I have officially watched Too Much Footy this weekend. And it’s only Sunday. Good God. So there is pretty much no chance of me writing a coherent play-by-play recap of anything I’ve watched. My little pea brain just can’t hold that much information, you know?

I have just enough room for exactly one full 80 minutes of memory, and after that for everything that goes in something has to get the boot, and I’m just left with a memory trail that goes something like CASHMERE! … jerseys, scrum, hot bitch … THAT WAS A KNOCK ON! Which is totally normal brain function, right? I thought so.

Remember that time I took a home wine-making course and forgot how to drive?

 

Not the face!

There was love, there was lust, there were heroes, there was tragedy.

The game started with a whole set of lingering close ups of David ‘Ned Kelly’ Williams. Either channel nine has been reading Errol and decided to give the punters what they want, or they have hired a new homo cameraman with excellent taste. Either way, I approve.

I’m not so keen on the commentary that goes with it though, because Matty Johns quite clearly is seriously in manlust with ‘The Wolfman’ and it makes me slightly uncomfortable. He makes this blog look chaste and reserved by comparison. SHOOSH ALREADY MATTY! Just be quiet please and go back to making your collage of ‘things that remind you of David Williams’. Make sure you include that bamboo placemat you found at Freedom last week. Mmmmm smells like beard.

I am also so impressed that Ned Kelly is now completely committed to the beard. Wanna know how I know? He’s shaved around the neck. That’s right. It’s not a joke anymore, kids. It’s a Trademark (TM). (If you’re wondering he was also having an excellent hair day. Great definition in the curl. Have you started using product, Mr. Williams?)

In other vitally important football hair news, it seems Steve Matai now has cornrows. Really, Matai? Cornrows? I don’t know what to say. What I do know is that it’s not 1995 and you’re not in Bali. Think about THAT.

When he walked on field Ray Warren actually commented on the ‘”rows of corn” Matai is sporting’ and I think that if Rabs knows what the word ‘cornrows’ means, then cornrows are no longer cool.

QED. Full marks for me.

I actually think Gus Gould and Rabs as a duo have gotten even crazier in the last seven days. I didn’t think it was possible. I like it. I can’t decide whether I loved it more when they quarrelled about how much Rabs loves Steve Matai (Gus: And your man Matai tries to convert … Rabs: He is not MY MAN MATAI. I do not OWN Steve Matai), or quarrelled about the age at which they stop giving players oranges at halftime.

Rabs: Do you WANT oranges? Hmmm? Because I will go and GET you some navals.

I can’t wait till they allow gay marriage in Australia and those two can officially settle down. It’s never too late for love, boys!

The game also proved that cornrows do not constitute a form of head protection when Cornrows Matai and teammate Luke Williamson pushed in for a try on Luke Lewis. In the process Matai and Lewis butted heads and the results were not pretty. Williamson ended up in the middle of a creepy, blood-soaked NRL tableau, with collapsed Matai on his left hip, and bleeding Luke Lewis lying to his right with his head cradled in Williamson’s knee like a unicorn being tamed by a virgin.

I’m not going to lie, it was weird. Poor little Williamson, sitting bolt upright in between two bleeders, kinda gingerly patting Luke Lewis’ hair and making an awkward face that says HE’S NOT EVEN REALLY ON MY TEAM. DO I HAVE TO BE NICE TO HIM? YOU GUYS?

And then more tragedy … Steve Matai sort of made me like him. Even with the cornrows! Don’t you dare tell anyone. Once they patched up his bleeding skull, put a headgear in his hand, and send him back to the sideline, that crafty bitch won me right over with his vanity. He stood there in limbo for aaages, half putting the headgear on and laughing with embarassment.

I CAN’T GO OUT THERE IN THIS THING. THERE ARE CAMERAS! PEOPLE WILL LAUGH!

.. and then he didn’t. Seriously, that was it. We didn’t see him for the rest of the match. Matai had a tanty and refused to go back on looking ridiculous and left David Williams to take over the goal kicking with his patented brand of talking-to-himself crazy before every goal.

Note to the video ref in this match: I can’t BELIEVE you went ref’s call on that Brett Stewart try. At the very least you could have given him Benefit of the Doubt. I mean, dammit, the kid has DIABETES. Is there not some kind of BENEFIT OF DIABETES try rule??

