monday funday: meet the morris twins

March 29th, 2010

So way back in 2009, the Errol girls and interns Loz and Butch interviewed a few of the Kangaroos before they set off for the Four Nations tournament in Europe. Because none of us know shorthand, we recorded the interviews, and lucky for y’all we’ve dug up the film of the Morris twins from the vault for a little  Monday pick me up.

Make sure you crank it up – because god knows the sound is terrible – and watch B.Moz tell us he should have been captain of our 2009 fantasy team, the boys suggest Wayne Bennett as a nominee for Sexiest Coach in League, and that Greg Inglis says the Mozzie twins have great legs (well spotted, Greg).

NB: thanks to Kiki’s surprise and delight, this camera work is extra shaky and not recommended for anyone with epilepsy and a hangover.


friday night recap: dragons vs bulldogs

March 26th, 2010

At Errol HQ, we never like to do things straight away if we can let Future Us look after it instead. So how about a really late recap of the Dragons vs Bulldogs from the weekend? Awesome.

I’m watching this game form the couch. Sure I’d rather be hanging in the gong at WIN Stadium looking at the water views (they really are lovely) and basking in the kind of satisfaction that only comes from being within stalking distance of both Hot Bitch Cooper AND Wendell Sailor, but a girls gotta take what she can get. And what I got … is lazy.

The Bulldogs fans have a sign that says ‘STAGGERING’. Really, guys? Of all the options, you went with a tribute to David Stagg? No offence to Dave, but he’s not really a marquee player, is he? For the mums and gays reading, if you cast him in Beaches, he’d be Barbara Hershey, not Bette Midler, right?

The Dragons play a great first set with a brilliant kick from Tiny Dancer but I’m too busy being shocked that Hornbag has new spanx on. Thery’re all … white! And shiny! I thought Hornbag was gonna hold onto those old manky faded blue-grey spanx until the end of eternity. I always figured when nuclear armageddon came, all that would survive would be cockroaches, and Hornbag’s blue bike pants. Pretty sure Hornbag would love me comparing his crotchal region to insects, just quietly.

Pic. Getty Images

After about ten seconds Darius Boyd throws a great pass right to B.Moz to dive in like superman for a try. Kiki sends me text messages that just say ‘B.MOZZZZZz‘ and ‘FANTASY LEAGUE SUCK IT‘.

I send one back that says ‘F*CK ME THAT’S THE FIRST TIME I’VE EVER SEEN BALL-HOG PASS A FOOTY.’ Dah-rius, honey, if you can pass like that, how come you’ve never done it before, hmmmm?

Brad Fittler gives me updates from the sidelines and I feel like- much as I love Freddy – of all the post-footy jobs you could possibly give him, why would you pick one where you can only hear his voice?

He has a lovable face, relevant things to say, footy cred like woah, and … a voice like a punch-drunk boxer. It’s like listening to Milo Kerrigan tell me about the Dragons.

I swear to god he actually says “I can pretty much guarantee that they’ll end up the other end the bulldogs in not too long time”. I think he’s nervous. DON’T BE NERVOUS FREDDY DARLIN.

There’s some crazy sea mist action on the field and newly-recognised hot bitch Jeremy Smith’s new curly hair is all windswept and drenched, swoon. It makes me sad that he hid his hot under a Storm jersey for so long.

Weyman goes in for a tackle and Rabs cackles “talk about some prime beef coming together there! Hickey into Michael Weyman!” I know when I think of Jarrad Hickey the first thing I think of is beef. Mmmm wagyu.

Dean Young scores, but Sowie can’t convert. I think he got the prance wrong and it put him off.

They have to send in an interchange player for Jarrad Hickey cause Wagyu Jarrad is deadset EXHAUSTED. He’s the dampest, sweatiest man I’ve ever seen and I’m scared he might have a stroke.

Brad ‘Milo Kerrigan’ Fittler gives us a weather report: “there’s a bit of breeze, it’s not too hot. You just get a bit of a lather up.”

Sassy can’t wait till Freddy’s known as the Most Trusted Name in Weather.

Is the weather getting messy? Aaa-aaaaaask Freddy!

Benny Creagh puts a hit on David Stagg that is completely massive and Dave takes a quick ride on the Teacups that makes the ‘STAGGERING’ sign in the crowd seem really cruel and ironic.

At this point I really need to pee but apparently I would rather risk internal complications and hold it in than stop watching the footy. Also, is it just me or is Luke Priddis kind of a bizarro Trent Barrett?

The doggies have a chance at a try on the left hand side, but Dah-rius takes Bryson Goodwin over the sideline to stop it, then patronisingly pats him on the head. And when Bryson gets his bitch on and wants to start a fight, Dah-rius runs away. He fights like me!

Beau Scott takes his place, because dammit if Beau isn’t the angriest bitch ever as soon as he steps onto a football field. All of a sudden Hornbag, Ben Hannant, and Flossy nightingale are in the middle of an actual fight and I feel like there is no one in the world less suited to be involved in punchy punchy times. If the camera could show what was actually happening in there Ben Hannant and Flossy would just be nuzzling each other’s necks like giant puppies. J.Moz and B.Moz run away to fake fight each other on the other side of the field, also known as “entertaining the crowd with a show of brotherly love” according to Rabs.

… hasn’t he seen Philadelphia?
Pic. capped by Cronkstaaaah

Rabs, this prase “brotherly love”, it means something that you don’t think it means. Trust me.

Other things Rabs has told us tonight include that Jamal Idris used to do Discus, and that Sterlo is a “whippersnapper”. These things may or may not be true.

At half time Kiki rings me to discuss the fight and to tell me she has run out of clean undies and is freeballing. We are officially way too close.

The boys finish their oranges and the second half starts. This is also known as ‘Rabs being even more fucking hilarious/senile than usual”.

There’s a fiesta of Warriors-esque passes and, on the sideline, Milo Kerrigan the weatherman interviews Michael Ennis. Rabs thinks “the players are really improving … what about Sam Thaiday’s oratory skills!”

The game loses momentum, until Beau Scott brings down a bulldog and Rabs calls him “a bounty hunter! They don’t get away from him!”

