that is a good skill”. It wasn’t good commentary last week, and it won’t fly this week mister. Peter Sterling is still ranting about the Soliola/Aubusson no-try debacle. IT’S BEEN TEN MINUTES STERLO. EVEN I’M OVER IT NOW.

Sterlo wins me back though by being delightfully biased and yelling “there’s still time for the Roosters to win!” and suggesting that no-look passes are very “in vogue” today. Oh, Sterlo. Always up with the latest fashionz.

Forward passes, knock-ons, dropped balls. Amos Roberts falls over three or four times while collecting the ball. And seriously? Not a trace of rain in the sky. I am baffled.

J Aub offloads to Soliola and onto little Sam Perrett who makes a valiant dive for the corner, for what turns out to not quite be a try. Gold star for effort though kiddies. This brings on another period of borderline brilliance and borderline idiocy, as Setaimata Sa makes a lovely break through the line for a long run, then loses the ball only a metre from the tryline for no apparent reason to the defence. It’s collected by Douchequest, who runs what I think is giant figure eight horizontally on the field before handing it to Arana Taumata, who outruns Amos Roberts for a 70 metre try. Great name.

Hazem misses the conversion and it’s 10-0.

On the return, the chicklets grab the ball and are led upfield by wily Sam Perrett. Amos Roberts takes the ball over to the left and Sa sends an unexpected grubber into the corner for Brent Grose to ground for a try. Try! Excitement! Whole length of the field on only one tackle! And Sa can kick? Sa can kick! See Sa kick!

Related note to parents everywhere: Please stop naming your sons Brent.

Amos is flummoxed by the angle and misses the conversion. 10-4.

SBFeelings loses the ball. We see Big David Shillington flash some butt cheek for I think the third time so far. Bulldog Jarrad-with-an-A Hickey is taken off-field with a corked thigh. Poor guy. As injuries go, chicks don’t really go for the ‘corked thigh’, you know?

Mark O’Meley knocks on a ball with his crotch.

Halftime.

Back on the field, Amos Roberts falls over again. J Aub does good things in defence. More fumbles. Cryin Andrew Ryan threatens near the tryline. Amos makes a lovely run, and Perrett runs on, and Aubusson’s kick falls dead from El Masri. Paddo boy Anthony Cherrington makes another lovely break, and Amos drops another grubber kick for Sam Perrett to leap on in goal.

You adorable cheeky bastard.

Truthfully, I feel that this shouldn’t have been a try. It’s just a feeling. But then when I watch the replay I have to admit he was in field, and he did have his hand on the ball when it hit the ground. So why does it feel like he wasn’t actually in control of the ball? Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway because the video ref awards it on benefit of the doubt.

Also I’m kinda fine with that. Mainly, because I think he disallowed a good try earlier, and secondly because I am all for the benefit of the doubt rule. I like it. I think it’s nice. It’s like saying to the players: you tried really hard, and you did well, and I’m going to reward you with points. I believe in you. I BELIEVE IN YOU. Maybe if people were more supportive in general in the NRL, delicate little flowers like SBFeelings wouldn’t feel so alone and act out as a result. And if the I-BELIEVE-IN-YOU cultural revolution has to start with the video ref, then so be it.

From little things, big things grooooooooooow.

No conversion, and the score is 10-8 to the doggies.

At some point Nanai becomes concussed. Oh well. Just send him over to the sidelines to sit with corked-thigh Jarrad-with-an-A Hickey. Jarrad is, in fact, on the sidelines at this point riding the exercise bike, and I swear to you all I see fat rolls. I do believe we have another dark horse in the race for Fattest Man in League 2008. Oh yeah. Hickey’s comin for you Danny Wicks!

My boy J Aub yells ‘same again’ and drops another low kick for a Shaun Kenny-Dowall try. Predictable, but oh so satisfying. Amos remains defeated by the uprights and fails to convert.

12-8 to the chicklets!

SBFeelings has been a bit absent for awhile and I wonder if he’s off having a tear in the loos. J Aub accidentally headbutts Brad Morrin and draws blood. The penalties continue to rain down from heaven. In the next Roosters set Jake Friend comes perilously close to the tryline. Who the hell is Jake Friend? Where did he come from? A cross-field kick from teh Roosters finds SBFeelings in the in-goal area. Oh, there you are Sonny! Unfortunately though SBFeelings then has a moment of complete cock-eyed optimism and attempts to singlehandedly kick and chase out of goal. As you might have guessed, it doesn’t end well. Back to the loos with you Sonny.

Lil Amos grabs the ball and charges for the try line with three doggies dragging from his shirt. He deposits the ball on the tryline for what he thinks is no try and shakes his head at the COULDA-WOULDA-SHOULDA of it all. Sa makes me fall in love by tripping and falling right in front of Amos with his crazy masking tape headband on. Bless.

And I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. The video ref is starting the I-BELIEVE-IN-YOU revolution RIGHT NOW. He cares not that Roberts doesn’t think he scored a try – HE’S GIVING HIM ONE ANYWAY. You deserve it Amos baby! BECAUSE YOU’RE WORTH IT. This is insane. Amos is cackling with laughter and can’t believe it either. He shakes his head and converts for 16-10.

Is this the longest recap in history? It feels long.

More misdirected kicks, including one into a dog’s head. Tackles aplenty. Penalties ahoy. AND AN INTERCEPT!

Sa yoinks a Taumata pass from the air and storms off downfield in his crazy headband, fending off Maitua with a palm to his face and bellyflopping in goal for a 90 metre try. Sa can run? Sa can run! See Sa run! The Origin boys in the crowd jump and cheer with joy. Tupou is on some kind of two minute time-delay and as everyone is sitting down he finally stands up to see what all the fuss is about. Oh, Anthony.

Roberts nails the conversion for 24-10. 24-10! That’ll teach you all to tip the Bulldogs, and yes, I am looking at you Brad Fittler. Especially you.

Tupou is still grinning.

The doggies counter with a sneaky little pass via SBFeelings to Winetana for a try.

24-14 chicklets.

Time’s a-tickin, and on the buzzer the dogs are refused a try by the video ref for a push on Soliola. Ooooh, that lovin attitude didn’t last too long.

That means a fulltime win to the chicklets over the puppies. J Aub is robbed of man of the match in favour of the oft-falling Amos Roberts, but I make my peace with it when I realise they probably only did it as an excuse to ask Amos about the Unexpected Try. I would do the same thing, that whole thing was amazing.