So … I guess I should talk Roosters. Cruelly defeated by the Warriors on the weekend just the day after they found out their coach Freddy was getting the boot. Can’t that result be reversed somehow? Emotional distress? That always worked for me on exams in high school. That and period pain.

Sassy on her way to the SFS

Cause my chookies straight up deserved to win that game. Not just because I really REALLY needed a win for the sake of my sanity. Somehow, even though my boys are at the bottom of the ladder, I’m still managing to get up every day and have a shower and do my hair. For now, anyway. I’m not quite at crazy-trolley-pushing-cat-lady yet.

BUT THAT DAY MAY COME SOON. Just so you know. A few more weeks of the kind of shit season the Roosters are having this year and I just may lose my damn mind. If you see me shuffling around Bondi Junction with a crappy old fm radio sticky-taped together and blasting Phil Collins, try not to be alarmed.

More like my babies played with heart. People love calling the Roosters sell-outs almost as much as the Errol girls love a bevvie … but my boys proved em wrong. Sadly, that still ended in a loss. Excuse me while I weep softly for a few moments.

And I can call them my babies, because they are all So Tiny. Tiny like macaronis! Apparently their average age is only 21. I say ‘apparently’ cause clearly there is no way I’m getting out my calculator and figuring that out. Just believe it or I will kick you in the shins.

^ Sad Roosters.

So it’s no wonder I feel kinda big sisterly about my chicklets. And seeing their disappointed faces after the last-minute loss …. my heart broke. For reals. I was gutted like they’d just lost a grand final. Fitzy looked like he had lived through five liftetimes of pain, and when Mitchell Pearce was interviewed I think he almost shed a tear. Usually only Jonathan Thurston does that.

I shouldn’t admit this, but I may also have fought back a tear, In my defence, that was probably cause I’m on a the Errol health kick and my body’s freaking the fuck out now that I don’t have any fatty carbs in my system. I’m like an addict in withdrawals. I almost cry everytime I see people eating pasta on tv. PASTA, HOW I MISS YOUUUUU.

It’s just lucky there were some rays of footy light to ease me through the Sunday afternoon blues.

In amongst all the drama about Freddy leaving (and taking his footies with him thanksverymuch) and Brian Smith being hired as the 2010 coach … everyone was asking ex-Newcastle players what they thought of Smith. Kirk Reynoldson chatted to a reporter and gave us this gold:

“I’d trust Shane Warne with my wife more than I would trust Brian Smith.”

… Well that’s just unnecessary, don’t you think, Kirk?

So … obviously not a big fan of Brian Smith. But more importantly, do you know HOW unimpressed he is with him? UNIMPRESSED ENOUGH TO MAKE JOKES ABOUT SHANE WARNE AND HIS TEXT MESSAGING INFIDELITY. I like to think that in no other sport would this be a totally normal way to explain how you feel about your ex-coach. We love you, rugby league.

And then Robbie Farah turned up on the tv to turn my frown upside down. When the Cowboys scored a try in … what? 10 seconds after coming onto the field? It looked like the Tiges were going down. But after Anthony Watts unexpectedly punched Robbie Farah in the face in a scrum … it was on, bitches. The next time there was a scrum, the rest of the Tigers split it in two so that Robbie could square up for some revenge.

Who knew Robbie Farah had it in him? He always seems like such a Serious Thoughtful Young Man. Now we know that he’s a Serious Thoughtful Young Man, who, given the chance, can lay five awesome left uppercuts on someone. Robbie’s got fists of fury! That bitch was going down. Sure they were both sent off, but it was glorious while it lasted.

Watts told the media he wasn’t sure how many Tigers were punching him in the scrum cause there were lots … oh, honey, no. There was just the one. Well, I guess it could be three if you count Robbie and his two fists. How did you know that was exactly what would cheer me up Robbie Farah? I love a sin-binning!

Sassy likes mah headband? SCORE.
Pic. Mark Nolan

And when the boys came back from the bin, Robbie was talking smack and wearing a rocking retro headband, and Anthony Watts looked suspiciously like he had been stung in the face by a thousand bees. Daaaaamn. Bitch looked beat down.

I also shouldn’t admit this, but when Robbie unleashed on the field, I actually said “… I have a ladyboner AND a footy boner”. I know this cause Kiki told me. That bitch has the memory of an elephant sometimes. *cough* Anyway. What can I say? I have a dirty dirty weakness for footy violent times. It’s one of my (many) shames.