I hear his new movie is really shit, though.

The doggies finally get a try in; Gary Warburton is penalised for a high tackle because I think we all know that good things don’t happen to men called Gary Warburton.

No, Gary, NO!

The dragons charge into Green and Hickey in defence. I’m impressed. I’d be too scared they’d eat me. Emmett scores, Kimmorley is enraged, and I am completely confused by whatever is going on with the reffing. For the record, I’m not even drunk.

Also, yes that was very good Nick Emmett but please don’t wink at me through the tv again. It’s unnerving. We hardly know each other.

Meanwhile Kimmorley is still angry and frantically miming obstruction at the ref like a netball umpire in slo-mo.

Kiki phones me again and we declare Hornbag as the Errol man of the match.

Ben Creagh slams Kimmorley and mini-Hoppo takes a looong ride on Space Mountain. I yell out “thanks for comin’ Kimmorley!” like a dirty bogan.

B. Moz runs in for his third try of the noght and I seriously cannot even process how unfair this is. Remember our fantasy experiment? I really REALLY need this kind of talent in my team, but B.Moz refuses to give in and just steal a car or something. He’s so fucking selfish. My fantasy team is so gonna lose this week.

With that the ref blows the whistle, 26-6. I cry a little for my poor unfortunate fantasy team … and did I mention I need to pee again?


four nations recap: … I've had a little bit to drink

November 9th, 2009

“It’s just been a weird night … and I’ve had a little bit to drink.”

So here’s the disclaimer: I went to Ladyhawke on Saturday night, and despite being Super Responsible and leaving the pub (I know, amazing right?) at well-maybe-a-little-bit-after-midnight like Cinderella, I was … well, look I was drunk when I watched this. Basically, I take no responsibility for being overexcited or imagining shit. But I think it’s more important to focus on the fact that I left a pub while it was still dark. That’s a massive achievement for me, JUST SO YOU KNOW.

To start with, is it wrong to say that I’m a bit in love with the British League commentators? Cause I am. No, not for their comical accents. Those bitches are insightful. They care about the important things: like explaining to the general European public that back in Australia Robbie Farah has a kebab named after him, but DON’T WORRY GUYS, IT’S A HEALTHY KEBAB! IT HAS CHICKEN AND VEGETABLES IN IT AND EVERYTHING.

God forbid anyone in the United Kingdom mistakenly think that Robbie Farah and his visible abs are schilling for some greasy obesity-inducing second-rate kebab. The commentary team are all about accuracy.

Well, all about accuracy … and historical lolz. After explaining in great detail that Northern Frenchies don’t play league because league was one of the things – along with freedom and equality – that Hitler cared not for, they start calling the French defence ‘the resistance’. It’s funny cause it means two things! *slaps knee*

These people? Yep, defenders of freedom and rugby league fans.

Meanwhile if you ever get heckled by rugby union fans for liking league, you can always ask whether they know that the Nazi collaborators and Vichy government in WWII France banned league and promoted union. Yes, people will think you’re a massive loser, but better that than a union follower, right? WE’RE THE RESISTANCE, BITCHES.

It also makes me happy to know that there are other nerds out there if the commentary team ever stumble onto Errol and read our footy posts from last year, they will totally enjoy Kiki’s jokes about Winston Churchill and Stalin and the Cronulla Sharks.

As for the game: not gonna lie, the Aussies didn’t live up to their potential as a team (and the Frenchies agree) but I care not. They had moustaches, and they entertained me, and that’s what counts.

So let’s talk about the Aussie boys.


Um, you know it’s true. No sooner had I pointed out that Cooper Cronk has one of the greatest moustaches in league history and reminds us of a latter-day 40-20 kicking Errol Flynn:

… really? I look that good?

Than he’s all up in the French’s business filling in for Thurston and Lockyer and generally being awesome. Sure, I’d had about six voddies, but I could still tell that the team looked way better in the second half when Cooper came off the bench. IT’S ALL IN THE MO, DARLINGS.


And if Cooper’s lucky charm is a mo, then Robbie Farah’s is his headband. Remember way back in July when Robbie Farah rocked the tape headband and got his punch on with Anthony Watts?

Well from what he told us at the Kangaroos media call before the boys left, he’s … well he’s kinda proud. He also promised us that he’d bring back the headband as a rugby league look. After all, there’s nothing more Tigers than a tape headband, is there? Even Wayne Pearce knows the answer to that question.

Anyway, we’re pleased to observe that HE TOTALLY DID. Bitch is a man of his word! And there is no way you will ever convince me he didn’t tape himself up as an act of generosity and charity purely to entertain the Errol girls.

Although I do kinda wonder if Robbie just reserves the tape for special occasions, like when he punches on in the scrum, or when he’s going to appear in the starting Kangaroos team on international television. I say it’s no coincidence that Robbie rocked the shit out of the elastoplast in Paris just as he got his start as hooker, right?


Meanwhile, as Robbie stepped in at dummy half, Cam Smith rested it up and discussed history with Brett White in the stands.

(Apparently Cam Smith totally enjoys history, by the way. That wasn’t just me projecting. I read it on the internet so you know it’s true).

French background dude does not appreciate Movember.

Don’t those handlebar moustaches just make you proud to be Australian? I love knowing I’m from a country that thought, you know what will do wonders for men’s health issues? Facial hair.

And with their schmick green Aussie blazers, I love that the touring Kangaroos kind of look like they’re on tour in Paris in 1975. Devils on horseback, anyone? Maybe a prawn cocktail?

I’m actually a bit offended that the Frenchie in the expensive-looking chocolate brown leather jacket in the background is looking so judgy and unimpressed by Cam Smith and Brett White and their handlebar efforts. IT’S CALLED MOVEMBER. IT’S FOR CHARITY. GOOGLE IT.

… but French background dude does find Anthony Watmough hilarious.

Meanwhile if you look in the foreground, NRL media manager David ‘D.T.’Taylor is kicking Movember’s ass with his mo, too. AMAZING WORK DAVE!

