HI BITCHES! Did you miss me? I know you did. You know who missed me more than anyone in the whole wide world? The bloody Dragons. You realise their form took a nosedive as soon as I left the country right? The little fuckers. This isn’t the first time either. In 2006 when I went to the States they lost every game while I was away, then started winning when I returned. And this time they did EXACTLY THE SAME THING.

The past 2 and a half weeks I couldn’t even enjoy my break. No no. I was deadset flooded with communication from home concerning the Dragons. Either it was St George fans begging me to come home, fans of other teams delighting in the Dragons misery (fuck all y’all!!) or my mother ringing saying things like ‘darling….I have some bad news’.

Anyway, we returned home last Friday and whaddyaknow, those tricksy little buggers found their form again and kicked some blue and yellow ass. They were all scorching attack, flawless hard hitting defence and OH HI B.MOZ GOT 3 TRIES! I was torn between being completely over joyed, horrifically jetlagged and being annoyed at them punishing me for going on holidays. Emotional manipulation! Disgrace!

Intern John John jumped into his spangly hotpants and checked the Errol mailbox on Monday morning and found a card my boys sent me. MINOR PREMIERS WHUT WHUUUUT! I adore the love hearts, that was Hot Bitch Cooper’s touch wasn’t it? He is a design genius. All is forgiven my darlings.

Obviously I am absolutely thrilled with the Minor Premiership and could not be prouder of my babies. I am also rather excited that in my absence  Dell has embraced his disco aura and is growing a fierce fro and sideburns combination. Amazing.

So anyway, our trip was amazing and we love the Jacksonville Axemen even more than before. Put it this way, there were goodbye tears. And hugs. And wailing. We will be writing some posts on them soon, including lots of awesome photos that we snapped. We had the most epic time and the boys, along with their staff and fans, are some of the greatest people we have ever met….so stay tuned for that.

In other vitally important Kiki/Errol newz, today I won a a guessing competition on Twitter. Who cares, you say? Oh no, this shit is lolz x 1000. For those who don’t know,  Mat Rogers has a Twitter. AND IT IS AMAZING. 

Today he posted this photo and asked his followers to guess who it was. The winner would receive a signed Titans poster.

I took one look and thought I KNOW THOSE NIPPLES…IT’S KEVIN GORDON! And what do you know…I WON THE COMPETITION. Aaaaaah lolol. I was alone at home on my lappie and when Mat tweeted at us to let us know I was the winner, I seriously laughed out loud and clapped like an idiot. I am such a loser.

So apparently the poster is on the way to Errol HQ and I could not be happier. Not because we get a signed Titans poster, but because my intense perviness has finally paid off.

PS- Seriously how ripped is K.Flash? Thrusssst.

PPS – Never fear kittens, the Errol Awards ARE on for 2009…just a bit delayed. We have new categories and everything. Coming soon!

Darlings, have you missed us? I know, I know, it’s been ages. I’M SORRY. It turns out that staying up all night watching the Ashes so we can blog for Cricket Australia, and spending your Saturdays whipping up columns for NSWRL really takes up a girl’s time.

But Sassy’s back now so you can stop biting your nails and weeping and just relax. Yes, yes, I promise I will never leave you again. Seriously, let go of my leg … except you Kevin Gordon. You can stay right there. As you were mister!

And now I’ve got my creepy quota in for the day, let’s talk footy. Everyone’s lost their damn minds talking about Karmichael Hunt switching to AFL. Which, to be completely honest, confuses me. Confuses me in the sense that …. I just don’t care. I feel like I’m missing something. I’m not shocked, cause didn’t he already switch to Union. Or did I make that up? Whatever. Let’s just say Karmichael is a straight-up code whore. And I’m not even angry! I kinda understand why someone would switch to AFL. They do have those adorable little sleeveless tops, plus from what I hear, spring rolls at the ground. Sounds pretty sweet to me. Mmmmm …. spring roll. All you have to give up is the joy of playing the greatest code in existence (for explanation, please see replay of Monday’s Tigers vs Sea Eagles game).

Pic. Glen McCurtayne

Best of all: HE’S A QUEENSLANDER. Buh-bye K.Hunt! Take the rest of the maroons with ya, why don’t ya? In fact the only downside of K.Hunt jumping ship is that, when Channel 9 broadcast Broncos games, we now no longer have the delightful possibility that Ray Warren will accidentally call him ‘Kunt’ again. Man, that was sweet.

But this week we realised he might’ve inspired some other league boys to start looking at their options. For one thing, Robbie Farah has a brand new career as a Hot Bitch. When did this happen? Seriously, when? We always adored Robbie for his Serious Thoughtful Comments at press conferences. Now we also adore him for his awesome new beard, and the fact that when he breathes in you can see his six pack through his jersey.

Apparently Robbie does not often indulge in a Robbie Farah kebab.

Terry Campese is in intense training for the T.Camps Michael Jackson tribute hour, hitting the road in the off-season 2009.

Not to mention that every time we turn on the tv we see another NRL player out there pimping out their skillset and trying new things. After his awesome performance on the weekend against the Knights I almost choked on my healthy healthy dinner when I saw Shaun Kenny-Dowall on Sports Tonight rocking out in the pool at swim school.

NO DARLING NO! YOU PLAYED SO WELL!

The way the Roosters season is going right now, if SKD leaves me to join the New Zealand Silver Waterfern swim team or whatever the fuck they’re called for the Commonwealth games in 2010, I will actually end up rocking in the corner in the foetal position. One win does not make a summer, or whatever that expression is. Although a few more losses from the Sharkies should keep us away from the wooden spoon, and, oh, how I cling to that.

Although I do think it would be pretty sweet if Beau Ryan passes his anatomy course and takes up a new career as an Osteopath. I find him oddly …. comforting. I would totally trust him with my spinal health. Although maybe not so much if he decides to become a plastic surgeon or something, because bitch is having troubles with some of the basic concepts of the torsal region.

So, the rib bones connected to the …. boob bone.

He seems to be enjoying the anatomy stuff a lot more than he enjoyed his film course, anyway.

Beau cares not for Peter Jackson fantasy epics. AND THAT ARAGORN IS A DOUCHEBAG.