And from there the Tigers were full of excitement and Benji Marshall magic and all that is good and right in Leichhardt. That’s right, their win was pretty much all thanks to the fight. You can’t argue with facts. I was wearing my labcoat when I typed that and everything.

But the best news of all? INTERN JOHN JOHN’S FAMOUS. Well, of course he is. He’s Errol’s favourite intern. But he’s also in Big League this week. *waves to John-John*

Obviously we kinda hate that in the headline they call him “the Wolfbrother”. His proper name is INTERN JOHN JOHN, and his brother is called the HOT PIONEER, kthanks. But we love when people give him raps.

“I’m not aiming for the limelight or anything. I’m just happy to go out there and do my job and play good footy,” he says.

“As long as the boys around me are recognising that and knowing I’m busting my arse for them, then that’s the most reward you can get. You want your team-mates and your coaches to be happy with your performances.”

WHY SO HUMBLE BB? After all he’s an Errol superstar. We’re just sad they didn’t use any of our quotes in the Big League article. I can’t believe that the magazine’s readers don’t wanna know that JJ is an expert limbo contestant, always puts love hearts in our lattes, rocks a pair of purple spangly hotpants at office parties … or THAT HE GREW US A MOUSTACHE FOR MOVEMBER.

Poor journalism!

After the success of the Harvey Norman Women in League round, and before the next Origin match, the lovely folks at the NRL and One Community threw the last Women in League dinner for 2009. And, somehow, the Country Rugby League were kind enough to ask us along as their guests. I know, right? How nice are they? It makes no sense. Maybe they saw us in some of our Mary Kate Olsen-ish hobo outfits and thought we were probably in need of some free food and drink, and maybe a roof over our heads. 

The event was up at Magenta Shores, where the Blues boys are staying for their Origin camp. If nothing else this should end those annoying ‘NSW are pampered princesses’ comments cause … well I’m pretty sure pampered princesses don’t stay in resorts that smell like swamp. THERE. WE SAID IT. The resort is lovely, but still, it’s unnerving.

We want to say a big HI BOYS to the high priests of rugby league, David Gallop and Geoff Carr. Thankyou so much for the chats and the encouragement, let’s be best friends, call us every day.

First of all we have a huge complaint: why did no one mention on the invite that there might be tears? There should be a little WATERPROOF MASCARA warning right under where it says ‘Dress code: smart casual”. Between mains and dessert Mario Fenech interviewed the irrepressible Daisy, a league volunteer of 57 years. FIFTY-SEVEN YEARS. When he asked her what inspired her to support kids’ footy, her answer was ‘just seeing their effort to get those little legs all the way down the field”. We knowww, Daisy. Nothing cuter than little kids playing footy … remember how much we fell in love with Jacko in Orange? Her passion was enough to get us teared up, and we think Mario was choking back a few too.

We also really enjoyed that she turned Mario’s thank you kiss into a mouth-on-mouth moment. To be honest he’s not really our type (we know you won’t be offended, Fenech) but what a minx. Call us, Daisy. We’ll go out on the town.

To turn the night into a WiL-Origin extravaganza, the organisers sent one lucky Origin player to each table … except ours. Discrimination! Either discrimination, or somehow the players got wind of this and bribed someone to make sure they didn’t have to eat with the Errol girls. Instead we sat with ErrolSuperStaaah Bert. Sure he’s great company but if he’s given us Swine Flu we will be pissed.

If you’re wondering who gets the most love in the Blues team, it’s a tie between Robbie Farah and Craig Wing. When those two were sent to their tables, the crowd damn near lost their minds. Bitches are hits! One table even called over Dave Williams and his rapidly fading fairy floss beard to take their pics with Wingy. Um, this is a Kangaroo winger. Not a photo monkey! Can’t they rope in the Daily Telegraph photog for this shit? Poor Dave.

In other news now that the pink dye is fading, Dave isn’t so much fairy floss as coconut ice. Under the pink is a big ol layer of white beard. We couldn’t figure out if the beard is a fashion crime or a tasty delicious snack. Sadly we have no updates from Dave’s life for you because to be quite honest we couldn’t look at him without laughing, let alone carry on a conversation.

So let’s talk about the rest of the Blues.

Obviously Kiki is overwhelmed with joy at her Dragons boys representing NSW, and was even more joyous when Justin Poore strolled in, smiled and said hi … all of his own volition! We didn’t even force him to be nice! It’s always comforting to know someone has read Errol but still isn’t terrified of us.

Put down your flippers Monas! You’re playing Origin!

