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

Well it pretty much goes like this:

1. FOOTY’S BACK!

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

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

Pic. Ryan Osland

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

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

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

Just bad jokes.

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

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

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

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

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

2. CRY ME A RIVER

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

RECEIVE A FREE TISSUE PACK WITH EVERY ONLINE MERCHANDISE ORDER!

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

3. DOGS NAMED AFTER PEOPLE ARE THE BEST KINDA DOGS

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

Pic. Mark Evans

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

According to the Tank:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We knew you’d come back, babies!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The chicken formerly known as Brent Grose.

And as twitterer and generally hilarious human Jen Bennett suggested:

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

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

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

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

I rest my case.

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

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

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

Michael Robertson … come on down!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Intern John John anxiously awaited our return

HI DARLINGS!

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)

Wanna know what this post is about? IT’S ALL. ABOUT. GEORGE. ROSE.

Hi George! If you read this, feel free to stop by Errol HQ and we will give you Errol snuggles.

Ok, so there may be some other things later on. For instance, if you follow us on twitter you’ll know we all went to the Dragons game on Sunday at Kogarah, so I should probably write about Jarryd Hayne being a freak of nature, and what he has in common with Beyonce (hint: it’s not a big arse).

This photo needs more George Rose.

But mainly, it’s about George Rose. A few weeks ago the Errol girls hit up Brookvale Oval with our american besties Jay and Suellen to watch Manly thrash the Titans. They are huuuge NFL and college football fans, and all around great humans, so we thought they would enjoy an authentic Aussie league experience. … They totally did. Their faces basically lit up when Igor the Eagle came out to dance on the field and I reenacted told them the story of him beating down a heckler who invaded the field. Go Igor go! Bet you don’t get that in college football, hmmmm?

But the best thing about our trip to the Northern beaches was realising that everyone in the whole of Manly loves George Rose as much as we do.

God those bitches have good taste. And it’s not them. Know who agrees? The Aussie selectors.

Big Georgie Rose is in the training sqaud for the next Kangaroos tour of Europe.

And okay, maybe he’s not the most ripped man in the NRL … but what’s wrong with that? We’ve already got one Hot Bitch Cooper, right? Down with body fascism! Bottom line is everyone knows Georgie’s a dynamo. As Homer Simpson would say, George Rose you are a BIG FAT DYNAMO.

(Just quietly, that’s what Kiki calls me. Just one of the many reasons why George and I should be besties).

Meanwhile, why we were drawing up our list of Reasonz We Luv George, there were semi-finals happening. Melbourne demolished a flat Manly, the Dogs took out the Knights, and up in Queensland there was one of the most amazing games of semis footy in aaages.

Carty does not agree with that assessment.

There was Broncos magic, a massive Titans comeback, and John Cartwright barely managed not to bust out of his shirt and tie with rage like the Hulk, or (thankfully) have a stroke. WELU CARTY! PLEASE DON’T DIE BEFORE WE GIVE YOU YOUR 2009 ERROL AWARD!

Turns out Carty did verbally smack a bitch down at halftime … and get fined $10,000.00. I just hope it was as hilarious as Scotty Prince’s post-game interviews. No one is a better pissed off captain that Scott Prince. NO ONE.

Pic. Richard Gosling

Remember last year, when he accused the ref of having his Wests Tigers undies on?

Or “… you sent off their dumb forward and our smart hooker!”

Well on Sunday he stuck the boot into Darren Lockyer for milking a penalty on the field: ”Have they given out awards for the Logies this year?”

Oh, Scotty.

And on Sunday afternoon at Kogarah, Jarryd-with-a-Y Hayne decided to show all the haters why he won the Dally M medal. Kittens, this is why:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YpvWuIUX-o]

FREAK. HE IS A FREAK. I mean obviously there were other reasons. Jamie Soward just wasn’t Jamie Soward. I dunno who was kicking out there, but it wasn’t our usual Tiny Dancer. The touchies filled me with rage, and the Dragons’ fifth tackle options were …. let’s just say they reminded me of the Roosters. And that’s not a good thing. THERE ARE ONLY SO MANY TIMES YOU CAN KICK THE SAME BOMB.

But not all the awesome Dragons fans could stop Jarryd-with-a-Y and his ridiculous form. Now that he’s found God, bitch is on fire.  I mean, I have no idea what kind of God he’s found, but apparently he was rocking a giant set of wooden rosary beads in the locker room, so I’m gonna go with Catholic.