And, lastly, saddest of all: Menzies. Oh, Menzies. Still brilliant with the ball. A fearless statesman of league, a vision in headgear. But, like Penrith’s own Danny Glover – Rhys Wesser – Menzies’ legs ain’t what they used to be. When he broke down the right hand side with a clear 70 metres between him and the try line, there was no cry from the commentary box of ‘JUGGERNAUT’. There were forty great metres, then an offload and a tackle. It makes me sad. I think it made him sad too. It seems relentless time has worn upon the demi-God of football as it wears upon us mortals. Manly won 30-10, but it still feels like the end of an era.

God damn was this a depressing game. Melbourne won. The Titans were ground up like tiny sad little peppercorns. No one was surprised. Cameron Smith apparently shaved but still had a grey beardshadow. Now he is a wolfman. Israel Folau did amazing things and is still a Mormon. Matt Geyer is still bald. The Titans (even the ones who aren’t injured) are still totally sick of life. Scott Prince was petrified with cold on the sidelines like one of those caveman corpses they recover from glaciers. I seriously think his hands might have been fused together with frostbite.

I can’t even talk about it anymore. 44-4.

Cronulla Sharks vs St George Illawarra Dragons – The Battle of Captain Cook Drive

Now this game was Real Football. It was intense. Like grabbing-someone’s-arm, have-to-see-how-it-ends football. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Matt Cooper look so intense. At the end of the game he even made an emotion. In his face and everything!

Pie-eating Greg Bird was so focussed in his return game that he didn’t cry once. Hornbag was possibly the angriest I’ve ever seen him. I checked with my pants and they agree.

It was also alllll yours St George, but towards the end I think you lost focus, and the Sharks didn’t. I’m sorry boys, but it’s true. I definitely don’t think they have more heart, but I think they showed more on the field. I will say though that this was a war of attrition, and you Dragons boys took it really hard.

Brett Morris was taken off with an injured shoulder. Justin Poore with a dislocated knee. I felt like there needed to be a halftime armistice for you to gather up the fallen before the battle began again. There’s something that toubles me about you Dragons though, and it needs to be said: the head-shaving. Please explain. If I was extending the war metaphor I would say that, as armies go, you look more like an Aryan Brotherhood militia than anything else. Is this your doing, Hornbag? Do you want everyone to look neat and practical like you?

Even Dan Hunt and Justin Poore were sporting newly shaven cue balls last night. Not to mention you Hornbag, Matt Cooper, Jamie Soward, Dean Young and at least one Morris twin (with the other twin’s hair also getting progressively shorter). Or wait a second – IS THIS BROWNIE’S DOING? Does Intern Brownie shave all your heads before each game so you all match his hairdo? I am absolutely appalled Brownie. Did you even think about me and how much I love a good head of hair? Hmmmm? I am shocked by your selfishness.

You Dragons have a long way too go before you look as military as Luke Covell though. He is tres jarhead. The hair, the American jaw, the glassy quality in his eyes. (Which is also why I’m not keen to say a word against him. Well done on your win, scary Luke Covell! Please don’t finish me off with friendly fire!)

Oh yeah, Flossy Nightingale also got dakked. Big time. I only like clothes- on- Flossy, but Kiki DEMANDED we post the photos, because and I quote ‘thats what the punters expect from Errol Sassy….bare arse.’

South Sydney Rabbitohs vs New Zealand Warriors – The *****

Okay FINE I didn’t really watch this. Don’t judge me. I’m not even going to pretend that I care. The Rabbitohs won.

PS Hi Russell Crowe!

Sydney Roosters vs North Queensland Cowboys – THOSE BOYS NEED THERAPY

Do you know what this game was full of? (Apart from the Roosters being distracted and making me worry about whether they are psychologically prepared for the focus and discipline required to win consistently in a professional sport).

It was full of my favourite rule. I’ve said in the past how much I love Benefit of the Doubt, and yes I still love you Benny. You are very sweet and very supportive. But this new rule? Well, it just makes me laugh. And that’s so very important in a relationship.

If you don’t follow league you won’t know that packing a scrum when one is called stops the clock. So a team that’s despy for more time will, as soon as the ref calls for a scrum, sprint to the location, and DIVE into one as fast as is humanly possible. Except because the other team doesn’t give a shit, it’s just five men with their heads between each other’s arses standing in a triangle packing a scrum against thin air. It is HILARIOUS. I adore it. More of that please! And if you want more people to watch rugby league, you could liven it up a bit. Maybe give them extra points if they can manage to make a pyramid? I’d pay to watch that.

