footy observations: chicken and a side of french fries

September 10th, 2008

It’s that time of year! First of all I just have to mention that last night, at the Hordern Pavilion, travel-size Matt Orford took home the Dally M Award for player of the year.

Chris ‘Sonic’ Sandow was Rookie of the Year, and much-loved ginger statesman Alan Tongue was Captain of the Year.

We have to mention it because … um, wait one sec- … oh yes, because it’s prestigious. Very prestigious.  I always forget that there are other Awards shows than the Errols.

The Dally M Awards ceremony is the glamour event of the Rugby League calendar, the night of nights, the Oscars of the NRL.

And of course I don’t mean to be disrespectful at all if, while I’m watching it, I giggle a little bit at how uncomfortable NRL players look in their suits and squeal things like ‘it’s like watching a dog walk on it’s hind-legs! … or a bear ride a BICYCLE!’ every time a player pulled at his tie or squirmed on-stage.

I just really love that they make the boys get dressed up and feel awkward to get their awards.  It’s so cruel.  Like forcing kids to sit through school speech night in their blazers in the middle of December.

Anyway.  Congratulations Matty and Alan and Chris and all the other winners. Love and kisses from the Errol girls for your very fine footballing. I hope that during your reign on the Dally M Throne you do all you can to promote world peace and help alll the children of the world.

In other news, I have been pretty zen so far about this whole Death of Rugby League drama.  There’s a lot of distress about players leaving the NRL, but I kinda figured if players want to go live in Kamp Khoder and play French Rugby or move to Super League then they’re going to do it whether we all have conniptions or not.  Right?

Not any more kittens. That was way back when we were just talking about Mark Gasnier, Luke Rooney, Sonny Bill Feelings, and maaaaaybe Greg Inglis.  Now, it seems, we’re talking about BIG DELL.

Apparently Dell might move to Super League next year.  DELL. SUPER LEAGUE.  This is the last straw bitches!  As if I’m not upset enough already that Willie Mason is injured and won’t play again until halfway through next season.  Because I can handle giving up my totally awesome Sonny Bill Feelings jokes, and I can live without Gasnier’s flashes of brilliance … but Big Dell is hilarious.  Forget about football, bitch makes me laugh.

And unless it’s to the hospital to rub Big Willie Mason’s back while he recovers from knee surgery, then I don’t want Wendell Sailor going anywhere.  DO YOU HEAR THAT DELL?

There’s also the little matter of one Matt ‘Hot Bitch’ Cooper: for years the devoted left centre to Mark Gasnier’s right, the 4 to his 3, the Robin to his Batman, the Albert to his Queen Victoria.

When Monsieur Gaz announced his departure at the end of the season to play Rugby in France we were deeply worried about how our Hot Bitch would fare without his loving manpanion beside him on the field.

We were so worried, in fact, that when it finally started to look like Hot Bitch was moving on into a bromance with the Dell, we were so relieved we didn’t even notice that Lachie had accidentally come to work in his jammies again.

Still, it goes without saying that we are Not Impressed with the prospect of Dell leaving. Hasn’t Hot Bitch been through enough? A heart can only take so much breakin, you know.


I personally think the Roosters Toyota Cup team were all cut up about this issue too, because I don’t quite know how else to explain them going crazy on Friday night. There was KICKING and everything.

The chicks just … lost their shit against the Dragons, and managed a whole new special kind of brawling hat trick when three of them were sent off.  And, um, I guess well done kids?  It is quite impressive to win a game playing 10 men on 13, but in general – honeys no.  Stop that please.  At least until I’ve had a drink.

The chicks and their 10-man win might make the Raiders feel a little better though.  Apparently the Canberra Raiders have also been to the Springfield Mystery Spot, because like the Bulldogs … they just have no players left. Literally, not enough able-bodied men to make a full first-grade side.


Little Cy Lasscock (heh, Lasscock) from the Under-20s might even have to try and pull a John Kite and back up from playing the the Toyota Cup semi-finals for the Raiders semi-final against the Sharks.

Either way, my advice to the Canberra kiddies is to take a leaf out of the Bulldog’s book and ease the pain of being in a totally shit situation by having a ridiculous French-themed party.

Oh, those crazy Bulldogs!  Ringing in Mad Monday by dressing as Frenchmen.  Nothing makes you feel better about a complete annus horribilis like a dress-up party does, especially if your costume includes a bitchy dig at Sonny Bill Feelings. (Except for in the case of Reni Maitua, who apparently is Too Cool to dress up.  Bitch please).

Luke Patten and mystery man:

original pics: News Limited

… you are my new heroes.

And lastly I wanna say HAY to all the boys who stayed scoreless this year and were forced to nudie run on Monday.  Hope it wasn’t too cold, kids.


a time for heroes

July 24th, 2008

Intern Brownie and I have been having some terse words lately. While we were looking through old blog entries to retag them with our sparkly new “fattest man in league” tag we got onto the topic of why the beloved Wendell Sailor hasn’t been selected in the Dragons team to play the Bulldogs this week, and wasn’t selected for the game in Melbourne last week. Is it coincidence that just as Big Dell was removed from the side it lost to the Raiders and broke a seven-game winning streak? I say no.