As for Scotty Prince, I have absolutely no fucking idea what he is doing in an underwater plastic capsule, with BEN ROSS of all people, looking at crocodiles. But here ya go, just because Prince Scotty the Caramel is the reigning Oh Errol snuggliest man in league, and that deserves a run:

Meanwhile before my proud and noble Chooks beat them over the weekend, the Knights were already down a few superstars. I was nestled in the couch last week watching them have their asses handed to them by Manly when all of a sudden the camera flashed to Jarrod Mullen and Chris Houston on the sideline, looking … HOLD ON A SECOND. WHY SO HAPPY BOYS?

More importantly, why is Jarrod Mullen making the EXACT FACE I make when I fancy someone and am busy trying to look cute while I laugh at their jokes, instead of cackling and slapping my knee like I normally do when I find something hilarious. J.Mull, you are TOTALLY FLIRTING. Next thing you know he’ll be sitting sideways on his chair and leaning in close to talk to Houston in preparation for a pash.

(Just by the way, hi Ben Cross in the background! Sorry about that time at State of Origin when I thought you were Danny Nutley).

You know what this means, right? Well, for one thing, Kiki is more jealous than words can express. She loves a bit of Chris Houston’s action. She always tells me so. I think it’s the ye olde blacksmith vibe that gets her. But more importantly, Danny Wicks is gonna be PISSED. He is so not gonna stand for someone making the moves on his mans. Not when they’re so involved: those two share a team, a changeroom, a home, AND a vespa. They are committed.

Oh man, just quietly that video never EVER gets old. Who would have thought two forwards riding a scooter together would be so lolz-inducing?

I feel like either one of Kiki and Danny Wicks might jump out of the bushes and try and ambush J.Mull at any time. My advice to him is to carry a bacon sandwich with him wherever he goes. That would distract either of them. Just chuck it and run like a robber trying to get past a Rottweiler.

J.Mull and Houston have nothing on the greatest love story of the 09 league season though, which everyone knows is a little something called Uncle Wayne and Hot Bitch.

Remember them?

How could you forget? He can hardly wait to hold him, feel his arms around him. What was my point?

Oh yeah, check out who popped up in the box (heh, box) at the Dragons vs Storm extravaganza at Kogarah.

FLOSSY NIGHTINGALE IS THAT YOU? Look at him all up in the coaches box, makin eyes at Uncle Wayne, not even looking at the big flashing talkie box that shows you the game. It’s some First Wives’ Club shit happening up in there … leaving one man for a younger model. Hot Bitch Cooper will not be pleased.

Luckily, I bet he looks fierce in some white pants.

Thanks as always to the gorgeous Cronkster and everyone’s favourite blog, Hot Aussie Footy Players Shirtless for the caps.

So … I guess I should talk Roosters. Cruelly defeated by the Warriors on the weekend just the day after they found out their coach Freddy was getting the boot. Can’t that result be reversed somehow? Emotional distress? That always worked for me on exams in high school. That and period pain.

Sassy on her way to the SFS

Cause my chookies straight up deserved to win that game. Not just because I really REALLY needed a win for the sake of my sanity. Somehow, even though my boys are at the bottom of the ladder, I’m still managing to get up every day and have a shower and do my hair. For now, anyway. I’m not quite at crazy-trolley-pushing-cat-lady yet.

BUT THAT DAY MAY COME SOON. Just so you know. A few more weeks of the kind of shit season the Roosters are having this year and I just may lose my damn mind. If you see me shuffling around Bondi Junction with a crappy old fm radio sticky-taped together and blasting Phil Collins, try not to be alarmed.

More like my babies played with heart. People love calling the Roosters sell-outs almost as much as the Errol girls love a bevvie … but my boys proved em wrong. Sadly, that still ended in a loss. Excuse me while I weep softly for a few moments.

And I can call them my babies, because they are all So Tiny. Tiny like macaronis! Apparently their average age is only 21. I say ‘apparently’ cause clearly there is no way I’m getting out my calculator and figuring that out. Just believe it or I will kick you in the shins.

^ Sad Roosters.

So it’s no wonder I feel kinda big sisterly about my chicklets. And seeing their disappointed faces after the last-minute loss …. my heart broke. For reals. I was gutted like they’d just lost a grand final. Fitzy looked like he had lived through five liftetimes of pain, and when Mitchell Pearce was interviewed I think he almost shed a tear. Usually only Jonathan Thurston does that.

I shouldn’t admit this, but I may also have fought back a tear, In my defence, that was probably cause I’m on a the Errol health kick and my body’s freaking the fuck out now that I don’t have any fatty carbs in my system. I’m like an addict in withdrawals. I almost cry everytime I see people eating pasta on tv. PASTA, HOW I MISS YOUUUUU.

It’s just lucky there were some rays of footy light to ease me through the Sunday afternoon blues.

In amongst all the drama about Freddy leaving (and taking his footies with him thanksverymuch) and Brian Smith being hired as the 2010 coach … everyone was asking ex-Newcastle players what they thought of Smith. Kirk Reynoldson chatted to a reporter and gave us this gold:

“I’d trust Shane Warne with my wife more than I would trust Brian Smith.”

… Well that’s just unnecessary, don’t you think, Kirk?

So … obviously not a big fan of Brian Smith. But more importantly, do you know HOW unimpressed he is with him? UNIMPRESSED ENOUGH TO MAKE JOKES ABOUT SHANE WARNE AND HIS TEXT MESSAGING INFIDELITY. I like to think that in no other sport would this be a totally normal way to explain how you feel about your ex-coach. We love you, rugby league.

And then Robbie Farah turned up on the tv to turn my frown upside down. When the Cowboys scored a try in … what? 10 seconds after coming onto the field? It looked like the Tiges were going down. But after Anthony Watts unexpectedly punched Robbie Farah in the face in a scrum … it was on, bitches. The next time there was a scrum, the rest of the Tigers split it in two so that Robbie could square up for some revenge.

Who knew Robbie Farah had it in him? He always seems like such a Serious Thoughtful Young Man. Now we know that he’s a Serious Thoughtful Young Man, who, given the chance, can lay five awesome left uppercuts on someone. Robbie’s got fists of fury! That bitch was going down. Sure they were both sent off, but it was glorious while it lasted.