This game was amazing in that it also managed to distract me from the hotness that is JohnJohn Williams. (Note to John – I see you shaved off the beard! Thank God! I’m so glad you read Errol and listen to our suggestions).

Because out of nowhere my Chooks have suddenly become the whoriest team in the league. When did this happen? I have no idea. Those uniforms were not regulation, I’ll tell you now. They were twice as tight around the guns, a good 5 cm shorter in the shorts, and I love it. GOOD WORK ROOSTERS DESIGN TEAM.

My personal highlight was when the Mayan King Soliola actually rolled up his sleeves for most of the first half. Weren’t they whorey enough for you, baby? Wanted to flash a little more bicep? My only regret is that I can’t find a picture anywhere on the internets of Brent Grose in his painted-on jersey. Bitch did not get that in the adult section of the Roosters store, that is for sure. It was an XS outfit on an M man. I don’t think he could even lift his arms. Which would also explain a bomb he missed, now I think of it.

Luke O’Donnell tried so hard, but just couldn’t compete for attention. Not even with a midriff-flash. And despite the Rooster’s strange success complex that means they can’t play well unless they’re underdogs, they managed to win the game. Or rather, not lose it. I think it was the shorty-shorts. Helps em run faster. Makes em feel pretty, too.

And to finish I would like to point out that since Sonny Bill fled the country, I think Willie Mason has finally realised they’re never getting back together, and moved on and found someone else. And do you know what? GOOD FOR YOU BB. It’s healthy! I know you loved him, but you can’t pine forever.  I think it’s lovely.

Oh children. The drama! THE DRAMA! My ticker can’t take it. The poor little thing is on struggle street. Aunty Kiki needs a very very strong drink. A Valium martini even (extra olives pls).

Rugby League has always been delightfully dramatic. Melodramatic even. It’s part of it’s charm. Shit is never boring. But recently we have reached entirely new levels of dramz. I never thought the words ‘international manhunt’ would be used in a league article. But here we are, with our very own Sonny Bill shaped fugitive. On the run from the lawwwws. It wasn’t him, IT WAS THE ONE ARMED MAAAAN!

You heard it here first kids. I for one can’t believe that SBW has managed to stay unfound for this long. I was sure he would get sprung crying IT’S BECAUSE IM POLYNESIAN ISN’T IT at a shopkeeper who told him he can’t use Australian money in the UK.

In these uncertain times, one must take comfort in the familar. Let us ignore Sonny Bill’s histronics and retreat to our favourite activity – sexually objectifying football players. Together, we will weather this storm using their bulging biceps and glistening thighs. Shelter in the hot babies, shelter in the hot.

In last weeks Hot Man News, I introduced you a few young guns of the cute persuasion. Lets check back with them shall we? Everyone loves an update!

I am happy to report that Marc-with-a-C Herbert had a cracker of a debut game and we couldn’t be prouder. We like to think he read the Hot Man News and was emboldened by it. And by all accounts he seems like a lovely young boy.

MARC Herbert has no tattoos. No streaks. The kid even moved back with his parents on Monday.

“So, yeah, nothing too exciting,” he smiles. “Although I do grow my hair into a bit of a mop occasionally . . . but then I cut it.”

AAAAW! Bet he has never pissed on someone hmmmm Todd Carney! Sassy and I watched him lead the Raiders to a 46 – 4 victory against the Titans on Saturday evening. And by ‘watched’ I mean sit at the Henson Park Hotel, sink schooeys and yell sexually inappropriate remarks at the TV screen. Much to the amusement of the old boilers around us. Anyway, well done kitten, you look adorable on TV.

I am however not pleased with the recent developments on John Williams’ face. On Friday night I tuned in to watch The Worst Game of The Year (Parra v Cowboys) thinking sweeeeet at least I can perve on JohnJohn Williams. But nooooooooo he had to go and grow some sort hair based monstrosity on his face didn’t he? NO JOHN JOHN NO! You see, baby, the beard is your brothers thing. Your thing is to be hot, clean cut and barely clothed. The thing you were sporting on Friday night doesn’t even look like a real beard. It looks like the eyeshadow beard I created for Daniel Freeman in our high school production of Into The Woods.