When the camera panned to the crowd during the game I almost spat out my diet coke in shock/joy, because Spotting D.T. is one of my favourite footy past times. It might even be better than my other favourite footy past time: ‘picking jobs for Nathan Hindmarsh’s kids’ (I’ll explain that one another time).

Wherever there are NRL players, there has to be an NRL media manager. So spotting D.T is like playing Where’s Wally – he has to be there somewhere, it’s just a question of where.

Exhibit A:


You get extra points in this game if you manage to find a pic where he’s standing in the background looking sort of like a creep.


I don’t know if I should mention it but we totally called it! As predicted, the Mozzie twins were a double-act of awesome against the French, racking up two tries each for a total of four. Four tries for their country? Shit is ridiculous!

I actually think while I was watching the game, when the commentators reminded us all they scored four, I may have yelled out FOUR FOR YOU GLEN COCO, YOU GO GLEN COCO!  Apologies to my neighbours. (Except the one who practises the flute every weeknight. They deserve it for annoying the hell out of me).

Clearly the French were dazzled by the Mozzie’s long long Bambi legs, super-speed, and general twinniness, those adorable over-achieving bastards.

Best of all? THE MOZZIES SLEDGE EACH OTHER. As they raced each other to ground a kick for a try I am 100% sure I saw B.Moz mocking J.Moz. And when he scored a second try, he made the international sibling expression for – HAH!

It’s all scratched knees and sibling rivalry in the Morris house

See? I have a brother and I totally make that face too. It’s a universal expression loosely translated as ‘I WIN!’ The only thing better was that when J.Moz got his first try on the board, he celebrated by getting caught on camera first giving an ‘I love you’ shout out to his family back home, then saying ‘thank fuck for that’. Bless.


So the English shocked everyone by beating the Kiwis (I’d fallen asleep by this point), giving them the chance to play the Kangaroos in the final on the weekend. Allegedly Tim Sheens has told his team the gloves are off, and if anyone plays dirty, they should give it back. JUST DON’T HIT THE MOZZIES. THEY’RE TOO CUTE FOR VIOLENCE!


Have you sponsored the Kangaroos yet? WELL HAVE YOU? You know you want to:


All pictures Getty Images

Screen caps by the amazing Cronkster, who’s on holiday in Fiji right now. HAVE FUN DARLING!


footy observations: kangaroos and movember

November 7th, 2009

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:


All pics via Getty Images.


bandwagons, billy love and kangaramoos

October 20th, 2009


Intern John John anxiously awaited our return


I know, I know…we have been absent of late. We are shit and we know it. People keep harassing us asking for more blogs and are all WHY HAVEN’T YOU WRITTEN ABOUT THE GRAND FINAL YOU LAZY SHITS etc etc. We have no excuses except this one : being writers for a living now is both a blessing and a curse. Amazing because we get to do what we love and get paid for it, but shit because it kinda sucks out our creative juice and leaves us a bit well…dry.

And yes I am aware of how (untintentionally) gross that sentence was. 

Now let’s sum up what’s been happening in mah head lately

a) The Grand Final was bloody awful. And no, not because the Storm won. It was awful because I spent the whole day in deep emotional pain thinking THE BLOODY DRAGONS SHOULD BE HERE GODAMNIT THIS SUCKS. And by ‘thinking’, I mean ‘loudly announcing it to no one in particular then kicking the ground like a small child’.

I was in the middle of a booze ban but I had to down a couple of vodkas to cope. Once again, the Dragons are directly to blame for my alcohol intake. I hope Peter Doust has a special fund set up for my future liver transplant.

Also, I spent most of the day being enraged at the massive amounts of Parra bandwagoners that were milling about just begging to be punched in the face. Look I am all for new people coming to the game, and I truly want league to be really popular, but is there anything worse than tools sporting freshly bought merchandise and being Smuggy Mc Smuggersons? I’ll answer it for you: no, no there is not.

In an ironic twist, Billy Slater decides he hates overexposed fullbacks

On the bus there, we were sitting next to a girl who was wearing…wait for it…a backless bodysuit and a Parramatta scarf. Because her back is so hot but her neck is FREEZING! GO PARRA! She teamed this with skin tight jeans and strappy high heels. ARGH. We were forced to listen to her inane questions which consisted of ‘so, like, is there like, a toilet near the seats?’ and ‘do you think the Eels would be like, nervous today?’. I bet her favourite player of all timez is Jarryd Hayne. He’s sooooo hot.

And yes, if you’re wondering, I am completely aware that I am bitter and resent the fact the Eels found form when my boys lost theirs. But in my defence, Kate, my other-bestie-that-isn’t-Sassy, the biggest Parra fan in the entire universe, also hates the bandwagoners with a passion. When I sent her an sms to describe the Bodysuit Girl she said ‘murder her immediately, I will visit you in jail I promise’.

b) In a twist that is worthy of a Mexican telenovela, I have decided I that I now like Billy Slater. Yes, really. I know, I know…I’m freaked out too.  Next thing you know my evil twin is gonna appear wearing a maroon jersey and stilettos, drinking Bundy rum and yelling QUEENSLANDER in peoples faces.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but I think it started with Rexona’s Greatest Athlete. Then it snowballed when our friend Edwina started to like footy. And by that I mean she started to obsess over Hot Bitch Cooper and Billy and started forcing me to realise Billy has beautiful skin and pretty eyes and oh god…he’s kinda cute. And worst of all, likeable.  I kept telling myself the only reason I was on GettyImages searching for Billy pix was for Eddie but then at the Grand Final I involuntarily yelled GO BILLY. I hate myself so much.

Kiki retreats to 1997 fashionz to ease the off season pain

c) I have literally experienced post season depression. I’ve been massively emo. For ages I couldn’t figure out why I felt like something had stolen my heart and filled my chest with sad sad cement then I realised oh my god, it’s because there’s no footy on. I am simultaneously proud and ashamed of this.

Okay now onto things that aren’t me.

So last week we got to play with the VB Kangaroos. Seriously. Somehow we managed to annoy charm the NRL’s media manager, David Taylor, into letting us come along to their media call and conduct some video interviews. Being the legend that he is, DT asked us who we wanted to speak to and he just made it all happen. Seriously kids, we just sat on our little lounge and superstahs like Billy Slater, Robbie Farah and the Mozzie twins were just brought over to us. Footy player delivery!