Watts told the media he wasn’t sure how many Tigers were punching him in the scrum cause there were lots … oh, honey, no. There was just the one. Well, I guess it could be three if you count Robbie and his two fists. How did you know that was exactly what would cheer me up Robbie Farah? I love a sin-binning!

Sassy likes mah headband? SCORE.
Pic. Mark Nolan

And when the boys came back from the bin, Robbie was talking smack and wearing a rocking retro headband, and Anthony Watts looked suspiciously like he had been stung in the face by a thousand bees. Daaaaamn. Bitch looked beat down.

I also shouldn’t admit this, but when Robbie unleashed on the field, I actually said “… I have a ladyboner AND a footy boner”. I know this cause Kiki told me. That bitch has the memory of an elephant sometimes. *cough* Anyway. What can I say? I have a dirty dirty weakness for footy violent times. It’s one of my (many) shames.

And from there the Tigers were full of excitement and Benji Marshall magic and all that is good and right in Leichhardt. That’s right, their win was pretty much all thanks to the fight. You can’t argue with facts. I was wearing my labcoat when I typed that and everything.

But the best news of all? INTERN JOHN JOHN’S FAMOUS. Well, of course he is. He’s Errol’s favourite intern. But he’s also in Big League this week. *waves to John-John*

Obviously we kinda hate that in the headline they call him “the Wolfbrother”. His proper name is INTERN JOHN JOHN, and his brother is called the HOT PIONEER, kthanks. But we love when people give him raps.

“I’m not aiming for the limelight or anything. I’m just happy to go out there and do my job and play good footy,” he says.

“As long as the boys around me are recognising that and knowing I’m busting my arse for them, then that’s the most reward you can get. You want your team-mates and your coaches to be happy with your performances.”

WHY SO HUMBLE BB? After all he’s an Errol superstar. We’re just sad they didn’t use any of our quotes in the Big League article. I can’t believe that the magazine’s readers don’t wanna know that JJ is an expert limbo contestant, always puts love hearts in our lattes, rocks a pair of purple spangly hotpants at office parties … or THAT HE GREW US A MOUSTACHE FOR MOVEMBER.

Poor journalism!

Kittens, this week I am proud to introduce an Errol Bestie, a man of Ideas and Vision, full of courage and full of lolz. The brilliant and hirsute Anton from The Sport Count has written a pretty damn awesome open letter to DG about an issue that is very dear to our hearts.  Enjoy it, and when you’re done, hit up The Sport Count, why don’t you? It’s about basketball, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s shit.

David Williams salutes this post.

Dear David,

The game of rugby league needs help.

We’re not talking about gender awareness programs. We’re not here to cry into our beers about the drinking culture within the game. We’re here to discuss something far more important: the aesthetics of the sport.

Specifically, the grotesque lack of players sporting ridiculous beards, miniature afros, and surfer locks. We’ve been living under the tyranny of a largely hair-free player population since the late 1980s, and it cannot continue.

This game — this wonderful game of rugby league – was once predicated on follicular freedom. Players let their sideburns grow, like brown, hairy vines wrapping around an old house. Tackles were symphonies of moustache hair. Tom Selleck would sit on his couch, watching a game, and smile. He’d smile, all shock and delight, watching men just like him – men with chest hair, and a little shot of testosterone right above their top lip.

In some corners, this proud history lives on. Lord knows, David Williams has done what he can. But Williams’ fantastic look is viewed as a novelty. A throwback. A glimmer of a golden age long forgotten. He is smugly mocked, dubbed ‘The Wolfman.’

But the public have it wrong. The commentators are way off. David Williams isn’t a wolfman. He’s a man. Men have beards. Deep in your heart – and your brain, tucked away behind your sadly sans-beard face – you know that, Mr. Gallop.

It’s not just Williams. Brad Meyers represents the Gold Coast well, looking more viking than sportsman. Rabbitohs rookie David Tyrrell looks like a bonghead surfer. Nathan Hindmarsh has long black locks, like an oil spill exploding from his head. And doesn’t it look great?

Of course, it’s not enough. Imagine if Little Chris Sandow had a miniature afro, and a big beard, like a Nation of Islam member. Wouldn’t Scotty Prince represent everything good and right about the Gold Coast if he styled himself like a Miami Vice bad guy? Imagine Hazem El Masri with fat sideburns. Just imagine it.

You can make it happen, David.

In the mid-2000s, David Stern – your namesake, and the commissioner of the National Basketball Association — instituted a dress code, forcing the athletes to wear suits on the sidelines. Players whined, claiming their rights were being infringed upon, their sense of personal aesthetic expression censored. But now, our eyeballs reap the benefits, as we see enormous men wearing oddly flamboyant outfits on the bench during basketball games.

If David Stern can force Kobe Bryant to wear a bowtie, the NRL can most assuredly force the Cowboys frontrow to sport beards that imply they’ve spent the off-season droving with Hugh Jackman.

The NBA wanted a touch of class added to their sport. We’re not asking for class. We’re simply asking for our rugby league players to look like men. Men with beards.

Sincerely,

The World.

What’s that word people kept saying earlier this week? … MAROONWASH, was it?

Oh, the sweet satisfaction of Queensland being denied their fairytale. Yes, we know they won the series, but we also know that instead of prancing off into the sunset to a sunny Queensland island to relive their victories, they’re gonna be sitting at home, lights off, watching slo-mo replays of this game and wondering just how it all went wrong. Johnathan Thurston will probably cry. He does that.

But the bottom line is the same: NO TROPICAL HOLIDAY FOR YOU NOW, BITCHES.

This game was a victory for brotherhood, tenacity, pettiness, spite, and sheer stubbornness, with just a hint of FUCK ALL Y’ALL added for spice.

If you’re wondering, you eat this delicious dish with … wait for it … THE FORKS.

For those who were not blessed enough to watch the game in all its glorious suspense, drama, violence, and hilarity, the Blues won. THAT’S RIGHT. Our baby blues brought it home 28-16.

The addition of the two Old Men in Blue, Trent Barrett and Brett Kimmorley, turned out to be a stroke of brilliance. Kimmorley was all over the field like a man half his age. The addition of Michael Ennis, captain of the good ship giving-away-stupid-penalties, maybe slightly less so.

