It’s heritage round! And to celebrate the rich and wonderful past and the mighty clashes and rivalries of rugby league, we played more rugby league. In different jerseys. Trust me, it’s more awesome than it sounds, okay?

disclaimer: may not be actual shark park.

As if we needed more proof that Toyota Stadium is an affront to nature. Apparently it’s now impossible to even get a beer there.

The NRL club were criticised following Saturday’s clash with Manly at Toyota Stadium, with complaints fans had to wait for up to 40 minutes in the refreshments queue only to find there was nothing left to buy.

Well, I assume we’re talking about beer. Because I’ve met Australians before, and I am 99% sure no one would bother complaining about a few bottles of Coke Zero. Except maybe John Cartwright, and he openly admits he has a problem.

To quote international hot mess and general life-icon Amy Winehouse, WHAT KIND OF FUCKERY IS THIS? If people wanted to wait in long queues to receive nothing, they would go to that post office next to Technology Park, also known as ‘where efficiency goes to die’. Perhaps this is why it took Manly so long to lock that shit down.

On the other hand:

There was also a brawl between supporters towards the end of the game that led to a police officer injuring his ankle.

… and no one is surprised. Wouldn’t you riot if you were there at Shark Park? They closed down the Red Rooster there. I rest my case.

In other news, most footy analysts would say that the Dah-rius Boyd starred for the Dragons on Sunday, what with his great ball-running and bamboozling of defence and intercept tries and whatnot, but I think we all know the real winner here is one Hot Bitch Cooper.

Obviously the winner is also the mob of spectators who got to watch a team of men play in the rain in white shorts. But in terms of actual players, it’s Hot Bitch Cooper.

You see, Hot Bitch is like a vintage Dior fur. Mainly, because he stops the senseless slaughter of innocent minks.

But also, because he just gets better with the passing years. He’s a rampaging, try-scoring, defensively brilliant centre with the legs of some kind of super-hot ancient deity. The kind Greeks carved statues of. Also, the kind perves on the internet talk about even though it’s totally creepy. Cough. (In my defence – what else is the internet for?)

Jamal salutes the past by tying his pigtails with strands of Terry Lamb’s hair

This is as opposed to the Bulldogs, who got straight up carved up. That’s a technical term. You can decide for yourselves whether this was a last-ditch attempt to lure Wayne Bennett to Canterbury next year (the man wants a challenge, after all) or whether Andrew Ryan, Kris Keating and Jamal Idris all suffered sever head injuries at Belmore during the week impairing their spatial awareness and decision-making faculties. Flip a coin, if you like. Either way, Kris Keating will now spend the rest of his career being heckled about intercept tries. At least he’s got Brett Kimmorley around to coach him. Convenient.

Thanks to a severe lack of Foxtel I missed the Melbourne Storm game, but based on the feedback from Twitter, the most important point about the game was that Matt Duffie is adorable. No objections from us.

But we do want to give a special Errol prize (hint: the prize is inappropriate groping) to Adam Woolnough for growing the finest Heritage Beard this side of the Great Dividing Range.

Put that man on a fixed gear bike in a flannel shirt and he would be fighting off the ladies and causing hipster boners all the way across Surry Hills. Who doesn’t have a weakness for a bench player with a pioneer beard?

I also, by sheer coincidence, got forwarded an online petition this morning from one Mr. C. Cronk requesting signatures to support his bid to have CRONK in gold lettering across his back for all 26 rounds of the regular season. I totally signed it, because that would be fucking sweet.

And the Errol stamp of disapproval for the round goes to the Newcastle Knights for not using Heritage Round as a perfect excuse to bring back Henny Penny as jersey sponsors. That happy little Henny Penny logo is one of the defining memories of the Knights from our youth (along with Joey and the Chief) and we wants it back. Make it happen, Nathan Tinkler!

Some might call that a gratuitous video of men in speedos and Tina Turner … we call it ‘heritage’.

Pics. Getty Images

Have things been a little quiet around here? Not gonna lie, totally our fault. We’ve been busier than an *insert old man Aussie metaphor about flies or paper-hangers or something here*

But thankfully this week footy made a triumphant return (of sorts) into our lives: we hit up the NRL One Community Christmas party to at least get a little bit of an NRL fix. The party is basically a period of three awesome hours where a whole bunch of special kids and a handful of players from each of the Sydney clubs turn up to sit at kid-sized tables, probably share their opinions on the wikileaks scandal, eat kid-sized sandwiches, then play some mothereffin ten pin bowling.

Why is seeing footy players do non-footy activities so inherently hilarious? Because the second we saw Kade Snowden put his bowling shoes on we lost it.

But even while we’ve been slack with our writing, we haven’t stopped being inherently embarassing. We’re still us.

We arrived at the party in Christmas crowns and reindeer ears then proceeded to asked David Gallop what he wanted for Christmas and show Roy Asotasi photos of Kiki and her flattie Yasmin’s pet bunny … Roy Asotasi.

The resemblance is uncanny.

His first question was: “Why is he so … ginger?”

It’s a good question, Roy. And to be honest, I don’t have a good answer for you. I suspect it’s because none of us felt sure that it wasn’t kind of politically awkward, frankly, to ring up a bunny breeder and ask for a brown-coloured bunny so the girls could name it after a New Zealander with Samoan heritage. Is it? Who knows.

