It’s just a fiesta of a week this week. It’s as though the Universe designed it specifically with me in mind. WHAT WOULD SASSY LIKE TO SEE?

Well it pretty much goes like this:

1. FOOTY’S BACK!

The NRL made it official that the footy season is back with a booze-free launch extravaganza on Wednesday (also known as a Brett Stewart drylaunch). Oh, football, my sweaty, infuriating, sometimes violent boyfriend. I’m so glad you’re back.

I’m also so glad that you decided to announce your return by making all the team’s captains and representatives stand in full uniform on a barge in the middle of Sydney harbour with a huge mock NRL trophy. Yes, people, this is what happiness looks like:

Pic. Ryan Osland

Also, HI ALAN TONGUE. We think you’re lovely!

And David Gallop and Jarryd-with-a-Y Hayne made it official by making some fantastically cheesy jokes to the media:

… there was little alcohol or glitz and glamour when the NRL did so again yesterday.

Just bad jokes.

ASKED if he felt the Eels had a stronger team this season than when he led them on their stunning run to last year’s grand final, Jarryd Hayne told reporters: ”Yeah, a lot of the boys can lift a lot more weights, so they’re stronger.’

”There’s no truth to the rumour that Willie [Mason] and I will be doing a reality dieting show in the boardrooms of Australia, called My Boardroom Rules,” said NRL chief executive David Gallop in reference to Mason’s criticism of the ”fat businessmen” on the Roosters board who wanted him out of the club.

Oh, DG. I actually have no idea if he has any kids, but based on that joke I now feel certain that he has both kids (cause that was a total dad joke) and a fucking sweet idea for a TV franchise. My Boardroom Rules? Yes please.

Wes Carr can write the theme song. Rexona and Powerade can be the sponsors. And DG and Big Willie can be the new Simon Cowell and Ryan Seacrest, trading barbs while my brother and I sit on the couch, eat vegemite toast and talk about how we suspect they’re secretly having a bromance. I like to think Big Willie will dismiss the fatcats who haven’t lost enough weight by looking them up and down and announcing: “Big Willie pronounces you … TOO BIG.”

In other news I also feel certain that Lozzy would’ve laughed at those NRL launch jokes. Go on and comment and prove me, right Lozzy. Prove me right.

2. CRY ME A RIVER

Remember how amusing I thought it was when Steggles started sponsoring the Roosters? Manly obviously took that as a comedy challenge and made a special announcement this week on their website:

RECEIVE A FREE TISSUE PACK WITH EVERY ONLINE MERCHANDISE ORDER!

There are so many ways that I love this promotion. It’s perfect for everyone! For Manly fans to cry into when their team loses, and for Silvertail-haters to snot into when they have hideous infectious colds. You can even wave them as white surrender flags when the DJ starts playing Eagle Rock again at Brookie. MAKE IT STOPPPP!

3. DOGS NAMED AFTER PEOPLE ARE THE BEST KINDA DOGS

So apparently I’ve found the future boyfriend for my dog this week. You know, my dog. Dolly Parton the greyhound. Because some excellent human has named their greyhound after Taniela Tuiaiki.

Pic. Mark Evans

I totally see the resemblance. It’s the muscular ass, right?

According to the Tank:

“It was a bit of a shock when I heard that there was a greyhound named after me. It’s something that doesn’t happen every day.”

Well-spotted, Tank. It doesn’t happen every day. Footy players being literal is one of my favourite things.

Now all I need is for Zac Efron to ask me over for a platonic night of snuggles and Disney movies and all my prayers will have been answered. Call me, Zef.

Notice anything different about me? YES, THAT’S RIGHT, KIDS. I AM FEELING EXTRA SMUG TODAY.

One of my top twenty favourite things in life is Being Right. I’m basically an idiot and – to be honest – it doesn’t happen very often, so when it happens twice in one week I get some extra swagger in my havaianas.

Remember last week when I warned Knights fans that this year they were stuck at the bottom of the wheel of footy fates and they should spend the rest of the year in their backyard bunkers?