We were also delighted to see Joel Monaghan in the squad as a shadow player. As he walked in we spontaneously yelled MONAS WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? and rushed in for the sort of big emotional hug that you usually see at the Arrivals terminal in Sydney aiport. Not only is he the funniest man in the NRL, he also looks ever so dapper in a suit. It’s not his fault he forgot to bring shoes to match. Maybe he just doesn’t like wearing them, like me? I DON’T LIKE TO BE CONFINED! I’M A FREE SPIRIT! LOZZY SAYS SO!

Incidentally I somehow overlooked the fact that he would be there. Why? I don’t know. I am an idiot. But my subconscious somehow knew, because on Wednesday morning I went to stay ‘Origin’ and accidentally said ‘Monagin’ instead. IT’S LIKE I’M PSYCHIC. I HAVE A FIFTH SENSE.

Trent Barrett’s selection was quite the suprise, and truthfully we have been fairly ambivalent about it. There were tears and arguments in the Errol office, till eventually work experience boy Lachie used his one good arm and shoulder to get out the butcher’s paper and got us to brainstorm our way back to love and understanding.

Flirty, thirty and thriving!

Sure we were disappointed that the NSW selectors didn’t stick with their ‘new blood’ selection policy, and heartbroken that Errol retro fave T.Camps isn’t in Origin II, but there are pluses.

Universal truth: it’s not easy to pull off anger while holding flippers.

Pluses like since Barrett is in the team, we now have an Origin rep who is OLDER THAN US. But four years. Hurrah! Finally! We’re sick of those baby blue bastards rubbing their youth in our faces.

The intimacy helps me cope with the disappointment.

And the bright side of Hot Bitch Cooper missing out on selection is that we didn’t pass out from lust over the entree at the Women in League dinner. God I am so glass-half-full today. I almost make myself sick.

Instead we decided to chat up Craig Bellamy and see if he really is White Goodman. Remember that post? … good times). To our incredible disappointment he’s … likeable. GOD. How inconvenient. Likeable and charming in a well-fitting suit. I would even say he’s rather … dapper. DAMN YOU BELLAMY. Doesn’t he realise we’re trying to hate the Storm? Selfish bastard.

We also discovered Glenn Stewart looks pretty sharp with his new blonde hair (keep it Glenn! We like it) and that Anthony Watmough is an awesome and supportive cheerleader for women in league and in the media (and especially us, bless his heart).

And in true Errol fashion we managed to embarass ourselves. As the boys left for their villas, Kiki gripped Justin Poore by the shoulder and fervently announced in a stage whisper: “I’m so proud of you, Justin“. She really is invested in her Dragons boys. And the only think she could manage to say to Robbie Farah was to yell HI ROBBIIIEEEE in his face.

Worst of all: we got burned by Mario Fenech. No shit, kids. As we were chatting to him he told us “well you two are .. characters”. And when we protested that was ambiguous and kinda mean he followed it up with “…. well I was trying to be nice”.

THAT WAS NICE? MARIO FENECH TOTALLY DISSED US. SEE IF WE PLUG YOUR SOON-TO-BE-LAUNCHED WEBSITE THEFALCON.COM NOW.

Pics thanks to the gorgeous BS and his blog, Kiki’s iPhone and the Sydney Morning Herald (David Williams).

We’re in the midst of a Very Important fortnight in the world of fantasy league, with both our teams going head to head with Suchy’s team Naiqama’s Driver. I mean in different rounds obvs, not like the Wildcats and the Hotties have come together to form an Oh Errol Supergroup. Like The Young Divas!

This is serious bizness, since part of the reason we’re all up in fantasy league is to psych out our guy friends and/or beat them. That’s the second time I’ve referenced A League of Their Own on Errol by the way. I can’t wait for the day I have reason to use ‘You look like a penis with a little hat on’ and make it three. Make it happen, Darren Lockyer!

Suchy in particular takes his fantasy league/beating Errol teams so seriously that whilst at the gym on Friday evening, he realised he’d forgotten to make a trade and stopped in the middle of his workout to go home and sort it out. AMAZING. This is the kind of dedication we’re up against. I’d like to say we’d do the same thing, but we would never be at the gym in the first place.

THE WILDCATS

Ok, I normally don’t look after the business end of the Wildcats. Why? Because there’s a few players I don’t know/can never remember. SHUT UP. I am much more comfortable with the Hotties, but this week I did do some rearranging of the Wildcats. While trying to make room for Hot Bitch Cooper’s longawaited return, I got confused and ditched Kevin Gordon, who Sassy had just given a massive wrap to. I’M SORRY KEVIN. I FORGOT WHO YOU WERE. I am an idiot.