The bottom line is that Roy is a pretty little ginger, and Preston Campbell the bunny is a giant brown bunny that seriously dwarfs bunny-Roy.

To this, Roy said that he hopes Roy makes up for his small stature by being awesome.

And you also don’t have to worry, while we’ve been slack with our writing, we also haven’t gotten any more functional. Yesterday I left the Christmas party, realised I lost my parking validation ticket, had to pay a $40 lost fee, and was comforted by a nice old passing Hungarian man.

Looking back, maybe this is why I was subconsciously distracted and knocked a giant two-armed monitor stand of a desk as soon as I arrived in the building, then had to climb under a desk to attempt to reattach it while relative strangers held the monitors still. Sorry for wearing a skirt that day, y’all.

I also realise, looking back, that a flippy little floral skirt was a bad choice on one of the windiest days in history. Apologies to the people of Pyrmont to whom I showed my undies at least nine times.

I like to think I make up for all these mishaps by being awesome, like Roy Asotasi the bunny.

And while we were busy watching Anthony Watmough bowl like a professional (seriously, he’s really good) and the Tigers players eat all the sandwiches, the clubs have been busy with the start of pre-season training. Pre-season training is such a beautiful phrase. For one thing, it means it’s ALMOST FOOTY TIME AGAIN.

It also means it’s time for the annual NRL rookie camp, where they teach young boys how to play footy or be men … or something. We’re not really sure, and maybe we don’t want to know. All we really need to know is that it involves instructional powerpoint presentations like this:

At least, that’s what they did back in 2008. Maybe they don’t use the WHY TALENT IS NEVER ENOUGH … EVER slide anymore. Maybe the curriculum’s changed by now, and they have powerpoint slides telling the boys YOU WILL NEVER HAVE A GIRLFRIEND or YOU LOOK FAT IN THOSE PANTS. It’s just all about building confidence, you know?

But maybe best of all, this is the time of year when they make footy teams do embarassing things as a group all in the name of team bonding.

Pic. Gregg Porteous via News Limited

Well of course that’s Jamal Idris in an abseiling helmet. Of course it is. Because the Bulldogs were sent to Wombaroo to get their bond on. I totally went there for year six camp. I wonder if they had to spend a night out camping in tents and cook pasta with tinned tuna on a camp stove?

One things for sure, footy players always have to get in kayaks. It’s just maths:

2 men that weigh 100kgs + 1 flimsy plastic vessel designed for children = instant lolz.

Pic. Gregg Porteous via News Limited

Ahoy there Bryson Goodwin! Looking sharp.

Pic. Gregg Porteous via News Limited

That photo of Ben Barba is slightly less hilarious because it really freaks me out that the kayak behind is empty. Is anyone else getting some serious ‘The River Wild’ kinda flashbacks? Did Kevin Bacon kill the rest of the Bulldogs because they refused to lend him their rafting skills to escape from the law?

And in Canberra, Raiders management timed their comical bonding activites perfectly so Tommy Learoyd-Lahrs could do them with a moustache. Bravo, Canberra. Bravo.

Whenever I feel sad I’m gonng look at that picture and remember the fact that Dave Shilington and Brett White had to row a kayak together. Also, that Tommy LL gave a completely serious interview about how well he did in the flag-race.

Learoyd-Lahrs, though, wasn’t contemplating a switch to the Ironman circuit anytime soon.

”There wasn’t any great speed reached there,” he said.

”If you timed us with a sun dial it probably would’ve stopped.”

Footy, we miss you too, too much.

Is it just me or does that sound kind of dirty?

Tonight’s game against the Panthers is the last home game of the season for the Doggies (if ANZ Stadium can in any way be described as having a home-like atmosphere. Maybe ‘windswept’ would be more accurate. Cavernous? Soul-engulfing? ‘Ikea-adjacent? Take your pick.)

This means it’s the last home game for Noddy Kimmorley and Luke Patten, and the perfect chance to honour two great footy players by wearing really, really ridiculous hats.

Such a happy gnome. Pic. Gregg Porteous

They asked the rest of the doggies, and this is what they said:

Luke Patten on Noddy: “What stands out for me is his enthusiasm for the game; it is infectious. He is a real legend of the game.”

Michael Ennis on the General: “General makes those around him want to play for him and compete hard.”

Josh Morris on the General – “General is a true legend of the Club and a gentleman of the game. We are going to miss you.”

Which is all actually really adorable. But forget about their playing ability, we’ll also remember Noddy for the time he dressed up in full gnome costume on channel nine, for the time he was kneed in the balls on-field, for the many many fights we got into over his infamous Origin intercept pass … and for the time the heavies at the NRL made him sit on Sassy’s knee and tell the whole of Australia what he wanted for Christmas.

Seriously, every time we see him now he eyes me off suspiciously. IT WASN’T EVEN MY IDEA NODDY, I SWEAR!

And I think maybe my memories of the General are the sweetest of all. How will I ever forget the infamous Country week when he was so traumatised by terrifying stalkers that I had to hug him and hide him like a mama bird. Later, he accidentally high-fived me in the head. Good times.

THANKS FOR THE CAP, SADIE!

General, we salute you.

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.