I know how you love Kiki’s health updates, so today you get one from me.  EXCITEMENT.  A mental health one at least.  In the lead up to this game I had a dull feeling of resignation that this was the last stop on the line for my chookies, and I was starting to freak out, because – since I have no mid-term memory cells left – I literally couldn’t remember what I filled my spare time with when it wasn’t football season.  Anyone?

I do love me some cricket, but more in a falling asleep on the couch in the afternoon in my swimmers with a beer way than a rabid fan way.  HOW WILL I FILL ALL MY TIME WHEN THE GAME IS OVER?  I was starting to even consider taking up a hobby, fo realz.  This was especially bad because I’m not even really sure what my hobby-choices are.  The only ones I know of are Mah Jong and bushwalking and cross-stitch.

Luckily, you can all stop worrying, babies.  As I lay on the beach on Saturday I looked up and remembered THIS IS WHAT I DO.  BEACH.  Sweet sweet beach.  Incidentally, Kiki and I also looked up a little bit later and saw Big Dell frolicking on the sand with his bbs wearing fluorescent boardshorts, but that’s a whole other post.

The moral of the story is that I don’t have to take up crochet (thank god, because it probably would have ended in a drunken needle injury) and we can get down to the recap.  Also, that I am sunburnt.

If you don’t want to read all the words that are on the way, just look at this picture instead:

pic: Getty Images

So the New Zealand Warriors run onto the field to some AC/DC Back in Black action.  Clearly I am not opposed to AC/DC, or to cock rock in general.  It makes my heart smile when the Roosters run on to Motley Crue.  But Warriors, darlings, I think you need an update.  The Storm run onto AC/DC.  And I can’t have the Warriors (who I kinda love now) running onto the same band as my footy nemeses The Storm.  My little pea-brain couldn’t handle it.

And how has no one suggested Patti Smith ‘I am the Warrior‘?  Not just because it’s a fuck-off great song, but because Patti Smith is a fierce bitch.  Do you know who else is a fierce bitch?  Wiki.  IT ALL FITS.  Listen to these lyrics and tell me it’s not perfect.

Who’s the hunter … who’s the game?

I feel the beat … call your name

I hold you close … in victory

I don’t wanna tame your animal style …

You won’t be caged … in the call of the wild

Clearly I am just going to play this in my own home before the Warriors play next week and start calling Ruben Wiki ‘jungle child’.

pic: Kenny Rodger

The Kiwis haven’t skimped on the dramz tonight.  The Warriors are in their all blacks and the Roosters have turned up in their pretty all-white uniforms to a stadium of screaming black-clad Kiwi fans.  It’s all very dramatical and allegorical and other words ending in ‘-ical’.

It’s like Daniel in the lion’s den.  Except that maybe in the bible they didn’t have fireworks or Maori drummers or traditional dancers in coconut bras.  Whatever.  I like to think they did.  You just know Mary Magdalene was a bandit for a coconut bra and grass skirt.

It is approximately one second before the Warriors send in Lance Hohaia for a try and Michael Witt’s ginger mo steps up to the tee and converts.  6-0.  Oh, Roosters.

About two seconds later the referee needs a new whistle.  I shit you not.

The Roosters make a beautiful break until Amos Roberts loses the ball and has his head broken.  Tragedy!  I love Amos!  Although I was really disappointed when I found out he calls his newborn baby son ‘Mossy’ as in ‘Amos’ not as in ‘Named after Ian ‘Mossy’ Moss of Cold Chisel’.

Mitchell Pearce magics a 40-20 kick and takes a pass from Braith Anasta to dive into goal.  TRY!  GO BABIES GO!   Except … why is nobody hugging Mitchell Pearce?  David Shillington is hugging Mitchell Aubusson.  Everyone else is hugging each other.  Mitchell Pearce just wanders around a bit until finally Lunchlady Doris – I mean a Roosters trainer – brings him a Powerade and claps him on the back.

He is seriously a man-island.  And not the good party-island kind.  Is he in the bad books for stealing someone’s lucky socks?  Did he dob on the guys for something?  Fart in the plane on the way down?  Does he play Nickelback in the team bus?

Poor Mitchell Man-Island Pearce.

Frill-neck Fitzgibbon converts.

pic: Getty Images

I accidentally mush my nail polish all over my hand when Minichiello explodes from nowhere to come face to face with a Soliola kick, kicks again, chases and dives into goal neck-and-neck with Hohaia for a SO-CLOSE-BUT-SO-FAR-NO-TRY.  Yes, I do paint my nails while I watch the footy.  I like to multitask.