But let’s talk about what you’re actually interested in: yes, there was a KO. A real one. No (non-literal) shit. After a bit of scuffling in a tackle, Brett White leapt out of his play-the-ball and picked an old school stand-up fight with Hot Old Man Steve Price.

Tragically, this didn’t involve anyone getting shirtless to punch on, which is one of the greatest football traditions ever. What it did involve was about three air swings, then Brett White making perfect contact with Steve Price’s jaw. We swear on our most precious vintage t shirts he was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

And we’re gonna stand up and say … yes, we was kinda shocked. We had always had a vague suspicion that Brett White was more … how do you put it? More a lover, than a fighter.

Pic. Getty Images

Can’t imagine why. Turns out Brett White has a fucking mean right cross, and it’s Steve Price who isn’t much for fisticuffs. Even his Warriors coach Ivan Cleary was terrified about what might happen.

I saw Pricey look to shape up and I thought, ‘What’s he doing?’ I thought, ‘Oh no.’

With all due respect to Pricey I couldn’t imagine him going great in a fight.

Love how he says “all due respect” like it matters. Now that we know Pricey is like a kitten without claws you can say whatever you like Ivan. Go on! Let it out!

And we won’t lie, Brett White kinda won my heart when after the whole scuffle, as Justin Hodges was making snake eyes – we aren’t kidding, he really did it with his hands like Barney from How I met Your Mother - he just licked his lips, mouth all covered in blood, and laughed … it was kind of hot. OOOF. Excuse us now while we hide our faces in shame for enabling violence with our perviness.

But somehow Trent Waterhouse (not to be confused with Trent from Punchy) was the one sent off and fronting the judiciary for running in as third man and tackling the falling unconscious Pricey to try and end the fight. Our boy Trent is now first man to be sent off since Gordie in 2000, and first blues player EVER to be sent off. His mama must be so proud!

Perhaps she can have the title painted onto a plate for the mantle.

(Gordie, on the other hand, is probably at home busily hand-sewing up a storm, whipping up a Trent Waterhouse voodoo doll and sticking pins in its knees, chanting BITCH TOOK MY TITLE).

But we’re putting it out there that Trent had the best of intentions and is getting an unfair rap. Soon as we finish writing this blog and painting our nails, possibly eating a sandwich, we fully intend to start a FREE TRENT campaign.

Don’t worry Waterhouse! WE’RE ON IT!

And if it turns out we’re wrong and Waterhouse was doing something dodgy, Sassy volunteers to spank him for being a Bad Boy. Yes, she really did say that. Her wrongness knows no bounds.

Tell you who’s not getting any help from us though? Oh yes, we’re looking at you Thurston. Don’t-you-walk-away-from-me JT.

As if we weren’t unimpressed enough when Thurston said “go away, you spastic” to Kurt Gidley. Um … spastic? Really, JT? We’re hardly in the position to be holier-than-thou about offensive comments, but we will say this: is it year four now? Have you time-travelled? Update your insults please.

But then we saw your boot making contact with Dave Williams face as he lay on the ground, and we is pissed. YOU KICKED OUR DAVE IN THE FACE!! UNACCEPTABLE!

We are thisclose to issuing a JT death fatwa, like Iran did with Salman Rushdie. Surprisingly, yes, we do know a lot of high profile Mullahs and we aren’t afraid to ask for favours.

Dunno if everyone’s aware of this, but Dave Williams (and no we won’t call him ‘Wolfman’; it’s a shit nickname and we refuse) happens to be the Patron Saint of Errol. As a sidnote, we cannonised him literally 6 months before anyone else knew his name so don’t you dare accuse us of being ‘Wolfman’ bandwagoners.

Anyway, we love Davey. Even though his defence of Greg Inglis was lacking in sections. Sassy maintains it’s because he failed to watch Wiz and Gordie on Monday Night Football presenting the new segment CONTACT CORNER. They specifically taught everyone how to defend Inglis … with role plays and everything! Seriously, if Bellamy didn’t let the boys have MNF tv privileges then he totally dropped the ball.

Anyway. Back to JT. In some ways we’re kinda like the mafia round here: we love chunky gold watches, cannoli, and fur … and we don’t take no one messin’ with our boyz.

So for convenience’s sake, we have drawn up a list of all our adored NRL babies.

So if anyone even THINKS of harming a hair on one of those boys heads, there will be hell to pay fo realz.

Let’s talk about Anthony Watmough. The man was a MACHINE! Played the whole 80 minutes and never looked like tiring. Bitch has endurance. Kinda like the way pre health kick us used to stay out dancing and drinking schooners until 6am. Yes, exactly like that. We were doing it for NSW too.

We know he gets a bit of a bad rap in the league world, but in our personal experience Watmough is a bit of a champ. And by that we mean whenever we have spoken to him he has been awesome and really encouraging of what we do. Which is enough for us to be on Team Watmough.

At this point Kiki would like to point out that this amazing form from Watmough is a direct result of her accidentally offending him at the Beaver tribute dinner last year. She somehow found herself alone with him and somewhat lost for words, and in true Kiki form she blurted out something inappropriate.

K – Hey Watmough…remember when you used to play Origin? And you were heaps good?

A - ……….yes.

K – Those were ummm…good times! *encouraging slap on the arm*

Obviously this was his ‘rock bottom’. He made a commitment to himself he would play like a man possessed and make the Origin team in 09. And he did! THANKS KIKI!

Just imagine how different things could have been if Kiki had made conversation about the weather. That is some Sliding Doors shit right there.

And Watmough teamed up with Ben Creagh to send in Benny for a try, too. ALL THE WAY WITH BENNY CREAGH. And that’s on top of Creagh getting the honour of being sinbinned. Amazing. Shout out to Mama Creagh! We especially enjoy that it was for … well for avoiding getting into a fight.

(All the way with) Benny Creagh was obviously upset  when Queenslanders piled into a tackle on Kurt Gidley, so he pushed Justin Hodges off, then … well then he ran away. HEART. Kiki thinks he put in the shove then suddenly had a vision of how fucking terrifying Wayne Bennett would be if he got suspended and had to backpedal like crazy. Either way Benny Creagh gets a membership card to the Steve Price Boxing Club. Look out for it in the post, Ben.