The Wildcats only managed 825 points. Suchy beat us by like, 160. DAMMIT.

Captain T.Camps gave us 46 points (and that’s double points for captains. Lucky for Tez I just can’t get mad at him), and ex-captain Robbie Farah scored an amazing 108. Though you wouldn’t know it looking at the post-game pics:

Guys? Herro? Is this coz I was shit at being a captain? THAT WAS ONE TIME.

Unfortunately we left Josh Dugan and Love Shack in the team,  both of whom were not actually playing. Oops.

THE HOTTIE MCHOTHOTS

THIS IS SO EXCITING YOU GUYS. Our Hotties have once again performed better than the Wildcats AND beaten their opponents. They also beat their personal best by more than 60 pts, coming in at 905. Oh, you pretty things.

After seeing That Photo of Chris Heighington I decided he just HAD to be in the Hotties, but trying to shuffle things around enough to afford him (he is so spensy!) proved difficult. So difficult that I had to get out the calculator to figure it out. MATHS IS REALLY HARD. Anyway I ended up ditching Saffy and Beau Ryan, but I feel it was worth it in the end thanks to Hino’s awesome 82 points. Bitch really knows how to make an impression.

Luke O’Donnell continues to impress whenever he’s NOT our captain, with a whopping 116 points. It’s such a shame he’s bad at leadership. Errol favourite Davey Williams is finally back on his game too with 74 points. YAY DAVE!

The Hotties went head to head with the HaberfieldSteelers and beat them by just under 40 points, weee! We are so so proud of them. We might even let them celebrate with an ice cream. Matt Ballin will tell us he’s lactose intolerant, but we know he just doesn’t want the calories. EAT YOUR DAMN ICE CREAM MATT. You can do 50 laps of Errol HQ afterwards. Thatta boy.

JADEWATCH

Let’s find out how the Tiny Dancers did this week shall we?

This week I decided to try a new technique with the boys, a lil bit of reverse psychology if you will. I totes didnt talk to them all week so they knew I was peeved at their previous sucky efforts. I didn’t even change their positions from last week so they knew I was REAL PISSED.

WELL. Methinks they had a private team meeting and decided they just HAD to win back my love, or prove they could be good without me. Either way they were keen to impress… and it worked. Folau had marvellous round scoring 116 points! Go Izzy! In total the boys managed a delicious 949. GO YOU TINY DANCERS! Let’s hope next week we can get back up past the 1000 mark.

Next week it’s the Hotties up against Naiqama’s Driver, and we will never ever stop laughing if the Hotties win. Well we might stop to do the forks a few times, but other than that…

Ok first of all: tell me you watched Monday night football. Right? If you didn’t, it means you missed two of the greatest television moments so far in 2009.

1) being the boys cracking my shit up presenting this week’s Monday Night Retro, and;
2) being Joel Monaghan cracking the shits when Melbourne scored, lying on his tummy on the grass and banging his feet on the ground like an angry kid in a supermarket. The Storm make me feel exactly the same way, Monas.

I’m not gonna talk about that game though, because Canberra are kind of my second team and it’s just too depressing. Let’s talk Tigers instead.

So if you’re following us on twitter (you should be) you’ll know I went to the Tigers vs Rabbitohs game on Sunday at the SCG. God knows you wouldn’t have found out about it on Facebook, because those fascist bastards shut us down. This fills me with rage because they said we weren’t ‘an individual’ when quite clearly we are a collection of individuals and if those couples who have joint ‘MARRIAGE IS ALL ABOUT SHARING’ Facebooks get to stay then so should we.  FIGHT THE POWER!

Until they can prove to me there is an actual individual named JonAndMelinda Clarke with 8 albums of wedding pictures then I will continue to be pissed about this.

What was my point? Oh yes, sunday afternoon footy. God the SCG is glorious on a Sunday afternoon. Even in the shitty seats on the east side with the advertising banners in front of you and the pretty Sydney sun in your eyes. STILL LOVELY. I do enjoy a good example of historical architecture.

We could almost telepathically hear the voice of Phil Gould sitting in the Channel 9 commentary room stroking some kind of cat (and/or Ray Warren) and purring I lovvvvvve Sunday afternoon football, don’t you Rabbits?

