5 

errol’s 12 days of christmas : day eleven

December 24th, 2010

Greetings friends! Yes I kinda sorta missed 4 days in the Chrissie blog plan. Life got in the way and has left me facing Christmas as a huge sad panda. Booooo. But to my delight, AFL has delivered a delightful Christmas present for me in the form of their wang-exposing photo scandal.

I’m a living breathing example of schadenfreude. As a code, I really dislike AFL so this whole drama is just delicious for me. And with all the Serious Litigation, the carefully worded public statements … it’s all so perfectly-organised! Bitches are like Scientologists! I’m worried I’ll start being tailed by a black SUV, my phone will be tapped and Tom Cruise and Andrew Demetriou will magically appear at my door and start issuing veiled threats.

Meanwhile there were some epic lolz provided by this guy, an AFL fan who said we are ‘everything that’s wrong with women and sport’. AWESOME. Almost as good as that time we upset cricket nerds by blogging at Cricket Australia and subsequently ‘ruined cricket’. Good times.

Now, on with the Christmas post.

On the eleventh day of Christmas

Oh Errol gave to me

Footy players trying to model (volume 2)

Now you’ve already seen and heartily loled at volume one. If you haven’t go and read that hilarious shit NOW. For today’s blog I will be demonstrating the following theory- if there’s anything funnier than footy players trying to model, it’s footy players trying to be sexy while trying to model at the same time. HELLO AWKWARD.

Let’s have a look at my favourite sub category in awkward modelling : Naked Footy Players Holding Objects In Front Of Their Crotch. Behold, the hilarity!

Nips Farah cares not for occupational health and safety laws whilst renovating his new duplex.


Tom Learoyd-Lahrs finds riding jodphurs too binding.



This is not what Sandor Earl had in mind when he joined a chain gang.



Beau Ryan shows little respect for his 2010 Best and Fairest award.


Ben Ross finds a novel use for plastic topiary.

Hot damn, don’t footy players love some pube trimming? It’s a wonder they even get time to train. Methinks the boys above will be hoping Santa delivers some whizz bang hair clippers tonight.

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10 

the oh errol awards 2010: the fierce bitch award

October 14th, 2010

Day four, and shit is getting tense in the Errol office. This is the second last Oh Errol award we’re putting up for 2010 and it’s also the meanest. It’s actually the only category in which we can imagine the nominees cutting each other. It’s kind of awesome that way. This, friends, is the Fierce Bitch Award for the Fiercest Bitch in League. Catchy name, huh?

Before you say anything, no IT DOESN’T MEAN THEY’RE GAY. Being a fierce bitch is gender and homo neutral. Angie Harmon is a fierce bitch. Samuel L. Jackson is a fierce bitch. Surprisingly, Meryl Streep is a fierce bitch. Clint Eastwood is a fierce bitch. So is Barack Obama and the Rock and Robert Downey Jr. It’s like being a baller, but with ever-so-slightly more menace.

The easiest way to figure out if someone fits the category of fierce bitch is to put their name in the sentence “It’s Britney … bitch”. If you can imagine them saying it without laughing yourself into hyperventilation, then they are one.

And that sentence pretty much sums up why we love all of these nominees.

ROBBIE ‘NIPS’ FARAH

Never ever mess with a man who owns a schnitzel restaurant. Because:

a) then you won’t get any free schnitzel …. mmmmm schnitzel. Also:

b) that motherfucker has a mean uppercut. Just ask Anthony Watts.

Robbie Farah can pull off a tape headband, berate a referee, cook pizza, milk a penalty without blinking and poke your eye out with his visible nipples. He’s a machine of awesome. It’s Robbie Farah … bitch.

MANU ‘THE BEAST’ VATUVEI

Surely this doesn’t even need an explanation. He’s Manu. He weighs 400 kilos and runs like a cannon. He has two gold teeth and doesn’t need a mouthguard. He’s Manu … bitch.

COOPER ‘ZIP IT’ CRONK

Lastly, the man who inspired this award. Before he took over the Storm Captaincy last year and said those magic words: “Zip it Anthony … ZIP IT”, we didn’t even know footy players could be fierce bitches.

No one bitches out a ref with as much passion as Cooper Cronk (well, maybe Jonathan Thurston, but that doesn’t count if you then get investigated for it). If you’re reading Cooper, we would really like it if you could come down to Errol HQ in the off-season and take over dealing with all of our outstanding debtors and conflict resolution.

He could wear a Madonna-style headset and answer the phone “it’s Cooper Cronk … bitch”.

Now vote, before one of them grabs you by the ear and tells you to zip it.

Pics. Getty Images


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23 

ready, steady, inappropriate flirting!*

August 18th, 2010

Ever watched daytime tv? Of course you have. It’s what sick days are for.