Even Ray Warren sounds biblical in the commentary from the game. “Look at this in delight! Look at this in wonderment!” That’s a quote straight from the gospel of Rabs.

And thanks to the hooked-up Jessica Halloran we found out that Jarryd-with-a-Y has “an on-field alter ego.”

Seriously. JUST LIKE BEYONCE.

And if Ms Halloran’s dictaphone hadn’t died, I’m pretty sure he would have kept going and told us all exactly what Beyonce said when she revealed she has an alter ego.

“I turn into Sasha. I wouldn’t like Sasha if I met her … she’s too aggressive, too strong, too sassy, too sexy! I’m not like her in real life at all. I’m not flirtatious and super-confident and fearless like her.”

Jarryd Hayne is …. SASHA FIERCE.

No proper recap from me this week. Instead you get two incoherent rants about two different games smooshed together to look like one.  Oh, you wanted a comprehensive game run-down? Well:

a) I was hungover for one of these games, and

b) it’s my blog and I’m lazy.

So you better like what you get or I will kick you in the shins.

EELS VS RAIDERS

Aah I love when these two play.  It’s a bonanza of retro!  Clearly Marc Herbert and Terry Campese have taken time out from their busy schedule of signing up for World War I to be here, and Nathan Hindmarsh and Joel Reddy have kindly time-travelled from the seventies to make it a fair competition.

I actually mistook Reddy for Hindy when he was gossiping in the corner of the changeroom with Eric Grothe, Jr before the game, which obviously means his mop is coming closer and closer to the awesomeness of Hindy’s.  Close … but not quite.

Pic. Mark Evans

Captain Hindy of the Wildcats has brought a whole new game this year in terms of hair.  BEST HAIR EVER, RIGHT?  We say yes.

Coincidence that this Best Hair Ever has Parra sitting at number 7 on the ladder with two wins out of three?  Coincidence that Joel Reddy seems to be playing better than ever now that he’s gone the mop?  You can’t argue with Science, people.  You can’t argue with Science.

Ok so I haven’t quite figured out where Fui Fui Moi Moi’s new mullet fits into this theory, but I’m working on it, babies.  I really am. I even have my lab coat on as we speak.

Disclaimer: may be stand-in science lady and not actual Sassy

Do you know what though?  There’s something better than the Parra festival of Kick-ass Seventies Hair … the comeback of Eric Grothe, Jr.  That’s right bitches, GROTHE IS BACK.  It’s THE RENAISSANCE OF GROTHE.

ME SO HAPPY.
Pic. Mark Evans

Renaissance is the perfect word too, cause Guru isn’t just the comeback kid of Parra … he’s also – as Suchy reminded us the other day – the lead guitarist of Three Day Grothe AND lead singer of Shinobi.  Bitch doesn’t just play footy, he’s a musician. And – get this – a comedian.  Three Day Grothe … see what he did there?  Eric Grothe, Jr is pretty much a Renaissance man. Bet he plays chess and studies archaeology too.

The Errol office was filled with glee when he put down the match-winning try. SOMEONE DOESN’T HAVE TO GO BACK TO RESERVE GRADE!  SOMEONE GETS TO STAY IN FIRST GRADE WITH THE BIG BOYS!

How does it feel, Eric?

… Aw yeah, pretty good. I’m excited to get to use proper pencils and pieces of paper with corners again.

And is there a particular reason you’re not wearing a shirt for this interview?

Not allowed to have proper shirts in Reggies, only jerseys. Coach says we might pull the buttons off, try and eat them and get choked.

The only failure in this game was that Canberra couldn’tquitemanage to bring back the scrum-split for a try.  Next time, darlins.

SEA EAGLES VS PANTHERS

As Kiki said, even though it COMPLETELY ruined our tips (thanks for nuthin, Sea Eagles) we loved seeing the Panthers get up at Brookvale.  And not just because our favourite Baby Panthers Lachlan Coote and Wade Graham were total stars.

Pic. Phil Hillyard

Yes, we did discover them.  Feel free to send us royalties of some kind.

It was also a massive game of firsts. First time that Steve Matai busted his hair out in a curly ponytail, first time we ever saw work experience boy Lachie pack into a scrum. (Which didn’t go too well, if you were wondering. Think: “LACHLAN. GET YER HEAD IN”.)