But even if Brownie won’t show him some love, I will.

Sure he may not be the freshest guy in the squad. He may not be the fastest man in the squad. Or the fittest player in the squad. Okay, fine, I admit it. Maybe compared to Dell from eight years ago bitch is kinda old and fat and slow. HE’S NOT BACK TO PEAK FITNESS YET! But inside that barrel torso is a giant giant heart. Dell has PASSION. Passion and the heart of a lion! Rrrrrrawr.

I can’t believe it was only two months ago that super Dell ran across a four-lane freeway to rescue a distraught mother and her tiny precious baby infant from a car crash.

And what has Monsieur Gaz done for the community lately? Hmmmm? Anyway.

“By the time I got to the car Wendell Sailor had got the baby out of the back seat and was holding it and comforting the mother, who was pretty shaken,” a witness said.

“Once everything had calmed down Wendell started clearing bits of the bonnet and other pieces off the road.”

THE ANGELIC BITCH EVEN CLEANS. Amazing. (Related note: whoever Dell’s publicist is, hire him immediately Sonny Bill. You could use some good press like woah).

And while we’re throwing the love around, I think some Errol Awards for General Awesomemess* should go to baby skater Corey – who rescued a seventy year old nanna from drowning in a river without even taking off his backwards baseball cap – and to Rabbit the Rabbit – who woke up his owner and saved him from a fire. UM, ADORABLE.

And Rabbit the Rabbit is all the more admirable because if I had idiot owners unimaginative enough to name me ‘Rabbit’, I probably would’ve left them behind. Just saying.

I would like to humbly suggest that Big Brother be replaced with a Charlie’s Angels-esque weekly drama, starring Big Dell as the skateboard-riding ringleader, Corey as his devil-may-care offsider, and Rabbit as a super-intelligent problem-solving Lapine Kate Jackson. Just bear it in mind, is all I’m saying. God knows it can’t be worse than Big Brother.

* Prizes include one (1) molestation of your choice and one (1) chaperoned trip to the Judgy. Corey apparently may already be in line for some kind of Premier’s honour, but – be honest – which do you think he’d prefer?


What is so wrong with binge drinking anyway?

May 21st, 2008

I’m feeling a little vulnerable right now. Wayne Swan has imposed a tax on alcopops. This is (allegedly) not a tax grab. It will (allegedly) help curb binge drinking among teenage girls. Binge drinking! The scourge of our society!

I was by turns scathing and indifferent to this, until I realised that my beloved Smirnoff Black Ice is an alcopop. Not the Black Ice!

And while I’m not exactly a teenage girl, I’m pretty much the same mental age. Am I so hatefully irresponsible that the Government has to take away my playthings? Why does Ruddy hate me so, when all I did was love him?

So once I had a Black Ice or two to calm my nerves, I started to think about this, as rationally and carefully as a half-drunk woman can.

I thought perhaps a tax can work. Perhaps women will look at the shoes in the window of Apex and decide not to waste their pennies on that breezer now that it’s so pricey because there are better things to buy. Just like the taxes on cigarettes are curbing their smoking habit. God knows they certainly won’t just buy something else to drink. *cough*sarcasm*cough*

Oh. Well, maybe even if they’re only drinking fewer alcopops in a night they will be better behaved, and less likely to pass out in gutters, pash ugly men, accidentally flash their vajayjays and vomit in the toilets at The Eastern. Because we all know that men drink alcopops less often than women, and they are brilliantly behaved. As are women who drink wine.


So I had another half a Black Ice and a slice of pizza and thought perhaps this tax is but the first step towards taxing all booze, which probably would calm down drinking in general because once you run out of money altogether, there’s nothing left to do but jump in a cab home and run out on the fare (if you’re reading this mum, don’t worry, I never do that; you’ve seen me jog, there’s no way I could ever outrun a cabbie. I put it on my creddie, like a lady).

And I thought – as I moved into the morally outraged part of my drunkenness – THIS IS BLOODY RIDICULOUS. If this useless tax does anything other than line the treasury’s pockets I want no part of it. We are a land of drinkers!

A land where rum was ingeniously smuggled in underground tunnels to Sydney pubs!

A land whose sporting teams survive by virtue of alcohol sponsorship!

When my ancestors came to this country in the 1800s the first thing they did was get off the boat. And the second thing they did was start a brewery and make a tidy living. It’s historical.

Just think of all the things booze does for us. What lubricates our awkward parties? What helps us express our grief after funerals? What helps us take in enough calories to store up fat for the winter? What do we give our surly relatives who don’t like anything for Christmas? What do we use to christen ships?

And more importantly, what does binge drinking that aforementioned booze do for us?

Helps us make new bffs. Helps us express rage. Helps us find love.

I say ask not how you can stop binge drinking. Ask why you would ever want to.

[Edit: The lovely Eddie has informed me that some alcopops now come with FREE CONDOMS. So they even encourage safe sex. I rest my case.]