Anyway, since JJ and the boys had to hold down the fort at Errol HQ, we brought along our interns for the day, Loz and Butch. They found Errol by googling naked photos of David Williams, which is really quite fitting. They are basically 17 yr old versions of Sassy and myself, which I find both terrifying and delightful. Here is their take on the day (yes these interns actually exist and they wrote this for reals!).


Last Tuesday was National Nipples Day Out (thankyou Robbie ‘headlights’ Farah, ambassador of this campaign), otherwise known as the Kangaroo’s media call. We are best friends, we love football, the Sea Eagles, Georgie Rose, High School Musical, doing the hoedown throwdown whilst cooking and Big Del (Little Del goes down alright to). We DON’T love dirty dirty Queenslanders, with the exception of Billy Slater.

After 2nd helpings of Maccas breakfast, due to the fact we were an hour early, we met Kiki and Sassy and made our way into the Pullman htel, got settled and dolled ourselves up, ready for Robbie.

From the moment he walked around the corner, Robbie’s  infamous visible nipples were on full display for us (and didn’t we LOVE it). Bitch is also full of lolz, who knew?? When asked about his recent shirtless kebab photo, Robbie seemed….errrrr, slighty….confused, like he’s done it on many occasions……which is AWSOME, coz it means there are more out there. Here’s a preview –

Anyway, turns out Robbie is extremely proud of when he punched Anthony Watts waaaaaaay back in round 19. He was all ‘nobody thought I’d do it……..but I DID!’. Kinda like how kids are when they go to the toilet by themselves for the first time.

Next was Billy Slater. As we all circled around him (after Sassy elegantly kicked over a glass coke bottle that smashed everywhere), Kiki told him that this wasn’t gunna be a normal interview, he replied with (whilst looking slighty nervous) “I can see that”. Pretty AND observant, what’s not to love? Billy didn’t even seem bothered by Butch’s question of how he keeps his skin so radiant. His answer? GENETICS!! However, we did get the goss on who in the Melby (gag) team moisturizes. Cooper Cronk? OF COURSE he does. When one is a fierce bitch like Cooper Cronk, one must look after one’s skin, non?

Also, we are 99% sure that Watmough recognised us from the Manly fan days and shit like that were we have met him…. It may have also been that time when Butch walked past his car and he had ‘DAMN WHO’S A SEXY BITCH’ blaring (don’t even pretend that wasn’t aimed at me Watmough, you sly dog -B). Or, it could have just been in our heads. We have active imaginations, WHAT OF IT?

So while we waited for the Mozzies, we relaxed on the lounges. Apparently we’re relaxed interns (meaning we do nothing). Butch demonstrated how relaxed we were by reclining on the lounge in a slightly provocative manner. That magic moment was caught on tape by some lucky sport channel. Youtube it bitches!

Meanwhile, B.Moz cares not for being top point scorer of the Errol Wildcats, or the top try scoreer for the NRL, bitch just wanted to be captain of the Wildcats!

LOOK HOW UPSET HE IS! It seemed to us that J.Moz was kinda put off that B.Moz knew all about Errol but he didn’t. They also seemed quite please by the fact that they were nominated for the best legs in league, but slightly affronted that Uncy Wayne wasn’t nominated for Sexiest Coach.
In conclusion, footy we love you! We also kinda, maybe, probably, defssss love the people that play footy. Oh and Kiki and Sassy, we’ll intern for you anytime and we promise actual communication to the players next time, not just nervous giggles.


The girls were hilarious and adorable and we will have them intern with us again any time. We love you kittens!  Sassy and I will be writing our own post on the day, including VIDEO INTERVIEWS. Real ones! I know, I can’t believe they let us that close to the players either.

Is this the longest Errol post ever? Possibly. It should shut up you whingers that have been blog-begging for the past month anyway.

PS – MASSIVE thanks to the amazing David Taylor for hooking us up on Kangamaroooooos Day. DT, you are our new favourite person!

PPS -The Errol Awards are coming I swear to God.  We decided this year to leave them until after the season ended so we could stretch out the footy goodness as long as possible.

(photos from GettyImages)


dragons + eels + ass = awesome

September 4th, 2008

So yeh, it’s Wednesday and I am only just now writing my weekend recap. People have been hassling my ass since Saturday night to write about the Dragons. CALM DOWN BITCHES! I know Errol is your crack but Aunty Kiki has got Things To Do. Like spending 20 minutes in the deli section at Woolworths trying to decide what sort of cheese to get (I went with Jarlsberg if you’re wondering) and watching Law and Order SVU repeats while I organise my nailpolish by season. Everyone knows you can’t rock black nails past August and I like to be prepared. OKAY?

Dad and I decided it was worth the trek to ANZ Stadium to watch our Dragons in action. Turned out to be totally worth it. What a cracker of a game! More a thrashing than a cracker but whatevs. My babies breathed fire and burnt those Eels to a crisp. Oh yeh!


Let’s break things down shall we?

1) I spent the entire game yelling things like GO HOT BITCH! And GOOD BOY FLOSSY! EXCELLENT WORK! People kept shooting me glares of death and confusion. It had me perplexed. Until I realised not everyone in the world reads Errol. Poor unfortunate souls, living their whole lives without Knowing our genius. I will not rest until I hear Rabs saying things like “and that’s a beautiful try from Hot Bitch Cooper”. Then Gus chimes in with “set up by a maaaagical offload from Flossy Nightingale”. WILL.NOT.REST.

2) The dackings. Oh, the dackings. Obviously my eyes are always a) on the ball and b) on the ass. I’m a woman, I can multitask. Theres alot of subtle arse crack flashing in league, but Saturday night was a deadset Assathon. ASSATHON O8! I said out loud OH THE GAYS ARE GONNA LOVE THIS, much to the distaste of the old men sitting next to me. There were four separate dackings. It must be a record. FOUR! Three to Josh Morris, one to Jarryd Hayne.