Well this week, two of our Errol faves were guests on that bastion of mid-afternoon entertainment, Ready, Steady, Cook!

Holy cuteness, batman! Hi boys!

And luckily for those of you who are productive members of society, we’re gonna walk you through how it went down.

If you’re unfamiliar with Ready Steady, Cook, one of the most delightful moments of the show is when the insanely touch-feely-fabulous-host Peter Everett calls the guests out of the crowd. Because they don’t just walk to the stage, they have to walk to the stage bringing a small shopping bag of groceries with them, which they use during the show. And for some reason it’s really REALLY hard to look normal while walking down stairs, wearing stage makeup, and holding a single canvas shopping bag.

Today Host Peter is as orange as Shayne Hayne and accentuating it with a bright pink button-down. Rock on, Everett!

First up he calls down Robbie ‘Nips’ Farah from Wests Tigers. Robbie’s carrying his little red bag of ingredients and wearing the tightest shirt in the history of mankind and we can totally all see the nips that have made him famous. WE CAN ALSO SEE HIS SPLEEN. It’s very … Chris Heighington. God knows hino loves a tight tee more than life.

Now, from the amazingly camp way P.Ev screams out “HE’S THE CAPTAIN!” you were probably expecting this:

But no, it’s Nips Farah. For some reason there’s a random girl in a Manly jersey in the crowd. There’s always a Manly fan. According to P.Ev, Nips’ resume goes something like:

“He’s handsome, he’s terrific … he’s an athlete”. Well said, Pete. They have an awkward hug and things are as awkward as a one-legged awkward cowboy trying to ride into Awkward Town on a horse named “I wish there was a fire exit”.

Pete gropes Nips’ biceps while Nips just stands there with his hands clasped over his crotch in the international body language symbol for terror. Protect the genitals!

If you haven’t noticed, yes, P.Ev is kind of chubby and pervy. Basically, he’s us if we were men. Nips shows the crowd what he has in his bag o’ shopping ingredients, and the crowd go nuts for a punnet of potatoes. He pulls out a punnet of dates and P.Ev asks “do you like a good date?”

Of course he does.

Next up Sam Burgess makes his entry with his bag o’ shopping goodies and Peter greets him with a hug and by grabbing his biceps and waving them at the audience. That’s how we greet people, too! Sammy shows off his foodstuffs and the crowd is very suspicious of the tuna, but fucking overjoyed by the fennel.

The sight of Sam Burgess holding a tiny bunch of broccolini in his hand like a single flower and saying “broooccooolayni” is one of the top ten greatest things I’ve ever seen.

He tells the nation that he moved out of home early: “I had to learn myself to cook. I’m very simple but I love cooking.”

The crowd are loling hysterically and you can hear Sam yell out “I MEAN I’M NOT SIMPLE! I JUST COOK SIMPLE FOOD!”

Sammy’s chef partner tells the crowd they’re going to cook seared tuna and a random man in the audience can be heard saying “oh yeaaaah”.

SCP tells the crowd they will also make tuna tartar and Kiki and I argue about whether the random audience dude says “oh baby!” or “oh, dangerous!” Either way, he has really, really strong opinions regarding tuna and the cooking thereof.

Pete and Sam stand around and snuggle for awhile, and Nips Farah puts on an apron. It’s delightful.

Sammy talks about how one time he asked if he could wear tights and ride horseback through the forest as an extra in Russell Crowe’s Robin Hood. Apparently “health and safety reasons prevented it”. Health and safety reasons meaning they had already cast little John.

Then he tells us that apparently, last time his mum came to town she had to stay in Australia for three weeks because of the tornado in Iceland. Tornado, volcano. Potato, Tomato. Whatever.

P.Ev is very concerned about the fact that Sam is single. OH REALLY PETER? YOU ONLY TOLD US TEN TIMES ALREADY. He wants to know “I don’t understand how you’re single being so pleasant!”

Pleasant? That’s quite the compliment, Peter. It’s like the time Kiki’s mum asked her why I was single. Her exact words were “how is Sassy single? She’s a nice girl. And she has a nice figure”. Let’s not go too crazy here. One time she also said I look just like Rosie the hobbit from Lord of the Rings, which is worrying because unlike the other comment, it’s 100% true.

P.Ev picks up his game and calls Sam “very young and handsome”. Then he tells us Sam’s single again and actually yells “WOOHOO!”  The chef minions walk around and cook stuff.

P.Ev wanders over and asks Nips Farah if he’s also lonely. Robbie snaps back NO like a freaked out cat. Clearly he is too busy ripping up herbs for this chit-chattery. He is a very serious young man.