Except apparently the Universe enjoys toying with my emotions. Because, inexplicably, Tony Archer sends it to the video referee and a penalty try is awarded.  Penalty try?  First penalty try of the year?

Are you kidding me faceless video ref?

Let me explain.  I am incredibly biased towards my team.  Everything they do is fine by me. Teams that beat them do not deserve to live.  Brad ‘Freddy’ Fittler’s chuckle is music to my ears.

But this is completely ridiculous.  I do not approve of the penalty try rule.

Benefit of the doubt makes sense to me – where something is so very very close and video footage is inconclusive we’ll give the attacking team a little leeway. It makes the fans happy, it makes the game exciting.

But penalty try is a contradiction in terms.  It says if there is no try, because of a penalty – then instead of giving you a penalty we will give you a penalty try. BUT THERE WAS NO TRY. If there was no try, there is no way that anyone can say whether there would have been, but for the penalty.

Sure you can say there would probably have been a try, but how likely does it have to be?  More than 50%? More than 75%? Highly probable? Slightly probable?  Can you tell yet that I studied law?

Would you be happy to see your team lose a grand final with a penalty try?

I think it says it all that it was a penalty try that gave the Storm their first premiership.  That Rule and That Club are united in propagating the forces of darkness.

It is a flimsy and ill-defined rule and I resent it’s usage.  I say send the offender off for ten or something and let the situation sort itself out.  And yes, it is possible I am just saying that because I like seeing people get sent off.  I like watching the little sooky cartoon bull huff across the screen.  WANNA MAKE SOMETHING OF IT?

Anyway, the Roosters are awarded a try and Komodo Fitzgibbon converts so feel free to ignore that whole series of ranty paragraphs.  HURRAH FOR PENALTY TRIES! I LOVE YOU PENNY!

Anasta field-goals and we all go for a half-time cup of tea and lie-down.

Shall we discuss facial hair again while the boys are napping?  I say yes. It’s not an Errol post without a mention of arses or beards.

My fiercest beard award tonight goes to Simon Mannering.  He actually won player of the year in the Warriors club this year, but I’m sure this award means so much more.  That is a cracker of a beard:

I assume you’re thinking one of two things right now: either ‘WHY ARE YOU ILLUSTRATING THIS GAME WITH PICTURES OF MEN IN A POOL?’ or ‘WHEEE! I ACTUALLY ONLY COME TO ERROL FOR THE GRATUITOUS SEMI-NUDITY!’

Sadly, both these responses are wrong. The right one is HEEE! Is there anything funnier than the Warriors wearing swimming goggles? I say no.

And just for the hell of it:

Steve Price, why you so tanned? I sense some solarium action, because god knows he can’t have been natural tanning in New Zealand.  That makes me love you a little bit Pricey.

The boys all run back out and the Roosters defence is a big ole pile of Marshmallow as Hohaia rolls in a try.  Mmmmmm … marshmallow.  Witty’s mo converts again.

In more plasma news, someone in the distance who may be Lopini Paea (I’m a little bit drunk so I can’t be sure) has a huge circle of blood on the bottom of his jersey and the front of his shorts.  He is sent off field to change his jersey, and – I assume – so that one of the Roosters trainers can sit him down in the locker room and give him the talk about What Happens When You Become a Woman.  If they’re really touchy-feely they might even give him a glass of red wine with his box of tampons.

The Warrior whose name I always forget who looks like a B-grade 90s movie actor* is held up in goal for no try. Let’s just call him Jeremy Sisto. Bad luck, Jezza.

Angryman Ian (not Brian) Henderson gets a Benny try. Oh, Roosters, I knew this would happen: 18-13. Another try to Manu Vatuvei’s gold teeth. I wanna feel sad but that bitch is just too fabulous. I want to see Manu and Dell have a weigh-in to determine biggest winger in league.

Knock on, double knock on, and a SECOND TRY FOR JEREMY SISTO. Way to excel in your day job, mister. The Roosters do dumb things and dig their own grave for 30-13. The crowd goes wild. Even I feel happy. IT’S JUST SO MAGICAL.

Lopini Paea is – seriously people, this is not me exaggerating – sitting on the sidelines with two tampons in his nostrils. Have you been watching She’s the Man? THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU DO WITH THEM LOPINI.