Also the first time Des Hasler got so incredibly enraged that he affected the physical world.  We are massive fans of Des Hasler’s Rage.  One of my personal highlights of the 2008 season was seeing Dave Williams fumble the ball and Dessie scream ‘MOTHERFUCKER’ from the coaching box.  We are also massive fans of his full and feathery head of golden hair. Which is why I especially love it when he spews a tirade into the coaching mike then concludes it by whipping off his headset and shaking his mane as if to say AND THAT’S ALL THE ABUSE YOU GET.  Oh, Des.

I would actually like it if they could somehow organise for there to be a Dessie-cam every time I watch Manly play on tv. Just a little Dessie-cam box down in the left corner. That Monday night game was a festival of fumbles and penalties and general no-no times and for every single one that happened we screamed out from the couch to see Dessie’s reaction. ‘Cut to Des!’ we cried. ‘SHOW US DESSSIEEEEEE!’

Dessie just really cracked it this time.  It’s no coincidence that it started pissing down at Brookie precisely as Des was giving his halftime speech and/or silent treatment. You can trust me on that, cause I have a lab coat.

It was raining so bloody hard Matai had to put his hair in a bun. That bitch Hasler has found a way to channel his fury and control the weather.  He’s a weather god … like THOR. Cept instead of a hammer he has a headset.

You know those boys know what they’re in for too. I swear little Shane Neumann is looking up at the coach’s box in terror.

Michael Robertson on the other hand … well he pretty much looks like that all the time now.

See?

We’re getting kinda Concerned about Robbo, to be honest. With Brett Stewart out, Robbo’s been shunted back to fullback.

And if you look really closely in his eyes, every time one of the wingers does something good, Robbo sees his spot on the wing slipping away and dies just a little bit inside. Same thing whenever Adam Cuthbertson does something good and people discuss how he has a rocking Wolfman beard now. Especially the same thing whenever Robbo fumbles the ball or passes across the sideline to an imaginary man and has no no times.

If you’re wondering I also missed some of the game because at one point the commentary team said Shane Neumann “just found himself in an awkward situation on a wet evening” and I giggled for ages.  Who HASN’T, Shane.  Who hasn’t.

And lastly I wanna introduce a Brand New Errol Superstar. We were always Michael Gordon fans, but that was before he went ahead and grew a moustache.

I wonder if the Errol girls will like my new mo?

Well actually, more like I realised he was hot last year, then completely forgot he existed during the off-season because I have a memory like Swiss cheese. Although apparently I am very consistent in my taste in men because I thought the same thing all over again this year.  I win at life!

It’s just like the time I sauntered over and cracked onto a cute scruffy blond boy at the Brighton Bar, only for him to tell me I had done exactly the same thing and pashed him the week before. OOPS. On the bright side he didn’t seem to mind.

Anyway. God knows there’s nothing we love more than a man with a mo … and we’re 99% sure he grew it specifically to be on Errol.

UNCANNY! It’s like he is Errol Flynn. Well we love it, baby. Thumbs up, Mister Gordon.

Thanks to the lovely BS for the MG and Eric Grothe caps. Check out the whole blog, why don’t ya?

Helllooooo chickens!

Apologies for the lack of posting lately. I’ve been struck down by some sort of ghastly death cough and have been struggling to breathe/walk/live for the past week. I am starting to think Greg Inglis might have constructed some sort of Kiki voodoo doll and been sticking pins into the tiny tiny doll lungs. Seriously Gregory, it’s a bit much isn’t it? Just because I bag out your bizzarely oily hair, publicly accuse you of being a traitor to your state (YOU’RE FROM NSW AND YOU KNOW IT BITCH) and loathe your team…do I really deserve this sort of vengeful treatment?

Anyway Mister Soul Glo, I get the point okay? Lay off doll Kiki for awhile will ya? For the love of god LET ME BREATHE AGAIN. Thx.

(Note that is my hair photoshopped onto a voodoo doll. I know I know, I am clever and hilarious.)

Anyway,  am one sick lady right now. Unfortunately last weekend was booked chock full weeks in advance and because I am loyal, brave and generally amazing I refused to cancel anything. Ain’t no way I was ditching Lozzy’s birthday, supporting Sassy and her woeful Chookies and most importantly (sorry girls) … my beloved Dragons returning to Kogarah.  R2K BABYYYYYY!