Finally we reach the business end of the show, where the guests taste the chef’s food and the audience votes.

Nips tries an eggplant lasagne, a tartine (IT HAS EGGS! Sam is probably jealous), and he’s really scarfing that shit down. He’s also doing that thing where you point your fork at something and grunt and point and nod with a mouthful of food to signify “this is a truly delicious dish”.

Nips then continues eating, while the camera pans to Sam’s team and their food. Hello Sam’s time to shine! For some reason I feel reasonably confident this is a man who knows his way around a knife and fork. No judgment, I’m obsessed with food too. Like a labrador.

There’s something that involves olives. He randomly says “the olives! the flavour!” then licks his thumb and goes back for seconds. The seared tuna gets an oh yeah of approval, and he may just be the happiest boy in the world right now. We get to the banana parfait dessert and sam literally FIST PUMPS. It’s amazing and heartwarming.

He tells the audience he’ll “go hard” and stuffs his mouth with parfait.

According to the audience, Sam’s team wins and he punches the air with joy. He wins a set of knives, and Nips wins a whole lot of olive oil. Translation: everyone wins!

Just to finish off the show with a final moment of intense awkwardness, Peter Everett thanks Nips for his wonderful charity work, and looks meaningfully at Sam while he says “welcome to Australia. We hope you find happiness here.”

Sam eats a whole eggplant and … credits.

* Alternate title for this post was, in fact: ready, steady …. NIPPLES!

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13 

footy observations: divers, hotpants and coconut ice

July 27th, 2010

Alright, kids, let’s solve Dive Gate once and for all. The Daily Telegraph have done their best to get us the story straight from the mouth of Nips. But to be honest, the story isn’t nearly as interesting as Nips Farah’s regular column in Mx magazine – “EYE OF THE TIGER”, seriously it’s our favourite complimentary weekly public transport-based column. Nonetheless, we choose to believe Nips’ side of the story.

Like our belief that Scott Prince wouldn’t live in an illegal house (he’s too snuggly to lie!) we also believe that Nips, being a Serious and Thoughtful Young Man, wouldn’t take a dive for a penalty. Of course, we were slightly torn when we heard Anthony Watmough was calling ‘dive’, cause God knows we’re Watmough freaks. But while we do enjoy his alleged stern stance on inappropriate outfits at family events – he just has strong opinions about fashion GUYZ - and we also appreciate him being super-supportive every time we’ve seen him, we’re gonna have to disagree on this one. Forgive us, Watmough?

In fact, the only thing we support about Dive Gate 2010 is the Daily Telegraph’s excellent photoshop work. Sure, it’s no intern John John in a sarong … what is? But it’s pretty damn awesome. Almost Kiki-worthy, no?

We are totally printing it out to hang on the wall of the Errol office. We think we might hang it right next to Nips’ appearance in the 2008 Gods of Football calendar, where he channelled Britney Spears.

Sigh, we miss you, pre-crazy Britney.

Now if you’ve jumped on the This Week in League bandwagon, you’ll know that one half of the show is Glen, who’s spent the last four months calling Lote Tuqiri ‘the revelation of the 2010 NRL season’.

(If you don’t know, TWiLeague is the world’s most fanciest sports podcast, and Glen is my most persistent heckler on twitter. Seriously. That shit is out of control).

And I have one thing to say to Glen – WHY DO YOU LIE? After Monday night’s game, we all know beyond the shadow of a doubt that the revelation of the 2010 season is the Chooks’ very own backpacker, Shaun Kenny-Dowall.

Thought I was about to say Todd Carney, right? Nah, he’s always been awesome. Awesome and … occasionally in trouble. But let’s not talk about the Unpleasantness. Todd and his fucking amazing running game are now the proud owners of a Roosters uniform with a pair of shorts so tiny they border on indecent.

Can I just say I am totally on board with the Roosters’ new hotpanted uniform. We all know I hate pants, they’re so binding! I wore a pair of acid-washed denim shorts out on Saturday night and with all the extra leg-freedom, my drunk dancing was at least 10 times more incredible than usual.

Mitchell Pearce apparently has the same opinion – thanks to the CountryRL twitter for giving us the heads up!

What was my point? THE BACKPACKER. Oh yes. I occasionally/sometimes/often criticise his ill-judged passes at vital moments. But I only do it because I can. It’s fine when Roosters fans bemoan the Roosters because we say it with love. Also, he does need to work on his pass choices, so whatevs. What’s important is that with the ball in his hands he’s a footy savant.

Even Kiki is in on the SKD love parade. She started thawing last year, and now all of a sudden she’s sending me messages that just say SKDDDDDD OMGGGGGG like a super-happy footy-watching lolcat.

