What’s that word people kept saying earlier this week? … MAROONWASH, was it?
Oh, the sweet satisfaction of Queensland being denied their fairytale. Yes, we know they won the series, but we also know that instead of prancing off into the sunset to a sunny Queensland island to relive their victories, they’re gonna be sitting at home, lights off, watching slo-mo replays of this game and wondering just how it all went wrong. Johnathan Thurston will probably cry. He does that.
But the bottom line is the same: NO TROPICAL HOLIDAY FOR YOU NOW, BITCHES.
This game was a victory for brotherhood, tenacity, pettiness, spite, and sheer stubbornness, with just a hint of FUCK ALL Y’ALL added for spice.
If you’re wondering, you eat this delicious dish with … wait for it … THE FORKS.
For those who were not blessed enough to watch the game in all its glorious suspense, drama, violence, and hilarity, the Blues won. THAT’S RIGHT. Our baby blues brought it home 28-16.
The addition of the two Old Men in Blue, Trent Barrett and Brett Kimmorley, turned out to be a stroke of brilliance. Kimmorley was all over the field like a man half his age. The addition of Michael Ennis, captain of the good ship giving-away-stupid-penalties, maybe slightly less so.
But let’s talk about what you’re actually interested in: yes, there was a KO. A real one. No (non-literal) shit. After a bit of scuffling in a tackle, Brett White leapt out of his play-the-ball and picked an old school stand-up fight with Hot Old Man Steve Price.
Tragically, this didn’t involve anyone getting shirtless to punch on, which is one of the greatest football traditions ever. What it did involve was about three air swings, then Brett White making perfect contact with Steve Price’s jaw. We swear on our most precious vintage t shirts he was unconscious before he even hit the ground.
And we’re gonna stand up and say … yes, we was kinda shocked. We had always had a vague suspicion that Brett White was more … how do you put it? More a lover, than a fighter.
Pic. Getty Images
Can’t imagine why. Turns out Brett White has a fucking mean right cross, and it’s Steve Price who isn’t much for fisticuffs. Even his Warriors coach Ivan Cleary was terrified about what might happen.
I saw Pricey look to shape up and I thought, ‘What’s he doing?’ I thought, ‘Oh no.’
With all due respect to Pricey I couldn’t imagine him going great in a fight.
Love how he says “all due respect” like it matters. Now that we know Pricey is like a kitten without claws you can say whatever you like Ivan. Go on! Let it out!
And we won’t lie, Brett White kinda won my heart when after the whole scuffle, as Justin Hodges was making snake eyes – we aren’t kidding, he really did it with his hands like Barney from How I met Your Mother – he just licked his lips, mouth all covered in blood, and laughed … it was kind of hot. OOOF. Excuse us now while we hide our faces in shame for enabling violence with our perviness.
But somehow Trent Waterhouse (not to be confused with Trent from Punchy) was the one sent off and fronting the judiciary for running in as third man and tackling the falling unconscious Pricey to try and end the fight. Our boy Trent is now first man to be sent off since Gordie in 2000, and first blues player EVER to be sent off. His mama must be so proud!
Perhaps she can have the title painted onto a plate for the mantle.
(Gordie, on the other hand, is probably at home busily hand-sewing up a storm, whipping up a Trent Waterhouse voodoo doll and sticking pins in its knees, chanting BITCH TOOK MY TITLE).
But we’re putting it out there that Trent had the best of intentions and is getting an unfair rap. Soon as we finish writing this blog and painting our nails, possibly eating a sandwich, we fully intend to start a FREE TRENT campaign.
Don’t worry Waterhouse! WE’RE ON IT!
And if it turns out we’re wrong and Waterhouse was doing something dodgy, Sassy volunteers to spank him for being a Bad Boy. Yes, she really did say that. Her wrongness knows no bounds.
Tell you who’s not getting any help from us though? Oh yes, we’re looking at you Thurston. Don’t-you-walk-away-from-me JT.