Ohhh my it was amazing. The refurbished stadium looks absolutely stunning and the atmosphere was electric. Yep, electric. Lets break it down shall we?

1) We had seats in the new grandstand which had the greatest view of the hill (and the footy obvs). It was bathed in glorious red and white, with only a small section of those filthy Sharks fans polluting the scene.  The first try we scored the crowd went WILD and I well….well I got goosebumps. Actual goosebumps. I showed the girls and they mocked me [I did NOT! I said 'awww'. I get goosebumps during TV season finales. We all have our things - L]. I was mortified until Sassy reminded me of that time when we both got goosies while listening to Wes Carr’s NRL theme song in the car. Yes, we are really that lame.

2) Kogarah is such an incredible ground that Sassy has decided she is going to cheat on the Roosters and have an affair with the Dragons. Did you hear that Chooks? You drove her to footy adultery! We are currently in the process of signing her up to get a Red V membership and everything. I’m not joking people. (The fact that being a Red V member means you can go to after match functions and stalk the Big Dell is only approx 56% part of the reason she’s joining)

2) The demise of Hot Bitch Cooper. NOOOOO! I promised Lozzy an uninterrupted view of Hot Bitch for her birthday, but his hammy made a liar out of me. You see readers, seeing him on TV is one thing….but in person it’s a whole other thing. TV doesn’t capture the way he prowls around the field like he owns the bitch or bends over during plays (hello ass!). It definitely doesn’t capture his ridiculously intense sex-is-on-fireness. [I think seeing Hot Bitch in person is kind of a rite of passage. Sort of like the Bar Mitzvah or Deb Ball of Rugby League - L]

We were all soooooo sad times. Let’s console ourselves with some my own Hot Bitch photography shall we? I took these during the Titans game. There’s alot of ass because we were sitting behind the goal posts. Also, I am a pervert.

Ahhhhh yes. V.nice.

4) B.MOZZZZZZ! Oooooh we are so proud of you baby! We are absolute Morris twin freaks here at Errol. I cried sad sad tears last year when I realised they would be separated (THANKS GASNIER GRRR). My sadness was compounded this year when Bretty wasn’t named in the starting line up for the first two weeks. What an absolute bloody JOKE. I was outraged, as was everyone in the Errol office.  Even more upsetting was the fact a small percentage of Dragons (ones I don’t like…boooo!) fans took this opportunity to lay into him, call him mean names and imply he’s useless.

Well after the weekends awesome performances may I just say – NOT SO USELESS ANYMORE HUH BITCHES. SUCK IT HATERS.

He had a ripper of a game. He was all line breaks and big runs and awesomeness. And….look at that face! It would make angels weep! I think I used that expression for Shillo last year, but clearly it is even more applicable here. Anyway, Bretty is getting another run against Brisbane this Friday night and needless to say we will be cheering him on in our loungerooms. If we weren’t so lazy we would totally hit Lincraft, get busy with some glitter glue and sequins and whip up some handmade  WE LUV YOU B.MOZ t shirts. [And can I just say, I may not have got to see much of Hot Bitch for my birthday, but I did get some Bretty. THANKS UNIVERSE! - L]

Okay, now onto the other games. Yes apparently there are other teams in the NRL apart from the Dragons…who knew!

Once again I watched pretty much every game. Highlights include -

a)  the Broncos Alex Glenn giggling with delight as he scored a try against the Warriors. It was very Flossy-esque. More of that please Mr Glenn!

b) Us bursting into fits of lolz every time David Taylor came onto the screen. BABY OR BREAKFAST BURRITO?

c) The unspeakable rage of Des Hasler. Wow….just….WOW. Just when you think you’ve seen the peak of Dessie’s anger, he reaches a whole new level. Dessie’s performance in the coach’s box on Monday night was a sight to behold. I have this thing where sometimes I get so mad I don’t know how to express it and simply make lots of tiny jerky movements. Tiny tiny movements full of rage. Dessie did the exact same thing. Oh how I laughed/felt fearful for Manly players.

d) As much as it totally fucked up my tips, I was all over the Panthers gutsy win. That was some awesome football. Well done children! And yes, children is totally the appropriate word here because the games superstars were none other than our work experience boy Lachlan Coote and Errol Cutest Rookie of the Year nominee, Wade Graham.