Perhaps most incredibly of all, Ivan Cleary smiles.

pic: Kenny Rodger

I comfort myself that at least this will feed the Roosters underdog complex for 2009. Next year, my darlings, next year.

Meanwhile I have saved this for last because this shit deserves to be the finale.  In the second half of the game, and in what must be the greatest hit I have seen this year, Ruben Wiki takes the ball, bares his teeth, ROARS and charges head on at the man-mountain that is Sia Soliola.

Kiki and I scream and wave our legs like we are riding imaginary bicycles because we are losers.  Then we mime punches for no apparent reason.  We discuss what is the furthest possible Disneyland from Auckland and decide on Paris.

Soliola reaches Euro-Disney before he even hits the ground, and like the complete and utter gentleman he is, Ruben comes back to help him up and check that he can still focus his eyes.  Goddamnit Ruben.  Could you be any more amazing?  No, no you couldn’t.  Especially not since that fierce bitch also turned to the camera and screamed WOOOOO when his side locked up the game.  I want to hug him like woah.

pic: Getty Images

So it’s safe to say I’ve buried all my hopes for 08 and jumped straight on the bearded Warriors bandwagon. If Ruben doesn’t get a premiership this year, there is no justice.

pic: Brett Phibbs

COME ON NEW ZULLAND!  As Ruben Wiki’s wrist bandages say: Carpe diem, bitches.**

* Aidan Kirk

** Disclaimer: it might not actually say bitches.

pic: Colleen Petch via news.com.au

Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.

So you might not know this, but we Errol girls are tres spiritual.  Over in the corner at Errol HQ, just between the hanging egg chair and the booze cabinet, we have a little footy shrine.  It has fairy lights and everything.

On Friday afternoons we light a few tea light candles, leave a cold schooner as an offering to the Gods of Footy, and ask the universe for a weekend of exciting games, for wins for our beloved babies, and, just sometimes, for some teams to lose.

After that we like to finish off our Friday dacquiris, send the boys home, crank up the T.Rex and more often than not end up dancing to Britney on a podium at Stonewall at about 5am. True story.

But that’s neither here nor there.

What’s really important is that THIS WEEK IT HAPPENED. We prayed for an underdog victory by the Warriors and it came true.

They (including me in my Nova footy tips) said that the eighth-placed team would never beat the minor premiers. But clearly they didn’t factor in that Errol is totes hooked up with the universe.  On Sunday night, the Warriors defeated the Storm and bitches, it was magical.

HALLELUJAH!

Let’s relive the good times (in point form because I am too tired for play-by-play).

IAN HENDERSON WILL CUT A BITCH

MATTY GEYER STARTED IT! HE CALLED ME NAMES!
pic: George Salpigtidis

Is Lozzy right? Is it the beards? Are they full of dark and delicious evil and starting to possess the owners?  (Which just by the way would be totally awesome). Because the Warriors were pissed on Sunday night. And none more pissed than fiesty little Ian ’stop calling me Brian’ Henderson.

On Friday night when Braith Anasta and Justin Hodges squared up at the Footy Stadium I thought fo sho at least one of those bitches was gon get her weave ripped out.

When Henderson squared up against seemingly every single member of the Storm, I thought someone was gonna lose a whole row of teeth. His fists of fury were just waiting for an excuse to punch someone.

And I won’t lie, I kind of loved it.

Not just because I have a not-so-secret aggressive streak (I blame my high school water polo career), but because it makes me think everybody hates the Storm.  Even Steve Price was feelin angry.  Steve Price!  Amazing. Next thing I’ll find out Craig Fitzgibbon doesn’t like Brent Tate or something and my life will officially be complete.

Hendo, I salute your rage.

MICHAEL WITT IS A TOOL

I admitted a little while ago that I felt a little bit of Witty-love creeping up on me.  It seemed like out of nowhere the Warriors were a festival of facial hair and Mr. Witt was the proud new owner of a gleaming ginger mo.  I suspect that a lesser man would have reacted to the shame of a surprise ginge tinge with either their razor or a box of Just for Men for Beards (it really exists, I swear), but Witty has soldiered on with the tangerine lip.

He’s sacrificed vanity for team spirit and hilarity.  And as someone who has gone to dress-up parties as a half-dead abduction victim complete with fake blood clearly I care not for vanity. (It was a Twin Peaks party, if you’re wondering. I don’t just enjoy imitating victims of crime).

pic: Photo Sports

Well bitch has completely won me over now. As final try-scorer thanks to a barnstorming run from the fucking fierce Manu Vatuvei, he didn’t just put the ball down.  He held it over his head and taunted the storm chasers.  HE TAUNTED THE BEAST!  Bitch is pretty much the Will Smith of Rugby League right now. He flew right into that death star. Wait, that was Independence Day. WHATEVER. In my mind he also spat out a pithy one-liner when Cameron Smith couldn’t reach him in time and crumpled to the ground next to him.