Confession: we may even have given the backpacker a new nickname. In honour of his four tries, and how endearingly flushed he got scoring them, he shall now be known as pink man. PINK MAN. Doesn’t he sound like an awesome superhero with really good circulation? Pink Man might even have usurped the crown of pinkest man in league from our past winner, Anthony Quinn.


All of a sudden, seeing Mitch Aubusson and Shaun Kenny-Dowall in the same photo, I feel like a coconut ice.

Really it was just one more proof that Monday Night Football is one of God’s greatest gifts to his children. Last week, I got to stand on the hill at the Lilyfield Rectangle and watch Benji Marshall set up that last awesome Tigers try, this week I watched my boys grab third spot on the ladder. Add in Gorden Tallis bein’ Gordie, and Brandy Alexander coming close to a rage-induced stroke at the video ref and it’s pretty much heaven.

Haters to the left, and Roosters love in the comments pls.

Roosters pics. Getty Images

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a little dose of monday awkward

June 21st, 2010

Never read Errol before? Then you might not realise that we often find ourselves in awkward situations. Like the time we had to interview John Cartwright in a food court outside MacDonalds.

Or the time I had to go out on the field at Leichhardt Oval after a NSW Cup game to interview the players. Instead of walking around to the big gate, I decided to just step over the little fence in front of the Grandstand …. and got stuck on it. Literally. Right leg on the field, left leg in the stands, and the crotch of my opaque tights snagged on a curl of wire on the top of the fence. Have you ever tried to unsnag the crotch of a pair of tights from a mini-hurricane fence in front of two NSW Cup teams, while holding a giant video camera bag in one hand and a tripod in the other? It was … elegant.

Apparently we have some kind of embarassing NSW cup reggies mojo going on at Leichhardt Oval in particular cause it keeps getting Kiki too. When the Tigers played Wests she tripped over her thong running to get an interview and fell face-first onto the concrete walkway in front of a terrified and aghast Robbie Farah.

When the Tigers played the Central Coast Centurions she found herself standing in line at the kiosk window waiting for a snack. All of a sudden she realised – and if you know Kiki you’ll know that this made her really, really happy – that there were cheesedogs on the menu.

If Tim Sheens is reading this it must be like looking in a mirror.

CHEESEDOGS!

She exclaimed with joy, just as the man at the front of the queue turned around to leave and came face to face with her.

You know that moment when a person turns around and you realise you recognise them, so say “Hi! [Insert name here]! It’s you!”  Well, it was just like that.

Except that the man, friends, wasn’t a friend of ours. It was Tim Sheens. And, well, we’ve never met Tim Sheens. Also, Tim Sheens is generally known as either Tim Sheens, or ‘Sheensy’, no? And no, she didn’t say ‘SHEENSY’. Instead she literally yelled CHEESEDOGS in Tim Sheens’ face. He looked mortified. It was mortifying. And now, forevermore, we will call him Tim “Cheesedogs” Sheens.


… nyello, Cheesedogs speaking?
Pic. Getty Images

And now we have a new Special Moment to add to the Big Book of Errol Awkward: the time Sassy sms-ed Ryan Girdler. Remember Girds? The Penrith champion, ladies’ fave, former tv star and generally super-nice human being? the boys at Rugby League Player mag kindly let us do an interview with him for the next issue, knowing that we think he’s talented/lovely/interesting etc. We couldn’t get him on the phone to begin with, so I saved his number to try again.


Pic. Getty Images

That weekend, a good friend hit a bit of a rough spot: the kind that needs cocktails and hugs and other things of that nature. So I wrote a message that I’m 99% sure said:

“Hi babe, obviously I’m a bit out of the loop, but sending you all my love darlin xx s”

THEN I SENT IT TO RYAN GIRDLER. KILL ME NOW. At least I didn’t realise for like five days so I had five days of blissful ignorance. Why am I so embarassing?

Even Mitchell Pearce, the Patron Saint of Looking Awkward in Photos, doesn’t have any answers.
Pic. Getty Images

But anyway, let’s talk about footy and how it totally soothed the pain of being a really embarassing human.

My chookies were playing the bye this week (it was a close finish, but they kicked its ass) so I could watch the games without stressing and goddamn they were good. Not good if you are a fan of: ball control, defence, good refereeing, or the Sharks, but good for me.

Dragons vs Sharks, Sea Eagles vs Rabbitohs, Tigers vs Raiders: three of the most exciting games I’ve watched this year.

And apparently for the Tigers it was one of the best games to play all year, because Nips Farah got so excited he actually ran to the crowd for high-fives. NIPS TOUCHED PEOPLE! He never touches people! It’s proof that even after your team murders eight tries in eighty minutes, miracles can still happen at the Lilyfield Rectangle.