As if we weren’t unimpressed enough when Thurston said “go away, you spastic” to Kurt Gidley. Um … spastic? Really, JT? We’re hardly in the position to be holier-than-thou about offensive comments, but we will say this: is it year four now? Have you time-travelled? Update your insults please.
But then we saw your boot making contact with Dave Williams face as he lay on the ground, and we is pissed. YOU KICKED OUR DAVE IN THE FACE!! UNACCEPTABLE!
We are thisclose to issuing a JT death fatwa, like Iran did with Salman Rushdie. Surprisingly, yes, we do know a lot of high profile Mullahs and we aren’t afraid to ask for favours.
Dunno if everyone’s aware of this, but Dave Williams (and no we won’t call him ‘Wolfman’; it’s a shit nickname and we refuse) happens to be the Patron Saint of Errol. As a sidnote, we cannonised him literally 6 months before anyone else knew his name so don’t you dare accuse us of being ‘Wolfman’ bandwagoners.
Anyway, we love Davey. Even though his defence of Greg Inglis was lacking in sections. Sassy maintains it’s because he failed to watch Wiz and Gordie on Monday Night Football presenting the new segment CONTACT CORNER. They specifically taught everyone how to defend Inglis … with role plays and everything! Seriously, if Bellamy didn’t let the boys have MNF tv privileges then he totally dropped the ball.
Anyway. Back to JT. In some ways we’re kinda like the mafia round here: we love chunky gold watches, cannoli, and fur … and we don’t take no one messin’ with our boyz.
So for convenience’s sake, we have drawn up a list of all our adored NRL babies.
So if anyone even THINKS of harming a hair on one of those boys heads, there will be hell to pay fo realz.
Let’s talk about Anthony Watmough. The man was a MACHINE! Played the whole 80 minutes and never looked like tiring. Bitch has endurance. Kinda like the way pre health kick us used to stay out dancing and drinking schooners until 6am. Yes, exactly like that. We were doing it for NSW too.
We know he gets a bit of a bad rap in the league world, but in our personal experience Watmough is a bit of a champ. And by that we mean whenever we have spoken to him he has been awesome and really encouraging of what we do. Which is enough for us to be on Team Watmough.
At this point Kiki would like to point out that this amazing form from Watmough is a direct result of her accidentally offending him at the Beaver tribute dinner last year. She somehow found herself alone with him and somewhat lost for words, and in true Kiki form she blurted out something inappropriate.
K – Hey Watmough…remember when you used to play Origin? And you were heaps good?
A – ……….yes.
K – Those were ummm…good times! *encouraging slap on the arm*
Obviously this was his ‘rock bottom’. He made a commitment to himself he would play like a man possessed and make the Origin team in 09. And he did! THANKS KIKI!
Just imagine how different things could have been if Kiki had made conversation about the weather. That is some Sliding Doors shit right there.
And Watmough teamed up with Ben Creagh to send in Benny for a try, too. ALL THE WAY WITH BENNY CREAGH. And that’s on top of Creagh getting the honour of being sinbinned. Amazing. Shout out to Mama Creagh! We especially enjoy that it was for … well for avoiding getting into a fight.
(All the way with) Benny Creagh was obviously upset when Queenslanders piled into a tackle on Kurt Gidley, so he pushed Justin Hodges off, then … well then he ran away. HEART. Kiki thinks he put in the shove then suddenly had a vision of how fucking terrifying Wayne Bennett would be if he got suspended and had to backpedal like crazy. Either way Benny Creagh gets a membership card to the Steve Price Boxing Club. Look out for it in the post, Ben.
And last of all, Sassy’s dad’s favourite moment of the game: a Queenslander getting so excited at Dallas Johnson’s try that he spilled his beer. We like to think he made exactly the same face when the full-time buzzer sounded. Enjoy:
Thanks to the delicious Cronkster for his caps.