By the way: looks like the Panthers’ Irish dancing classes were starting to kick in

At this juncture I would like to point out that we are what some would call ‘trailblazers’. Footy trailblazers.

Who wrote about Marc ‘The Herb’ Herbert before he even played a game? WE DID. Who featured Kayne Lawton in the Hot Man News months before he was picked to be a God of Football? WE DID. Who discussed Davey Williams awesomeness/hotness literally months before the rest of the world caught on? WE DID. And who hired Lachie and cooed over Wade (and his beautiful eyelashes) a loooong time before most people even knew their names? OH YEH, IT’S US.

So footy players, if you crave superstardom all you have to do is get us on side. Being an Errol favourite is like winning the lottery. Yep.

See you next week cupcakes!

Ok so you people have been hassling me non stop all week to do a new post and I can’t take it any more. Apparently Errol has turned you all into Tyrone Biggums, jonesing for your sweet sweet Kiki crack. So because I’m a dirty enabler, I’m giving into your demands and delivering you some grade A goods in the form of this blog. Light up those pipes kids, here we go!

As previously discussed, we will be covering the Irish Rugby League Team’s trip to Australia for the RLWC. They could not have picked anyone better to be doing so as a) Sassy and I are the most Celtic people in Celtic town and b) we enjoy traditional Irish activities, ie: drinking beer and eating carbs.

In honour of the Irish boys imminent arrival, we are painting the Errol office green. Intern John-John is super!excited! to greet the Irish and has been slipping green food dye in our morning smoothies, making lewd jokes about his ‘pot of gold’ and keeps holding a four leaf clover above my head going KIKI LOOK…KISSY KISS! YOU HAVE TO ITS TRADITION! I don’t have the heart to tell him the tradition is mistletoe specific.

I was also planning on doing a recap of the Grand Final….until I watched it. Don’t get me wrong, I am tres happy with Manly’s win but 40-0 doesn’t exactly make for a thrilling post. It’s a try by Manly….and another try by Manly…and…yet another bloody try by Manly. WOOOO.

Sassy and I had tickets to the game, but due to our severe lack of self control we spent the afternoon sprawled on my loungeroom floor trying to fight our rising nausea. You see, we celebrated our radio superstardom a liiiiittle bit too hard the night before. The details are a tad fuzzy but let’s just say tequila was involved. Tequila and air guitar.

So instead of heading off to the footy we crashed my brothers grand final BBQ in a way only we can. Apologies to all my brother’s mates who were subjected to us lolling about in our pyjamas (sans bra), accessorised with matted hair and panda eyes. AVERT YOUR EYES BOYS. We did however provide some exclusive ~*Live Errol Commentary*~ which I like to think made up for such grossness.

When Sassy finally deemed it necessary to have a shower she yelled from the bathroom KIKI….GET ME A SAUSAGE SANDWICH…WITH ONION. Because I am literally the best wife in the world I did as she requested and then she proceeded to eat said sausage sandwich spreadeagled on the hallway floor clad only in a towel. I sat next to her while I attempted to comb out my unintentional Amy Winehouse beehive from the night before. HOW ARE WE SINGLE?? For reals boys, you are missing out big time.

All I have to say about the Grand Final is a) I am thrilled that the Beav got his fairytale and b) WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT PRE-GAME ‘ENTERTAINMENT’?? For a few minutes I thought the badness was due to my hangover. I furiously rubbed my eyes in the hope people banging on BBQs would transform into something actually awesome but no, that was it. That’s all the NRL has got for us. Look, I know Grand Final entertainment has never been stellar (apart from 2001 when Barnsey descended in a chopper and sang Working Class Man…amaaaaazing) but this was errrrr…..well.

Look I am all over some stadium sized entertainment. It can be fantastic. Examples being the 2000 Olympics Opening Ceremony and my participation in the 1995 School Spectacular. If you haven’t performed a dance at he Entertainment Centre to the Jackson Five’s ‘Can You Feel It?’ clad in a fluro yellow leotard and gold sequinned harem pants you just haven’t lived.

To be serious times for a moment, why does the NRL consistently under sell itself? They have a GREAT product but they somehow just don’t realise how great it really is. Although pre-game entertainment is fairly insignificant in the scheme of things, it’s kind of indicative of how the NRL views itself. And that’s upsetting, because they, and all of us are way better than that. I KNOW they can do better. Come on boys, call us! WE CAN HELP!