I think the Knights should just accept that they are the new Roosters (who were the new Bulldogs) and will suffer calamity all year. Just hibernate for the next 12 months. As a Roosters fan, trust me, it’s not worth the psychological trauma of staying awake.

No it wasn’t just a brief, horrible dream. You really are the new Roosters. The latest news is that Danny Wicks’ scooter buddy Chris Houston has been charged with drug offences by police and stood down. Which means, well, badtimes for him. But more importantly, no more jokes about him looking like an old-timey blacksmith for us. It’s always the bloggers who suffer.

As the voice of experience though, I’m here for you darlings. I know the pain. I made it through 2009. Sure, I lost a few brain cells from incessantly banging my head against the nearest supporting wall, but then I found out that also burns calories. WIN.

And if you follow the Errol twitter you’ll also know that, as soon as the Houston story broke, I knew in my heart of footy hearts that somewhere a subeditor would see this story, grin with glee and headline it HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM. Aaaaand this morning the Sydney Morning Herald subbing pool did. I am pretty much Nostradamus right now.

Check my rocking white tights, whut whut.

While I’ve been living in my belltower writing down the future on parchment and that, and Knights fans have been buying up big on Xanax, Errol’s favourite ladykiller Tim Sheens sent his boys to etiquette class.

Class valedictorian and Tim-Sheens-in-training Beau Ryan.
Pic. Gregg Porteous.

Etiquette class! I’m not even kidding, I think this is genius. After all, I went to etiquette classes at June Dally-Watkins’ deportment school and look how well I turned out. Sure I may be tactless and inappropriate, but I can sit down without flashing, set a table with proper cutlery, and if I ever run into the Prime Minister and a Catholic priest simultaneously at a cocktail party I can introduce myself and shake hands perfectly, all while holding both a canape and a glass of champagne. I believe these are what they call “life skills”.

…. hmmm. Tell me more about this “can of peas”, Sassy.
Pic. Gregg Porteous

I’m also going out on a limb and suggesting to the lovely etiquette trainer that maybe Tim Molzten needs a few more lessons.

SCOFFING A DANISH FROM MICHEL’S PATISSERIE AT MEDIA EVENTS IS NOT ON THE LIST OF APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOUR MOLTZ. Seriously, it’s not. Just ask Beau Ryan. You can’t kiss a lady’s hand with danish breath.

We all might want to consider giving up the booze, too, because apparently Todd Carney’s new policy of laying off the beers has rekindled his love for life.

Pic. Phil Hillyard

So happy! Now that he doesn’t have to take up valuable time buying, refigerating, drinking and sleeping off beers, and dealing with awkward questions about people’s pants catching on fire, Todd has rediscovered the simple joys of a roller coaster. A sunset. A rainbow. An afternoon spent shopping with Shaun Kenny-Dowall or with a cup of Earl Grey on his balcony.

He was hands down the hit of the Roosters Luna Park fan day.

That worried looking lady? Yep, she’s been reading the tabloids.

Wondering why the Roosters all look so happy, by the way? Oh, yeah, cause we won again. That’s all. Carry on.

Love Sassy xxo

So it’s probably obvious that since we got back from the Gold Coast on Sunday we’ve been feeling pretty miserable. The faces in the Errol office have been worryingly bleak and Russian-literature-esque. Or if you’re not a fan of Tolstoy references, we was sad pandas.

After all, how are you meant to go back to normal life after the lovefest of a week we had and the brilliant All-Stars game? You can’t. Not without help. And luckily for us, instead of having to hit the pharmacy and beg for some uppers, we got this. If you didn’t read it, here’s what you missed:

Central Districts are marvelling at the courage of their left-arm bowler Ewen Thompson who bowled 10 overs on the trot in their one-day semifinal win against Canterbury with a kebab stuck in his throat.

According to the team manager:

“ET is kicking himself a bit because he is supposed to watch what he eats. He was in a rush to eat before training [on Friday] and he scoffed down a kebab and obviously some meat got stuck.

“The fact that he was able to bowl 10 tidy overs on the trot for us and only go for 36 runs, feeling the way he was, was quite remarkable.”