Best of all, he got in trouble with the coach and big brother Pricey for the taunting and said this:

“I actually thought that there was only one dude chasing me and I thought when I stepped him right at the end I could just stand in the in-goal and waste time standing there before I put the ball down. But someone else was right there so I ended up looking like a bit of a tool and a big-noter.”

OOPS. SOZ IVAN CLEARY AND STEVE PRICE! DIDN’T MEAN TO ACT LIKE A TOOL.

I say it was worth looking like a tool Witty to see the Storm look bitter and disappointed. Oh yeah, this is what they call Rugby League, boys.  Welcome to my world.

That’s actually why you won’t be getting a Broncos-Roosters post this week, by the way, kittens.  IT’S JUST TOO PAINFUL.  The second-half collapse ripped my heart out. The only thing that comforts me is thinking that maybe, just maybe, the loss to the Broncos was a scheme of diabolical genius from Brad ‘Freddy’ Fittler. That loss is what put the Roosters on the opposite side of the draw from Melbourne. GASP!

pic: Getty Images

I know, I know, so maybe he doesn’t really strike you at first glance as an evil genius, but you know he’s hiding something behind that chuckle. No one looks that content and relaxed all the time unless secretly they are pulling the puppet strings on everything around them.

Or if they do, they probably wouldn’t be able to, you know, dress themselves or open doors.

HE IS A MACHIAVELLIAN GENIUS, OK? Don’t crush my delusions. Just trust me on this one.

NO NO NO NO NO

First of all, thanks for lending me your commentary catchphrase as my heading, Phil Gould.

As for you, vanquished captain Cameron Smith: this could have been a perfect opportunity to win me over. Which, obviously, is at the top of your list of TOP TEN VERY IMPORTANT THINGS TO DO: 1. MAKE SASSY LOVE ME.

As I was cackling with delight at the Warriors miracle win, there was a moment where Cam Smith could have said WELL DONE WARRIORS and a smidgen of empathy might have led me to start being justalittlebit fond of you.  But no. Instead I got:

“No disrespect to the Warriors, but we lost the game yesterday, I don’t think they beat us. That’s not being arrogant. If we didn’t give away so many penalties, we would have won the game.”

Are you trying to make me dislike you now?  Because I really like Hazy and co.  And I have been trying to like the Storm, for our loyal readers’ sake if nothing else. AND YOU KEEP COCKING IT UP.  Work with me, Cameron darling. Work with me.

Compliment the team who beat you.  Just a little!  It won’t hurt.  It can even be grudging, if you like.  Or if you can’t bring yourself to tell them they played well, at least tell them you like their bushranger beards.  Something.  Anything.  Sigh.

(I’ll give you a hint, calling them whingers doesn’t count.)

“It worked for them, didn’t it?” Smith said. “It’s certainly something that we don’t do. The referee’s out there to do a job. We don’t ever go out there to try and ask him to give us penalties or anything like that. He’s the one with the whistle and he’s got to make up his own mind but it’s a tactic that worked for them, so good on them.

“They should be refereeing the game by how they see it, not what they’re hearing from opposition players.”

“I think you’d be pretty hard up to try and find some footage of any of our players whingeing about what other teams do to us,” he said. “That’s just the way we’re coached, just to get on playing footy.”

STOP YOUR WHINGING PRICEY!

All I can say to that is NO NO NO NO NO (TM Phil Gould).

Finally, in other news I should also say that the race for best hair in league is getting closer and closer. You could throw a blanket over the field! Mmmm blankie. I had thought Dave Williams had it in the bag, but Ruben Wiki was looking extra Soul Glo-y on Sunday night.  Plus obviously he is just completely adorable. GOD OUR WORK IS JUST SO DIFFICULT SOMETIMES.

Back to the Errol drawing board I guess.  Actually can someone replace the drawing board paper?

No, not you Lachie … John John’s been sketching again. I’ll tell you what he sketched when you get older.

Someone else?  I need a fresh bit of paper on it so I can cover it with STORM SUX comics and MRS WITT written 95 times in calligraphy. Thanks, Intern Brownie.