Special love from that game goes to Chris Heighington, for being a beast and playing like one; to Nips, for bein’ Nips; and to Jarrod Croker and Joel Thompson for representing for the baby Raiders.

Whee! I helped!

Pic. Getty Images

Footy also helped because, as always, awkward shit happened. Awkward and hilarious shit, mainly thanks to Jason ‘Flossy’ Nightingale. Not only did he get completely outraged after a Sharks player tackled him off the field and kneed him in the buttock, he then scored one of the top ten most hilarious tries in history. Trapped between two Sharks, he looked around shiftily, bit his lip, reached out his arm like he was trying to stealthily steal something from a museum, and gently puffed the ball onto the line. It was pure Flossy magic. We rewound it and rewatched it four times.


…. Yoink!


Did I do good?

Screencaps thanks to the awesomeness that is Australia Votes.

Happy Monday, kids!

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18 

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.

MOS WIN MATCHES

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.

LESSONS FROM WAYNE PEARCE

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?

THE ACTION IN THE STANDS

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:

HI D.T! WE LOVE YOU!

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.

IT’S A MOZTRAVAGANZA!

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.

THE SHOWDOWN

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!

THE MONEY

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

SPONSOR THE KANGAROOS

All pictures Getty Images

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

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21 

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:

GO HERE

All pics via Getty Images.

older posts

12 

footy observations: the feel-good edition

October 27th, 2009

So you know how we can be narky bitches? Some things make even our black hearts overflow with joy. And two of those things are happening RIGHT NOW. Thanks to some pretty fabulous boys, October and November have quickly become my favourite non-footy time of the year.

TIMMY MANNAH DOES THE WORM

Remember last year we told y’all about Justin Poore, Nathan Hindmarsh and the boys and the awesome work they were doing for Village of Hope in Rwanda?


Pic. Gregg Porteous via news.com.au

Well apparently it was enough to inspire J.Poore to single-handedly try and provide enough content to fill up the Daily Telegraph’s ‘Scandal-Free Back Page’ for the whole of 2009. Because using his giant front-rowers arms to build homes for the Rwandans still suffering from the genocide of the 1990s wasn’t enough, he set up Poore Rwanda, which has already raised more than 30 grand towards the goal of building five homes for families in need, AND has taken another bunch of Eels players over to do their bit.

Um …. are you speechless? Yeah, me too. Pretty sure when I first heard about all of this I had to pause, put my cereal spoon down (why yes, I was having cereal for dinner. What of it?), and the only words I could manage to spit out were: “YOU MAKE ME WANT TO BE A BETTER MAN”.

Seeing the work J.Poore, Joel Reddy, Joe Galuvao, Tim Mannah and Kris Keating were doing on this trip is almost too much, you know?

I’m like a five year old, I don’t handle too much excitement well. Like the time in Las Vegas when I was so drunk excited at the prospect of seeing Elton John live at Caesar’s Palace I almost lost my damn mind. Kiki literally had to tell me to STOP SKIPPING THROUGH THE CASINO. YOU LOOK LIKE AN INSANE PERSON. It may have been because I was wearing a leopard print skirt at the time. I’m not sure. But I do know she was thisclose to giving me a flash of Phenergen and sending me back to the Hard Rock.

So you can imagine what I looked like when I saw the first pics of the boys over in Rwanda. Not just being adorable and doing good … but being fucking hilarious and awesome and Oz. They’re pretty much international ambassadors for Aussie culture.

Which makes sense, really, because if there’s one thing Australian men always ALWAYS do when their overseas, it’s roam in packs. Seeing an Aussie man alone overseas is like spotting a Tasmanian Tiger. And it’s the same with footy players – where there’s one, there’s always more. Usually also wearing screen-printed hoodies or team tracksuit pants. Cause that’s how they roll.

And the Eels boys over in Rwanda didn’t just have the ‘group travel thing down’ … they’re also ambassadors for Aussie fashionz. Check it out:

Joel Reddy displays the national costume of all Aussie boys when overseas: boardshorts.

Timmy Mannah wears his heart on his bucket hat. MATE DID YOU KNOW I’M AUSTRALIAN? IT SAYS SO ON MY HAT/TOWEL/BOARDSHORTS/HAVAIANAS.

And is that a chesty bonds I spy over there on the left on Justin Poore? A CHESTY BONDS LOOKING ON WHILE TIM MANNAH DOES THE WORM?

Excuse me while I die of joy.

So far, Hope Rwanda has built 30 houses for homeless families in three years, and if you wanna give them a little helping hand, maybe head over to HOPE:Rwanda or Poore Rwanda … you know you want to.

ps. Welcome home, boys!