[I actually would like to point out to JohnJohn that his beard is heading dangerously into Kevin-the-straight-guy from Project Runway territory:

Shave immediately pls. - Sassy]

Now lets talk about Kayne Lawton. Oh, KayLaw. You are by far my greatest achievement. We discovered you mister, and don’t you forget about it. The amount of google searches we have had about you this week is unbelievable. It’s almost a…movement. AND ALL THANKS TO US. In my mind you didn’t exist until we blogged about you. You can thank us by wearing 70s shorty shorts and cleaning my pool.

(Note – Sassy is making noise about discovering Kayne and I guessss technically she did. So KayLaw please direct your sexual favours to the one with the fro.)

Kayne is so visually pleasant that he has my brothers girlfriend (hi Jade!) actively watching under 20s Titans games and messaging me about it. This is a girl who up until a few months ago would roll her eyes everytime footy was discussed. Kayne has The Power my friends. David Gallop, if you’re reading this (what am I saying ‘if’ for, I know you are)….please, for the love of all that is good and holy – use KayLaw’s molten hotness in next years ad campaign. Provided you have any money left over from suing Sonny Bill’s tanty throwing ass.

(To the straight mans reading this – I know I know, perviness overload. Im soz. I promise I’ll do a post about you know…actual football this weekend. I swear!)

The Calf-Blood Princes* have travelled up from Manly to play the Gold Coast Titans in Queensland and I’m watching it because I know from my over-the-shoulder glances in the pub on Friday night that it was a cracker of a game, but I am also totally surly about it because my favourite Titan won’t be there. Prince Scotty the Caramel was – of course – injured in the Origin decider on Wednesday. Now he has a broken arm to match two past broken legs and it’s clearer than ever that while boy might be a marvel on the field he also has bones of glass. If they can inject muscles with calf-blood down in Manly is it really that difficult to pop a few calcium supplements in Caramel Scotty’s Gatorade? Really?

Sigh. I’m going to miss our little Prince. I will try and care about the Titans without him, but I can’t make any promises.

Events are dramatical from the outset, with the Titans looming with a kick near the tryline on the left hand side, and losing it equally quickly when Ben Jeffery pops a pass to Luke O’Dwyer who is so surprised he drops the ball. Aw honey, don’t worry! They’re in it again immediately with Anthony Laffranchi snapping up the ball and nipping through a gap in defence for a charging try.

If I may, Mr. Laffranchi, I would like to know where the hell this form was on Origin night. Hmmmm? You perverse bastard. That was a classy try, and as a Blues fan I resent it. Mark Minichiello sees the score sitting at 6-0 for his team and decides this is far too comfortable, handing the ball back to the Sea Eagles with a truly gigantic knock on. Clearly Minichiello does nothing on a small scale. He is hands down the largest Italian I have ever seen. He is a man-mountain. If he was back in Campania surely he would be a star attraction for the other tiny Italians. Possibly lifting up men while they sit on benches as a show of his superior strength.

Steve Matai is injured in a tackle and sent back to the dressing room coughing up blood and with a bruised lung and I’m totally grossed out.  Also, confused that they use cling wrap on this injury.  It’s hard to imagine NURSE, PASS ME THE GLAD.

The Calf-Blood Princes seize on possession and rustle up some lovely plays on the right hand wing, some beautiful plays on the left, and wangle their way to another set of six tackles. Good work little Brett Stewart! (Although once I question Laffranchi after this game you, my son, will be next. I don’t think I even saw you with the ball on Wednesday night. Remember that). Right again for a just-not-quite attempted try by that hot bearded bitch David Williams. Left again, right again, and Steve Bell dives over the tryline trailing Nathan Friend and miscellaneous Titans from his jersey. Nathan Friend is oddly lovable in general, but tonight he has on a special baby pink headgear to show support for breast cancer research and my heart is full. I would like to see more pastel headgear in rugby league in future. Plus he’s just so tiny. He’s a pocket hooker!

I have no idea whether the ball ever hit the ground but the ref says yes and Itty Bitty Matt Orford makes the kick for a 6-6 score. I’m cool with that, because – I know you were wondering – I’m totally barracking for Manly tonight. Usually I am violently opposed to anything involving the colour maroon but I love Steve Menzies like you wouldn’t believe so Manly it is. He’s just so … manly. In that old-fashioned, 1900s, leaving the farm to sign up for World War I, because ‘… reckon that’ll be a laugh, right boys?’ way. You know?

I have also never ever heard a single bad word about him, and considering what tragic gossips league boys are, I’m pretty sure that makes him Jesus in headgear. I also cannot remember a time when I watched football and he wasn’t playing for Manly, so he may also be undead. Just sayin.