And last of all, Sassy’s dad’s favourite moment of the game: a Queenslander getting so excited at Dallas Johnson’s try that he spilled his beer. We like to think he made exactly the same face when the full-time buzzer sounded. Enjoy:

Thanks to the delicious Cronkster for his caps.

Do you know what makes a girl hideously depressed? Being a Roosters fan in 2009.

Do you know what brings a girl back from the brink of suicide? That’s right, kittens: THE DRAGONS. At heart, I will always, always be a Chookies fan. That’s just how I roll, yo. I am loyal for life.

But you know things are bad when the club actually writes to you to apologise for the drunkenness and scandals. I opened the mail and it was all Oh Hay Sassy, Soz for being drunks! Also for the number 2 incident and the drink driving and whatnot. You understand, right? Did we mention we do good things in the community?

I mean, I appreciate it, but dammmmn that was bleak to read. Also, usually I’m the one doing the apologising for inappropriate behaviour, so it was kinda unnerving on multiple levels.

And amongst the shit going down right now at my club – and yes, in this case, literally shit – it’s nice to have some happytimes. I totally have a soft spot for the Dragons. I’m not even kidding that on the weekend I got back from Melbourne and stood at Sydney Airport baggage carousel three for about thirty minutes watching the Drags play the Sea Eagles. My lil suitcase went past deadset four times before I twigged.

How can you resist St. George? They are hands down the happiest team in the league.

… oh, shucks.

IT’S TRUE. And who sums em up better than Flossy Nightingale?

Who’s a good boy then?

Yes you are the best boy.

You heard it here first, kids: THE LABRADOR OF LEAGUE.

And if that wasn’t enough, the boys are blessed with the awesome that is Wendell Sailor. I wanna say if he retires next year I’ll be devastated and unable to live without the sight of him steamrolling over smaller men to smash in tries in the right-hand corner … but it’s totally a lie. As long as his head is somewhere on Channel 9, I’m cool with it.

You know he’ll sneak into the producer’s box and just replay montages he made himself of ‘DELL’S GREATEST MOMENTS’ set to Mr. Wendell, Beat It or Earth Wind & Fire’s greatest hits (depending on his mood). I bet they’re all interspersed with star-wipe graphics too. I like to think Dell is quite nifty on the PC video-editing.

Pic. Mark Evans

Apparently he didn’t want to let the crowd down after his moonwalking efforts, so this week he upped his game and posed with the Dragon mascot while Tiny Dancer Jamie Soward snapped his picture on a footy camera. Oh, those two. I especially enjoy that they now have secret handshakes like kids in the playground.

I’m only sooky that my stand-in joy got ruined by allegations that Tiny Dancer bit Matt Ballin in a tackle. And using all my lawerly university training I’m gonna stand up right now and say, if he did, do you blame him? Have you SEEN Matt Ballin? I defy any man or woman to look me in the face and tell me they could resist going the nibble on Bal’s arm if it got thrust in your face. Could you? Really?

NOT GUILTY. I REST MY CASE.

Apparently I’m not the only one who has a special fondness for the Dragons. Even though we are bandits for our footy, we have a lot of gorgeous friends who, well …they don’t give a shit. Instead, when they realise footy season starts in March, they ask things like ‘am I gonna lose you for the next 26 weekends?’ (The answer is yes).

But sometimes we manage to win them over the dark side. And one of our friends has officially drunk the footy kool-aid. She watched the Dragons one night … and bitch is hooked. Her fave player? One Matt ‘Hot Bitch’ Cooper. The other night she actually smsed me to tell me she thinks he is ‘GLORIOUS’.

What can I say? She’s a perceptive lady. A perceptive lady … who doesn’t even like men. Hot Bitch has officially reached the point where he has both heterosexual men and homosexual women questioning their sexual orientation. Shit is RIDICULOUS.

(Not literally shit this time. Just in case you were wondering.)

Caps thanks to the fierce Cronkster. THANKS DARLIN!

The time has come, chickens. Time for the round three State of Origin deathmatch. Deathmatch in the sense that, while it’s likely no one will die, I live in hope that there will be some kind of contest. Even though we’ve already lost the series for 2009, our boys in blue still have to fight out the third match. This one’s FOR DIGNITY, people.

And the need to reclaim some authority is getting more and more pressing. Remember we told you about the Jacksonville Axemen? The Queenslanders’ Origin domination has hit the point where even their founder, Spinner, is sending us hideous, gloating emails from all the way across the Pacific Ocean making fun of the blues’ loss. Worst of all … HE’S RIPPING OFF OUR JOKES. That’s right, taking our own cheap jokes about Queenslanders having trotters, and using them to burn us. Shit is dire.

The email popped into our inbox the day after Origin 2, with the subject line : I NEED SOME HELP. (If you’re wondering he spelled it correctly, not like when he emailed us GO QUEENSALNDERS).

Please can someone get me a chair or maybe a ladder or something. I will also need some kind of slip proof surface to stand on.

Although I have done this task many times I always find it hard and each time it seems to get harder due to the extra weight.

It is really a simple task but I take my small role in this process very seriously and I know that many people are counting on me getting it right.

I am not used to standing up on my hind legs, and my trotters do not get the best grip when I stretch up to hang the QLD flag.

And every time we win the additional weight of the trophies, medals and the burden of all the accolades is almost getting to be too much.

I understand that the folks down here will not lend a hand with my little project so maybe if I just wave the flag in front of them I can crawl up on their backs when they come and bow to pay homage to it knowing it and all it represents is truly GOD LIKE.

Yes, that it what I will do. Wave the QLD flag and then just trot up the top of the pile of those that mourn yet honor it’s AWESOMENESS and place it at the top of the pole.

GO YOU BLOODY QUEENSLANDERS.

DAMMIT. Things that make Queensanders happy are the absolute worst. I am Not Enjoying This.

I am especially not enjoying this because apparently the plague of injuries of NSW is not abating. We already had five men down for Origin 2, now Jamie Lyon and Luke O’Donnell and Paul Gallen are on the list two. WHAT’S GOING ON? I have read the bible and I’m pretty sure that once the plague of Rugby League injuries has been going for a few weeks, we’re meant to move onto locusts. Someone is deadset not following the script. WHERE ARE THE LOCUSTS?