EWEN THOMPSON YOU ARE THE GREATEST HUMAN EVER. And for so many reasons, not least of which is the fact that he was on his way to an athletic training session, and thought, what shall I eat to propel my body to maximum physical fitness? A KEBAB. It sounds so … Mark Riddell. And it made me smile for a good 3.6 hours.

Know who else loves kebabs? Whoever owns this board:

Awesome.

FYI league fans, you will be delighted to know that the offending kebab was not one of Ali Baba’s famous Robbie Farah Kebabs (TM). As the English Four Nations commentators explained in detail, Robbie Farah Kebabs (TM) are healthy – “they have chicken in them!” – and do not constitute a choking hazard for cricketers.

The Willie Mason drama-fest continued with this story, too, about how Willie Mason is a footy membership angel of death, and:

The Roosters have sold 409 memberships since February 5 when Mason made his move to the Townsville club – an increase of more than 40 per cent from the 287 memberships sold in the 10 days before Mason’s departure.

The surge also coincides with the Roosters signing producers Steggles as their major sponsor until 2012.

It’s not necessarily that I enjoy reading bitchy things in the paper (that’s a lie, I totally do), but that I am pretty much a scientist (remember the Oh Errol Experiment in 2009?) and I have spent the last 24 hours trying to figure out which of these things is true about Roosters fans.

a) do they really really hate Willie Mason?, or

b) do they just really really love chicken?

Either way, the message is that you should never ever call Nick Politis ‘fat’ in a press conference, or the Universe will punish you with bitchy newspaper stories about how no one likes you.

But the footy news this week is really all about fullbacks. Kurt Gidley and his mysterious knee injury are apparently going to be out of action until round 10 of the season. Hopefully that means he also gets a doctor’s letter giving him four months exemption from having to pee in a cup. HE CAN’T STAND PROPERLY, PEOPLE. HOW DO YOU EXPECT HIM TO AIM AT THE PLASTIC CUP?

I think the Knights should just accept that they are the new Roosters (who were the new Bulldogs) and will suffer calamity all year. Just hibernate for the next 12 months. As a Roosters fan, trust me, it’s not worth the psychological trauma of staying awake.

At Roosters HQ our new coach Brian-Smith-please-God-help-us is making the boys focus on the positives.

In my mind, this means they all have canes and dance around singing ac-cen-tuate the positive. Other than that … I got nothin. I remember no positives from 2009.

What I do know is that on Sunday when the Chooks play the Tigers, Todd Carney will be playing at fullback. I know we haven’t known each other long, Brian, but this confuses me. Carney at fullback in a team with Minichiello as captain? And Ben Jones in the halves? I love lil Benny like my own fabulous ranga child, but surely after his game on Saturday you’d consider him for hooker?

Is it just cause Brian the great white hope is trying to keep Carney as isolated as possible from the rest of the players as often as possible in case his aura of calamity infects the other players and someone goes up in flames?

And his opposite number with be Timmy Moltzen, which breaks my heart, cause I thought he was a massive improver in the halves last year. I was so proud I even caught Kiki’s weird condition where watghin him play made me talk like a league commentator. “… and hasn’t Moltzen really come along this year?” “He’s really liking that no. 6 jersey, isn’t he?” “That’s the kind of confidence a coach loves to see”. I JUST REALLY LIKE HIM, OK GUYZ?

But the fullback superstar of the week is clearly Jarrod-with-an-O Sammut. Who is now taking styling tips from Cap’n Jack Sparrow. I can’t wait till he starts plaiting beads into his moustache. the news of the day is that bitch is STACKED! Oh, yeah, and he has a tattoo that’s spelled wrong.

Those extra ten kilos will be perfect for crushing the poor tattooist who traced out ‘justify your existance’.

Meanwhile thanks to the sub-editor who called him ‘the incredible hulk’ in the tele, now every time I hear his name I think of the Simpsons ep where Bart calls Milhouse an “emotionally crippled mini-hulk”. From now on, in my mind, he shall be known as Milhouse.