Dedicated journalists posess a great attention to detail. They go to painstaking efforts to bring you all the facts. No half assed (heheh assed) reporting for me. So with no further ado I bring to you, in an Errol exclusive, not one..not even three…but ALL FOUR dackings!










Oh yeh, I’m gonna win a Walkley for this shit.

3) Now lets move from gratutious nudity to heart warming fuzziness. Kiddies, I shed an actual tear the other night. Let me make this clear, I am not a particularly emotional person. Well not for a girl. Everyone I know thinks I’m a man trapped in a womans body. Or as my best mate so eloquently put it “I love you because you’re like a guy….but with tits!”. Nice.

I have an aversion to public weeping but oh my god those Dragons bastards, they killed me. KILLED ME! First of all they bring out groups of tiny kids to sit on tiny tiny chairs while giant Dragons players read them books. Apparently the Dragons are involved in some sort of reading program. The sight of a hulking forward perched on a teeny little chair whilst animatedly reading a childrens book got me right in the ovaries.


THEN, in my softened up state, the bastards play a farewell montage dedicated to Brownie, Gaz, Ryles and McGregor. I’m talking slow-mo footage, sad music, the whole works. AND I CRIED. In public! I AM SO EMBARRASSED.

4) I’m not gonna lie, watching Big Dell score a hat trick was one of my Best Footy Moments to date. Another was when Michael Devere had a giant gash in his head put back together with a staple gun on the sideline during State of Origin. AMAZING. Everytime Dell even looked like getting the ball the crowd just lost their minds. Only Dell could create actual atmosphere inside that stadium.


When he grabbed that intercept and scored in the middle of the posts I may or may not stood up and yelled GO YOU GOOD THING, pumped my fist and then knocked over my entire drink. It really is a mystery why I’m single. Such grace, such elegance.

Meanwhile my Dad has a total mancrush on Dell. He talked about him literally the entire game. Yeh yeh, I get it Dad…the man is an amazing athlete.

5) Speaking of mancrushes, I am sensing the formation of some serious Man Love within the Dragons. For years Hot Bitch Cooper and Gaz were the faux couple of the red and white. But things have changed. Gaz is leaving. Leaving his love behind. Since his announcement I’ve been truly worried about Hot Bitch and his obviously broken heart. Well I can worry no more!

In the middle of the game I get a text from Sassy saying “I think Hot Bitch is moving on. Look at the way he’s smiling at Dell. It’s LOVE Kiki!”.

And she’s right. It was a beautiful sight. I haven’t seen Hot Bitch smile like that in MONTHS. Coops doesn’t need you any more Gaz! All he needs is the Big Dell. Together they are side by side on the piano keyboard, living together in perfect haaaaarmony.


And oh the joys that Dell has ahead of him. Like a romantical evening on the harbour with an underweared Hot Bitch.

klkCosmopolitan Magazine

I hope they don’t mind if I join them. And by ‘join them’ I mean putter along behind their cruiser in a tinny, looking through binoculars and yelling HOT BITCH PLEASE LIVE IN MY PANTS. It’s gonna be great.

(Assathon pics from the lovely Artie at FM forums and our fave blog)



au revoir gasnier…

July 17th, 2008

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Right, so….obviously I have Alot of Feelings regarding le drame de Gasnier. Mostly angry ones. I think. God, I don’t even know anymore. Thing is, I’ve been trying to write this post for the past few days but keep changing my mind about how I feel. Monsieur Gasnier has deadset turned me bipolar. Now he’s flush with euros he better be paying my therapy bills or I’m gonna be putting my suing pants on ASAP.

When it first came out that Gaz might be going to France, I was utterly devastated. I’m not gonna lie, I may have cried an actual tear. Don’t judge me you assholes. It’s just that I have always adored him, even during the whole sauce squirting scandal. I mean come on who hasn’t drunkenly left a sexually explicit message on an acquaintances voicemail? I do it at least 3.5 times a year.

I even have a Gasnier doll (or ‘action figure’…whatever, its a doll) that I enjoy posing in homoerotic positions with my Captain Jack Harkness doll on my kitchen bench.

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But sadly for Gaz + Jack, things have changed. They can’t be a hot plastic couple any more. You see, I can no longer bear to look at plastic Gaz so he has been unceremoniously removed. Banished, if you will. Did you even THINK of Captain Jack when you decided to leave league Gaz? HMMM?? So selfish, so completely and utterly SELFISH.

Okay, lets be Serious for a minute. After much emotional turmoil I have finally accepted that Gasnier is leaving the Dragons. I am okay with that. I understand he likes money and he wasn’t getting enough of it. He got ripped off, it was unfair and he has every right to look elsewhere for a better deal. That’s the rational conclusion and everyone who thinks otherwise is histronic and spiteful right? I dunno.

Alot of people have been accused of being overly emotional in their reactions towards this saga. These are fans, Dragons and non Dragons fans alike who feel cheated, betrayed and frankly really pissed off. And you know what? I totally get that.

Fact is, no matter how much we wanna put our Logical Business Hats on, when it comes down to it rugby league IS emotional. All sport is. If not for emotion, then why do we watch? Why do we tune in every week? What else to gain but emotions….happiness, elation, sorrow and frustration. Some fans wear a cloak of jaded cynicism and who-gives-a-shitness but fact is, deep down we ALL give a shit. Quite frankly, Gasnier leaving our game hurts like a motherfucker.

There are alot of issues that have beeen brought to the surface thanks to the Gaz drama. I’m not going to examine them because I highly doubt people visit Errol for in depth league analysis. Suffice to say there is a hell of alot wrong with the NRL, and shit needs to be fixed immediately before we die a slow horrible death.

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I have to say though, although I bear Gasnier no ill will…I simply cannot believe they have made him captain for the rest of the year. It defies comprehension. The boys had played smoothly and victoriously without him for 7 weeks, he comes back last week and they lose their shit. Hot Bitch Cooper barely emotes (at least in public) but my god last Sunday he was PISSED. He literally radiated rage. You can’t tell me Gaz’s return and Hot Bitch’s hostility aren’t somehow related.