Right, now onto other things Kiki Is Pissed Off About. The Kangaroo squad was announced during the week and congratulations to all the boys but um….WHERE IS HOT BITCH COOPER?? We all fervently scanned the team list looking for our boy but….nothing. Surely it’s a typo? An administrative oversight? WHAT IS GOING ON?

If nothing else Coops shoulda been selected on humanitarian grounds alone. Not only has he suffered through yet another dissapointing year at the Dragons but his beloved husband and centre partner, Mark Gasnier, has abandoned him and taken off to France to be with other mans. Mans in pink jerseys. I think the only thing stopping Hot Bitch from totally giving up on life is his new manfriend, the Big Dell. That and the fact that I keep visiting him with messages of encouragment. And by ‘visiting him’ I mean sitting outside his loungeroom, tapping on the window yelling DON’T CRY HOT BITCH, KIKI’S HEEEEEERE! I STILL LOVE YOU BABY!

Errr…back to the Kangaroos. We were overwhelmed with joy to see Terry Campese get selected. We love T Camps! There is alot of hotness in the NRL but Terry is entirely on his own level. T Camps is well….well he’s handsome. There is a severe lack of handsome men in the world these days. Being hot is common, being handsome is classic. Terry possesses a type of old school handsome that is reminiscent of portraits hung at the Australian War Memorial.

Sassy has been wondering who we could photoshop in sepia now The Beav is leaving our shores, but fear not wifey….we now have Corporal Campese of the Light Horse to maintain the Errol vintage mans quota.

And that’s it kids. You satisfied yet?

(naked John from Naked For A Cause)

Let me tell you a story, kittens.  A long time ago, in a mythical land known as ‘the locker room’ the nation of Manly were in mourning.  They’d been at war with the fearsome Melbourne, and lost, and all were deep in the sads.  But amongst them dwelled a man with joy in his heart and a desire to make all well again, so in the midst of his despair he leapt forth and performed the wang dance.

It made the world smile, and the proud nation fought on into the next year to finally claim victory over their nemeses.

That man was Mick Robertson.  Oh, Robbo.  Not only did he unwittingly do the wang dance in front of a pay TV cameraman who accidentally broadcast it on national television (I’m not linking it, you’ll have to look for it on youtube yourselves you lazy bitches).  He also prompted one of my favourite ever lines of news reporting:

While [Steve] Menzies is interviewed by a journalist after the NRL decider on September 30, Robertson can clearly be seen in the background swirling his genitalia.

“SWIRLING HIS GENITALIA”.  If that didn’t win a Walkley then Australian journalism is in trouble like woah.  And yes, I know he said it was embarassing, but clearly we don’t think so.  The Oh Errol office is proudly pro-pantslessness.  We employ Intern John-John, and that should say it all.

But forget about the swirling talk (hehe swirling, it’s still funny).  Know what he did this year?

Pic: Sam Mooy

Oh, just scored three tries in a premiership-winning side, that’s all.

Just wrote himself into the history books as one of three people in a hundred years to get the grand final hat-trick.  Meh.

Skilfully avoided Billy Slater’s flying kung-fu kicks to ground the ball.

You know, just equalled the record for the most tries scored in a Grand Final, in the game with the biggest margin in League history.  Whatevs.

And when he had the chance to score a fourth try and be the only man in history to score four in a Grand Final … he off-loaded to the Beav instead.

“That was the most exciting part for me … giving the pass to Beaver to score,” Robertson said.

“I knew he was there. It will be a highlight for me for a long time.”

That bitch is a giver.

But I’m starting to think maybe even Robbo is about to hit the wall on charity.

Consider: Davey Williams’ performance in his first ever final earned him a Kangaroos jersey and 22,000 news articles.

Robbo’s hat-trick earned him 2,000 mentions and a spot in the Scottish team.  (Um, no offence, Scotland. I love the bagpipes in ‘You’re the Voice’! My family name is originally MacNeill! I’m one of youuuu! Please don’t smother me in tartan).

Seriously. Are they trying to make him feel unloved?  Is he invisible?  WHAT DOES A BOY HAVE TO DO TO GET ASKED OUT AROUND HERE?  Robbo’s too pretty to be a wallflower! 