Now clearly – because its all anyone can talk about this week – were gonna have to mention Nate Myles. Nate Myles and The Incident. Like Michael Ennis we were speechless, then confused.

You mean he … ?

… try not to make a poo joke, try not to make a poo joke.

And like the boys on FoxSports’ Long Lunch, we’re too grossed out to talk about it. Let’s just say Lozzy thinks the source of the problem might be that it’s tricky opening doors and using plumbing when you have trotters.

Speaking of: Mick Ennis and Brett ‘Noddy’ Kimmorley have been included in the team for Origin 3. Shocking, right? Despite some teething problems, we hate that Robbie Farah has been booted. But also kind of delightful, in that Noddy reminds me of a teeny tiny version of Hoppo from Bondi Rescue. WE LOVE HOPPO. It’s the nextbestthing to having him in a sky blue jersey of his own. (Clearly that would never happen. He’s far too old relaxed to be interested in playing footy).

If nothing else Ennis will look after NSW’s sledging requirements. I approve of this.

So this is the last part of our Oh Errol American adventure from earlier this year. Ok, that’s a lie. Really, it’s the second last part. However, as the last part involves Savannah and Vegas, this is the last part that we will be describing on the internet. SOZ GUYS.

We’re been saving this bit up until we were well and truly into the league season for 2009 (over here and in the States). A lot of our readers go on holidays over the non-league season and we wouldn’t want all the little lost sheep to miss out.

Basically … you NEED to know about these guys. They call em the Jacksonville Axemen, and this is how the story goes.

After our bizarre jaunt around Disneyworld we jumped into Ron Burgundy – our gigantic, burgundy-coloured, Dodge minivan – and hit the road for Jacksonville, Florida. Why? Well it wasn’t to see Ryan Adams, because as it turns out, his song Jacksonville … not about Florida. Not that that stopped us singing it incessantly. That, and the soundtrack from High School Musical. That shit is great driving music.

He has many leather-bound books and his interior smells of rich mahogany.

Jacksonville is a quaint little beachside city in Florida. Down near the sea it’s full of 50 and 70s style diners and strip malls, and faded bleached-out salt-stained buildings. In the morning and at night the place fills up with fog that washes in off the Atlantic. It’s kinda Central Coast-ish really. It even has, wait for it … a RUGBY LEAGUE TEAM. Fuck off, now that was something we had to see. A league team in America’s wang! It makes sense that they might have them up North where the Yankees play rugby union at college, but in the South? Amazing.

The faithful Ron Burgundy delivered us to Jacksonville Beach right on the eve of Australia Day and found the Axemen waiting at the hotel with a cooler and a playlist of Aussie songs ready to welcome the Oss-tralians. WE HAVE FOUND OUR PEOPLE!

We were so damn excited we bounced about introducing ourselves to every. single. member. of the team … and four guys who just happened to be standing in the foyer and turned out to be US Marines instead of footy players. No wonder they looked confused when we asked where they played.

Much like Hunter S. Thompson, Sassy prefers to conduct all her interviews in hot-tubs.

Let’s just say that the Axemen throw a great clambake. Heh, clam. There were eskies of drinks, an all-Aussie playlist, even giant Aussie flags on the wall.

We even had a special encounter with a couple staying at the hotel. They were just chillin in the hottub having some beers, sitting next to a big pile of clothes … OMG IS THAT PILE OF CLOTHES A BABY? AND IS IT … CRYING? DID YOU GUYS BRING YOUR BABY TO A BAR?

Cut to Sassy and Kiki looking after the kid in the hotel bar while the parents smashed a few drinks. They crooned it Crowded House songs until it finally fell asleep and the parents headed to bed. It totally liked them, especially when the girls sang two part drunken harmonies to you’d better be homeeee, sooooooon.

The Axemen apologised profusely and explained to us … ‘we have white trash here in Florida, you know’. We can tell. Also, as if there’s any need to apologise. We’re Australian! We roll with the punches, or something.

Disclaimer: May not be actual Jacksonville sportscaster.

Now in general, Americans aren’t always the most up-to-date with Australian culture. More than once we were told how well we speak English …. um, thanks?

So you can imagine how shocked Kiki was when, viciously hungover after our Australia Day extravaganza, she was watching the local news and the sportscaster covering the Australian Open said: ‘as a sidenote, it’s Australia Day today down there. Everyone gets drunk and the country pretty much shuts down’.

She ran into Sassy and Lozzy’s room and yelled OMG GUYS, THE FLORIDA NEWS JUST SAID SOMETHING ABOUT AUSTRALIA DAY … HOW WEIRD IS THAT?

We thought how impressive it was that Florida natives know so much about our country, then promptly forgot about it. Until we met Spinner that evening for a sneaky pre-dinner drink. He strolled in, looked at us all, and started cracking up and shaking his head. He deadpanned: ‘you were certainly … memorable last night’.

According to Spinner, Jacksonville’s local sportscaster is a Big Deal. And when he was grandly introduced to Kiki, she grabbed his shoulder and announced:

‘I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHO YOU ARE … LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT AUSTRALIA DAY.’

The rest, as they say, is history.

Disclaimer: not actual Spinner.

Meanwhile, the reason for the Aussie welcome extravaganza was the one-of-a-kind Daryl ‘Spinner’ Howland. Why is he called Spinner? According to the boys: “you don’t wanna know”. We couldn’t even get Spinner drunk to force him to confess, so you can just make up your own sordid stories. It’s more fun that way. Spinner’s an Aussie living over in the States (and a DIRTY QUEENSLANDER. The crafty bastard didn’t tell us that before we drove for three hours to meet him).

The way he tells it, he had found his way into a college rugby team somewhere up north, and in the middle of a team trip around the South, Spinner had a … well, a big night on the tiles in Jacksonville Beach, and woke up too late and too disgusting to make his plane back home.

So in true Aussie style, he just made the best of it. Necessity is the mother of invention, right? So he set up in Jacksonville, started a footy team with a mate and called them the Axemen.