Oh, Steven.

Ray Warren announces that Menzies is ‘Mr. Kewl’. Phil Gould announces “my god this is a magnificent stadium”. One of these things is true. Guess which one. Maybe take a look back at that picture of Menzies before you answer. The two old women are certainly in fine form tonight and I love it. They are basically Kiki’s and my future right there in man form. Sitting in their arm chairs, squabbling about video referee decisions and whether it is acceptable for Phil Gould to leave his seat in the commentary booth to grab a biscuit or whether this is only allowed when the product is a sponsor of the show.  Amazing. 

Adam Cuthbertson lumbers across the field and we have another unexpected entry in the race to win Fattest Man in League 2008. This competition is really heating up. There is a slew of knock ons from all and sundry. Manly send an enormous kick across field and while Corporal Menzies of the Light Horse trips and misses, David Williams leaps for the football and barely misses out on another try.

In fact, Steve Bell from Manly is also looking particularly bearded and Bushrangerish at the moment. Between those two and Menzies, Manly are definitely shaping up as the most retro team in the league. I approve.

[I have a SERIOUS thing for Steve Bell. He makes me tingly in bad places. He's kind of balding, is a Queenslander and plays for Manly so why do I want to lick his tummy so bad? - Kiki]

Michael Hodgson sends Manly winger Michael Robertson off on a little Disneyland sortie with a huge shoulder, and the Titans attack with some fabulous Mat Rogers dummies until lil Luke O’Dwyer forgets about holding onto the ball again. He just does not win at life today. Well a lot of people don’t, I suppose, because there are lost footballs and knock ons as far as the eye can see. This is such a scrappy game and I love it. I think the anarchy is the sign of lots of risk taking and ball movement. Thumbs up. Ooh, and a double knock on. Amazing.

Tinyman Orford magics a break and an offload to Corporal Menzies for a lovely jump and try on the right hand side of the field. Now this is football! Gould says he’s too excited to sit down. Why couldn’t we have Menzies in the team for Origin? So what if he’s retiring. I know he’s a thousand years old but I care not for numbers. Bitch is evergreen! MENZIES FOR ORIGIN.

Tinyman coverts. 12-6 Calf-Blood Princes.

Preston Campbell makes a leap across field that comes nowhere near the ball he was aiming for. Gouldy supposes he misread the windsock. Bless. Rabs calls Jamie Lyon a man of steel. I think that only works if by ‘steel’, you mean ‘not steel’. And that just about sends us into halftime.

David Williams, you do us proud. Just moments into the second half, Ned Kelly catches a long kick in goal, and runs it out into play. When Mat Rogers fells him in a tackle he plays the ball and shows admirable flexibility with a nifty downward dog before staggering into goal. So noble! Sacrificing a good twenty thousand brain cells to let his team keep running downfield.

The Titans run a lovely decoy player and Friend the pockethooker passes to Davies for a try. A conversion evens the score at 12-12. Interference with the play the ball earns the Sea Eagles a penalty and Mat Rogers brings the score to 14-12. Go you calf-blood princes.

Teenyman Orford one then proceeds to set up a Jamie Lyon try. 16-14.

Ned Kelly makes an amazing break, sprinting for the tryline, grinning wildly, pursued for the full 90 metres by pockethooker Nathan Friend like an Irish Setter pursued by a Pomeranian. It’s magic. Matty Johns yells ‘look at him howling at the moon!’ and hotbitch Kelly grounds a try. David Williams, you can howl at my moon anyday. I don’t know that means exactly, but you can be sure it’s dirty.

His bushranging partner Steve Bell and fellow Hills boy Heath L’Estrange run in for man cuddles. Hills district represent!

Conversion: 22-14.

Flash to a Manly supporter in the crowd holding a sign that reads:

Corporal Menzies breaks to send flying Brett Stewart in for another length-of-the-field try. Conversion! So much excitement! Steve Menzies is Jesus in headgear!

30-14.

A lad in the crowd obviously agrees with me, because he’s holding up a giant sign that reads I HEART BEVER.

And in case a 16 point lead isn’t crushing enough, right on the full time buzzer, the ball runs through Lyon’s hands to Orford, directly backwards to little flying Stewart and in for a try. Conversion.

34-14 Sea Eagles. Orford dances for joy. Stewart is standing in a circle of Manly players re-enacting the final try with his hands and I die of cute. I don’t even smoke but I kinda need a cigarette.

* TM Kiki.

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