Rwanda pics copyright www.hoperwanda.org


MOUSTACHES ARE FOR WINNERS

And yep, that’s the other reason why October and November make me happy in my heart … and in my pants. ONLY FIVE SLEEPS TILL MOVEMBER!


Nyello, I have an awesome mo on the line … will you accept the charges?

All of us Errol girls are complete bandits for a man with a moustache. Which, to be honest, you should be able to tell considering that we have Errol Flynn and his dapper little moustache rocking out on our website banner. HI EZ!

I love any man who’s willing to give up vanity and be part of Movember. Cause those first two weeks of trying to grow a mo are seriously bleak. They’re the facial hair equivalent of those awkward teenage years, where you have to wander around your workplace trying to look authoritative and competent despite the fact that you have four or five tentative, sad little moustache hairs sitting on your lip, and everyone looking at you like they’re not quite sure whether you’re doing Movember, or have just gone through a bad breakup and given up on life.

Plus you can’t wear a tracksuit of any kind for at least a fortnight cause, with the creepy little half-mo, it makes you look like a teenage meth dealer.

The upside, of course, is that at the end of four weeks you have a fucking sweet moustache that makes me girls go crazy for you, and you get to raise much-needed funds and awareness for men’s depression and prostate cancer. [I'd like to add that this will be our first ever Movember where one of us is actually going out with a mo-grower. That lady is me and I could not be more excited *waves at Suchy* - lozzy]

So any man who signs up for Movember has our respect. Also, they can feel free to come up and say hi if they see me in the street and I’ll give them complimentary gropes.

Last year we celebrated Movember by running our own campaign with everyone’s favourite intern, John Williams … can you believe we raised almost TWO AND A HALF GRAND? I seriously still can’t believe it.

This year, we’re not running our own Mo-team, but we’re doing something almost as good. We’re throwing our support behind the Kangaroos.

Because you all read our blog over on She Knows the Rules (you do … right? RIGHT? Hmmmm?) you already know that this year the Kangaroos are doing Movember.

Finally! Our dream of footy players being forced to participate in Movember has come true. Apparently they’re actually competing to see who can grow the best mo, but I think we all know already that’s gonna be Cameron Smith. There’s no way that bitch is gonna let anyone beat him. THIS IS HIS EVENT. HE FUCKING OWNS IT. If there was a Four Nations Tournament for hair-growing he would be captain, for reals. With Sam Thaiday as his deputy.

Cam Smith has already hinted he plans to grow a handlebar, also known as the Merv Hughes. Good choice, by the way.

But in case the rest of the boys are undecided, I’ve got a few suggestions. 

Robbie Farah is clearly a special for the Errol Flynn. Nothing would go better with his neatest-hair-in-the-world than a dapper little Errol mo.

I think he’s got the fashion sense to pull it off too. When the Wests Tigers media officer asked him about Kangaroos camp, he gave us this gem about Royce Simmons:

Roycey is always Roycey…tries to be funny but really he isn’t. We always laugh but what he doesn’t know is that we are laughing at him, not with him. He has promised me he’ll let me take him shopping while we’re over here because I’m sick of his crap polo shirts and ugly brown shoes that he always wears. He must have 10 pairs of them!

Oh, Robbie. 

I’ve also decided nothing would go better with Nathan Hindmarsh’s Russell Hammond hair than a Dennis Lillee.

And Billy Slater, aka Errol’s Newest Footy Crush … well, my spidey senses tell me he can probably grow about as much of a mo as I can. Which before you ask IS NOT VERY MUCH. God. What kind of girl do you think I am? So instead of suggesting a mo, I’m just gonna FedEx him this:

If you want to sign up, or sponsor the Kangaroos, get over to the Movember site.

 

FOUR NATIONS FOR WITHDRAWALS

And probably the thing that makes us happiest: THERE’S STILL FOOTY ON. Thank God, cause it means we don’t have to go straight from four days of footy a week to none. Cold turkey is a bitch. Instead we’ve got the Four Nations to ease us out of the regular season.

And if you’re like me, you watched the Four Nations games on replay on Foxtel. The way the lord intended. Unless I’m getting home at 5am … I don’t want anything to do with the sunrise. It’s uncivilised and unhealthy and I refuse to have anything to do with it. Just one of the many reasons why I’m a writer.

To be completely truthful, it was sort of hard to get up at midday, but that’s not the point.


Pic. Getty Images

The point is it was worth it. Errol favourite Brett Morris scoring on debut for the Kangaroos AND first try of the game. GO B.MOZ GO! I can say with full certainty it was our support during the season that made this possible. Some may say it was thanks to Cameron Smith’s brilliant offload and Greg Inglis’ excellent run, but I KNOW BETTER. That shit was all thanks to Errol.