Truth is, knowing Spinner is kinda like knowing the mafia. Hiring a car? Mention Spinner’s name for a discount. Renting a hotel room? Mention Spinner. Trying to dispose of a body? Um …

Knowing Spinner is also kinda like knowing the big banana. Or pineapple. Or whatever. Something that is really well-known and from Queensland. He is unmistakably Australian. In part this is because the back of his car is completely plastered with Australian memorabilia even though we’re 99% sure he is the only Aussie in Florida. Every person in the entire city knows who he is. He’s like a bald-headed Queensland version of the Beatles. Universally recognisable! Plus, he knows Russell Crowe.

We got so dependent on Spinner we became almost incapable of doing things on our own. Every time we got lost we phoned him for directions (and every time we were late he phoned us to ask “are you lost?”). When Kiki had a hangover she reached out her arms and cried SPINNER FIX ITTTTT.

He’s also like the mafia in that if he chooses to, he’s the most generous and considerate guy a blogger could meet. He showed us the best mexican restaurant in town, and the best time we had maybe in the whole of our trip. THANK YOU SPINNER!

When Spinner wasn’t in charge … this is what we ate.

And after spending three weeks dealing with Polite Americans who are appalled when you say ‘Jesus Christ’ or words like ‘vagina’, it was so so nice to see an Aussie man again. Within five minutes of meeting us Spinner was hurrying us up by saying “What the fuck are you doing? I told em you’re Aussies and you don’t take long … so hurry the fuck up! Fair suck of the sauce bottle girls.”

In fact our only gripe with Spinner is that he is quite clearly brainwashing the entire team to support Queensland instead of New South Wales. Surely this is a breach of some kind of coaching or humanitarian law? Anyone?

But let’s talk Axemen. We had to know how the hell any of them ended up playing league. There are a few Aussie imports, and a new Aussie head coach but otherwise it’s all-American. Randy Dewey converted after playing rugby union at his Catholic School, Rich Alleger converted after playing union up north. And in our favourite story of all, Florida boy John Turlington was poached on his very first day of university in Jacksonville. He walked in at abouy 6’4, barefoot, massive, and wearing denim overalls with nothing underneath, and the rest of the Axemen thought … YES. This is the kind of man who needs to play rugby league. They were right.

Turlington: Face of a beauty queen …

… feet of a giant.

And the Axemen are going great guns. After starting only three years ago, the team is already breaking even and about to start turning a profit. This might be because they have brilliant marketers who come up with ideas like $1 beers on game day. It might also be because they have two guys in the team called Apple Pope and Taco Pope. Awesome, right?

Next step is to get the Yanks to start a national rugby league. If they do, the Axemen are sooo in it – just look on the website in the poll on the left. Bitches are miles ahead in the public vote for which cities they want in the comp.

Meanwhile thanks to the ~*magic*~ of technology, now we get to watch the Axemen games even though we’re all the way over in Australia. Just get on the website and click ‘Home’ and ‘JaxAxeTV’ … wheee! You’ll definitely want to watch because the Axemen are currently sitting undefeated on top of the ladder in the AMNRL and going great guns.

WE LOVE YOU BOYS!

And now we’ll leave you with the Jacksonville Axemen’s ad; written by and STARRING one Spinner Howland. Enjoy, babies!

Special thanks to Spinner, Jay, Rich and Jono for squiring us about town. And the rest of you, buy a t shirt why don’t you? We all have the KISS MY JAX shirts and wear them with pride.

And if you’d like to hear what the Axemen think about US, well you can here and here!

Hey Greg Inglis! We got you a little gift. Lotsa love, New South Wales.

Yes THAT IS TOTALLY A TRANSFORMERS REFERENCE. You know that shit is apt. Because the Queensland team are evil Deceptecons (apart from you Steve Price) and we are noble Autobots.  Yep yep.

Yeh so we shoulda written this yesterday but we were a) viciously hungover and b) annoyed at the world. And by world we mean QUEENSLAND. Booooo! As if things couldn’t get any worse, our eyes were subjected to herds of detestable Queensland supporters waddling about Sydney Airport the next day. All clad entirely in maroon. God, why are they so punishing?

This series loss is crap, but we knew it was coming.. By that we mean DAMMIT THOSE QUEENSLANDERS ARE JUST TOO GOOD. Did we really think that our baby blues could beat … pretty much the Australian team? Maybe. In the same way we think there’s a chance we could compete in Miss Universe. We live in a world of immense possibility, after all.

But the dream wasn’t to be.  So lets just do a run down shall we?

THE FANS

WE LOVE AUSSIE LEAGUE FANS. There is nothing that brings out the best in people like State of Origin. It’s like … the Olympics for fans. BEST. SIGN. EVER. There’s so much to love about it. I love that it’s actually addressed to Greg Inglis.

We love when fans direct their rage AT the actual players. Like when we went to watch the Roosters lose in dismal fashion against the Tigers at the SFS this season, Mitchell Pearce was standing in the corner in from of us, one irate fan stood up on his chair about three rows back from the field to yell ‘MITCHELL’.

The angryfan was so surprised when Mitchell actually turned around that he couldn’t even remember why he was so pissed and just pointed and shook his finger while making an angry ‘ngggggnnnnnnnnnggghhhhhhh’. It was awesome.

Also, don’t you love the simple fact that someone bothered to make a sign large and intricate enough to include the word BOWRAVILLE? He is so committed.

Possibly the only thing better is that – according to one of our Errol spiez, the lovely Jess – when the Maroons ran out a New South Welshman in a suit mooned them. Pulled on down his pin-striped suit pants and MOONED THEM. I am so proud to be from NSW right now.

THE BIFF

JUSTIN POORE. What a dark horse! First he’s building orphanages in Rwanda, next thing you know he’s whipping up a tasselled bra and smashing Mick Crocker with a right hook in Origin. He is a man of layers. And luckily for us, one of those layers is PUNCHING. Hallelujah!

Exhibit A – J.Punch Poore gets his sexy on

And we have to admit something. With this single act of biff Justin well….he became SEXY. Um hello ripped jersey! We have always adorrrred him, but more in a OMG HE IS SO AMAZING AND PERFECT AND HAVE U SEEN THOSE EYELASHES sort of way. Now his appeal has taken on a whole new dimension. Welcome to the Hot Man Stable Justin baby!