And cause it’s only four-ish weeks till the season starts, here’s a completely lolz thread of summaries and predictions for each of the teams (not by us). Enjoy xx

The important news is that Errol HQ will be pretty empty for the next week or so. You see, Intern John John’s busy with pre-season training up in FNQ, work experience boy Lachie is spending the weekend out in Penrith at the Panther’s members day …. And us? We have a busy week ahead of BEING AWESOME.

Tomorrow Kiki and I are hitting up the Return to South Sydney game at Redfern Oval, and entertaining some lucky peeps at a pre-game party. Then we’re flying up to the Gold Coast to bring you live bloggy-updates about all the All-Stars vs Indigenous preparations.  Lozzy’s volunteered to mind the nest/water the plants/make sure no neighbourhood hooligans break in and steal our booze, then she’s coming up on Friday so the whole Errol crew can watch the game together.

Okay, so maybe not so much “BEING awesome” as “BEING three losers … around awesome people”. Potato, Potahto.

And if 2009 was the year of rugby league scandal (aren’t they all?) …. Then 2010 marks the Return to League. Every Lote, Timana and his dog is coming back to the loving arms of rugby league.

We knew you’d come back, babies!

Timana Tahu has come from the dark side of the force, aka rugby union, to play with the Eels. Lote’s come from the Telegraph’s back page to sign with the Tigers … even Greg Bird has come back from his busy schedule of court appearances to sign with the Titans.

It’s just like that Peter Allen song: all of the shiiiiiiips come back to the shoooorrrrre. He wrote that about rugby league, right? Yep I thought so. He totally did.

Just quietly, he would also totally approve of Greg Bird’s choice of team: the Titans have by far the prettiest uniforms in the league. I know this because my fierce gay friend Rick tells me so. Also, because Prince Scotty the Caramel plays for the Titans, and whichever uniform he wears is by default the prettiest.

More importantly, how many potential halves do the Titans have now? Mat? Scott? Preston? Greg? Is Carty running a full two-string team now, like NFL? Shit is ridiculous. And by ‘ridiculous’, clearly I mean ‘I’m shitty they don’t play for my team’.

I also, apparently, have the mind of a small child. Because anytime anyone mentions Lote’s new job, they seem to use the phrase ‘Lote the tiger’, which causes my brain to produce this image of Tony the Tiger:

LOTE THE TIGER I LOVE YOUR WORK! AND YOUR TASTY SUGARY CEREAL!

I like to think Lote picked the Tiges purely for this reason. Mark my words within six months he’ll be wearing a jaunty red neckerchief with his Tigers uniform and spruiking Frosties breakfast cereal in the ad breaks of the Channel 7 evening news. Mark. My. Words.

Kiki thinks the powers that be at the Tigers needed to hire Lote to keep up their dreadlock quote. After losing Daine Laurie to the Panthers they were in serious deficit.

It’s also possible he just wanted to be close to Blake Ayshford. After all, the man has eyes.

And while other teams have been busy bringing ex-league players back to the fold, my boys the Roosters have been busy signing up … Steggles.

That’s right kids, Steggles chickens are the new major sponsors of the Sydney Roosters, and it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. If there’s one thing Errol loves, it’s Really Literal Thinking.

Remember that time Kiki posted about going to Orange AND USED A PICTURE OF AN ORANGE?

Yep, we are all over this chicken-to-chicken connection. Sure, as Brett Oaten kindly pointed out, it might not be the best fit for a team of Roosters to be sponsored by a company whose primary business is the wholesale slaughter of chickens.

The chicken formerly known as Brent Grose.

And as twitterer and generally hilarious human Jen Bennett suggested:

… now we know what they do with underperforming players. Wait, has anyone seen Fittler recently?

LIES! They told me they sent Freddy to a farm!

I like to think Daniel Conn was being serious when he told facebook now they get paid in chicken. Mmmmm, chicken. What footy player doesn’t love food, hmmmm? More importantly, what self-respecting footy player doesn’t love chicken?

We know for sure that Stanley Waqa does, because he told us so the first time we ever met him, back when he was playing for the Newtown Jets. I believe his exact words were – as he looked up from eating a chicken schnitzel: “… I love chicken”.