Yes, he also … well, he sort of fell over and missed out on scoring another try earlier in the game:

“I was trying to set up an in and away on the fullback and I went to step off my foot and I fell down a hole. I put my foot down … tripped over and looked like an idiot. It wasn’t too good.”

Whatever. I maintain that was only because his legs are so long. Like Bambi. IT’S NOT HIS FAULT, PEOPLE.

Apparently B.Moz’s appeal is international, too, because the Sky commentators can’t get enough of him. As far as I can tell, the only time they stopped talking about Fui Fui Moi Moi and Jared Warea-Hargreaves was when they spent 10 minutes waxing lyrical about B.Moz. Isn’t he fast? Did you know he started the year in reserve grade? And he’s only only 23! And on debut!

Um, of course we know. We’re way ahead of the curve, bitches.

Till next time, kittens x

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30 

bandwagons, billy love and kangaramoos

October 20th, 2009

k

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)

older posts

20 

footy observations: grand finals and prison breaks

October 1st, 2009

Darlings we have been so busy! Have you been reading us on She Knows the Rules and 2DayFM? I hope so. And in the meantime all of a sudden it’s Grand Final time. We are overjoyed/heartbroken. As in … what do we do when it’s over? I’m already completely baffled about what to do this Saturday night with no Super Saturday on tv. Is this when you’re meant to go out? Like … with the young people? Cause God knows I refuse to start watching soccer. THAT WOULD JUST BE MASOCHISTIC. If that’s the alternative then I’m seriously considering taking up cross-stitch or a valium addiction or something equally thrilling and productive instead.


Sup Papua! (Pic. via News Limited / the Daily Telegraph)

So in the interest of delaying the end of footy season a lil bit longer, let’s talk about the Prime Ministers XIII. Or as Kiki keeps accidentally calling them, the PM’S XI. She cares not for the wingers! 11 players only!

We were all over this business the second it was announced, because apparently we have EXACTLY THE SAME TASTE as K.Rudd. Every time he picks this team he ends up putting in some of our fave boys who we could’ve sworn no one but us had noticed. It’s … serendipity, or something. We are totally psychically connected. Call me Kevin! We can shop together!

This year he picked out Terry ‘T.Camps’ Campese, beloved by everyone at the Errol office, especially after that time he threw a ball at Dean Young’s head. He also picked the frontrunner for Oh Errol’s Neatest Man in League award 2009: Robbie Farah.

HI ROBBIE! So neat! So efficient! So focussed! He’s like some kind of … Robbiebot. A Robbiebot in a Kangaroos training shirt. A Robbiebot … with visible nipples? Evidently they’re using the latex manufacturer to make the Robbiebot as they used to make the Batman outfits back when George Clooney played Batman.

HOLY PLASTIC NIPPLES BATMAN!

And the boys were too good for the Kumuls. They took out the game 42-18, which, to be honest, I’d be pretty damn happy with. The PNG boys are kinda badass. Apparently they’re also a bit prone to a spear tackle, and I can only assume they’re glad they didn’t injure anyone cause we Errol girls can be terrifying when someone messes with one of our Errol boyz.


Luckily, Dimples Dugan came home with his dimples in tact.

Just one teeny tiny problem. Um …. so while the game was going on, they kind of … well, this is awkward. How do you say this, exactly? PNG lost some prisoners. Happens all the time right? A few wardens go on strike, 54 inmates cut a hole in the fence, and all of a sudden they get away because the police are busy guarding a footy match. Whatever. COULD HAPPEN TO ANYONE. Prisoners really wanted to go to the game too, kk?


Everyone in this picture loves footy.

And after captaining the team last year, the awesome that is Nathan Hindmarsh was left out of the PM’s squad. Mainly, this is probably because he has to, you know, play a Grand Final. But something tells me he’s pretty happy to stay in Sydney and chill with his boys. Hindy be pimpinnn.

And yes, by ‘his boys’, I mean Matt Keating and Feleti Mateo. NO, NOT YOU LUKE BURT! YOU STAY OVER THERE IN THE CORNER ALONE. I DON’T CARE IF YOU HAVE A BOO BOO.

Plus it means Hindy gets to enjoy the rampant Parra fever that’s gripped Sydney at the moment.


THE HAYNE TRAIN WILL HAUNT MY DREAMS.
Pic. Justin Lloyd.

Don’t people love a bandwagon? If I was a little bit kinder, I might describe it the way the Herald Sun did:

Astounded by the rush of support from previously latent fans, Parramatta officials are still devising a plan to accommodate an expected throng of 20,000 partygoers should they complete a fairytale premiership.

CEO Paul Osborne is hoping to present the team to the faithful at Parramatta Stadium, which has seating for 22,000 and is capable of hosting thousands more on-field.