Oh, but what about the beard, you say!  It’s the wolfman beard.  It’s so unique and noticeable.  That’s what draws attention and makes all the difference.  That’s why Robbo has been unceremoniously booted from all the Manly grand final limelight.  He’s just not as distinctive.

Pic: Mark Evans

Maybe Robbo’s too nice to disagree, but if he wasn’t, he would totally say I HAD IT FIRST, BITCHES.

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!

I am outraged.  And I have decided to take on Robbo’s cause, because I love an underdog.  I resent that he’s become the Jan Brady of Manly (TM Kiki).  I’m worried that everyone falling all over Dave ‘Marcia’ Williams might send him over the edge.

Look at him!  Even at semi-finals time he was getting close to snapping.   I worry for his mental health.

Dave: MATE, can you believe we’re in the finals? Birds have been all over me.
Robbo: … yeah, it’s pretty sweet.

Dave: I’m not even kidding. They’re wolfman crazy! Can’t keep their hands off me.
Robbo: ….

Dave: I’ve had to break up fights down at the Steyne, for reals.
Robbo: …

Dave: I just say look, ladies. Ladies, ladies, calm down. There’s enough of the Wolfman to go round.
Robbo: … kill me.

Coincidence it was him that shaved off Dave’s beard?  Hmmm?

Oh, Robbo, honey. Don’t worry. We see you! And with Steve Bell and the Beav moving on next year, you are totally the front-runner for Lozzy’s new Manly hubby. Come on over for gins and snuggles whenever you feel down.

pic: News Ltd/Gregg Porteous

First of all, right now I kind of feel like a bride who’s spent months in a wedding haze and, now that whole thing’s over, has seeped into a deep black hole of sadness. I DIDN’T KNOW THE OFF SEASON WOULD FEEL THIS SHIT. It’s like being given a puppy, bonding with it and laughing at the silly things it does for months, and then having it snatched away.

but whats i do withouts mah boys?

My post-Grand Final winners buzz is totally dampened by the fact that I MISS THE BOYS ALREADY. I spent Monday afternoon furiously checking Getty Images and HotAussieFootyPlayersShirtless for updates on the celebrations, and I think I’ve read every article on LeagueHQ today in an attempt to fill the void. I’M CHASING THE DRAGON. I NEED A FIIIIIIIIX *licks bathroom floor*

Aside from that, GO MANLY GOOOOOO. Not only was my first footy game EVER a free trip to see my own babies play, they also…well, do I even need to say it? Ok yes, yes I do. 40 NIL PEOPLE. FOR…TY…NIL.

pic: News Ltd/Gregg Porteous

Apparently I am also some kind of amazing prophet, because I started celebrating the gigantic win 24 hours before it happened. I just like to get things done, ok? (I was going to say ‘on top of things’ but John John was sniggering before I even typed ‘of’). I think all I really need to say here is that I was refused entry at The Judgy. But hey, at least I wasn’t partying in a wolf mask *cough*

We decided to reward our staff with a little Errol outing to the Big Game – it’s good for office morale, plus we needed a few sets of arms to fetch our snacks/throw things at Storm fans. So on Sunday we all climbed into the Errol Bus (which in case you’re wondering is exactly like the Priscilla bus but unfortunately with way less drag queens. Pretty much the same amount of disco and sequins though), strapped Lachie into his booster seat and then had to turn around when we realised John John wasn’t wearing any pants. Obviously we’re more than pleased to let him run free and nakey around the office, but we just can’t deal with having an intern in troubz for indecent exposure.

It’s safe to say that since I began my GF day vomming in a garden at the Crowne Plaza* (soz guys! thanks for the hospitality!) my perception of the game happening right in front of me was…cloudy. Nothing angers me more than the whole ‘girls can’t understand the rules’ notion, and I don’t want to encourage it, but shit I was disorientated. Was that a try? Is that one of our players or Melbourne? Why won’t my camera zoom in close enough for arse shots? I NEED COMMENTARYYYYYY. I think next time I’m taking a portable radio with me. Or Sassy and Kiki, which is kind of the same thing but heaps better.