And look at Brett in that photo…could he look LESS concerned about his captain? Photos dont lie babies!

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Also, the Tazos thing? REALLY?? People already wanna punch you in the face and you go and say this Gaz??

“….but is it fair when it comes to stuff like footy cards? I’m happy to say those Tazo cards for instance, I’d love to know their sales – we get $1000. Is that fair?

“Not attacking the [Daily]Telegraph, but I’d like to know what you guys made off them footy cards that you buy two bucks a pack with the thing. Do the players get any of that? No. Little things…”

Oh honey no, just no. Are you sharing a publicist with Sonny Bill Feelings now or something? Bad bad BAD.

The only thing more tragic than a talent like Gasnier not only leaving my club, but the game I love is the fact the Morris twins are going to be separated. This absolutely breaks my heart. I adore my twinsies, their cuteness makes my ovaries twinge. Separately they are great players, but together they are magical. We have already seen a few amazing twintastic tries this year, one could imagine thats just the beginning for those two.

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Well, it would have been if Gasnier had have made his mind up earlier. Sadly, Joshie is off to the Dogs. Separated from his twin, his home and his beloved club. Obviously we can’t blame Gaz entirely, but there is definitely a causal link.

This isn’t just me being a drama queen either, the twins father (and Dragons legend) today admitted to being totally torn up over the situation.

“I’m so disappointed,” Morris said. “I’ve been disappointed for three months that they’ve let him go. I’m absolutely shattered. The poor kid had no alternative.

“After he signed on [with the Bulldogs], I was in tears the first game he played, against the Roosters … It’s a real shame. They lost a centre and they’re going to have to buy another centre next year. If they’d known what was going on, I’m sure they wouldn’t have let him go.”


The only brightspot in this festival of sad is that the twins can stay together on some level. As our readers know, I have nicknamed my boosies ‘The Morris Twins’. So while the twins may no longer be together on the field, they will always be together in my bra. Sleep tight kids.


The Two-for-One Recap: Dragons vs Panthers

June 21st, 2008

The Friday night recap is a special edition this week. Since I’m staying at Crippled Kiki’s this weekend, you’ll get double the awesome from us as I blog, and she nurses her broken elbow on the couch and sporadically chimes in with bitchy and hilarious comments.

This Friday sees Cripple’s baby Dragons playing the Penrith Panthers who I am completely indiff …. um, who is that? It seems that over the past fourteen weeks I have failed to notice that there is a completely, insanely, tousle-haired, bedraggled hot bitch of a second-rower playing for Penrith. He’s got a slight gut, a slight stagger, slight stubble, and a slight whiff of woke-up-on-a-pub-floor-and-was-unexpectedly-signed-to-play-league about him. His name is Matthew Bell and he may be our perfect man.

See I had this hole in my heart from when Nathan Hindmarsh lopped off his shaggy hair, but now it is finally filled. The Panthers website tells me his interests include fishing and camping, but I’m sure we can cure him of those.

Where was I? Oh yes, the footy.

Even before the game starts tonight has already been some Champagne football. In the Wests Tigers vs Brisbane Broncos clash we discovered the truly fabulous Daine Laurie. He’s two metres of giant man with a full head of dreadlocks, and his ridiculously long legs may or may not be made of Cadbury Old Gold.

Kiki thinks he’s reminiscent of a pre-Rugby Union (as she puts it ‘PRE-BETRAYAL’) Lote Tuqiri.

According to the Herald, Cadbury Daine almost conceded a penalty when he ‘shoved’ Corey Parker. We’re pretty certain that shit wasn’t no shove. It was a bitch slap. Left hand to the left cheek, left hand to the right cheek on the way back. Bitch. Slap. Everyone says so. And Corey Parker definitely agrees because he grabbed his cheek in shock and made the international mouth-open OH NO YOU DIDN’T BITCHSLAP ME face. Gold.

Now, on to the main event.

The Dragons aren’t messing around tonight and within about five minutes have me face-down with hysterics as Jarrod Sammut lets a kick fly directly into little Jamie Soward’s face and it ricochets from his forehead back into Sammut’s chest to a surprised and delighted Petero Civoneciva.

There is actually an audible smack when it hits Soward’s tiny peanut head and Kiki shudders and flails a little bit due to flashbacks of a football-to-temple incident in the school playground in year nine.

The cobras … the cobras!

Old warhorse Petero can’t manage to turn it into a try and I’m unexpectedly sympathetic because he looks completely fucking exhausted. He’s drenched in sweat and starting to sway a little. Not to mention that ole Oak Tree Petero already has giant beige knee braces on both knees and one elbow strapped. Bitch has enough problems. We also couldn’t handle it if anyone else league-related dies this year.

Crafty Trent Waterhouse breaks through the bewildered Dragons to send Rhys Wesser in for a Penrith try. Go Danny Glover, go! Ray Warren thinks the Panthers are particularly ominous tonight. I like to think ominous is today’s word on Rabs’ word of the day calendar.

And even though the Dragons are now 6-0 down, Jason ‘Flossy’ Nightingale JUST LOVES PLAYING RUGBY LEAGUE! As he tackles a passing Panther we are certain we see him giggle in delight. Kiki christens him the Labrador of rugby league, and if he had a tail he’d be wagging it now.

He even looks a tiny bit joyful when he attempts a left hand sideline run for a try and is tossed into touch. Oh, Flossy.

The commentary team are also sparkling today, and when little Jamie Soward and his headgear clean up a ball in the goal area Andrew Voss chips in “Soward was good skill”. Sage words, Vossy.

Phil Gould refuses to be outdone in the commentary box and decrees that the Dragons’ ball-running remains strong.

“It may have only been eight metres but it was a bloody good run”.

Who knew there were criteria for a run on the field other than how far you run on the field? Not I. Yhat’s amazing, Gus. Gould has also named two Penrith players ‘Big F’ and ‘Big P’ and doesn’t seem to care that no one has any idea which players he’s talking about.

Snuggly Ben Hornby goes down in a tackle and comes up with a bleeding eye. Kiki is distraught that her Hornbag is injured, but one plus is that the trickles of blood are making his usually undefined eyes stand out a lot on screen. Ben Creagh’s head was also broken a little a few tackles ago and is still bleeding. Why does Creagh’s head always break??