I rest my case.

All they need now is to convince the Steggles sister brand – Bartter Eggs – to sponsor the Roosters Under 20s side. It’s called Brand Synergy. Get onto it, Nick Politis.

[Personally I think the Chooks should print all position numbers on jerseys this year as Nugget 1, Nugget 2 etc etc - lozzy]

But back to the Return to South Sydney match tomorrow: the Bunnies will be playing the Manly Sea Eagles, and there’s one man we’re especially excited to see.

Michael Robertson … come on down!

The reason? We really, really need to check out his backside.

I’m serious. According to the Cumberland Courier, back in the day when Robbo was signed to the Sea Eagles, he was a legs-and-arse charity case. The generally accepted wisdom was that a footy player needed strong legs and a lot of junk in the trunk (this certainly explains Wendell’s success), but Robbo:

“… failed miserably on the sight test. His legs wouldn’t have been out of place on an anorexic chicken while his backside was non-existent.”

Poor Robbo, with his chicken legs and sad, unpadded pelvis.

And poor Robbo for having it revealed in the newspaper. Why does the media constantly print and broadcast embarrassing things about Robbo and his crotchal region? Remember the wang dance?

But rest assured, because we are committed journalists and confirmed perves, we will use our time tomorrow at Redfern Oval wisely, and make sure that we suss out the current state of Robbo’s union, so to speak.

Till next time, make sure you check our twitter account for all the vital Errol hapz. See you on the Goldy!

WHAT UPPPPPPP!

My god it’s been awhile since we’ve e-connected, right kittens? I bet you miss me like Danny Wicks misses his freedom. Unless of course you follow us on Twitter. I am all over the Twitter. I even have my own account now. Try to control your excitement.

[Ooh, yes! Me too! follow me, love me, and enjoy the minutiae of my daily life, twitter-style. - S ]

Tweeting is fun. Tweeting after a few vodkas is even better. Sassy and I are still trying to figure out what hilarious political commentary I was trying to tweet at 4am from QBar late last year. We found it the next morning, just sitting there in Twitteriffic, half finished.

“Imma let you finish, but the federal government is …”

IS WHAT KIKI? IS WHAAAAT? And is that, was I trying to, wait … was I making a Kanye West joke? About the Australian Federal Government? Worst of all, I totally remember us both absolutely cracking up at the time and saying “we have to tweet this!” And now it’s lost forever. RIP awesome joke, we hardly knew thee.

Anyway, back to things that are relevant. This off-season has been particularly punishing for me.  The only things that have kept me from complete emotional oblivion are:

a) The Contender (turns out boxing is almost as good as footy, also I LOVE YOU GARTH.)

b) the fact I live at the beach now and am treated to a daily show of hot tattooed shirtlessness frolicking in my driveway

c) the way in which rugby league keeps churning out the top shelf entertainment despite the fact there are no actual games being played.

Let’s start with Jamal Idris, shall we? Our favourite (and possibly only) Afro-diginal footy player. And after this recent story, he is fast becoming one of our favourite all around humans. Watch out Anthony Bourdain/Wendell Sailor/Zac Efron, this kid is gaining on ya!

I first read this article on my phone whilst in bed, attempting to get to sleep. It didn’t help my slumber because I spent the next 20 minutes literally loling at the hilarity of it all. I think I even said “oh Jamal, I love you” out loud. Yeh, that’s not weird at all.

There’s so much goodness in this article, I barely know where to start.

“Acting is something that I’ve really thought about getting into for a couple of years, but I don’t really know how to go about it,” Idris told The Daily Telegraph after the Bulldogs’ annual Twenty20 cricket match at ANZ Stadium yesterday.

I love the ‘really thought about it’. It’s not just a passing fancy people! Jamal is Serious about this. When it comes to his future career as a thespian, bitch is thinking Rodin style.

I’ve always thought Jamal was like an overgrown puppy. Adorable and enthusiastic and delightfully innocent. Remember when he signed his Bulldogs contract last year and didn’t realise he had to pay tax? LOVE. He displays his gorgeous naivete again with this gem:

“I didn’t do drama at school or anything like that, but love watching movies and DVDs. It’s hard to describe … but when I watch a movie I sort of get carried away and can imagine myself being there in the scene.”