Instead of our fave fake married couple Gus and Rabs, though, Kiki and I and our Errol BFF Suchy got the commentary of some poor man’s Errols behind us. By which I mean they call David Kidwell ‘Kiddy’, and Fetuli Talanoa ‘Tally’. Let’s be honest … as nicknames go, they’re no Tiny Dancer or Hot Bitch, are they, boys?

Even though we were squished on one side looking into the sun, the SCG was amaaaazing. So so beautiful, and such a fantastic enthusiastic crowd. The little kids in footy jerseys were cute enough to touch even my cold, black heart. It is also one of the top ten best things in life when little kids yell out criticism at the field. Like, ‘way to drop the ball, dickhead!’ and ‘that pass was FORWARD!’

Their snarkiness is to me like babies’ laugher is to normal people.

In other news, I have realised that when you’re not a fan of either team, a messy game is an entertaining game. It’s not like when I watch the Roosters and almost have a stroke every time they have no-no times.

I was seriously so relaxed, just chillin in my seat, looking for my Lucas Paw Paw ointment that I totally brushed the Rabbitohs mascot. Apparently he was standing there for aaaages waiting for me to shake his hand or hug him so he could keep going and I just studiously ignored him. Sorry bunny! Please don’t badmouth me to Rusty! 

You can bet I wouldn’t have missed it if the Tigers mascot came by, because from what I can tell the actual Tiger has retired and just been replaced by the Ali Baba Kebab man. I’m assuming he gives out kebabs, in which case I think this is a brilliant development. Mmmm …. food.

Normal jersey …

… Robbie Farah spray-on jersey. How does he lift his arms?

After last week’s Country vs City I thought Robbie Farah was all over the blue number 9 jersey for State of Origin. He played the shit out of Wade Park. And he didn’t change my mind on Sunday. He distracted me slightly with his super super tight sprayed on Heritage jersey (do they have to cut him out of it, like a swimmer?) and his new beard (it looks hot, keep it up Robbie) … but I’m still team Robbie for Origin.

Especially after he ran smack-bang into lil Issac Luke in the second half and scared the hell out of me. I swear I heard the collision. I thought we were in for another Anthony Quinn convulsions incident and I was all set to cover my eyes like a Delicate Lady. I mean … what? I am a Delicate Lady! Ask anyone!

*cough*

But Robbie soldiered on, and apparently puked like crazy as soon as he got off the field. Which is why I can’t be disappointed he missed the field goal when Souths evened it up at 22 all. He was concussed, people. That’s the kinda spirit that you need for State of Origin. The spirit to take a violent knock to the brain, then continue playing a game in which it’s likely your already fragile brain will be knocked once again.

It’s actually a bit weird to see a player get hit in the head and have it not be Mick Crocker. Yes, Mick is back. And in case you didn’t realise, he decided to try and start some tensionz on the field within the first five minutes … just to get your attention. Either that, or someone mocked his spray-on hair.

Meanwhile even I wasn’t expecting Nathan Merritt to pop out of nowhere and kick a field goal with one second to go. And no, I’m not exaggerating … literally one second. NATHAN MERRITT. Really? In the end we had to take Tigers fan Suchy out on the field for some post-game frolicking on the SCG to ease his pain at his boys losing by 1 point. ONE POINT. 

It’s times like these (when you aren’t a fan of the losing team) that rugby league is amaaaaaazing.

teeny tiny tiger!

Getting to run onto the field is heartwarming for at least five reasons (plus possibly a few more that I don’t remember cause I was a bit tipsy). It involves seeing boys try to create a kicking tee from a white loafer, a plastic schooner glass, and a mate’s hand. It involves adults momentarily losing control and tacking little kids for footballs. Also, people kicking balls into other people’s heads. Everyone loves a falcon!

There’s also the boyfriend running away from his girlfriend with a footy in his hand; when she falls over on the grass, he looks back … then just keeps running. That boy has a field goal to kick, after all.

Plus the awesome sight of a policeman pretending to arrest someone just so his friends could take photos. This is why I love Australia.

The only vague downer was the man kicking a Sherrin around on the ground … and when we booed him for bringing his dirty AFL ball onto the grass he answered ‘um, it’s the SCG’.

So … what? If the name of the ground matters, then you should be playing cricket, DICKHEAD. I hope he got hit in the brain with that Sherrin.

And on that cheerful note, special thanks to the Rabbitohs supporter who got taken out of the SCG by police. He was so cheery! Even the potentially incarcerated had a great day! That’s the magic of Heritage Round.

Thanks to the fierce Cronkster and Kiki’s swish new iPhone for the pics.