It upsets Kiki a lot and she starts reminding me that scientists say brain damage is one of three causative elements in creating serial killers. If he also has a personality disorder we are all in trouble. WATCH OUT FOR BEN CREAGH KIDS.

Down on the sideline Andrew Johns has also finally reached the conclusion that the Panthers are looking ominous tonight. Yep, definitely the word of the day on the boss’ desk down at Channel Nine. Except when Joey says it it comes out as ‘onimous’. Bless.

Gus Gould continues to up the insanity levels and announces:

“This is an opportunity for Penrith to pull their pants down”.


I don’t really know what happens then because I am distracted by Wade Graham who has some of the most beautiful eyelashes I’ve ever seen (that’s not a joke, I really was. Kiki was too), but it ends with Luke Lewis scoring another try for the Panthers.

Flossy looks pissed and it’s really unnerving. Like being growled at by a Guinea Pig. Jason Ryles is chewing his nails and I think that explains why the Dragons couldn’t stop Lewis getting across for a try. Pay attention, bitches. Matty Johns reminds me why I am completely in love with him by pointing out ‘LUKE LEWIS IS A FOOTY PLAYER’. Indeed.

12-0. Halftime.

The Dragons prance into the second half breathing fire and bleeding Ben Creagh – now with preventative tape around his skull – stretches an arm around Sammut to score a lovely try. Chesty Bond Gasnier is joyful, but Ben Creagh and the also bleeding Hornbag don’t so much look happy as they do like refugees who’ve just cleared the crest of the hill and realised they still can’t see the border. Those head injuries must be painful.

Jamie Soward marches on the spot in his little soldier dance and converts for a 12-6 score.

Only a moment later Soward passes to Josh Morris of the Amazing Morris Twins who strides through the defence and sets off sprinting for the tryline. With his long long legs he eats up the distance and dives in for a try, his regulation NRL shorts looking like natty little hotpants on his aforementioned long long legs.

Fun fact: Kiki has named her ample boobs after the Morris twins in honour of her team. I believe that lefty is Brett and righty is named Josh, but you may like to confirm that with her.

Another conversion for the Tiny Dancer Jamie Soward. 12-12.

Even more wonderfully, Andrew Johns makes a joke. AND IT’S FUNNY. He watches dancey Soward march on the spot and observes that as a retired player he has plenty of time for leisure activities, and on his last African Safari he realised this looks exactly like the mating dance of the African Love Bird. See! Funny! Good for you Joey darlin.

Flossy. Oh, Flossy. The next play sees precious little Floss kneel and reach out his arms to catch a falling bomb kicked by Penrith. Only, no catch is made. His little arms stay motionless as the ball hits the ground and bounces away. Flossy looks up, looks down at his arms. Looks up, looks down. Somehow, the ball is nowhere to be seen. And when, two minutes later, he stands and sees a slow-motion replay of the moment on the big screen, the tiny cogs in his labrador brain click into place. I DIDN’T CATCH IT. He screams fuck. It’s oddly adorable. Our hearts explode in unison from the cute.

After a slew of ridiculous penalties against the Panthers, Frank Pritchard (could he be the mysterious Big F?) reels out of a tackle to slam the back of his head against Hornbag’s right cheek. A bleeding Big F staggers away as Hornbag grabs his head and realises he now has a bleeding gash under his eye to match the seeping taped one above. MY FRICKIN EYE!

Kiki hugs a pillow and offers to kiss it better. Clearly she worries not about AIDS. Or Hep C.

In what is surely a gift from God to gay men everywhere, Brett Morris is pulled down in a tackle and his whole, bare, shining white arse is de-shorted in all it’s glory to the entire stadium and thousands of TV viewers. FM Forums have already dubbed it THE BEST DAKKING OF THE YEAR.

It really is amazing. I think we might have seen testicle. I’m kind of shocked.

Soward pops in a field goal for 13-12 but the guys from Channel 9 are too busy showing replays of Brett Morris’ arse to care.

Gouldy crows with glee ‘I told you they’d pull their pants down!’

OK I stand corrected Gouldy. But just this once.

Matty Johns skeeves into the microphone that he doesn’t know which beaches in Woollongong Bretty’s been going to but he cerrtainly doesn’t have any tan lines. He also suggests a shot of Bretty’s full moon as a future NRL ad campaign. Oh Matty, you homo. That’s why we love you.

In a final storm of anarchy, and a cutting moment of indignity, Hornbag drops the ball, falls over, and resurfaces with blood pouring from his eyes like a Latin saint.

In a highlight of the game so far they whip him off field and send him back like this.

Kiki’s being all precious about immortalising Hornbag’s humiliation, but fuck off cause she can’t type. That is HILARIOUS. Best of all is the pure rage in his eyes. Bitch knows he looks ridiculous, and he is Not Pleased with this turn of events.


The whistle blows to give the Dragons a 13-12 win but Hornbag can’t crack a smile. Physically, I mean. That tape looks tight. The draggies hug in their fleecy red robes and might I suggest that Matthew Bell come spend the night consoling himself in my pants, thanks.


The Weekly Recap – Dragons vs Broncos

June 7th, 2008

Seems I watched the wrong game last night. Everyones been yammering on about the Warriors vs Bunnies and how it was Amazing Football, somehow involved a cancer survivor and was generally exhilirating and special. Well sorry people, but I was watching Law and Order. So this is the recap you get.

I love WIN Stadium. It has water views and people from the Gong tend to get quite hammered and make a shitload of noise. Instant atmosphere. The turf is gloriously pristine. So green, so even. It looks like a billiard table! Nothing I enjoy more than some good grounds keeping.

The game marks the return of Wendell Sailor to rugby league after a seven year absence. Five years were spent playing the devils game (TRAITOR!!), the other two being punished for being a nose candy bandit. It seems the whole world has gone Big Dell crazy. I for one am confused as to why he went his whole career being known as Wendell Sailor and now all of a sudden he is BIIIIG DEEELLLLLL. Who started this phenomenon? Was it him? I like to think so. I do however enjoy an obvious nickname. In fact from now on I will only answer to Drunk Kiki.