Oh, honey. You are amazing. Well Jamz, imagine no more. With the power of a) my brain and b) photoshop you can see your acting career in solid visuals. I’ve decided if you’re gonna act, go all OUT baby. Forget predictable special effects blockbusters. Be brave and REMAKE THE CLASSICS. Oh yes.

Jamal Idris is….Citzen Kane.

ROOOOOSEEEBUDDDD

Not into Orson Welles and multiple Academy Awards? Okay then. Everyone loves a southern gothic tale sooooo…what about, some Tennesee Williams?

Stelllaaaaa! The goggles, they do nothing!

Every aspiring actor wants to be Marlon Brando. This role would be perfect for our boy Jamal. I know it’s intmidating, but if he wants, he can pop over to Errol HQ to run lines and practice the infamous soaking wet white t-shirt scene. Intern John John, fetch the hose!

But if he wants to start small, I’ve come up with the perfect compromise. Stick to what he knows. ie: being pigtailed and adorable.

That pirate hat is absolute killer.

In other God-footy-is-hilarious-like-no-other-sport news, the Sunday Herald tells me Daine Laurie and Willie Mason are in the midst of a feud. WE LOVE FOOTY FEUDS. They are so … biblical. And by the sounds of it, this one is an absolute doozy.

Recently described by the ABC as a “rugby league vagrant” (HAHAHA), Willie has been having a bad time of it lately. It’s made him bitchy like woah and apparently he’s been blabbing all over town that D.Laurs is a ‘poor excuse for a footballer’ and ‘a drunk’. Unsuprisingly, Daine took to this news rather negatively.

He told the Herald : “Tell Willie Mason when I see him, I’m going to slap him in the face”.

OH MY GOD. I AM DEAD FROM AWESOME. I know it’s only Febuary, but hot damn this is easily the best league quote of the year.

Now I don’t like to boast (that’s a lie), but as always, Errol is ahead of the curve. Cultural zeitgeists you say? Oh, I agree. Way back in 2008, we spotted Daine Laurie as a slapping extraordinaire. Not just any old slap, but a BITCH slap. You heard it here first.

Talk about some slack blogging, kittens. How long has it been since we wrote anything? More importantly, how long has it been since there was football on? We are not coping well with the lack of footy in our lives.

The only thing that’s keeping me from weeping uncontrollably about the whole thing is that I am currently too exhausted/dehydrated/generally beat down by the festive season to muster up tears. I’m dessicated Sassy right now. With the amount of Christmas parties with open bars and ‘OMG WE NEED TO CATCH UP BEFORE CHRISTMAS’ pub-trips and beers while we’re watching Danny Green fight and Fleetwood Mac concerts I seriously do not have that much moisture in me.

I also haven’t cleaned my house, or managed to face the grocery store in about two weeks, so I am basically living on things in tins I find in the pantry, and amongst several gigantic piles of clothes that look a lot like some kind of hurricane relief drive. HEEEELP! See what happens when there is no footy? I lose my damn mind and need to be rescued by either my mother or the Red Cross.

But do you know what made me feel better? Someone helpfully pointed out this week that Lowes have their new season ad images up on their website. We all know what that means …. FOOTY PLAYERS IN NORMAL PEOPLE CLOTHES. It’s my favourite thing! It’s like when you see Venus Williams in an evening dress. It’s strange and unusual and special like an eclipse, or a unicorn.

And my favourite new picture of all is of Scotty Prince being a dapper and amazing business man:

Scotty auditions for the Wall Street sequel.

Considering that I am currently living in my own festive season filth and have about eight baskets full of dirty laundry, I am considering taking his advice and heading down to just buy myself a whole new wardrobe. I think we all know that living out of my remaining clean clothes just isn’t working. Yesterday I had to dress as some kind of 1970s housewife because all I had left that was vaguely wearable was a selection of rainbow-coloured sundresses.