But even with a vicious hangover, not knowing where to look to follow the game properly and being pissed off at the general public – not that they were anything but lovely from what I encountered (oh, except for the guys behind me who apparently turned up thinking some teams named ’stand up and yell at your mate across the stadium’ and ‘hi i’m a drunk who just fell on you and didn’t apologise’ were playing), I just don’t like people very much – IT WAS SO FUN.

pic: silvertails.net

I was so caught up in the general vibe I didn’t even notice how bad the ‘entertainment’ was. For serious, I read the paper on Monday and was like “oh shit, a bbq routine?”. AND I didn’t even feel any hate towards Storm fans – even the girl next to us decked out in head to toe purple who apparently kept yelling ‘Billlyyyyyyyyyyy’ I was oblivious to. Where my good friend and Oh Errol/Manly supporter Bel heard Billy, I heard ‘yaaaaay football!’.

We even, in a rare display of goodwill, picked two Storm fans up on the way there and shared the most awkward car ride in history. I suppose I could’ve made it less awkward by you know, talking to them, but at that point I was still unable to form sentences.

Ok, so it wasn’t ALL good. To the people who got up and squeezed past us about 1000 times to go GOD KNOWS WHERE – sit the fuck down and yeah that is my toe you just stood on. Seriously it’s like two hours, how can they possibly need to get up and down that many times? DO YOU HAVE ANTS IN YOUR PANTS MISTER? Even Lachie was less fidgety, but that could’ve been because we had him on a leash.

Biggest lolz of the day – the guy who tried to fight the Sea Eagle (really, the Sea Eagle? Not Storm Man?), the entire stadium booing Cameron Smith (though to be fair I actually felt kind of bad. I know I know).

Biggest awws of the day – the Beav love obviously, Steve Bell and bb, Des Hasler’s general existance.

pic: LeagueHQ/Anthony Johnson

For thoughts on the actual game as well as more on the ‘entertainment’, you might get lucky with Kiki and Sassy’s upcoming GF observations. Stay tuned babies.

*Please forward all expressions of interest in dating me to lozzy[at]oherrol.com

Now, I would like to write a post for you all about the grand final.  Unfortunately, I was so atrociously hungover and rubbish that I don’t remember very much. Also, I can’t be bothered.  

There is also a much more pressing issue to deal with: if 2008 was a golden year for the beard in rugby league, then every golden age eventually has to end, right?  So I think we need a little post to act as a fond farewell to the beards that made 2008 so entertaining.  Let’s light a few tealights, shot some Scotch, and mourn for the facial hair that is no more.  (If you need to change into something black, I can totally wait too.  I’m already wearing a black netting veil and channelling Blair Waldorf).

Forgive me father for I have been to the Brighton Bar … again.

First to leave us were the boys in black. After their loss to the Sea Eagles our favourite bearded boys, the New Zealand Warriors, decided to sacrifice their hilarious and delightful facial hair to charity.  Sigh. Is there anything worse than when people do something for charity?  I say no. Because apparently ‘things for charity’ translates as ‘things that make Sassy sadtimes’.  Like when mum decided I was too old for dolls and gave my Strawberry Shortcake dollhouse to the childrens’ hospital.  AS THOUGH CHILDREN IN A HOSPITAL HAVE TIME TO PLAY WITH DOLLS.  GOD. THEY’RE SICK, REMEMBER?  What was my point?

IT’S JUST ALL SO SAD. I’m gonna miss you crazy bushrangers. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go and start making my Movember advent calendar. Only four weeks to go till my most favouritest month of the year!

Goddamn if they aren’t going to be a long four weeks too. I am tres pissed off. I awoke from my drunken slumber to find out that Errol Patron Saint David Williams had stolen my lady Venus in the aftermath of Mad Monday and shaved the beard. The only explanation I can possibly come up with for why he defied our explicit wishes and went the razor is that he overheard us discussing our Top Five Favourite Movie Gettin’ Square and our Top Three Favourite Ginger David Wenham and came to the conclusion that it was a brilliant idea to make himself over in the image of John Francis Spiteri.  Davey, nooooooo!

Is that … a mullet? I do believe it is. What are you gonna do, mate, put up some shelving?

I’m sorry your Hhonour I didn’t mean to say ’shit’, it’s just that this fucking guy’s gettin to me.

And as well as leaving you with the evidence that Dave hasn’t practised shaving in at least six months: (make sure you shave AFTER you shower, kids, when the hair is soft)

Who’sh gonna pay for my bush fare?

I’ve also tracked you down some exclusive Errol footage of Dave rocking out on Mad Monday. Goodbye, beardbye, and enjoy babies.

[youtube=http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=YhliRsnkIAI]