First of all, what is going on with the Dragons jerseys?? The sleeves look longer. Why must we further cover up the artfully sculpted guns of our players?? Those AFL fairies already own us in the bicep flashing department, we should be making our jerseys skimpier not more modest. Poor form Dragons management!

Due to Orgin commitments the Broncos line up looks much like an under 20s game but I am okay with that as it may give my boys a fighting chance. About 4 minutes in and ex Dragon Ashton Sims zeros in on Big Dell in attempt to show him whose boss. Unfortunately for Ashton his noggin collides with Dells’s jaw of granite and he drifts off to Disneyland for a few minutes. In a decidedly inappropriate response, I laugh uproariously. Ashton skips about with Mickey Mouse and the game carries on around him.

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8 minutes and Soward aims a kick at the goalpost, it rebounds and Hornbag scoops it up to score a try. Magic! I like this new trick of yours Jamie. Perhaps you could use your excellent aim to deliberately aim the ball at players heads? Loathsome players that I detest for petty and insignificant reasons. I’ll send you a hitlist ASAP. Tricksy Soward converts. It’s 6-0.

As thrilled as I am for Hornbag, I am disturbed by his distinct lack of hair. It’s all gone! Shaved off to a number one. Horrific! I thought we talked about this mister? You need definition and shaving ones hair off so your entire head looks exactly the same tone of beige is not the way to achieve it. He looks like one of those hairless cats. A hairless cat suffering a serious case of albinism.

Apparently Hornbag has also attacked Beau Scott with his clippers of doom. Together they look like uninitiated members of the Aryan Brotherhood. Its the stuff nightmares are made of and they must be stopped.

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Meanwhile Big Dell seems to be on struggle street. He’s wandering around the park looking sweaty, confused and thisclose to unconciousness. Much like me whenever I attempt physical activity of any kind. 12 minutes in and the ref finds the Broncos offside, the Dragons wisely take the penalty goal and take it to 8-0.

Nothing much happens until the brick shithouse that is Dean Young powers through the Broncos defense using said brick shithouseness. It’s a bit of a schamozzle and I’m unsure if he actually got it down. In the biggest shock of the evening the ref actually blows his whistle and awards the try. Without going to the video ref!! Incredible!! I am shocked and amazed and mostly delighted. Soward converts with a brilliant kick and Dragons lead 14-0.

Gus and Rabs give us some commentary gold and have the following exchange –

Gus – “what would the Dragons do if they won the competition?!”

Rabs – “ummm….celebrate?”

A series of Dragons errors leads to Eastwood scoring for the Broncos at the 27th minute. He looks disturbingly like a Ralph Lauren wearing private school boy who has a girlfriend with a hyphenated surname. Gross. Why isn’t he playing union? Ennis converts and its 14-6.

31 minutes and we are treated to an amazing display from the telepathic Morris twins. Joshy offloads brilliantly to his brother without even looking and Brett sprints 50 metres to score a breathtaking try. It’s like he knew he was theeeere! It’s ESP! TWINTASTIC! They further cement the awesome by running towards each other and doing some sort of secret twin hand move. The cuteness is overwhelming…it’s kittens and puppies and rainbows and lollipops. LOVE!

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Meanwhile Gus has decided they call each other ‘BraBra’. I love that his nicknames are a) lame and b) totally made up….just like mine!

Soward converts and the Dragons lead 20- 6. The ref infuriates both players and viewers by continually blowing penalties for the markers not being square. Ryles looks like he’s about to cut a bitch and Gus is blowing up in the commentary box. Matty Johns announces ‘it’s hip to be square’. The sort of commentary insight I feel I would offer if they ever gave me a microphone.

35 minutes and Big Dell gets an elbow to the face. It doesn’t look good. Apparently his cheek isn’t made of granite like I previously thought. Bitch looks groggy as all hell.

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We go to halftime and the Dragons are leading. Comfortably. And have been playing with minimal errors and fairly good ball control. I feel weird. My heart isn’t my throat and I’m not filled with rage and frustration. My team is playing…well. I feel calm and confident. WHAT IS GOING ON? Is this how Storm supporters feel every week?? Lucky bastards.

Ben Ikin informs us that the Dragons usually play like ‘kids in a candy store’ as they tend to get over excited and drop the ball. Um…in no way does that metaphor apply. Bloody Queenslanders.

The second half begins. In the anti climax of the year, Big Dell doesn’t run back out on the field. Instead his wife drives him to hospital to get that cheek looked at. I try to care but struggle to summon a genuine emotion. 42 minutes in and Broncos newbie Hoffman gets hammered by Setu and it results in a penalty. Hoffman is far more likeable than usual fullback K.Hunt. He’s all sunshine and milk chocolatey goodness.

47 minutes and Tonie Carroll lamely pretends he scored a try. BITCH PLEASE. Also…isn’t Tonie a girls name? Just sayin. We go the video ref and we see an obvious knock on from 87 different angles. Clearly a no try right? Apparently not. The VR incomprehensibly rules a try and jaws drop across Australia. Even Tonie knows that ain’t a try.

The next phase of the game is to put it bluntly, boring as shit. Both teams are flat in attack and lethargic in defence. SNOOOORE. My slumber is awoken by Flossy (short for Florence) Nightingale going in for a try in the corner. Hooray! Something’s happening! Sowards conversion is unsuccessful, the Dragons lead 24-10.

75 minutes and Flossy twists and swivels and lunges and scores a cracker of a try. GO FLOSSY GO! I love him. He’s all dimples and determination. Gus launches into a monologue of sorts about why Flossy isn’t the greatest player to watch. Apparently he’s not graceful and lacks the traditional long strides of a winger. He goes so far to describe him as ‘an ungainly looking thing’. BLASPHEMY! I care not for strides…look at this face!

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Sowards conversion is unsuccessful. The game winds up. Dragons victory 28-10. HURRAH! Ben Creagh receives man of the match. He is also the only strawberry blonde in the league. Winner on both fronts!