And while I’ve been living in a state of permanent hot chip and free beer hangover, the NRL boys have also been busy. In Todd Carney and Jason Ryles’ cases, busy freaking me out. Sure I knew they were coming to my team the Chooks, but actually seeing them in Roosters merchandise is unnerving like woah. I felt equally weird the first time I saw Anthony Tupou as a shark. IT’S WEIRD AND WRONG AND I DON’T LIKE IT, ONE BIT.

I’m not even kidding you when I say I find this picture of Jason Ryles:

Jason and Stuart use their pocket flashlight to search for their missing dignity.

MORE normal than this:

He actually makes a kinda reliable looking security guard, don’t you think? And Todd Carney, for his part, makes a really really good pattycake partner. Mitchell Pearce told me so.

Up in Queensland, whenever they manage to find time out from their hectic schedule of electoral scandal and debating whether daylight savings fades curtains, the Broncos have been busy busting their guts to get super-fit for the 2010 NRL season.

They do this by staging some kind of …. Broncos Olympics? That’s totally Denan Kemp and Peter Wallace practising long jump, right? Whatever. All I know is that I really love Peter Wallace’s zinc nose. It’s very Michael Hussey. It’s also an excellent example to young rangas everywhere … SUN SAFETY IS COOL, KIDS!

Some of the boys struggle with the concept of ‘hurdles’

I also like to think that Israel Folau has really settled in with the Brisbane team. Like maybe in the early days he had a few teething problems. He’s sort of a baby still as footy players go, maybe he played up a little, ran off at training when he saw something shiny or a dog passing by, had trouble concentrating. But since they put him on a lead, little Izzy has really stepped back into line.

If you can keep him in the one place long enough, Izzy’s quite the good listener.

.. he just needs a hand-holding partner when the team walks anywhere or crosses roads. His road safety still needs some work.

And in a lil round up of the rest of the NRL teams, the Tigers boys are being cheeseballs over on Tigers TV (I don’t know that Steve Folkes would approve of this break from training, just quietly):

Justin Poore now has HAIR! Must be because he’s at Parramatta now, far far away from Ben Hornby and his Hornbag Clippers of Doom:

And, possibly inspired by Todd Carney, John Sutton spent Rabbitohs training week in Coffs Harbour playing pattycake with dolphins:

Pic. Frank Wedward

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go eat a tin of corn kernels. Till next time, darlings.

All other pics via the awesome BS and his blog, and Getty Images.

So, big news, kittens. Sonny Bill Williams and Mark Gasnier are going to play against each other in Paris this week when their rugby union teams face up against each other. Amazing, huh?

I know, I feel the same way. Let’s move onto more important things.

I officially have a new footy crush … and it’s someone from the Tigers. 

So the news out of Wests Tigers HQ last week was that Beau ‘funniest thing on the Footy Show’ Ryan, Blake ‘Abercrombie & Fitch’ Ayshford, and Tim ‘Jewy name, Irish eyes’ Moltzen had re-signed with the team until the end of 2010. This made me happy because, well, they’re all adorable. I do have eyes, you know. Also, happy because the newspapers kept referring to the trio as ‘young guns’.

HOW GOOD WAS THE MOVIE YOUNG GUNS? I totally had a crush on Lou Diamond Phillips. True story.

I also really enjoyed Emilio Estevez’s sweet sweet braces.

But no, my crush isn’t one of the Young Guns. Guess again!

Straight after that, the news out of Wests HQ was that Steve Folkes, the new high performance manager, was NOT messing around. 

According to Timmy Moltzen:

“… in the gym the music’s off at the moment, and there’s no talking in the gym, which is about encouraging you to concentrate on doing your work. You can talk when you’re not working.”

How delightfully evil and Spartan and Footloose-esque. NO MUSIC, JUST WORK! 

Beau Ryan told the journo:

“Yeah, it’s been pretty hard. We’ve been doing a lot of running, and Folkesy likes training in the middle of the day, for some reason. We all had to get bikes, and tomorrow we’ve got swimming. I think we’re going to be the Wests greyhounds, not the Wests Tigers.”