And yes, we know violence is wrong but FOOTY VIOLENCE IS DIFFERENT. We really enjoy watching Anthony Watmough almost magically appear in the vicinity whenever a fight erupts, all full of eagerness and busting to just punch someone. Anyone! He sniffs it out like an enthusiastic labrador diving into the bushes and popping out with an apple core. Heart.

DAVEY HAS NO NO TIMES

Ooooooooh dear. What can we even say? We aren’t gonna describe all of Dave’s fuck ups because well…you guys have eyes right? What we will say is:

a) Watching his distraught face on the TV literally broke our hearts. That shit was BLEAK.

b) Okay yes his mistakes were shockers, but most of the team under performed. If anyone is blaming him for our loss they are delusional.

c) Players have had bad debuts and gone on to be Origin superstars…hello Jarryd Hayne and Justin Hodges! Don’t write him off yet.

d) Guess the bubble had to burst for him at some point. His last 18 months have been somewhat charmed. But wow…what a way to come back to earth. THUD.

e) Even if everyone else in the world is ripping into you…WE STILL LOVE YOU DAVEY! So so much! If you ever need a place to hide out, we can blow up a bed and you can sleep on the floor of Errol HQ.

THE RUNS

K.Hunt is overjoyed at the win; regrets sharing a fork with Nate Myles.

Seriously, Nate Myles = almost as unfortunate as Ben Hannant. Is there anything worse than having it announced to the world that you have diarrhoea? THAT’S RIGHT, PEOPLE. NATE MYLES IN DOUBT FOR ORIGIN CAUSE HE CAN’T LEAVE THE CAN. We love it when embarassing shit happens to Queenslanders, we really do.

BABY HAYNE WE ARE SO PROUD OF YOU

Yaaaaay! Go Jarryd-with-a-y! Hayne has often been thought of in the league world as being lazy/arrogant/generally unlikeable. Well forget all that shit coz bitch KILLED IT on Wednesday night. Not only did he score that sweet sweet try (revenge for the video ref debacle of Origin 1) he was also enthusiastic in defence and was probably the Blues best player. WELL DONE MISTER! You get an Errol gold star. Lucky boy.

At this point we would like to make a request.

Queenslanders, we are okay with you winning a record series. It’s hardly a suprise. But please, for the love of all that is good and holy, stop pretending it’s about heart, pride or the ‘Queensland spirit’. IT’S COZ YOU HAVE THE ENTIRE AUSTRALIAN BACKLINE FOR CHRISSAKE. Stop being self mythologising fantasists and accept you are just the better team.

See you in Game 3. We look forward to our Trent ‘our new favourite person’ Barrett smashing some more maroon jaws. What whaaaat!

(Pics from the lovely cronkster and GettyImages)

DAMN IT, PEOPLE. This shit is getting out of control. First Luke Bailey was ruled out of selection with a fractured arm. Then Luke Lewis with a broken foot-something. Then James McManus with a busted ankle. Then Michael Jennings with a calf injury. Next Robbie Farah’s not training cause his rib in-between bits are sore and Trent Barrett has a jimmy back.

Now Craig Wing has been booted from the NSW Origin team with an itchy sternum or laryngitis or … look I don’t even know what’s wrong with him. I’M NOT A DOCTOR. Anyway it matters not cause he’s not playing. Just the latest in a long line of Blues to bite the dust.

Not so quick, Learoyd-Lahrs.

Except maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Two injuries I could understand. After all, it’s footy, right? Shitty stuff happens. Shit like fractured arms and crushed toes or grabbing peoples wheels or sticking your finger in unexpected places or having your head stapled together on national television. 

Trent waits for the voltaren to sink in…
Pic. The Daily Telegraph

… and limbers up.

And Trent Barrett I could understand, too. The man is 31. Sure, in real life that’s young, but in footy terms that’s like making it to 100 … in the 1940s. Those bitches age in straight-up dog years. Plus it’s WINTER. No wonder his lumbago’s giving him issues. But all he needed was a bit of arthritis cream and he’s right. Tony Ayoub’s been driving up to Magenta Shores to grease up his old joints and now the old dogs’ fit enough to go back to his training routine of lifting medicine balls and running the four minute mile. 

But SEVEN INJURIES? Fuck me. Shit is ridiculous. It’s like the blue death. Or having a whole team of Rod Wisharts. Or that baseball episode of the Simpsons. The second someone is tipped for Origin II they fall under a bus or get gigantism or fall into the Springfield Mystery Spot. IT SUCKS. Before we know it Daryl Strawberry will be Captain of the Blues and I will top myself.

THIS IS THE WORST ORIGIN EVER. Even the boys look like they think so.

… Cept maybe for T.Camps. His spot is getting might close to being empty again. 

Injuries? There are injuries? PICK ME! I’M READY!

Although it’s entirely possible that Andrew Johns will just step in. He’s been filling in all week up at Blues camp and HE ALREADY KNOWS ALL THE MOVES.

Meanwhile there might be something else going on here. Considering that 85% of my Roosters team is also currently injured, I can only conclude one thing: somehow, I have displeased the Gods, and they are now wreaking their mighty vengeance.

Eh, we’ll just take the win.

I dunno how exactly you fix that. I did see this episode of Anthony Bourdain No Reservations where he knelt down and banged a little bell and apologised to the Universe for all the pigs he has eaten in his lifetime. So I’ll try that, but in the mean time, I’ve just lined up another shadow player:

I KNOW RIGHT? PERFECT! She’s super fast AND she’s tres enthusiastic. And yes … that is my dog. She’s a retired greyhound named Dolly Parton. Plus she’s only 1! Hello planning for the future! If we lose another winger she is all over this shit. (And let’s face it, we probably will. Those blues are dropping like flies).

See? Billy Slater totes looks terrified. Dolly Parton’s gonna be a menace in blue. CALL ME IF YOU NEED HER, CRAIG BELLAMY.

And if you’re wondering what the Maroons have been up to while the Blues were shattering their bones and muscles of glass … well, they’ve been doing what they do best:

Down and dirty and KEEPIN. IT. REAL.

So, predictions please? Who’s winning it and by how much?

As always thanks to the fab BS for the caps. Mwah!