PREVIOUSLY LATENT FANS. What a great phrase for all those incredibly annoying people on facebook who haven’t uttered a WORD about footy all year now littering my feed with 85 updates on how they are sooooo happy Parra are in the finals. I’m glad you’re supporting league and all but YOUR STATUS UPDATES ARE ANNOYING. STOP IT IMMEDIATELY.


Pic. Gary Graham

Obviously this doesn’t apply if you are this guy, from the Daily Telegraph website, who has turned his Holden Commodore into a Parra Eels tribute. That is fucking amazing and he can do whatever he likes, even if that involves multiple annoying status updates.

Meanwhile down in Melbourne – as far as I can tell – the Storm threw an open training session so that Melbourne fans from far and wide could come and meet Billy Slater. That’s all that happened, right?

He’s like …. the people’s princess. He’s totally the Princess Di of footy. They love him! Even I have a weird fondness for Billy Slater and we all know that I hate everyone. What can I say? He won me over a) with his lovely skin and b) when everyone hated him for that brief period back in 2008. I am contrary like that.


Father Bob baptises Billy with holy water in a Gatorade bottle. Even God loves Billy Slater!

I can’t wait till Billy starts opening hospital cancer wards and arriving at Gala events in show-stopping one shouldered blue gowns.

Then, of course, there’s the other reason Hindy needed to stay in town: Grand Final breakfast. Also known as A Great Day for Sassy. I’ve already discussed how much I love seeing a footy player in a suit. I’ve said it before but it’s mesmerising. There’s something delightful about seeing someone look so uncomfortable … you know?


Exhibit A: buttons don’t usually go there, right?

Pic. Phil Hillyard

And this year Hindy made the whole thing even more enjoyable with the Nathan Hindmarsh comedy hour. (He’s available for birthdays/functions/corporate retreats if you’re wondering. Deposit non-refundable).


Pic. Phil Hillyard

According to Hindy:

“I think Haynesy wrote in Cosmopolitan magazine that his body is a blessing,” said Hindmarsh at the NRL grand final breakfast on Thursday.

“That is enough motivation for me to try harder on the field.”

And doesn’t Ben Smith love it? He’s an easy laugh, like us. Heart.

Meanwhile Dan Dan Mortimer was apparently writing during the brekkie, and now thanks to Friday’s Daily Telegraph, we know that it is. (Hint: it’s not, as I suspected, a note reading DO YOU WANT TO SKIP DOUBLE P.E. THIS AFTERNOON? with two little ticky-boxes marked ‘yes’ and ’no … cause I’M A LOSER’. 

But the Eels of 2009 looked as though they were headed for a Sunday afternoon barbecue as players joked and giggled their way through yesterday’s Grand Final Breakfast at Darling Harbour’s Convention Centre.

Nathan Hindmarsh pulled faces at the 650-strong audience and laughed about his loose shorts, Jarryd Hayne made gags about Hindmarsh, Fuifui Moimoi smiled as he hid from Fox Sports’ cameras, while Daniel Mortimer wrote a note, which Hindmarsh stole and gave to coach Daniel Anderson.

“Yes, you can have some water, Daniel,” Anderson said.

Don’t you love it? I love it.

In fact, the only person I can think of who loves GF breakfast more than I do is Fui Fui Moi Moi. Just look at him, so full of love!


Pic. Phil Hillyard

Apparently also not really able to tie a tie, but conveniently there’s no tie in a footy uniform, is there? Also BET FELETI TOTALLY LOVES DOING IT. Makes him feel needed.


Pic. Phil Hillyard

Which brings us to tips. You already know who we want to win (or you should know if you’ve been reading She Knows the Rules).

But we mean actual tips. Shit we’d put money on.

Kiki says the Storm. She says they’ve got too much finals experience, they’re soming off the motivation of a stinging lost in last year’s GF, and also, they are pure evil. Her reasoning is that you don’t get a happy ending two years in a row.

I say Parra. And I say this with full disclosure that I’m tipping with my heart, not my head. Parra are – like us – delightfully inconsistent. But like us, sometimes the battlers come out on top. I think that Parramatta are motivated and feeling blessed enough by the Gods and the NRL judiciary to go into the game with enough confidence to throw the ball around and really freak Melbourne out. And with a style of attack that’s only a few weeks old, I think Melbourne might crack.

Lozzy refuses to put in a tip and explanation because she just started a swishy new job yesterday and is “so compeltely fucking exhausted” from being nice to strangers/trying to find the bathroom/getting public transport/dealing with IT that she cannot even talk.

In the meantime, email me with enquiries for the Nathan Hindmarsh comedy hour. I take a 10% commission. Hindy’s totally cool with it.

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