Let me get this straight: Folkesy made the Tigers all give up modern transportation in favour of bikes? Then ride them in in the blazing pre-season sun to train at midday? 

HELLO NEW CRUSH! I’M COMPLETELY IN LOVE. He sounds like a demanding evil footy dictator and I love it. Pain is nothing! Winning is everything!

An evil dictator with a TRUNDLE WHEEL.
Pic. Quentin Jones

PLUS THE BOYS ARE TOTALLY SCARED OF HIM.

Lil Blake Ayshford said:

“There’s no music and no air-conditioner … so we’re sweating up a bit. I think he’s just trying to get us into the pre-season mentality – he’s really working us hard and stamping his authority at the moment, which is good. It’s working on us.”

”Hopefully, we’ll start getting the music in and the air-conditioner will start to work soon. One of the boys asked him whether the air-conditioner could be turned on, and he said it was broken. I don’t know whether it’s broken or not – we’re too scared to try it at the moment.”

This Folkes character is kinda starting to remind me of The Greatest Character in Television History, also known as Sue Sylvester from Glee.

To quote the fucking fierce Sue on the topic of fear: 

“We’re dealing with children, they need to be terrified, it’s like mothers milk to them – without it their bones won’t grow properly”.

Do you think he wears adidas tracksuits every day, too? In my mind he totally does.

Steve Folkes I love your work!

I hope he also stands on the sideline with a megaphone and yells out some of Sue Sylvester’s trademark inspirational phrases when the boys get tired:

“You think this is hard? Try being waterboarded, that’s hard!”

“You think this is hard? I’m living with hepatitis, that’s hard!”

“You think this is hard? Try filling your own cavity, that’s hard!”

Or when the boys fail to live up to their potential at training:

“This is what we call a total disaster, ladies. I’m going to have to ask you to smell your arm pits… That’s the smell of failure. And it’s stinking up my office!”

Maybe even to let the players know that turning up late to practice is UNACCEPTABLE:

“And if you are one minute late, I will go to the animal shelter and get you a kitty cat. I will let you fall in love with that kitty cat, and then, on some dark, cold night, I will steal away into your home … and punch you in the face.”

And then, of course, every week there has to be a story that could only be about rugby league. Like the week when Ben Hannant got swine flu. Or the week Sonny Bill Williams fled to Europe under cover of darkness. Some shit only happens in league. This week’s lucky winner?

Uncle Wayne (aka the Messiah of Kogarah) might be hiring a kick-ass judo trainer, who is also:

a) cage fighter;

b) a former Judo reserve for the Australian Olympic team, and;

c) ex-con who shared a jail cell with Ivan Milat.

Well OF COURSE HE IS. What else would you expect from a rugby league martial arts trainer? That kind of thing is too rugby league for words. Ain’t no soccer trainers who are reformed ex-jailbirds, are there? No rugby union support staff who’ve watched Ivan Milat pee. Rugby league, you never cease to surprise and amaze me. 

As for Mick Cutajar, who is the guy they’re talking about – and apparently a really good cage fighter, if you were wondering – all I have to say is: that’s one SWEET judo outfit. I like him. Maybe if the trainer thing doesn’t work out, Uncle Wayne can hire him as a fashion consultant … just send my commission to Errol HQ.

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

Johnathan Thurston and his dead mo walking.

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

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

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

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

…. and Robbie helps them finish the job.

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

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

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

a) a miscellaneous Pom

b) some kind of valuable privately-owned pheasant

c) themselves

d) all of the above,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In other news the sky is blue.

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

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

Scotty gets some feedback on his ‘pensive’ face

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

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

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

MADDOG YOU BIG SOFTIE. Wanna hug?

All pics via Getty Images

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

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

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

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

Sexiest coach in league nominee Tim Sheens is Not Pleased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The point is Tim Sheens is a Machiavellian genius.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, yes, we see you too, boys.

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

Nathan Hindmarsh for his ongoing transformation into Russell Hammond:

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

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

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

GO HERE

All pics via Getty Images.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Disclaimer: May not be actual Ben Hannant.

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

SEE? Sweet mo indeed.

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